Athanasia: My Hacker System

Chapter 300: John Is the Anomaly God Paragon!

"Fine! Just call me the John, the War God Paragon!"

After speaking for a few hours with the various leaders of the human groups, John had finally reached his limit. They kept stressing over which Paragon he actually was, circling back to the question time after time until his patience finally exploded.

"War God Paragon?!! That’s... There is already a Paragon with that name, right?!" Thomas, the man in his early thirties who had emerged as the primary spokesperson, asked in genuine confusion.

The look on Thomas’s face made John come dangerously close to snapping. He could feel a vein throbbing in his temple. These people were obsessed with labels, clinging to the idea of him being a Paragon like a drowning man to a lead weight. He casually picked a name right on the spot to silence them, and yet it seemed there was actually someone with that title.

"Then call me the Death God Paragon..." John growled, clenching both fists, hoping this would put an end to this useless debate.

"There is another one with that name, too!" Thomas said, rolling his eyes as if John were the one being difficult.

John stood speechless for a few moments, his mouth slightly agape. "Are all the Greek God names taken?!!" he exclaimed, his voice echoing off the metallic walls of the base. He paced a short circle, his boots clanking sharply.

Suddenly, he stopped, an inspiration striking him like a bolt of lightning. "Then call me the Anomaly God Paragon. I bet there isn’t a name like that, right?"

"Well..." Thomas looked around at the other group leaders, a silent exchange of glances passing between the bedraggled survivors. He eventually gave a slow, tentative nod. "That’s indeed true. Still, it’s a weird name..."

"Consider me a self-made Paragon, and as such, I have the right to call myself anything I want," John barked, putting an end to this point once and for all.

He leaned forward, his eyes gleaming with a dangerous, warning light that silenced the humans instantly. "And I swear, one more question about my title and I’ll change my mind and kill all of you right here, right now!"

For the past several hours, the leaders had bombarded him with a relentless barrage of questions. John had tried to remain patient at first, understanding the innate curiosity of the human race and the trauma they had endured. He could tell that if he were in their shoes, he would do exactly as they were.

So he tried to explain things properly, take them step by step towards the reality of the pocket trial. However, as time passed, his annoyance had turned into genuine rage, especially since the question of his Paragon identity kept repeating like a broken record.

Through these gruelling conversations, he had finally uncovered the root cause of their disparity. It was exactly as he had guessed: they were fractured because they each served a different Paragon.

The slightly over three thousand and four hundred survivors were split into thirty-two distinct factions, with each group identifying with a different Paragon. This ideological divide had ensured that the humans remained scattered and weak, unable to form a united front against the pocket trial horrors.

John thought, mistakenly, at first that this was all the dirty deeds of Mark and the cyborgs. And yet when he saw how persistent they were about this Paragon point, he changed his mind. They were acting like this as they were actually believing in these strong humans called Paragons.

After John had thoroughly explained the nature of the pocket trial, the mechanical threats looming in the north, and his grand goal of seizing control of the trial to carve out a future for humanity, they had still circled back to the same topic: What Paragon he actually was.

They didn’t buy anything he said at first, not buying his side of the story of being a normal human who happened to get lucky to stumble across different fortuitous encounters. So in the end, he gave in, succumbed to their wishes, and thought of a random name to represent his imaginary Paragon status.

"Ok," Thomas said, sensing the actual killing intent radiating from the youngster. Thomas was now effectively the leader of the entire human assembly, mostly because he was the only one John could tolerate for more than five minutes without reaching for his sword.

The other leaders had retreated to the background, terrified of enraging the monster any further. "So from now onward, we are serving the Anomaly God Paragon. Which is you... Right?"

"Take it however you want," John said through gritted teeth, struggling to keep his temper in check. He saw no point in this Paragon nonsense; it felt like ancient humans clinging to old powers while the world was changing, embarking to new order and rules. But he realised he had to play along with their traditions if he wanted to save himself a massive headache and ensure their absolute cooperation.

Before Thomas or any of the others could find another silly question to ask, John jumped to the next phase. "Gather everyone up. We are moving out immediately to clear the Fog Seekers’ den."

"..."

John had already explained the true nature of the skinless monsters that had been harassing them. He had performed a live demonstration, showing them how every monster contained a core.

He showed them how these cores could be used to clear the fog, how they could be ignited together to provide consistent fire, heat and light, and, most importantly, how consuming them could boost their attributes and unlock sealed powers.

The moment the explanation finished, the atmosphere in the camp shifted from fear and confusion to a frantic hunger.

John stood on the side, watching all this while shaking his head from time to time. The hunger he witnessed with his friends before resurfaced again, making him question himself if this was a deeply rooted instinct in all humans. The survivors started to madly search the perimeter, even venturing deep into the fog they had feared for weeks.