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They say that the gods did not necessarily set out to make humans.
Instead, they laid the groundwork for life as we know it without much plan one way or the other. As things began to take shape, the planet was broken into three main domains:
The earth — which included the land, the plants, and the creatures that lived upon it.
The air — which controlled the weather, the clouds, and any creatures that flew through its skies.
The water — which was the sea, the rivers, the ponds, and all creatures that lived within them.
Minor gods helped the commanding domain god control whatever fell into their purview.
The last was not quite a domain, as it only had one god, and so did not count. The god of space and time, the one rumored to have created the planets and the very gods themselves. The strongest.
But this is not a story about him.
It’s said that the gods ruled over everything peacefully. Sometimes they clashed, but for the most part, they all lived in harmony. All was well, and yet the gods weren't satisfied. They were not praised for all the work they did; they were not worshipped.
For one god to praise another would be a waste, and so they hungered for something more. Something else. Something that would.
No one quite agrees on how humans came about. If it was the work of many gods or just one, but whatever the case, when humans were created, we were made so we could praise, so we would worship.
But even though we were created for the gods, the gods themselves changed. They began to look like us, so we would not fear them. They started to care for things they hadn't before—their personalities warped to mimic our own—and for the first time, gods could die and were replaced by new ones.
A new domain was created, one entirely for us. A domain of humans, filled with human emotions and desires, that expands as we humans learn and grow.
New gods began to emerge to fill these new roles; many birthed from the old gods themselves. But sometimes, very, very rarely, a human could become a god.
This is the story of one such human-turned-god.
Gods mingle in a room, muttering at a respectful volume, their voices blending with each other. A large, shimmering flat circle sits in the middle of the space, its surface rippling now and again. At times, the gods walk around it, glancing down into its depths. An image sits there, from the vantage point of the ceiling, looking upon a young man kneeling next to a futon where a much older man lays, close to death. They hold hands and occasionally speak to one another, though no sound can be heard from the image.
The gods do not need it; they are all aware of what is happening. A human is dying, and the shock of it will catapult the young man into godhood.
They can all feel it, the crackling of a new god just about to break through the surface. It settles heavily over their shoulders, lodges in the back of their throats, and sets their teeth on edge.
When it happens, it’ll be a release for them all. A mutual expulsion of breath, as they accept another god into their ranks.
It happens so rarely—a human ascending—that they are all eager to see what he will become. An existing god has not died, so it must be something new.
“Perhaps it will be sakura blossoms!” Utahime—a goddess of dance from the human realm—comments, leaning over the surface. “For his hair. It’s such a lovely shade, no?”
“Idiot,” the god of lightning hisses, and Utahime's head jerks up to glare at Kashimo. “We already have one of those.”
“Oh, so sorry,” she snarks back. “I don’t make it a habit to keep up with every single minor earth god!”
Some of the gods are not present; not all of them care about a new member. But for most, the occasion is intriguing for its rarity, if nothing else.
From the side of the room, another human god, this time of justice, notes mildly, “Choso, he’s from your line, isn’t he?” Higuruma’s dark eyes look over the god of blood as his shadow shifts behind him. Judgeman is always ready to weigh the scales of a human’s heart, to test its truthfulness, though he has no use among gods. “You were once a human.” It’s spoken firmly; a statement, not a question.
“I was,” Choso agrees, folding his arms into his long sleeves. “And yes, we are distantly related. Though I wouldn’t assume that he would follow my brothers and me into the same sort of domain.” As everyone knows, the brothers deal with blood and poison in some regard. However, some of his youngest brothers are minor gods that skew more into martial fighting and so answer to another god, which privately annoys Choso to no end. He scowls. “Yuuji is more closely related to Sukuna over there.” The very god that some of his brothers must follow.
The god of war huffs. “The brat isn’t suited for my domain, either.” He is one of the few gods whose form is drastically different from humans, wide and large, with an extra set of arms and eyes. A figure to inspire fear and bloodlust on the battlefield.
“No?” Shoko enters the conversation in an exhale of smoke, her thin fingers cradling a long tobacco pipe. Her spectacles, sitting low on her nose, flash in the dim light of the room. For a god of medicine, it is perhaps ironic that she smokes. However, it does not harm her, and she has come to enjoy the taste. “Why not? I’ve seen him fight; he’s quite strong.”
“Strength,” Sukuna begins with a condescending smirk, “is not all there is to power. He’s weak otherwise.” With one last glance at the image of Yuuji still clutching his grandfather’s hand, he turns and stalks away. His servant of ice upturns their nose at the room and follows.
As they leave, the gravity in the room suddenly shifts, feeling much heavier, and the gathered gods have to lock their knees against the pressure or else risk colliding with the floor.
Just as suddenly as it appears, the pressure vanishes, popping as gently as a soap bubble as Gojo Satoru steps into the room in a puff of darkness, sending up little fragments of stars that twinkle in the light before fading away. His bandage-covered eyes take in the room before he smiles, flashing sparkling white teeth.
“What did I miss!” he crows with delight.
Everyone shifts slightly. No one particularly likes the strongest, but many are aware, deep in their nonexistent bones, that he is not to be ignored. Disrespect, Gojo can handle; anything else is worthy of punishment. He is one of the very few who could end another god with barely a blink of his six eyes.
“You’re late,” Uro accuses, floating pink hair seeming to swirl around her head faster as if illustrating her annoyance. She is the goddess of the sky, one of the original three domains. Clouds float around her body, keeping the parts that she cares to block from view. “Why even bother to show up at all if you’re in danger of missing everything?”
“Have we decided what Yuuji is going to be the god of?” Gojo asks, completely ignoring her statement, making her let out a hiss of anger. He steps closer to the circle in order to look down at the pair of humans. “Has anyone placed any bets? I would like to make a wager!”
“There haven’t been any bets,” Nanami’s tired voice says. “And I don’t think there should be.”
Gojo’s smile widens. “Is that your godly wisdom saying that?” he asks sarcastically.
The god of wisdom grits his teeth at the jab. “More like common sense. There is nothing to be gained from a bet with you.”
“Spoilsport.” Gojo looks around the room. “No one?” he wheedles. “Just one measly little bet!”
“How about a two-tier bet?” Mei Mei’s smooth voice interjects, and Gojo’s cheers are partly drowned out by a chorus of groans. If the goddess of manipulation has stepped in, there is no stopping it. Mei Mei’s smirk is sharp as she continues, “A bet for which domain of the four? A perfectly safe one.” There are low mutters of interest.
“Then one for all the marbles?” Gojo asks with a sort of childish glee. Mei Mei giggles, the sound like poisoned honey, sugar sweet with a deadly aftertaste.
“Yes, of course! Anyone who guesses what exactly little Yuuji will become will win overall.”
A bundle of small slips of paper appears in her hand, and gods gather closer to fill out their guesses. Gojo doesn’t bother to join in the hustle and bustle, but Mei Mei has no doubt that she’ll find a filled-out slip with his name on it.
Silently, everyone knows that Gojo will win the overall bet. Somehow, he always knows exactly what every god will be. So, unless someone else also happens to guess correctly, he will win it all. Most won’t try, but some might, just to see. What is a god if not a being who does things for the fun of it?
A vibration seems to echo, and wordlessly, the gods start to gather closer to the circle. It is almost time; they can all sense it.
Yuuji does not cry as his grandfather speaks his last words. He holds his hand and nods his head, saying something back.
Their voices still do not travel. Most gods wait impatiently, uncaring about the words and their meaning.
Gojo smiles, a small, secretive thing. It is the promise, he knows, that will carve the path that Yuuji is about to go on. The one that changes everything.
They feel the old man slip away, into the space where human souls go that no god can touch, except perhaps Gojo, though he has never said anything about it one way or the other.
The gods hold their breath as Yuuji gently places his grandfather’s hand onto his chest before settling back and closing his eyes. He takes in a deep breath, holds it, then as he breathes out—
Time and space crack.
For Yuuji, it is as if he’s suddenly in a hurricane, sending him spiraling towards the air. He burns, he breaks apart, he tries to scream as everything that makes him him is remade into something else.
It’s over in a second, in an hour, in a thousand lifetimes.
He finds himself blinking, still on his knees but surrounded by people he does not recognize.
They peer down at him.
“What are you?” a voice asks from amongst the crowd, and Yuuji jolts with shock, still trying to understand what the hell has happened to him. Wasn't he just with Gramps? Who are these people?
“H-huh?” he asks eloquently. He suppresses the impulse to slap himself on the forehead. Yuuji is not always great with first impressions.
“Your domain,” they explain, without really explaining anything.
Someone crouches in front of Yuuji. A man with a shock of white hair and bandages covering his eyes.
“Who do you feel like?” he asks gently, then lifts up a finger before Yuuji can do much more than make a noise of surprise. “No, no. Not who you were, who are you now? You are a god. We want to know of what.”
It shouldn’t make sense. It should still be wildly confusing and impossible. And yet, something clicks into place. A new sort of knowledge that sits within his breast, heavy like the promise he’s just made.
It comes with responsibilities and decisions. Things he will have to do for the rest of his life.
Yuuji squares his shoulders.
“Kindness,” he answers.
Gods—for they must be gods—start talking quickly amongst themselves. He catches snippets of conversation.
“A human domain then—”
“Kindness? What is that—”
“…a human emotion, clearly—”
“Is he really cut out for that?”
“Did we need a god for—”
“Ignore them,” the man still in front of him says, grinning widely. “I like it; kindness. We haven’t had that before. I think it’s long overdue. Don’t you?”
Blinking with surprise, something eases in his heart, and Yuuji smiles, nodding enthusiastically. “Yeah! Yeah, I do.”
The voice of his grandfather echoes in his head, the very last conversation they will ever have, and Yuuji has the feeling he’ll never forget it, not for the rest of his (what is likely to be) very long days.
Yuuji, make sure to help people.
Huh? How do I do that?
How should I know?
Well, I don’t know either, Gramps!
Hmph. Be kind or something. You’re good at that without even trying.
Kind, huh? Okay! I promise I’ll be kind.
And that is how the god of kindness came to be. He reminds us that kindness is not a disposition, nor a personality trait. It is a thing you choose to do, day after day. It is a choice.
So remember, we pray to Yuuji for guidance, for strength.
We pray that he will teach us how to be kind.
