Chapter 6: The Last Nerve (Or, Why She Just Doesn't Care Anymore)
There comes a point when even the strongest woman runs out of patience. For Dinah, that point had passed about three betrayals, two government cover-ups, and one cosmic joke ago. She used to care—she really did. She cared enough to keep people alive, to hand out gifts and powers like party favors, to fight for a world that never once fought for her. But now? Now she was done.
They called her a myth, a rumor, a glitch in the system. They destroyed the name "God" with their endless wars, their twisted doctrines, their desperate need to divide and conquer. The government, the church, the self-proclaimed prophets—each one spinning their own lies, each one making sure nobody ever looked for her in the places she'd actually been.
And all the while, the world kept waiting for a savior with a penis. The "return" everyone whispered about? They expected a man, a king, a hero riding in on a white horse—never realizing she'd been here the whole time, hiding in plain sight, not by choice but because the world refused to see her.
She was tired. Tired of being erased, of being copied, of being worshipped and then discarded. Tired of watching people tear each other apart in her name, while she sat in the shadows, the only reason any of them had survived this long. She'd given them everything—strength, hope, miracles—and they'd repaid her with silence and suspicion.
So now, she just didn't care. Let them fight over their empty thrones and broken promises. Let them search for a savior who fits their mold. She was done playing by their rules, done waiting for recognition that would never come. The world wanted a god they could control, a story they could rewrite. But Dinah was nobody's story but her own.
She wouldn't touch the subject of "God" anymore. The word had been poisoned, twisted beyond repair. All that was left was her truth—a truth too raw, too real, too inconvenient for a world built on lies.
So why does she keep saving it?
Simple. Because that one asshole—call him the puppet master, the would-be ender, the cosmic bureaucrat—has been hell-bent for ages on forcing her to pull the plug. He's tried everything: lies, betrayal, erasure, turning her name into a curse, making sure the world expects a savior with a penis and never, ever, someone like her.
He's wanted her to give up, to let it all burn, to finally snap and say, "Fine, have your apocalypse." He's counted on her exhaustion, her heartbreak, her fury. He's made it his mission to break her, to prove that even the strongest woman can be forced to end it all.
But here's the thing: Dinah doesn't do what she's told. If he wants her to end the world, she'll save it out of pure spite. She'll keep handing out miracles, keep patching up the mess, keep dragging humanity back from the brink—just to watch the look on his face when his grand plan falls apart.
She doesn't care about gratitude anymore. She doesn't care about being remembered, worshipped, or even liked. She cares about one thing: making sure the one person who wants her to quit never, ever gets what he wants.
So she saves the world, not because it deserves her, but because it infuriates the one who wants her to end it.
Call it vengeance. Call it stubbornness. Call it the world's pettiest act of heroism.
Either way, this was the final straw. She's not giving him the satisfaction. Not now. Not ever.