I Somehow Became The Almighty Creator, l can create anything: Be Ware
Chapter 49

Chapter 49: Chapter 49

Watts lay flat on the cracked earth, staring at the darkened sky above. Lightning arced across the heavens, illuminating the swirling vortex of the storm he had unwillingly unleashed.

Each crack of thunder reverberated through his chest like an accusation, a reminder of his failure.

The ground beneath him pulsed faintly with a dull, foreboding rhythm, as if the planet itself was dying, its heartbeat slowing with every passing moment.

The storm was still in its infancy, but the damage it had already wrought was devastating.

Trees were stripped bare, their once-proud forms reduced to lifeless husks. Rivers overflowed with dark, polluted water that scalded everything it touched.

The cries of creatures caught in the chaos were faint now, drowned out by the roaring wind and the relentless crackle of lightning.

Watts didn’t try to stand. What was the point? Everywhere he went, death followed. It wasn’t just his power; it was his curse.

And he hated it. He wasnt some phsychophic dude that liked to see destruction, in fact, it brought endless guilt.

Knowing he was the one responsible for the deaths of all these living beings that were living peacefully before he came in, struck at his heart strings.

The weight of his guilt pressed down on him, pinning him to the ground.

He had thought he could control it, that he could harness Death’s power without becoming a monster.

But now he saw the truth.

He was the monster. He was death itself.

Tears blurred his vision, but he didn’t wipe them away. What right did he have to grieve? This storm, this destruction, was his doing.

He had brought death to a world that had done nothing but exist. A world with its own life, its own balance. And now, because of him, that balance was broken.

The words of the system echoed in his mind, "You are Death itself."

He didn’t want this. He had never asked for this. Yet here he was, the bringer of despair, lying beneath a sky that mirrored his soul—dark, chaotic, and filled with destruction.

Countless questions plagued his mind, his mind breaking apart in guilt and shame.

Why am I even alive? Watts thought bitterly. If all I bring is destruction, what’s the point? His mind churned with self-blame.

He had always tried to be a creator, someone who brought new things into existence. Now, every creation felt like a mockery of the life he had taken.

Was this who he was destined to be? A harbinger of death, a being that extinguished life wherever he went?

He thought of his family, his friends, the people he’d fought for. What would they think of him now? Would they even recognize him? Would they hate him?

His shame was a physical weight, and his guilt gnawed at his insides. He had always prided himself on his moral compass, on his ability to do the right thing.

But what did morals mean when you wielded a power like this? What good were principles when you couldn’t even control the chaos you brought?

He clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms. The storm didn’t care about his regret. The world didn’t care about his intentions.

All that mattered were the consequences, and those were undeniable. He had failed.

As Watts was sulking in his thoughts.

Far across the planet, the world’s ancient guardians were doing what they could to stem the tide of destruction.

These were the protectors of balance, embodiments of the planet’s will. Watts’ previous encounter with one of them, the Great Wolf, now felt like a lifetime ago.

On the northern continent, the Great Wolf raced through a forest ablaze with unnatural fire.

Its silver fur glowed faintly as it howled, summoning rain to douse the flames. With every leap, it pulled small creatures from harm’s way, shielding them with its body as the fire consumed everything around them.

In the east, the Colossal Serpent coiled through the rivers, purifying the boiling, tainted waters with its shimmering scales.

Fish and aquatic life clung to its protection as it twisted and turned, creating sanctuaries where life could cling on, even as the rivers dried around it.

On the southern plains, the Sky Roc soared high above the storm, its vast wings beating against the winds.

It guided herds of animals to safety, its cries resonating with an ancient power that calmed the panic-stricken creatures below.

Its feathers shimmered with a golden light, cutting through the darkened sky like a beacon.

While in the west, the Stone Titan, a massive creature of rock and earth, moved through collapsing valleys, its movements slow but deliberate.

It raised barriers of stone to shield entire communities of creatures from landslides and crumbling cliffs, holding back the chaos with its immense strength.

These guardians were the planet’s last line of defense, and though their efforts were heroic, they were fighting a losing battle.

The storm’s origin was unnatural, a force they had never faced before. It wasn’t just the elements; it was Death itself, and its power was growing with every life lost.

Back to Watts, he just lied there, overwhelmed by the chaos he had unleashed on this beautiful planet.

He closed his eyes, trying to block out the sounds of the storm, the cries of the dying. But even in the silence, he couldn’t escape himself.

He felt every death like a knife to his soul, each one amplifying the power coursing through him.

Now with billions of deaths already, his death energy was growing too much for him to even comprehend.

It was overwhelming, suffocating, but strangely satisfying.

He felt the pull of despair, the temptation to give up entirely. To let the storm consume him and the world.

But then he got a sudden enlightment.

Death is not just an end.

The realization was faint, barely a whisper, but it gave him pause. He remembered the fragments of understanding he’d glimpsed before.

Death was balance. Death was transition. It wasn’t just destruction; it was a part of existence, a necessary part.

Watts gritted his teeth and forced himself to sit up. The storm raged around him, but he no longer looked away.

He opened his eyes, and they burned with a familiar light—the Eyes of the Universe. He turned his gaze inward, focusing on the concept of Death.

What he saw was both terrifying and beautiful. Death wasn’t a void; it was a tapestry of countless threads, weaving the cycles of life and decay.

Every end was a beginning. Every loss made space for something new. He had been so consumed by his guilt that he had only seen one side of it.

As his understanding deepened, so did his control. The storm reacted, the winds slowing slightly, the lightning less frequent.

It was still chaotic, but for the first time, Watts felt a glimmer of hope. He could stop this. He could undo the worst of the damage. But he would have to wield Death’s power deliberately, carefully.

He placed his hand on the cracked earth and closed his eyes, feeling the pulse of the planet—its pain, its anger.

"I’m sorry," he whispered. "I can’t undo what I’ve done, but I can try to make it right."

With every ounce of his will, he focused on the threads of Death. He couldn’t stop it entirely, but he could guide it, redirect it.

The damage was done, but maybe, just maybe, he could help the world heal.

The storm raged on, its fury unabated, but Watts’ eyes burned brighter as he took his first step toward redemption.