First Impressions: Galaxy of Gods by TJJones.

“Turns out, when gods get bored of eternity, they don’t take up golf—they isekai themselves into a galactic war.”

Core Premise & Initial Impression.

Galaxy of Gods is a book that I read. It has words… English words. Though if you translated it, it’d be in that language, I guess. It has characters and stuff. Things happen and I read about them.

Check it out or don’t. Your choice.

Cool. Signing off.

…

What? Not good enough? I did mention the thing with the words, didn’t I? Definitely did—no doubt about that.

…

Screw you guys, I’ve done my job.

FINE! FINE! So damn needy—all of you. Everybody back in position.

TAKE TWO.

In the ever-growing collection of LitRPG novels reviewed by Bardic Planet, this one might just be the most ambitious yet—at least in terms of scale and stakes.

Galaxy of Gods is a Science-Epic-Fantasy-LitRPG-Military-Action-Adventure-Isekai… set in space. If that sounds like a lot, good—you’re paying attention.

It is a lot.

It’s a whole lotta lot.

With more spinning plates than if Cirque du Soleil opened a diner, the chief question I had before diving into the novel was just how well it’d all stack?

I’ll just say this: if the author’s ever looking for another gig, they’d do wonders on the tightrope. They might need a net, because the balance ain’t perfect, but overall the genres hold together well.

Now then—what’s this novel actually about?

Of all the genre tags I rattled off earlier, “Isekai” is the least thematically fitting. Typically, Isekais feature a character from contemporary Earth getting reincarnated or transmigrated into a fantasy world (usually courtesy of our eighteen-wheeled guardian grim reaper). You take a regular guy—just that little bit pathetic—and lavish him with power and elf-girls.

This story bucks the trend. Akamori isn’t from Earth. He isn’t even from our universe. At the start of the novel, he’s not even in our plane of existence. He’s a god. One of the oldest. Destruction and transformation—that’s his domain. He travels the endless, ushering in the end of stagnant galactic empires, tyrannical gods…

…and, ideally, those jerks who have loud phone conversations on the train home from work.

Roaming the afterlife, Akamori drifts toward cosmic annihilation… and takes a bath. That’s just the kind of giga-god he is, yeah. From there, he dives in and his new life begins—after filling out his character sheet first, of course.

To put that in plain English—the very same language I carefully noted at the start—Akamori commandeers an engine of multiversal spiritual deconstruction to fling himself into another universe, reinventing everything: name, face, life, the works.

Dropping into this new reality as a fresh-faced village boy, you’d expect pimpled cheeks, awkward new growths, and hormones ablaze. Well, I can’t speak for the hormones, but Akamori’s got it bad. And it’s not bodacious busts that have him leering—it’s the stars. He’s lusting, alright, but it’s a wanderlust kind.

Born on a backwater planet of wind-dragon-worshipping tribes, son of the chief no less, he dreams of shrugging off his responsibilities and exploring the galaxy’s vast expanse.

And let me tell you something: he gets his wish—just not how he’d wished it.

Together with his priestess best friend, he’s conscripted into a galaxy-spanning war against necromantic dragons… and their army of undead.

This story gives you magical spells and power-armour-wielding marines. It gives you semi-sentient starships and spectral horrors from the void beneath. And despite the distinctive mix, it blends nigh seamlessly—at all times maintaining the internal logic of its world.

In many ways, this is the perfect novel for me. But I’ll admit, it’s far from perfect. The bones are solid, but the body? It carries a little extra weight.

We’ll get into that later. First, let’s talk about…

What Works?

Vast Worldbuilding With Limitless Potential:

The worldbuilding is vast. Entire realities, metaphysics—gods, monsters, cosmos-ending threats. Realms of soul, mind, light, and darkness. The author weaves a long and storied history into the novel’s lore, yet keeps it anchored in Akamori himself (or Xanofex, his pre-incarnate name). His history stretches nearly as wide as the universe he inhabits. He drifts from reality to reality, scraping off cosmic rot like a divine pumice stone—buffing creation smooth, one loudmouth on the train at a time.

Even when Xanofex sheds his memory and divinity to become Akamori, he doesn’t lose his scale. This galactic war may be the focus of this novel, but it feels less like a singular tale and more like one chapter in an endless saga. Because Xanofex drifts from reality to reality, the stage is set for whole new casts, whole new universes—each adventure able to stand on its own while still tied together through him.

That limitless potential is what excited me most while reading: the sense that the story could go anywhere, and that I’d want to be there for every stop… like a train, only with the phone-talking jerks tossed out on the rails.

Multiple perspective narrative:

Galaxy of Gods is written in third-person limited. For a story spanning a galactic war, tying the perspective closely to the characters in any given beat is a wise choice. It grants a level of intimacy that could easily be lost in a tale of such breadth. That said, there’s always the danger of losing the forest for the trees.

Some novels, like Red Rising, pull it off—maintaining a tight personal focus while telling a massive story. It’s tough to manage. Believe me, I’ve tried… and not to great effect.

In telling this story through multiple perspectives, the author manages to split the baby. Not a literal baby—that would be wrong. A metaphorical baby… the kind you snatch from the ward while no one’s looking.

The story cycles through several perspectives. There’s Akamori himself. Captain Morwen—the half-elf officer who doesn’t so much recruit as dragoon. Amara, the priestess with her own magic and faith. And even the villains, glaring from the shadows. Through each set of eyes, the world opens wider, every voice adding both flavour and drive.

The Gritty Compromise of War:

Galaxy of Gods follows the conflict between the Federation of Eryn and the dark forces of Sauridius. On the surface, you’d expect a straightforward clash of good versus evil. After all, when the enemy’s a necromancing dragon leading an undead horde, you don’t need long to pick your villain. And yet, the world the author has created isn’t that clear-cut.

We might have some dodgy politicians over here, but if it’s between any of them and the literal forces of literal evil… Alright, maybe it’s a tie—

Though, honestly, the forces of evil might just have the edge.

But the point is, there’s bad and there’s worse. The dragons are worse. But the Federation?

They’re still pretty bad.

Wasteful, racist, tyrannical. Pragmatism above humanity. Conscription that bleeds into outright enslavement. They’re the kind of “heroes” you wouldn’t want running your world—unless the alternative was a necro-dragon.

Here’s the thing, though: it works. Bardic Planet isn’t political, but I hope it’s not too controversial to say that war really sucks. Each life lost is an irreplaceable waste of something precious and unique. It doesn’t matter who started it or why—no one walks away with clean hands. Maybe sometimes it’s worth it. Maybe. But war is always a compromise of humanity.

This novel captures that sentiment vividly, and it shines for doing so. In Galaxy of Gods, there are no good sides—only bad sides, and worse.

What Might Hold It Back?

The Faltering Prose:

For all that’s great about this story, I have to admit: the prose can mute its impact. There’s plenty of sound in the descriptions, but the way they play often falls flat. Clunky phrasing and colourless figurative language drain the life out of a scene faster than a night out with moonlit vixens drains your bank account. You know the kind—busty babes, top-shelf wine, and pleasures you can’t legally mention anywhere outside of Alabama.

Beyond that, there are a number of typographical and grammatical errors I couldn’t help but notice. In moderation, I’m not overly critical of such things—serial fiction is written fast, with rapid-fire releases. Errors are inevitable. And they don’t end the world. But here, there were more than a few, and they stretched across multiple chapters.

It didn’t kill the experience for me, but it did raise a brow. And even small breaks like that can sap immersion.

That said, I know the author is already doing an editing pass on this story—I’ve got the inside scoop. (Okay, fine, it’s written right there on their page.) And as I’ve mentioned, the bones of this work are solid. With a good edit, they’ll be strong enough to break through walls.

Superfluous LitRPG Tag:

In the twenty-five chapters I read, I’ve yet to see exactly why this story needed to be a LitRPG. At times it feels like an afterthought—or a pander to Royal Road’s market demographic. As far as I’m concerned, the story would walk just fine played completely straight. Which, ironically, can’t be said about that night in Alabama.

Maybe as the novel progresses, the LitRPG elements will prove essential. I can’t say for certain. But if we’re going by first impressions, this was mine.

Closing Thoughts:

Galaxy of Gods is a gem—truly. But its shine is dulled by layers of rough. There’s so much to love here. If you enjoy diving into vast oceans of moral grey, this will be right up your alley. If, like me, you’re excited by the limitless potential of sprawling worlds, this is your pick.

If you need prose to be perfectly polished—pampered and plush—you might want to give this some time. Because as much as I enjoyed it, it definitely reads like an early draft. But it’s a strong one. A draft that pulls you in, makes you believe in its potential, and makes you want to see it shine brighter—without any barriers to new readers diving in.

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