Chapter Text
In this timeline, Zamasu had succeeded.
The disgraceful trio of Saiyans were no longer a threat to his dreams after he struck down the other cheap fusion who so boldly opposed him then finally ended that bastard Trunks' life shortly after, permanently banishing them all from his new world into the depths of the afterlife for eternity. No dragon balls would ever bring them back, and if by some miracle they did return, he'd be exponentially strong enough to handle them later on. How easily he killed them all following the fusion made that clear.
Their lifeless bodies lifted a hefty weight from his shoulders he didn't realise he had yet to release.
Now with their deaths, there was no one left to stop him from making quick work of the insignificant group of mortals who were absolutely mortified at the deaths of their supposed "saviours" from him: they were swiftly sent to their deaths to join their worthless comrades. The look of hopeless defeat in their eyes brought a familiar feeling of sadistic pride in him, and for the days afterwards, he relished in his accomplishment. To declare his victory, his halo emitted a shining white, brilliant light across the skies of the planet.
He hadn't felt as light as he did in the entire existence of both his counterparts. The fusion was the ultimate weapon! As unfortunate that it was for his counterparts to sacrifice their perfect synchrony because of those defiant mortals, he couldn't find a hint of regret in him. He made it all worthwhile in the end...
~~~
How long had it been? Years?
He honestly stopped counting when he realised that nature was taking longer than he expected to rightfully reclaim her land. Goodness knows how long ago that was. As wonderful as it was to witness the agonisingly slow pace of the destroyed mortal structures being taken over by blankets of moss and a brightly coloured assortment of flowers, it felt no less boring than when he was just an apprentice merely observing affairs in his old universe. It pained him deep down to admit that he wished he had more thoroughly thought through what exactly he was going to do to occupy himself once his plans were complete, but identifying a flaw in his approach was unthinkable when he was so far in!
His initial idea was to simply destroy any sentient life which might attempt to sprout into his utopia and extinguish it before it could evolve… but maybe he’d underestimated how long that would actually take to happen again.
Is this what the elders felt like when the multiverse was in its infancy? No mortals to shepherd or monitor constantly; it sounded wonderful in his head, but reality was never an accurate reflection of what you wish for. Not that he’d ever regret his decisions. He didn’t have time for that now.. even though he actually had eternity to himself now.
He spent most of his days on Earth in the very same cabin he knew like the back of his hand without having lived there himself. All of the books, board games, music, and cooking ingredients he was able to convince himself to use were eventually exhausted after prolonging seeking distractions. Somehow, he’d grown accustomed to his surroundings - the forest, inner city, and the mountain trails a few miles away - after spending the longest time executing punishment to the humans long ago, so he had gotten quite familiar with what the buildings he’d destroyed actually contained. There was a library; he’d put off going inside and taking a look for the longest time considering how he didn’t want to taint his pallet with mortal literature, but at this point, he would take any sort of brain teaser to entertain him. Maybe, just maybe, a small handful of humans actually managed to use their gifted intellect for something that could pique his interest...
So that day, he finally sucked up his ego and entered the library to browse the collection of books. The ones still intact at least...
...Boring. Mundane. Vulgar.
None of these disgusting books deserved his attention! How foolish was he to think otherwise? He had opened a small handful of books from each genre and swiftly slammed them closed once he realised what a waste of time it was reading it, grumbling some irritated nonsense to himself before unceremoniously tossing it away without a care for where it landed.
"How much paper have they wasted on this pointless insult to literature?!"
He ended up spending a few hours in that library, searching for something... Anything. Was he seriously that desperate for stimulation? The non-fiction section was in utter chaos by the time he'd rummaged through and tossed away all the available books. Zamasu, like clockwork, would pick up a book and read a few lines only to toss the book away after nitpicking something wrong with it. His reasonings were even worse; a display mortal arrogance, vulgar language, too influential, or just downright uneducated words being used, among other things. There was no point in sitting down with one either when he was so quick to dismiss what he was presented with.
He was just about to surrender and head back to the cabin when a flicker of something caught his eye; it was the sort of glare which glimmers in just the right corner of your eye when light reflects off of a piece of pure silver.
Zamasu shoveled the books at the front of shelf onto the floor carelessly and reached out to grab the book at the back of the shelf. He wiped away the thick blanket of prehistoric dust to reveal the deep purple leather cover of this new book; the book was actually still in good condition despite being clearly significantly older than all the other books here. It had an unfamiliar sigil painted onto the leather, similar to his own halo, but with depictions of flowers, patterns, and intricate designs inside the sigil's circumference. The book clearly didn't belong here.
A vague memory flashed into his head: his old master talking about how Elder Gods at the dawn of time possessed personal books filled with rituals, spells, and ways of forming connections with mortals or even places such as realms and planets. The books were also apparently marked with the symbol of whichever God it belonged to. He didn't think much of it at the time because why would it matter to him now in more modern times? It explained the sigil, but not how this book got into the grubby hands of mortals on this planet.
He decided to take this book back to the cabin and study it. With the book tucked under his shoulder, he hastily left the cabin and launched into the air to head back to his new proclaimed "home."
Zamasu now sat in his living room, book on the coffee table, preparing to open to the first page. He wasted no time storming through his front door and retreating to the living room sofa to contemplate the book in front of him. Once he finally managed to pick it up and place it into his lap, he opened and started reading through it, unsure where this sudden eerie sense of hesitation was coming from.
The first page contained neatly handwritten descriptions of presumably an Elder God named Ira - the God of Magic. This, Ira, resided solely in the Realm of Magic. Apparently, they oversaw magic use across the multiverse, ensuring it did not fall into corrupt hands which would disrupt the evolution of the multiverse; created spells for personal use and for the other Gods to use in their own ritual books; and assisted in manufacturing several artefacts with distinct magical properties, the ones he recognised being the potara earrings and the first authentic set of time rings.
"So the first set of rings were made meticulously by the hands of an elder... meaning they're nothing like the other shoddy green ones."
Subconsciously, his gaze flickered down to the glimmering band of metal still branded onto his finger, tilting it slightly to reflect the light coming from the window to highlight the intricate patterns engraved into the mysterious plating.
A smile, eerily toothy for him, slowly creeped onto his face.
"...And I have them all!"
That was all the description provided about this elusive God of Magic. It only fueled his mission to uncover more...
"A God of Magic... there's no such God like that around today. Lest word of them was withheld from me. Why they don't have a successor...?" Now mumbling to himself aloud as if the damn book is going to answer him. Had he really begun to lose his ability to speak his truest thoughts in his head? That was such a valuable skill for him during his apprentice times.
"And there's no record of their death or retirement. I wonder if something happen to them."
Upon flicking the paper, he saw that the next page was different. The top of the page had that same sigil from the front cover drawn out in black, splotchy ink again with the words "to the Realm" underneath it in the divine language. His eye twitched. According to this ritual, to transport oneself to the Realm of Magic, all they had to do was draw out the sigil (preferably on the floor so you can stand in it), speak the words guided in the book in the divine language, and that's it? It felt too easy. Suspiciously easy. Again, his eye twitched while his thoughts started to become a little too crowded from the revelation. There's no way the potential to meet an Elder God was that simple?! Not to mention this God had probably long since passed; he'd arrive in an empty realm he couldn't navigate and still be without company. A part of him was genuinely considering it.
His mind was full of doubts, telling himself that it was pointless to travel to a realm he had no idea how to navigate, but despite his reservations, a small, soundless voice within him was etching him to say the words and whisk himself away into a realm possibly untouched for eons and he could feel his resolve faltering at the temptation to do something exciting for once. His mind was favouring the mere possibility of company and a new experience over his rationality. He caught himself, silencing his temptations just in time.
"I need to see more before I do anything stupid. There has to be a record of what happened to them in here... I don't need company, I am the one absolute God here." Even with that last statement, his voice faltered with uncertainty.
He flicked through several pages of the book, but none of it was actually helpful or what he was looking for. It was mostly just generic, harmless spells which were decently advanced but nothing particularly eye-catching.
That was until he reached about the halfway point of the book. There was just a blank page to begin with. The paper was darker here, more evidently aged. He felt more of that earlier eeriness start to creep up his back once more as he turned the page to test whether he was right to subconsciously move to the edge of his seat in anticipation.
It became apparent these were much darker spells. The handwriting seemed different - messier - as if an entirely different person had written these spells.
Zamasu found himself trying to justify it. "Perhaps the previous spells were written by some sort of assistant and this is Ira's actual handwriting..."
A plausible explanation... but the handwriting was still erratic and manic in nature. Anyone with an analytical brain like his would have guessed that whoever wrote this was in a crazed headspace; no calm, sane God would write like this. And that wasn't even the worst part, it was the nature of the spells which unnerved him the most!
Summoning substantial eldritch horrors capable of warping reality and mortal minds was intriguing in its terror, among other things. One of those "things" being the very spell which made him halt in his tracks. Something as unsuspecting as the mere existence of a spell had simultaneously dismantled his psyche and froze him in place. Had this spell been accessible to those Saiyans a few years ago, it would have ensured his defeat. His eyes blew wide upon feeling the first taste of instinctual fear and dread he had felt in a very, very long time and his mouth remained hung slightly open while he processed the page in front of him.
"...An Immortality Removal Spell? How is that even possible... to just remove ones immortality and fiber of being like it's nothing?! A spell like that could've wiped out the entire pantheon! Even the Omni King... even the Angels - if you could actually hit them... A spell like that is so... powerful and..."
...
"...useful. With it, anyone really could wipe out everyone. I could really wipe out everything! Yes, I'm lucky I haven't been caught yet, but this will solidify everything!" He flicked the page while his voice turned unknowingly hysterical - that and a subtle surge of chuckles seeping in between his words too. "I could BE the Omni-King! How do I do this spell, I-..."
This was not what he expected... No, the book did not contain the usual instructions on how to perform the spell, but instead spoke about how it was locked behind a eternally binding contract.
In order to obtain the spell, he would have to make a deal with the God of Magic; offering something of value to him, valuable enough that it would could be exchanged for a spell of this caliber. There were no specifics on what the God of Magic may accept for the exchange, Zamasu would be completely blind to what the God of Magic would deem valuable enough to take. The only way to know is to seek the other God out.
And Zamasu? This was like the last straw a part of him was cheering for, reasoning that he couldn't argue over. He could either stay here knowing the Omni-King and Angels were technically still a possible liability, or strike the deal with Ira and eliminate them once and for all.
Zamasu flicked back to the beginning of the book, back to the transporting spell.
"Let's see if Ira can be of use to me, given they're still alive."
He promptly stood up, sauntering to the opposite side of the table with much more open space to draw out the sigil, with the book still in one hand just in case. This was probably the most anxiously excited he'd felt since he watched the life drain from the Saiyans' eyes all those years ago.
The process was quick and simple. Zamasu raised his hand and drew out the sigil in the same fashion as his halo, forming a perfect circle around his feet while projecting his voice proudly across the room as he chanted the mantra in the godly language. The drawing on the floor was glowing with a white aura already while he stood at its center.
Then, before Zamasu could even process it, he was abruptly swallowed by a portal beneath him, falling into the gaping void in the floor...