Some years ago, I had been sucked into this world. I was a common, middle schooler - the top of my class, given the chance at being the hero of a story in a fantasy world.
Straight out of a common novel, I had been granted a quest by the Chosen Gods to go and kill the Damned King.
The first month of my nee life I struggled, but since then it had been a breeze - I had been showered with skill points, powerful abilities, and magical equipment. An SS rank adventurer, made powerful enough to kill the greatest evil of time!
Nobody could even come close to my power! Nations bowed to my strength and-
"Are you done with your internal monologue, child?"
Oh... Right.
The Damned Gatekeeper had killed me. I couldn't even land a blow on the strange, half-man half-demon that sat patiently on the steps of the castle.
I saw the river of blood that had pooled from my stumps that were previously legs, feeling the urge to scream out in pain.
This hasn't been the first time I died, however, so I'm sure I would be able to kill him in my next life...
"I'm sorry." The Gatekeeper said, softly, almost as if he was genuinely sad for the person he practically butchered moments prior. "...You're the almost the hundreth child they've sent to us..." He mumbled, looking down in shame.
What? There were no prior mentions of other heros coming to fight the Damned King-
"You did the best you could. You really did, child. I hope the Chosen Gods will lay your soul to rest soon enough."
"What... Do you... Mean...?" I gasped, trying to make sense of the devil's words. Coldness was gripping at me - this hadn't happened my previous deaths.
Then I remembered. Rows upon rows of gravestones buried not too far from the entrance of the castle I had tried to attack. The realization hit me like a punch to the gut.
"O-oh gods..." I managed to gasp before the darkness took hold.
The Gatekeeper sighed deeply, feeling the misery and sorrow take root in his heart once again. How long were those evil gods willing to throw innocent lives down the drain to achieve their goals?
How many people needed to be sacrificed for their objectives? The amount of blood on the God Slayer's hands had turned from a life, to a tragedy to a statistic.
After he sealed himself away from the world in grief, the Golden Tyrant and the Blood Mage soon followed, following similar fates of grief.
Now all that was left was himself and a couple of weaker followers, but none of the last twenty... What did the Chosen call themselves again? 'Hero of Ages'? No, that was only the first few...
The Gatekeeper's mind wandered, and he looked at the boy who had bled out in the ground before him. He sighed deeply, setting down the grand, magical scythe, and picking up a shovel. It took less than an hour to kill and bury the poor thing.
His mind wandered again. To a time before so much blood had stained his hands. He used to resent the three Rulers of Peace for their actions - their weak-willed natures, but he understood it now. The pain, the sorrow of ending a child's life to save your own.
... Perhaps the God Slayer was right. That his title needed to not be a prophecy, but a conviction.
But the poor man wished to try to reason with mankind - he had decreed that he would not fight back against the world as long as they only sent one challenger per decade - a challenger sent straight to him. A plot to save lives on both sides.
After the God Slayer bested every powerful warrior in the world on a one on one duel, the Chosen Gods became desperate.
Instead of sending warriors, they sent people on their deathbed, who could not fight back.
They sent women, they sent children.
Oh, how the Gatekeeper remembered the God Slayer's expression the first time he saw that the Hero of Ages was nothing but an 8 year old boy.
How the God Slayer cried over the dead child's body for hours on end, unable to beat the grief of his own actions
... The Gatekeeper sighed, blocking out the horrible memories.
...
...
The Gatekeeper found himself curled on the steps to the castle, crying, again.
Pitiful, he though. How much more pain and grief did he have to go through? He couldn't even walk through the hallways of his own home without breaking down and crying.
How many millennia of blood and gore would he have to wade through until the Chosen Gods left him alone? Left his people alone?
... The Gatekeeper sighed again, holding his head between his hands.
What was the last thing the God Slayer had said, again?
Ah, the words evaded him...
He heard himself breathe in and out heavily. The noise of his own heartbeat was deafening. He was barely holding back his own sobs.
Oh, now he remembered.
The Chosen Gods must Die.