PRAYERS OF THE POWERFUL: PROLOGUE
“God!” he cried out, his fists trembling as he stared skyward. “If you will not act to save us, then grant us the power to save ourselves!”
SEVEN
7/7/20264 min read


Copyright & Author's Disclaimer
This light novel is a work of fiction and an original creation by the author. The world, lore, plot, and characters are entirely products of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Note on AI Usage: Artificial Intelligence tools were utilized strictly in an editorial capacity to assist with typo correction, grammar checking, and sentence refinement. The creative vision, story development, and original prose remain entirely human-authored.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, translated, or transmitted in any form or by any means—including scraping, reposting, or electronic sharing—without the prior written consent of the author. Unauthorized publishing or distribution is strictly prohibited.
In a distant future, the world lay ravaged. Hope was a relic, buried beneath the cracked, petrified earth, and the air tasted constantly of ozone and ash. Amid the ruins of what used to be a city, one man fell to his knees. His clothes were ragged, his calloused hands scarred from endless, fruitless fighting. He looked at the desolate horizon, his chest heaving with a grief too heavy to carry. He threw his head back, his voice raw with defiance, and pierced the dead silence of the heavens.
“God!” he cried out, his fists trembling as he stared skyward. “If you will not act to save us, then grant us the power to save ourselves!”
For a moment, there was nothing but the eerie stillness of the void. But then, a voice—deep and resonant as eternity itself—answered.
“What is it that you ask of me?”
The man stood firm, though his heart thundered against his ribs. “Grant me the power to eradicate evil,” he declared, his voice unwavering. “So that I may free humanity from its grip and bring peace and order to this world.”
There was a pause, a silence so profound it felt as though time itself had frozen. When the voice spoke again, it was tinged with both gravity and curiosity. “I see the fire in your heart, my child. But tell me this: if I bestow such power upon you, what assurance do I have that you will not fall into the darkness you seek to destroy?”
The man faltered. His resolve was tested by the weight of the divine question. He lowered his gaze, staring at his hands—hands that had toiled and fought but never given up. His mind raced, searching for an answer that could satisfy both himself and the Almighty.
Finally, he raised his eyes once more, determination gleaming within them. “Then demand a price,” he pleaded.
The heavens thundered, the sound reverberating in the man’s soul as if carving divine truth into the fabric of existence itself.
“In honor of your faith, from here on after,” God proclaimed, imbued with both authority and compassion, “I shall grant blessings to those who pray from the depths of their hearts. Humanity will be gifted divine abilities, each as unique as the individual, born from the boundless depths of their imaginations.”
The man listened, his breath caught in his chest.
The man stood frozen in awe. This was no ordinary answer; it was a covenant. A path for humanity to reclaim its destiny, forged through faith, creativity, and discipline.
“Let humanity know,” the Almighty concluded, “that their greatest power lies not in what they are given, but in what they are willing to endure, to imagine, and to overcome.”
With that, the skies grew silent once more. But the man no longer felt the crushing weight of despair. He carried a spark within him—a chance to rewrite humanity’s fate, and the weight of a divine covenant that would shape the destiny of all mankind.
Many years passed. The nameless man who once cried out to the heavens faded into legend, his face unknown, his existence debated by scholars and desperate souls alike.
Yet, the covenant endured.
All across the globe, those who prayed with absolute conviction awoke to extraordinary abilities. These gifts, now known as Blessings, turned ordinary men and women into something more.
While some wielded their Blessings to heal shattered cities and protect the weak, others surrendered to greed. Warlords rose, using their divine gifts to carve up the ruined world through violence and conquest. They paid the price for their power in blood and pain, but they lacked the righteousness the nameless man had hoped for. Society fractured under the weight of this new reality. Fear and awe clashed wherever the Blessed appeared.
To combat the chaos, a new order emerged: The Sentinels. An elite organization backed by the world's remaining leaders, tasked with regulating the Gifted and maintaining order. But their peace came at the cost of absolute control.
The world was soon divided into two extremes. The Strongholds—towering, pristine cities of technology and luxury governed by the elite—and the Forgotten Lands, where the weak and the Ungifted were left to suffer in the poisoned dirt, subjected to the whims of rogue gods and ruthless enforcers.
The man who had spoken to God had asked for humanity's salvation. Instead, he had unleashed an era of gods among men.
And in the quiet, ash-choked corners of this broken world, ordinary people were left to suffer the consequences of a bargain they never made.
“Papa, why did God give Blessings to bad people?” a boy asked, his voice barely a whisper against the howling wind.
The father paused. He placed a calloused hand on the boy's shoulder, his gaze drifting up to the bruised, darkening sky.
“That’s a good question, son. Why indeed...”
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