POV: Chris – The God of Blackwood
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The city couldn't keep still.
From the rooftops, from behind glass windows, from screens across the nation—every eye was fixed on me, the God in motion. Every step I took reshaped destinies. My elite, masked in obsidian, their eyes scanning every pulse in the air, flanked me like shadows born of power.
We reached the hospital district, and I slowed. The people here weren't just citizens. They were fighters—survivors of war, survivors of famine before the rise, wounded soldiers, children born with weakness yet raised under Blackwood light.
I entered St. Reginald's Blackwood Memorial, and the building fell into silence.
A doctor approached—his hands stained with labor, eyes wide. "My Lord..."
I cut him off gently, gesturing toward the ICU. "Take me to the children."
We passed through sterilized corridors until we stood before tiny beds and machines keeping delicate lives afloat. My chest tightened.
I turned to the administrator. "Every patient's bill—paid. Every nurse and doctor in this ward—10 million BC each, retroactive to five years ago."
A gasp rippled like a wave through the halls. Nurses covered their mouths. A father in the corner fell to his knees.
Then I added, "And build a new pediatric wing. 3 billion BC. No delay. Name it after Skylar."
One of my elite placed the documents down. Another swiped the encrypted tablet that activated the funds. I walked out before gratitude could slow my stride.
We moved into the education district next.
At Blackwood Imperial Academy, students stood lined in rows, uniforms pristine, eyes burning with loyalty. I noticed a girl—top of her class, I had seen her files. Her family couldn't afford tuition anymore. They hadn't said a word because of pride.
I stood before her. "Your education, fully paid till doctorate level. And 5 million BC for your household."
She cried.
I turned to the entire assembly. "And all final-year students here today—15 million BC. Use it for greatness or waste it in foolishness. The empire will know either way."
As the money moved, one elite tapped his earpiece. A whisper.
The orphanage sector was ready for my appearance.
We arrived at Hearthlight Sanctuary, a place with barely enough to feed their young. I walked into the hall where the children had been assembled. There was no loudness—just stunned silence.
I called the matron. "What's the most you've ever received in support?"
"100 thousand BC, my Lord," she said, shaking.
I handed her 100 million BC. "Triple your staff. Expand. Feed them. Educate them. These are Blackwood heirs too."
The orphans gathered, wide-eyed and overwhelmed, reaching forward—not for the money—but for my hand.
One tiny voice said, "Are you real?"
I knelt and answered, "More real than fear. More permanent than pain."
We moved next into merchant's square—the heart of commerce. I saw a blacksmith who had served since before the Blackwood Era. His hands were cracked. His tools were old.
"Your forge is now the Blackwood Forge of Valor," I said. "Here's 25 million BC. Modernize. Build weapons for honor, not war. Teach apprentices."
He broke down crying. "I waited my whole life…"
I placed a hand on his shoulder. "Then your life waited well."
I turned to the crowd. "Any merchant loyal since the rise—step forward. Today, you are honored with 10 million BC. Tell your story and claim your due."
Lines formed instantly. Records were checked. Funds were transferred in seconds. Legacies were rebuilt in minutes.
And then… I stopped.
Outside a rundown artisan shop, a woman was sculpting something. A lion. A symbol of strength. Of me.
"You made this?" I asked.
She nodded. "I couldn't afford stone, so I carved from cement mix and steel wire."
I stared at it. It was beautiful.
"You're now the Royal Sculptor of the Empire. 100 million BC. A new studio. And make sure every child learns this art."
She fainted. My guards caught her gently.
The march continued for hours—banks, bakeries, repair shops, homes. I gave until people trembled under the weight of my favor. Some wept. Others danced. Some simply stood in shock.
1.5 trillion BC given before dusk.
No taxes. No tricks. Just legacy.
This was no charity. This was power shared, not lost. This was Blackwood strength echoing through every alley, echoing in cash, echoing in honor.
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By the time I stood at the balcony of Citadel Blackwood, I looked down at a city glowing with wealth, music, tears, and reverence.
And I raised one hand.
The crowd chanted, "Long live the God of Blackwood!"
And in a voice that carried across the heavens, I said,
"This was Day One."