I Became The Pope, Now What?

"I am Prometheus—I am You."

Sylvester looked at the mysterious being before him. Much different from a regular Eldritch God, this appeared more in tune with a humanoid being. Other than having a cosmic body consisting of black matter and celestial objects, his shape was completely identical to his.

"Me?" He asked him. The little introduction had sounded a bit too strange. "I am Sylvester."

"No, you are Johnathan Colt Westerling," the entity replied.

By now, Sylvester had gotten so used to every powerful creature mentioning his previous name that it didn't shock him. Intrigued, yes, but in this case, he really wasn't. For a creature able to travel between spaces, that knowledge wasn't shocking.

"Both in my case. What about you, Prometheus—one of the Titans, the supreme trickster, the God of Fire?" Sylvester questioned him back regarding his name. "Here to steal my fire and give it to those two?"

Prometheus didn't answer immediately and instead began growing skin all over his cosmic body. It felt no different from Sylvester's ability, as in his case, his skin was a mere shell over the body of shining, radiating, solid energy.

However, at the first sign of facial features, Sylvester instinctively stepped away from the unknown being. Despite not having a normal body anymore, he felt his lips going dry. Was it nervousness? It amused him since it was hard to earn that reaction from him.

"I was born an orphan," Prometheus spoke, creating his lower body as well with all the clothes on it. It was indeed human, with pale skin alongside a few age lines and wrinkles. The eyes were blue, and the ear-length hair on his head was white and unkempt. The nose was sharp, and a thick white beard adorned the rest of the face.

Sylvester moved further back when the face became completely visible. "Who are you?"

"Right after high school, I was selected for a special program to become a spy…"

"Who are you?" Sylvester interrupted him and asked again.

Prometheus finished creating the entire body with simple clothes, a white shirt and blue jeans. "I am you—I am Johnathan Colt Westerling."

Complete silence took over the space between them. Both staring at each other as if they knew one another on a level simply not possible. Sylvester recognized that old man's face and stature—It was him from a forgotten time.

"From another time?"

"I was taken by the Primordial Gods to become their blade against you. I was tasked with destroying all the Eldritch Gods so you can have none to absorb and grow." Prometheus answered surprisingly quickly, without showing any hint of scheme or second thought. "Of course, that didn't happen."

Right then, Sylvester remembered the first Eldritch God he killed after Nehilius. It had mentioned Prometheus as if it was an enemy. "If you're their pawn, why did I succeed?"

Johnathan's old, pained face with dark, baggy eyes showed no emotion, "Because I am you."

Sylvester took everything with a grain of salt. "That's not enough for an answer."

"I didn't choose to become their pawn. I wasn't asked for this—simply ordered to do it. Like in the old days."

Sylvester noted the meaning behind those words. By the old days, Prometheus was talking about the spy missions that were absolute, no questions asked. Of course, at that point, it had nothing to do with their desires but rather the obligation to fulfill the orders.

"They are scared of you," Prometheus proudly added. "I am not the first Johnathan they picked to deal with you. They know diamond cuts diamond. They know only you can defeat yourself."

Sylvester raised his guards up, "And why did they name you Prometheus?"

At last, Jonathan's face had a little smirk. "They didn't. I gave that name to myself."

Tap!

Jonathan vanished in the blink of an eye and appeared behind Sylvester, patting his shoulder. "I've been preparing for this moment for over ten millennia."

Sylvester noticed Johnathan's hand on his shoulder as it vanished and appeared on his other shoulder. "Why?"

"Because I am you." Yet again, Jonathan gave a similar reply. "Because I derive my power from them. Because I had always been aiming to gift it to you—my fire."

"The Titan who stole fire from the gods and gifted it to humans." Sylvester blurted the meaning behind Prometheus' name. "If they rule you? Can't they stop you?"

"Their pride blinds them. They are afraid to approach you, for they fear the one who created you. They offered me godhood, they offered me power, they offered me eternity—Diana, they offered me." Prometheus added and launched an invisible radiating energy wave from his body that was absorbed into Sylvester. "To kill you—to be the diamond that cuts diamond."

Sylvester gulped nonexistent saliva and felt the surge of energy of countless more Eldritch Gods entering him. "Why? Don't you want to live with Diana again?"

Prometheus smiled fondly at the mention of that name. "Why would I?"

"Because you are me," Sylvester repeated.

"Exactly."

Sylvester sighed and shut his mouth. Yes, if he were in Prometheus' place, he'd have sacrificed the chance to do what was right instead of agreeing to be the Primordial Gods' stooge. Yes, he'd have given up his own power to help the version of himself that was already on a path better than his own.

"How many of us are out there?"

Prometheus shook his head, "As many universes are out there."

"Infinite?" Sylvester felt overwhelmed. "An infinite number of Johnathans out there with their own stories. Their own lives, goals, orders—to kill me?"

"They won't," Prometheus added as he began to lose the human skin he had made for himself. "Because they are you."

It was hard to digest.

"That's impossible. At one point, some version of me has to be more evil than any other. One more greedy, more desperate, more heartbroken," Sylvester argued. "Where can I expect to face them?"

Prometheus' body started to lose its shape. It became harder to see if he was still there since his form was that of space itself. His hand on Sylvester began to feel lighter as well, and his voice lowered.

'Is he going to give me his own life force as well?'

Prometheus finally responded in whispers when he was on the verge of vanishing into nothing. "So you don't know about it yet?"

"About what?"

"Why you—why us—why Johnathan Colt Westerling became Sylvester Maximilian."

If Sylvester had a heart, he knew it would've exploded with a frenzied beating. The situation was so bizarre that it was hard to accept. Yet, it made enough sense that it felt believable. He was speaking to himself about his enemies that were also himself.

"Where must I look to get these answers?" He questioned, knowing Prometheus wasn't going to tell him anything.

"You will be made aware… soon." The voice broke, and the hand vanished from Sylvester's shoulder. "Believe in yourself—for you are me… I am you."

Once again, standing alone, Sylvester looked at his palms. Yes, he could now feel many times stronger than just a few moments ago. Prometheus stood true to his name—he stole the power from the Primordial Gods and gifted it to him.

Yet, he couldn't feel happiness. He had just witnessed himself committing suicide for the sake of himself. For the sake of his own version, where there were countless others.

Snap!

He snapped two fingers to check his newfound abilities. The space and time around him changed so drastically that he rewrote the laws of space itself, turning the darkness into light and light into darkness. Inversing everything, from the tiniest particles to reality itself.

He could feel countless universes through his senses. Universes that once belonged to some Eldritch God that he or Prometheus had slayed. Overwhelming, mind-numbing, and yet—so… unimpressive.

"What's wrong with me?" He asked himself, snapping his finger to return the universe back to how it was. "I… I'm losing my sense… of life. I don't want this."

He had never thought about it before.

But now that he did, he felt terrified of himself. Terrified of slowly becoming exactly what he was battling against.

"This is too much power."

Being able to rewrite reality itself wasn't godhood. It was a more… higher form. And to know that there existed someone even above himself.

"I can't become like them in this pursuit."

"And you won't," came a second voice reverberating through the cosmos.

Sylvester raised his face fiercely, and for the first time he watched the shining being standing and not sitting on his throne. It no longer felt shocking or overwhelming. He no longer felt scared or suppressed by the being before him. In fact… he felt on par… almost there.

"Solis?!"

"We meet again, Sylvester Maximilian." No longer did Solis' voice sound muffled. "You have grown outstandingly."

Staring at the absent face of the humanoid being slightly taller than himself, Sylvester felt conflicted. Who was Solis? What was behind that shining body, that grand warm halo? What was his aim? Was he the First Pope? What was his end game?

There was a lack of antagonism and anger from Solis that he used to feel before. It appeared that much had undoubtedly changed.

"I'm losing myself." Sylvester stated and asked, "When can I stop?"

Solis once again took his throne that appeared behind him. His body gained size, overarching Sylvester's. His presence also grew, and the pressure once again returned.

"You are not supposed to. You have a purpose to fulfill."

"What purpose?!" Annoyed, Sylvester barked. It thundered with such intensity that the space around him showed signs of breaking apart in horrifying spirals, cuts, and twists.

Solis's size kept on growing, making Sylvester appear smaller than his toenail. When he spoke again, Sylvester felt as if his ears would burst—he had no ears.

"For which you were brought to this reality as an unquantifiable element of surprise. You are a piece that does not belong here—

you never will."

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