I am the eyes of the God of War.
He is my God and my whole world.
For three hundred years, I watched him cut off heads one by one, skin them with his own hands, drink up their blood, and finally discard them in the hazy Valley of the Corpses.
For three hundred years, I have watched him and the women on the bed become inseparable, entangled day by day; I have watched him kiss every inch of their skin, arrogant and domineering, until the women fainted.
Every body he hacked to death will shimmer with light and become a lonely ghost, never to be reborn again.
Every body he devoured turned into his flesh and bones, doubling his power.
Every woman who has been favored by him can increase his life span by one year, but his appearance will never grow old and become more beautiful.
This killing has been going on for more than three hundred years.
This kind of competition has been going on for more than three years.
In the entire universe, he is the only one who has this kind of ability to reach the sky, and he is the only god of war who is proud of the majesty of the heroes.
Because of him, the entire universe has hope for peace. He is the backbone of the universe.
And I am just one of his eyes, to be precise, the right eye.
The original me, like his left eye, was an ordinary part of his body, cooperating with all his movements.
But three hundred years ago, after a great war, he was injured by the overlord of the Golden Realm in his right eye, which was me. After a short rest for half a day, I actually gained consciousness, consciousness, love, hate, and emotions.