Kamigami no Shinseina Kigen- Oversight Epic

Prologue

“Tell me, my dear. What is religion?”

“Hm?” Anesidora Masā set down the delicate vase in her hands back on its pedestal and turned toward the speaker. The room she was in was large, big enough to house a small party. But this was merely an office at the top of a skyscraper that overlooked an entire city, standing taller than any of the other buildings. The room itself was beautiful, spacious yet filled with expensive furniture, maintaining a very business-like atmosphere. The adult man behind the desk didn’t look too impressive, with his scruffy facial hair that pretty much devoured his entire face, indicative of his Russian heritage. With his lovely suit on, however, it became clear that he was the man in charge, his name emblazoned on every product this company produced. 

This man was way past his prime. He was what one would consider ‘golden age’. The younger people had yet to take over his legacy to allow him to relax and watch his creation continue to grow on its own, but the time was nigh. Perhaps it was this that softened the hardened businessman. Around the younger men, he never showed even the slightest change in expression even when voicing his approval, but when alone with Anesidora like this, a light twinkled in his eye.

And now he was asking questions that only curious children and useless philosophers asked.

“Do you want a strict definition?” Anesidora kept her tone polite, but the teasing was apparent on her face. “Or a vaguer one that’s more about feeling than fact?”

“Whichever one you think is truer.” Roland Bellamy sat back in his reclining chair and linked his fingers tightly together over his round stomach. “Whichever one explains why gods exist and why we worshipped them.”

“That’s an easy one. Gods exist because they do.”

“Are you making fun of me?”

“A little. But it’s the correct answer. For instance, why is that chair there? Or that desk? This building? They’re all here because they are here. How they got here becomes a bullet point list of the materials gathered and forged, then transported. But ‘how gods came to be’ and ‘why gods exist’ are two different questions. Though neither of them matter.”

“Fair enough. Come to think of it, those gods from mythology are pretty human themselves. Even if I asked them personally, there’s a chance that they don’t know either, eh?”

“Of course.” Anesidora placed one of her small hands against the cool glass of the massive window that served as one of the office’s wall, giving her view of the cityscape. “Pagan gods are like animals in many ways. We do what we do without knowing. Observing and understanding what it is that we do comes later, and yet has no true bearing on our actions. The many gods scattered throughout this massive nation once believed themselves to be omnipotent and everlasting, and yet now find themselves wondering ‘how did it come to this’ like helpless humans who’ve had their world turned on its head.”

“Hm. So let me ask you…”

“Yes?”

“What is religion?”

A small smile graced the woman’s lips. 

“If you’re insisting again, I can only assume you want the ‘feeling’ answer?”

“Whichever you think is truer.”

Anesidora reluctantly turned away from the window.

“Religion is a relationship. A mutually parasitic relationship forged between Man and deity based on self-interest. Well, self-interest and the unwillingness to accept the truth right in front of their eyes.”

Chapter 1

[Ft. Lauderdale Airport]

The airport was packed with people, more so than usual. On the average day, countless people either flew into south Florida or flew from it. It was a tourist heavy region and a mecca for at all times of the year with snow birds coming down for the winter and everyone else coming down for summer vacation. This was a time in between where the people travelling were mostly adults with business in mind; late March, the start of spring. This date was worth noting for several reasons. The easiest one was that it had been a full two weeks since chaos shook the city. Countless experts in several fields of science, politics, and mere news reporters had flocked to the city to uncover what was behind the paranormal activity in the area. They failed and the hype quickly began to unwind—soon, people would simply add this to the list of unexplainable things in the world. The second thing was that in had been a full nine months since the infamous day that shook the world—the terrorist attack on the Empire State building that revealed the existence of the Twelve Apostles to young demigods all over the nation.

Vasil remembered ever major paranormal event that happened in America very clearly. Ever since the Egyptian demigods who’d banded together to perform some ceremony had been slaughtered, demigods became more overt with their actions, rushing to revive their respective gods. With no successes, they’d really only succeeded in attracting the attention of the Christian Inquisitors whose mission seemed to be to erase them all indiscriminately. It had only been two weeks ago that Vasil finally met an Apostle in person and narrowly missed a second. 

The good news was that they were undoubtedly allies to mankind. The bad news was that demigods weren’t included in their standards.

Vasil needed to find out whether or not they were right.

“What’s up, man? You’re usually not so distracted.”

Vasil’s attention was brought back to Earth by a casual tap on his back. He twisted his head around slightly to see a familiar snap back that looked brand-new, the sticker still attached to the sun visor. Judging by the height, Vasil almost thought it was a middle school kid bothering him for whatever reason. But then his logic caught up with his thoughts.

“You’re a week late.”

“It’s good to see you again, too. Sorry I couldn’t make it for your parents’ funeral. And the stuff after that.”

Vasil didn’t bother giving an obligatory ‘it’s okay’. Primo had already apologized over the phone when his business in California had kept him away. There was no point in reenacting that here.

So instead, Vasil focused his gaze ahead of him, looking for anyone acting suspiciously.

“You weren’t followed?”

“Man, I’m a pro at this. You brought a car just in case, right?”

“In the parking garage.” Vasil pulled the keys out of his pocket and handed off to the short man. “I hope you still know your way around.”

“You’re not coming with?”

“I want to make sure you’re not followed.”

Vasil felt his friend shift behind him, probably twisting his torso to give Vasil a weird look. Vasil expected some comment, but Primo seemed to think better of it since he sighed aloud and turned back around.

“Look, I need to run something by you. Something serious.”

“Is it about what happened in California? I’d prefer that you hold off on explaining—”

“No, not that. I’ve just been doing a lot of thinking. I’ve had that kind of time, since the planes here were all delayed. Call it an early mid-life crisis if you want, but I think I want to ask out Vesna.”

Vasil was silent for a few moments before responding.

“You’re asking me for permission?”

“You’re her brother. And my best friend. You should really care about the little stuff like that.”

“So what happens if I say no?”

Primo gave a dry chuckle.

“Then I’ll try without your blessing. I have marriage as my ultimate goal.”

“You’ve been in love with Vesna since we were in high school and you only developed a spine now?”

“Look, if you have a problem—”

“Just get going. I trust Vesna enough to give an honest response and I trust you enough to not do anything stupid. You can work it out from there.”

Primo stuttered over whatever he was going to say, pausing before giving several false starts. He then lightly tapped Vasil’s shoulder with his fist.

“Thanks man. Really.”

And then he was gone. Vasil waited for a full ten minutes, watching his surroundings without being obvious about it. Once he was sure he wasn’t being watched, he casually headed outside to the road, waiting to see his own car pass by without anyone or anything on its tail. He could easily feel all the vibrations bouncing around him enter his body, reading them as if he were using echolocation, and keeping tabs on anything that stuck out.

Nothing weird. Nothing strange.

The only thing Vasil couldn’t account for was some kind of clairvoyance that could span over countless miles, but even if he could find that sort of thing, he wouldn’t know what to do about it. He decided to leave that to an expert like Uzumel.

Vasil frowned as he came to a stop while walking down the sidewalk, a thought finally occurring to him.

Should he have warned Primo that Vesna wasn’t alone?

Vasil pondered it for a moment before shrugging it off. 

Primo would find a way to handle it.

A few more steps and Vasil stopped again, his lips twisting downward in a doubtful frown.

The next few steps were totally silent. The shockwave that he used to propel himself forward was just as soundless.

He’d have to take the long way to avoid being seen, but he’d arrive before anyone could do too much damage.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Give me one reason! Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t send your head rolling right now, damn it! God knows you deserve it!”

“Which one? I mean, you do believe in polytheism, right?”

“Shut up! I can’t even believe you had the nerve to show your face here!”

Vasil was greeted by unfamiliar noise at the door to his own apartment. It caused him to wince slightly, but he couldn’t logically voice his objection, considering that it was the direct result of his lack of foresight. The redheaded Sorcha was sitting on his couch, watching the chaos unfold with a half empty liter of soda in hand. She greeted Vasil with a curt nod before chugging down the last half of the soda, unashamed. His darling sister, Vesna, was on the other side in an arm chair, watching the fighting with rapt interest, not even looking up when Vasil arrived. 

Primo was the source of the shouting, glaring up at the slender dark skinned man who was grinning laxly back at him. Were it a normal fight, furniture would be tossed around and the girls would be in the splash zone. But this was different. Uzumel wasn’t putting up an actual fight, living up to the expectations of a priest. Instead, his hands were raised in early surrender. Primo had murder written all over his face, his hands balled into fists. Extended from beneath the back of his shirt was a long, slender, and flexible tendril that swung around his torso and over his shoulder to reach up above his head to reach its target. Basically, it was like a tail made of some sort of smooth, brownish-red material was extending from his tail bone, completely prehensile. The blade at the end was what threatened Uzumel, placed right against the man’s jugular. 

“You Apostles are the real monsters! You pretend to be on some righteous witch hunt to justify murdering people! You think you can just sneak in here without any consequences?!”

“Just sayin’,” Sorcha pointed her empty bottle of soda at the two guys. “He didn’t ‘sneak in’ anywhere. I let ‘im in. We came through that door together.”

“Thank you for your support, Sorcha.”

“Just makin’ sure the record’s straight.”

“Are you alone?” Primo remained focused even in his rage. Uzumel’s unabashed attitude may have been fuel that kept the flames raging. “Did you bring your hypocritical colleagues with you? I swear to your big, lonely God, if you don’t tell me the truth, I’ll—”

“Kill me? I doubt it.”

“And why is that?”

“You’re too decent of a person.” Uzumel looked into Primo’s eyes and spoke with utmost confidence. “You know you would only cause trouble for everyone here by committing murder. Plus, you’d ruin a good carpet and any nearby furniture with blood. If anything, you’ll just opt for incapacitating me and letting the others escape, then stalk me in secret to take me out in an alleyway later.”

“Shows what you know.” Primo’s fury now forced him to speak through clenched teeth. “I know that you people are crafty. It would be safer to send your head rolling and deal with those consequences than play it safe and risk you pulling some complicated trick out of nowhere.”

“Sounds like you’re trying to convince yourself. Let’s save us both time.” Uzumel pointed one of his raised hands’ fingers toward Vasil. “You said you’re a friend of Vasil’s, didn’t you? I wouldn’t have told you I’m an Apostle so easily otherwise. How about we make a deal; if Vasil says I’m an enemy, then there’s your motivation. If not, you retract this weapon of yours and you hear what I have to say.”

Primo’s teeth ground together, his mind whirring to figure out the trick in Uzumel’s proposal. Apparently, he couldn’t find a fair counter argument, since he didn’t take any drastic action. Uzumel took his inaction as acquiescence, since he turned his head completely in Vasil’s direction, which displayed the pulsing veins in his neck very clearly.

“Your judgement, sir.”

“Let him go, Primo.” Vasil pinched the bridge of his nose in exasperation. “He’s not the enemy.”

Primo slowly turned his head toward Vasil, his face covered in disbelief and pleading. Vasil shook his head firmly. Primo’s gaze turned toward Vesna, who shrugged her shoulders.

“ARRRGGGGHHHHHH!!!!”

Primo sharply drew away from Uzumel and his blade-tipped tail flailed wildly in all directions, but luckily nothing was hit. Vasil watched it closely out of sheer paranoia while Primo ranted angrily.

“Those bastards killed ALL of my friends! EVERY! SINGLE! ONE! We all know how many people died that day, and not a single one of his comrades are on that list of casualties! And now you’re telling me to just turn a blind eye to the one sitting right in front of me, empty-handed and defenseless?! How is that FAIR?!”

“Is that you talking, or is it Serqet?”

Primo turned his glare on Vasil, who looked back with a level gaze. Primo broke eye contact right away, but Vasil already got his answer. Uzumel, on the other hand, had lost his confident smile.

“You’re also an Egyptian demigod.”

“You’re damn right I am! I knew the people and the gods from that pantheon personally! Anubis, Sekhmet, Amon Ra, Horus, Thoth—I searched for all of them after what happened, clinging to the chance that even one of them managed to escape with their life that day, even if barely! But I turned up nothing! Did you think that all of them were evil? That they were all out to destroy the world?”

“No, I don’t. Not anymore.” Uzumel’s expression fell. “That’s a big part of why I stopped hunting demigods. The others just saw Heyne in all of them, while I ended up getting a different perspective. For what it’s worth, I’m sorry. We didn’t have enough information, so we took the safest route by getting rid of them all. The prospect of a pagan god reviving and gaining total dominion over the world is just that terrifying. But it’s no excuse for genocide.”

Primo looked ready to continue his shouting match with Uzumel, but his face screwed up and changed rapidly, practically displaying the conflicting conversation going on in his head. He turned away briefly and began muttering under his breath. The others watched him curiously for a few minutes before Primo turned to Vasil.

“…He said ‘also’.”

“Chrome E. Heyne came to the city a couple weeks ago. Another one of your friends.”

The expression that took over Primo’s face was indescribable.

“Start explaining from the beginning.”

Vasil did just that, his story mixing with Uzumel who explained some of the finer details relating to the large scale ceremonies performed and Ten’s interference. Primo’s face remained fixed in a surprised expression for the majority of it, only changing when they reached the end.

“Crap.” He fell back onto the couch and stared at the ceiling. “Chrome escaped from the Apostles? Even if he can’t die, I assumed you would have done something about him. For him to actually get away after all this time…”

“He’s being chased as we speak, I’m sure. I cut of contact with the others before he escaped custody, so I wouldn’t know how he got away to begin with.”

“Isis must be pissed.” Primo shook his head back and forth before diving into a conversation with himself again. “…I know he’s not worth it, but he’s all we got…He can’t appreciate anything, honestly…Probably…So we just leave him, then…if we can, sure, but knowing him, he’s still just obsessed with reviving Isis…no, definitely not a good idea…then I guess we agree on one thing.”

Primo sighed, straightened his posture, and regarded Sorcha.

“I feel like I should apologize for what he did to you.”

“I returned the favor, tenfold.” Sorcha promised indifferently. “I don’t think it’d be fair to hold anyone responsible for that little shit. More importantly, you got something to say to Uzu, don’t you? He’s an Apostle, sure, but he ain’t so bad when ya get to know him, if ya take me meaning.”

Primo turned reluctantly toward Uzumel, loathing still apparent on his face. 

“At the Empire State Building, which one were you?”

“The golem user.”

“Swear to me—right here, right now—that you won’t ever pull that thing out of whatever hole you stashed it in without one of us giving the okay. I don’t care if your life is in danger; I don’t trust you carrying around that much firepower.”

“I swear.” No hesitation whatsoever. “The golem will stay in the Atlantic Ocean until you deem necessary.”

Primo’s expression made it clear that he’d been hoping for more resistance, something to give him reason to yell and argue back. Seeing that he’d get no such thing, his shoulders sagged in defeat.

“Then I’ll trust Vasil’s judgment. For now.”

Primo’s blade-tipped tail treated like a collapsible cord, disappearing under the back of his shirt. Sorcha gave him an odd look after seeing that, but she chose not to say anything.

“So Vasil, you said you and Vesna needed us for something? Don’t you tell me it was just to meet this friend of yours?”

“I wanted to talk to you guys first.” Vesna said hurriedly before Vasil could get a word in. “I have something you guys might want to hear. Vasil decided that since his old buddy was going to be here today anyways, he’d try to save time by taking care of our things at the same time.”

“‘Things’?”

“I’m leaving today.” Vasil said bluntly. “I don’t know when I’ll be back. While I’m gone, I want you guys to look after Vesna and help her out.”

Confusion crossed the faces of all three. Vesna gave her brother a very critical look that showed how little she approved of his direct approach. Vasil wasn’t sure that her preferred method of ‘easing’ them into the problem with a preface was any better. But he didn’t feel like having another silent argument with sister, so he shrugged indifferently.

“So,” Vesna clapped her hands together to get the others’ attention on her again. “There’ve been two demigods wandering around in the vicinity. Some have been in and out for the past many years, and that’s normal. But these two have been coming to this specific city and back to another location over and over again for some reason for the past week. Usually when something weird like this happens, I send Vasil out to look into it to make sure nothing big happens. But since he’s proven incompetent in that he’s leaving tomorrow and didn’t do such a good job last time on his own, I want to take things into my own hands. But—”

“But I’m not dumb enough to let her get herself into trouble. In fact, I told her that she shouldn’t waste her time going. She’d be better of ignoring it instead of walking into a trap. And since she’s such a good listener—”

“You can tell who won the argument, since we’re here with you guys now.”

Vesna stuck her tongue out at Vasil in an attempt to get the last word. Vasil did his best to ignore it, but his unconscious click of his tongue probably gave away his irritation. 

“Trap, you say?” Primo partially raised his hand. “Why do you think that?”

“Because of Vesna’s…‘condition’.” Vasil glanced at Sorcha. “I haven’t actually told you yet. If you want—”

“Don’t wanna hear it.” Sorcha raised her hands up to stop Vasil in midsentence. “Just move on. You think they want to get Vesna or something and you want our help?”

“She insists on heading over to the other location they’re hanging out by to see what they’re up to. I’m probably being paranoid about the trap part, but I’d feel better if she didn’t go alone. You don’t have to go, but…”

“But you’re calling in a favor since you won’t be here.”

Vasil could feel Sorcha’s gaze pierce right through him. Anyone else would be nervous around her because of her short temper and the danger that surrounds it, but Vasil was more greatly concerned when she was calmer. He could never be sure what she was thinking. Vasil already knew that Uzumel and Primo were on board the moment he asked—Uzumel would be concerned by any movement among demigods and Primo would do anything for Vesna. Vasil still wasn’t sure about what his relationship with Sorcha was. What did she think of him? If she chose to help him, would it be because she wanted to, or because she felt obliged to?

“I don’t see why you’d trust me,” Sorcha broke eye contact with Vasil. “Your sister would probably be in more danger with me around.”

“You’ll be fine. Uzumel’s been helping you control the relationship between your temper and your magic, hasn’t he?”

“Yeah, like some kind of expert, he has. He’s even been helping me with me accent and me da. We just spend that much time together at our job. But actually fighting? It makes me nervous just thinkin’ about it.”

“You’ll be fine.” Uzumel assured. “You don’t give yourself enough credit at all. Out of all the demigods I know of, your control of magic is among the smoothest and most efficient. You have a lot of potential, but being afraid of it won’t help you control it.”

Sorcha’s grimace darkened and her gaze ferreted around uncertainly. Her eyes came to rest on Vesna briefly before focusing on Vasil once more.

“…Fine. Between work and counseling with the priest, I don’t got much time to relax, anyway. I need a change of pace.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

[San Francisco California]

“Whoa. You actually bought a house? I’m impressed!”

Averis Nikolson stood at the door to his own home, having come to greet the guests who’d rung his doorbell. His home wasn’t necessarily big, but it was enough for a nuclear family and it could get lonely when he was home alone for too long. He didn’t say it aloud, but he’d chosen this house just to welcome his relatives whenever they came to visit him in California, including his sister’s new family.

Not that he was exactly jumping for joy like a child on Christmas when he saw his sister and her husband at the door at seven o’ clock in the evening.

“Your first words to the brother you haven’t seen in almost a year is about his cheapness?”

“I didn’t say anything about that. Yet.” Sheila Baxter shrugged without concern. The fingers of one of her hands was tightly intertwined with those of a man who was easily twice Averis’ size. The two men shared a quick look of sympathy while Sheila wasn’t looking. “But yeah, I am surprised that you bought a house. I figured you’d stay in an apartment as long as you could, since it was less expensive.”

“Our dearest mother intervened and demanded I move into a house, so you’re not wrong in your thinking. But I got our parents to help me financially with the mortgage, so it’s not a total loss for me. My debt is practically nonexistent.”

Averis smiled proudly as his sister moaned in exasperation, shaking her head back and forth.

“I guess you haven’t changed. You’re still the stingy little brother who’d save up his allowance rather than buy ice cream.”

“My itching palm knows no bounds.” Averis stepped aside to let them in with a self-satisfied smile, silently bumping fists with the large Ricken Baxter. “But you can make yourselves at home, since you are my family. What’s mine is yours, so long as your return it in the same condition you borrowed it in. By the way, where’s—whoa.”

Averis cut off abruptly and stared down at the dark haired child who walked in with her parents, standing no higher than their knees. The small girl shied away slightly at Averis’ surprised expression, so he quickly fixed it into something friendlier as he sat on his haunches.

“Ceil, my little tulip, do you remember me?” Averis spoke softly to the small girl wearing a flowery dress. She hesitated before reaching a plump hand out to touch his face while saying a word that resembled ‘uncle’.

“She’s grown!” Averis cheered as he gently gripped her hand in his own. “It has been too long! You have to come over more often, my dear! These doors are always open to you!”

“The difference in treatment is insulting.” Sheila gave a light kick to Averis’ side, and he simply shrugged it off.

“You didn’t tell me she had grown so much. And you call me stingy? Does she still drink milk? I have some in the kitchen.”

Averis moved quickly the moment Sheila nodded, taking little Ceil with him. Ricken held Sheila close, wrapping his arms around her waist, and snorted in amusement.

“You clever woman. Now we can enjoy ourselves knowing Ceil is being taken care of.”

“I honestly don’t get him.” Sheila shook her head in exasperation. “He eats dinner while watching a horror movie and listens to a graphic story about suppression and bullying without changing expression, but he becomes smitten when he sees Ceil. He’s so strange.”

“You have a unique family. Although, I guess he’s a lot different when you get to know him. When we first met, he seemed as average and unimpressive as a person can be…”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“‘To live is the eat’. Have you heard that expression before?” Averis casually strode into his kitchen, flipping on the lights on the way. He set the young girl on the counter with his body preventing her from slipping off as he opened the fridge. “It basically means that eating good food is one of life’s greatest pleasures. It’s just an excuse to indulge and makes big eaters feel better, but it sounds nice, doesn’t it? Eating is a necessity of life, so I suppose it’s best to enjoy it since you’ll have to eat regardless of how you feel about it. But at your age, I suppose you only know the pleasure of what tastes good and what fills your stomach, huh?”

Averis paused for a moment and blinked. It didn’t take him even a second to regret it. After shutting his eyes for less than a second, he was seeing something else entirely, as if he was hallucinating.

“Of course you do this now.” Averis sighed, putting his hands on his hips. “I was just talking with my niece. Do you enjoy interrupting family bonding?”

A flurry of scattered papers on the wind responded to Averis as he swiveled his head around behind him. Each and every paper had writing on it from various languages, but he didn’t bother trying to read a single one. Every piece of information that had ever been relayed or transmitted in any form was a part of this hurricane of paper that filled such a large space. Averis had had the luck of finding what looked like a page from an interesting book once. He never found another page from the same book nor that same page every again. It still bothered him to this day.

Standing among the papers was a still figure that towered like a building. Tall and slender, the figure seemed to be made of gold, silver, and other minerals, giving it a resemblance to armor. Long mechanical wings sprouted from the backs of its piston shaped legs as well as the pointed helmet it wore for a head. Where there should have been a face was only darkness, as if someone had been building a statue of metal but had quit before adding the face, leaving the project unfinished.

The papers continued to flutter through the air loudly on the perpetual wind and Averis arched an eyebrow.

“Look, I get that your manner of speaking is really cool and advanced, and is the next step beyond language, but can’t you just speak like a normal person? It feels like a one-sided conversation whenever we talk. And that’s saying something, coming from a schizophrenic sociopath like me.”

The only response was the fluttering of papers and Averis grunted irritably.

“Fine, do whatever you want. But you don’t have to be a brat about it. I was just being honest.”

The tall figure shifted its weight in a manner that was disturbingly human-like, and the winds changed slightly in response. A single piece of paper slapped into Averis’ face out of nowhere, nearly knocking him to the ground.

“Yes, I get it.” Averis spoke as if cutting someone off and pulled the paper off of his face. “You’re a super advanced god known even in modern secularism who’s superior to me in every way. But at least people would recognize me…you don’t even remotely resemble any paintings, statues, or modern depictions of Hermes.”

The large mechanical figure shifted one hand, as if waving him off. Averis turned his attention to the paper briefly before tossing it back into the wind.

“I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that. Looking at mythology, especially Greek, there’s a mistake isn’t there? The Church had assumed that all of you had died out, left behind by the new era thanks to the precedence left by Pan, but when you think about it—what do you mean, ‘I know what you’re going to say, so you may as well shut up since I won’t answer’? It’s a perfectly valid concern, considering it involves the intentions of the god who possessed me!”

Hermes made a motion with his hand that was a clear ‘leave it’ gesture. Averis’ brow furrowed.

“‘Too smart for my own good’…? You’re just avoiding the topic with idle flattery. I threw away that paper because I already know about it. I’d done a whole segment giving my opinion on the issue…I’ll have you know, my opinion as a political analyst is very important! Just because I omitted all opinions involving mythology—Don’t cut me off just to make that reference! That show is over twenty years old!…I only recognized it because you fit in a reference to the show at every corner!”

Averis pushed his bangs back with one hand and heaved a heavy sigh, covering his forehead and eyes with his hand. He stayed like that for a long moment, probably due to Hermes communicating with whatever means he had without language. In response to it, a wide grin spread across Averis’ face.

“So that’s it. He’s on board? Good. I still can’t be sure of his motivations, but we benefit enough just from him working with us for a short while…No, he’ll suffice. It’s better to have them come together on their own without pushing them…In that case, it’s a failure and we’ll move on. Remember, our ultimate goal is technically someone else’s plan. We just need to make sure it works.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

[Athens, Georgia]

As per a certain boring man’s request, Gwendolyn Conley had decided to hear him out and come to the appointed meeting place, though she was about an hour late. She’d only managed to work up the motivation to show up at the last minute when she realized she’d had nothing better to do and her only other option would be to lie around yawning.

Still, why did the gym have to be closed now of all times? Thor had decidedly abstained from saying a word that would influence her decision and she’d been perfectly prepared to pass up on what was probably a weakling’s bluff. The way the situation and circumstances seemed to work in order to change her mind felt all too convenient. But the rift in space had waited for her in her room, the two snakes coiling around each other like frames of a picture. Honestly, she walked through it partly out of curiosity—could it really transport her to a destinations normally hours away by car in a matter of seconds? Sure enough, it was true. She found herself standing outside the restaurant that had been described to her, without a doubt. Once she’d taken that one step, there was really no turning back.

However, she wasn’t sure about how she felt toward Averis’ tastes. While Gwendolyn had eaten a lot of Chinese takeout since she began college, she’d never eaten at a full blown restaurant—Chinese or otherwise—due in part to both her lack of money as well as her lack of interest in such a luxury.

So this was effectively her first time stepping into a restaurant since her parents had brought her to one in order to celebrate her graduation. Independence as a twenty year old simply met sacrificing certain things.

The first thing she thought when she entered the doors; it was so fragile. The fine china mounted on the shelves, the old paintings on the walls, the empty chairs and tables all around the room…everything just seemed so breakable. She got the same feeling whenever she looked at a consignment shop she passed by or any other art store. In her eyes, all the things deemed so valuable for their fragile beauty were simply worthless objects that wouldn’t last around her. The delicate oriental culture of the restaurant simply clashed with both her martial and Nordic values.

“Good evening, madam, and welcome.”

Gwendolyn’s eyes focused on the man standing directly beside her, bowing his head politely in greeting. Wearing a vest and an apron, it was clear that he was a waiter who worked at the restaurant, possessing an innocently polite smile to go along with the subdued aura created by his dark matted hair and slight frame. He was tall—taller than Gwen, who towered over most people like a juggernaut.

Something about him immediately felt off. His movements were disturbingly practiced, but his smile was genuine, making for a weird contrast. He managed to get her to give him a second look almost immediately. Not bad.

“The rest of your party has already arrived and is seated near the back.” He went on while motioning with one hand. “Go ahead and greet them. You are the last one to show up, so we’ll be starting soon.”

Gwendolyn focused her gaze toward the back of the room, finally noticing just how empty the restaurant was. It wasn’t simply a slow day; it may as well have been closed. Only one table was occupied by four people, each of whom looked in her direction as she made her way over.

The first person Gwendolyn laid her eyes on was a snowflake.

That wasn’t exactly an accurate description, but it was all that came to mind when Gwendolyn looked at the petite young lady. Standing by the table was a small young lady who was probably no taller than five feet, though judging by her facial feature, she had to at least be as old as Gwendolyn. She was dressed as a ballerina, complete with the short white dress and slippers. The dress had no back and the skirt barely covered even a fifth of her thighs, displaying her long, slender legs  that seemed out of proportion with her shorter torso, sheathed in white stockings. With pale, white skin, silvery hair to match, and a gentle face that gave off a soft aura, there was no better way than to describe her as a pretty little snowflake.

The ballerina curtseyed politely toward Gwendolyn, standing on her tiptoes and lowering her body lightly in the perfect display of grace and form.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you. I am Amanda Alderflügel, demigoddess of the silver nocturne. This may be abrupt, but you have lovely footsteps. They come down hard and trample over whatever may be underfoot, but there is also an unmistakable sound of a desire for opposition, as if you wish to be put in your place.”

“That’s funny. I don’t even hear a note of sarcasm when you make fun of people.”

“Frank irony and barely concealed hostility produces such a low, wonderful pitch.” Amanda’s expression and tone didn’t shift even slightly in response to Gwendolyn’s antagonism. “I promise you that I would never lie about my tastes.”

She spoke with a sprightly voice and finished off with a perfect smile up toward Gwendolyn. This might have charmed the majority of women into admitting how adorable she was, but Gwendolyn’s eyes narrowed drastically as she observed the small girl suspiciously. The contrast was just too big. Gwendolyn was a burly woman with broad shoulders, flat chest, tight throbbing muscles, and hands big enough to palm this girl’s head. This girl—this ‘Amanda—wasn’t even girly enough to compensate for what Gwendolyn lacked.

She then turned her attention to the next person sitting at the table in the chair right next to where Amanda was standing. This one was far less flashy. He just wore a polo shirt and pants and had a very subdued aura. He wore plain glasses and his dark bangs framed his face so Gwendolyn couldn’t see his eyes without making direct eye contact. He didn’t even bother giving a proper greeting—he just silently looked at her those piercing eyes. 

If she had cared anything for manners, she might’ve punched him. In fact, she might have done it anyways as her way of a greeting if she weren’t so distracted from the open hostility coming from the other man at the table.

This one was a bit harder to describe than the snowflake. As opposed to the sprightly ballerina who looked light enough to skip across a power line with her eyes shut, this man was thicker and more bulky, just to Gwendolyn’s liking. He wore a white trench coat that covered his body as well as the same colored pants and boots to match, hiding every part of his body except for his hands and head. Thanks to the belt tied around his waist, it was difficult for him to hide his bulk even under the coat. In contrast to the white clothes he wore, his short, spiky hair was dark and he had shadows under his eyes that made it seem as if he didn’t get much sleep.

Their eyes met for a long moment that was filled with complete and utter silence. While fiction often romanticizes such a moment to say that two figures whose eyes meet communicate in the moment of kinship, no such thing happened here. Both of their faces remained impassive until they looked away simultaneously with apparent indifference.

If even one more second had passed like that between them, Gwendolyn was positive she would have attacked the man with all of her strength in that moment.

“You’re late. We figured you just wouldn’t show up.”

“Bite me. I barely cared enough to show up at all.”

The friction between the two was instantaneous. Amanda didn’t seem the least bit affected by the tension as she raised an eyebrow at the man.

“Demetri, that wasn’t a proper greeting.”

“We already went through the motions of greeting each other an hour ago.” The man stubbornly folded his arms over his chest. Gwendolyn circled around the table to take her own seat beside the silent man in glasses, very aware that she was being ignored for whatever reason. “I don’t see any worth in repeating them for someone who wasn’t bothered to show up on time.”

“I don’t really care whether or not you say hello, Demetri.” Gwendolyn dropped herself in her seat and folded her arms over her chest as well. “Your whining won’t turn back time.”

Even though Gwendolyn was trying not to look at him too much for fear of the early moment of aggression returning to her, she could tell from the shift in his posture that she observed out of the corner of her eye that his reaction wasn’t positive. With his current position, the chances of him lashing out first were high.

She was counting on that.

“She’s right.” Amanda’s tone remained gentle, but she made it clear that they were both to drop the subject. “We’re here to work together, after all. Fighting amongst ourselves won’t accomplish anything.”

Demetri didn’t seem too thrilled to have Amanda taking Gwendolyn’s side, but he relented as his posture relaxed, which consequently allowed Gwendolyn to relax now that he was less likely to attack her.

She chanced another look at him, now facing him full on. His shadowed eyes glared right back at her, holding no particular emotion as he maintained the same closed off posture that she had, arms folded tightly and no expression. It was like the two were mirroring each other, using this posture to keep themselves grounded.

Every instinct in Gwendolyn’s soul told her the same exact thing in the form of small electrical sensations that left a prickling sensation over her skin.

She wanted to fight this man.

It was nothing short of a miracle that Gwendolyn had enough self-control to hold herself back.

But they weren’t the only people here.

Gwendolyn’s instincts told her there were only three people here and the fourth person present had to be the waiter. But she was certain that she’d counted an extra person when she’d come in, though she hadn’t focused on it too much. Had she been mistaken?

No.

Gwendolyn clenched her fist and raised it slightly so everyone could see the sparks flying around it.

“I hate it when people hide themselves. It’s a pet peeve of mine. So get out here or else I’ll blow everything away just to make sure I hit you.”

There was a brief silence as the other two demigods simply regarded Gwendolyn without comprehension, but Gwendolyn ignored their discouraging expressions altogether as she tightened her fist and the sparks turned into a flowing current of electricity as she prepared an explosive blow. The man in glasses beside her gave her an annoyed glance, leaning away from her.

Noticing the slightest movement out of the corner of her eye, she swung her fist around. Her awkwardly delivered punch was caught by a hand that seemed to extend out of nowhere, gripping her thick forearm tightly to prevent the explosive strength behind the punch from reaching the owner of the hand. The hand seemed normal, aside from the silver rings around each finger, a chain attached to each of these rings before extending up to hide in the owner’s sleeves.

This owner was a young man with shaggy hair wearing a windbreaker and jeans, grinning calmly even as a single bead of sweat rolled down his forehead.

“Let’s not be so hasty.” He spoke while keeping a firm grip on Gwendolyn’s arm, looking directly into her eyes. “We don’t want to mess up Simon’s shop, do we?”

Gwendolyn frowned, not caring about his reasoning. She didn’t like how he’d managed to get so close to him without her noticing; the one thing she despised most was shameful assassination. If he’d come straight at her, she would not have held a grudge against him. But sneaking up from behind was unforgivable.

“Try to attack me from behind again and I’ll kill you.”

“Sheesh, you guys are all so tightly wound.” The young man rolled his eyes. Gwendolyn withdrew her hand. “I just wanted to see how long it’d take you to notice me, since I don’t like to work based on other people’s opinions. We’ll be working together, after all, and I don’t want to be stuck with someone who I can’t trust to handle themselves in a dangerous situation.”

Gwendolyn simply snorted at that. She was the one who wanted to make sure the others wouldn’t drag her down. She hated weaklings and all the pathetic methods they would use to win against the strong. If they couldn’t handle themselves, she’d annihilate them herself.

“But seriously,” The young man leaned his weight against the table as he smiled bemusedly at both Gwendolyn and Demetri. “The two of you are something else. The lovely ballerina and Vasil here noticed me no problem and just let it go. But you two, trying to kill me right away, no questions asked? Just what sort of upbringing did you have?”

Neither Demetri nor Gwendolyn bothered answering, choosing to ignore this guy who was speaking in a friendly tone to people who he just met. See their unsocial attitude, he went on as if he wasn’t bothered at all.

“In any case, my name is Eric Goodwin, demigod of the meandering river. Do you mind telling us your name?”

Gwendolyn glanced toward Eric’s extended hand skeptically. It was a friendly gesture—once you got past the ominous looking chains—but Gwendolyn had already decided not to trust this guy.

“I don’t plan to just give my name to people I know nothing about.” Gwendolyn responded firmly and mercilessly. “You might end up being my opponent in the future.”

“All the more reason.”

This response caught Gwendolyn off guard. There was genuine camaraderie in his tone, as if he really wanted to work with Gwendolyn as equals despite the possibility of everything going wrong.

It was more likely that he wanted a good relationship to help prevent the scenario where they became enemies from happening.

Gwendolyn was unsure of how she felt about that.

“Gwendolyn Conley. That’s all I’ll tell you.”

“Gwen, then.” Amanda smiled warmly, apparently relieved to see Gwendolyn display some amount of trust. “Next to you is Vasil. He’s quiet, but he seems nice. Supposedly, even though he was invited last, since you arrived after him, you are the sixth member. It’s a pleasure to have you.”

“‘Sixth’?” Gwen repeated as her brow furrowed. “Oh, right. Nikolson. He’s our leader, I guess?”

“Hardly. Averis is simply the one who facilitated our meeting and will assist us from afar. We’re a group of demigods who happen to have a common purpose and act on our own accord, after all. Naming anyone ‘leader’ would be inappropriate. The sixth one I’m referring to is Simon.”

Gwendolyn simply raised a questioning eyebrow to the unfamiliar name.

“Oh, that’s me.”

The waiter smiled brightly while approaching the table, his earlier mannerly tone gone and replaced by something more normal. Judging by the cloth he was holding in his hand, he’d been busily wiping down the tables while Gwendolyn was ‘greeted’ by the other demigods.

“So my name is Simon Geldings. I’m not supposed to tell you my demigod either, so sorry about that. Averis asked me to host the meeting for you guys in his place and even got me to supply the meeting place, so it would be great if you didn’t break anything. My boss would kill me if he finds out my ‘private party’ leaves a mess.”

“Nikolson can’t come?”

“Nope. He keeps busy, but he told me everything that we need to talk about, so I don’t think there will be a problem.”

Gwendolyn shrugged indifferently. It wasn’t like she wanted to see that utterly normal guy for any reason—this situation was actually preferable. The others didn’t seem to mind either. Amanda nodded politely and smiled encouragingly while Demetri waved his hand to indicate for Simon to go on. Eric gave two thumbs up, his chains rattling with the movement and Vasil patiently waited for Simon to continue, his lack of objection answer enough.

“Alrighty then,” Simon nodded appreciatively. He held a steel cup in one hand and set it on the table, casually taking a few bottles and pouring a portion of their contents into the cup. “Let’s see… ‘First, let me start by clearing any misunderstandings. The six of us will be aiming for two goals, both similar in essence and difficulty. We will hunt down and kill the wandering tochigami known as Alicia Mirasaki as well as one of the Twelve Apostles, possibly more.’”

A silence lingered in the restaurant after those words. Simon regarded each of their expressions to make sure there was no surprise as he picked up the cup and pressed another, larger cup over it, pressing them tightly together before shaking them in his hands. He continued, as if this strange behavior wasn’t worth mentioning.

“‘As you know, demigods do not typically form groups outside of their pantheon beyond small friendships. Even if we include the groups consisting of just one pantheon, the large groups tend to attract attention and usually fall apart for various reasons. In either case, the only times they have succeeded for any length of time is with a leader who could force other demigods into submission if they were to rebel for their own reasons. Otherwise, the individuals would be too willful to work with others for long periods of time. As every demigod has a god they wish to revive, it is difficult for a group to focus on reviving one demigod’s god without falling apart en route due to differing goals and infighting. Roughly 90% of attempted group alliances fall apart this way with no intervention from a third party. However, a few manage to stay intact and come close to their goals. Major examples would be the Egyptian Pantheon from nine months ago or Leroy Tellsmarket from three months ago. Notably, these cases were swiftly handled by the Twelve Apostles and Alicia Mirasaki respectively. In the first case, it was complete annihilation. In the second case, it was much like the hero defeating the demon king.’”

“I doubt there’s a single demigod who doesn’t remember how the sky changed that day nine months ago.” Eric nodded sagely and put a hand to his chin, reminiscing. “A massive ritual created by constructing a temple with one of the country’s tallest structures…that incredible pressure that spanned across the entire country…all done by fifty people, too. Ever since the Apostles wiped them out, it became clear that it takes more than a normal demigod to win one on one. I don’t think a single one has been defeated yet, though I think a few may have come close.”

“And Alicia was powerful enough to defeat Leroy and his partly manifested god, Baldr.” Demetri’s eyes narrowed slightly as he said the god’s name. “Although she nearly died in the process. She’s a monster in her own right, following some idiotically heroic ideals rather than fighting for her own benefit. She believes herself to be some kind of judge as to whose god can be revived and whose can’t.”

“That’s strange.” Amanda cocked her head and blinked serenely at Demetri. “You speak as if you’ve met her before.”

“I was there when she defeated Leroy Tellsmarket.” Demetri’s tone turned bitter as he laced his fingers together, glaring across the table toward the wall as his eyes narrowed further. “There’s a reason she’s called a tochigami—she’s not just a normal half-assed demigod like us. She’s probably one of the few who could fight an Apostle one on one if she had a reason to. She managed to defeat me easily, as if my strength was nothing.”

“And you still hold a grudge against her?”

“I will devour that woman. I will crush her idiotic ideals with my sharpened fangs to show her the mistake in sparing my life without a second thought. But that’s not the point. She’s just as much of a danger as any of the Twelve Apostles. Her standards are too high; this is a fact. No one will ever be the type that she will allow revive their god.”

“So if any demigod, including us, wants to revive our gods, we’ll have to put both parties out of the picture.” Eric summarized as he put his hands behind his head. He then paused as he turned his gaze in Gwendolyn’s direction, his eyes widening.

“H-Hey, Gwen, are you okay?”

The sound of a chair creaking under some force was his only response.

Gwendolyn didn’t bother trying to say a word. She was too busy trying to release her tightly clenched fists and stop the electricity coursing over her body before the pent up energy exploded outwardly. Just the force of her entire body tightening was enough to put his seat under tremendous stress.

Everything here was just too fragile. Including Vasil, who was consciously leaning away from her again.

Don’t get so excited so soon. You need to keep control of yourself in front of these others.

“I know that, but I can’t help it.” Gwendolyn’s mouth twisted into a grin. “I want to kick both parties’ asses. Now.”

The others waited until Gwendolyn reigned in her emotions, but not because they were worried about her. Quite contrarily, each of them kept a tense position, as if they were prepared to either attack her or escape at a moment’s notice. It was actually very tempting for Gwendolyn to not intentionally attack them all in order to bait them to attack. It seemed they weren’t all weaklings, like she’d feared.

Boring a man as Averis was, he seemed to be fulfilling his end of the bargain.

“So you guys all understand why we’re here?” Simon went on the moment Gwendolyn had completely calmed down, pouring the drink he’d made into six glasses. “The plan is to learn about our targets first; we’ll ninja stalk them and take ‘indirect routes’ to figure out how to get close to them. Probably, we’ll target an Apostle first, since there are more of them. If you get everything and still plan to stay, please take a glass.”

The five demigods didn’t hesitate to take a glass, each one reaching out at the exact same time. Both Gwendolyn and Demetri downed theirs in an instant while Amanda did no more than take a sip. Eric and Vasil didn’t even raise theirs to their lips, though they raised it over their heads to show the others.

“A toast to the downfall of the biggest thorns in the sides of demigods everywhere.”

Amanda and Simon raised their full glasses along with Eric and Vasil while Demetri and Gwendolyn glared across at each other for no apparent reason, waving their empty glasses into the air as well.

“If you get in my way, I’ll kill you.”

“Same to you.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

[Somewhere in the Northwest]

Winter was finally ending, and just in time. The snow had been a nice tool for cover and to cover his tracks, but the climate and lack of food growing in the wild would be the end of normal human being. Being chased by some persistent freaks wielding monotheistic magic made the situation no better.

On numerous occasions, Chrome E. Heyne had thought about crossing the border into Canada. It wouldn’t fix the cold situation, but his body could handle anything that would kill a mere mortal. His bigger concern was being captured again.

He’d opted against it, in the end. His pursuers had come from overseas to eradicate people like him. The American-Canadian border would serve little to deter them.

He’d learned of their willpower after seeing them purge the Empire State Building of the other demigods who hosted Egyptian deities. Even the normal mortals who weren’t personally possessed, but had been given a small degree of power by an Egyptian-style spell allowing them to become ‘subjugates’, had been completely annihilated. Even fifty versus twelve didn’t seem like good enough odds. And then Chrome, as the sole survivor, had had to suffer the nine worst months of his life in captivity. He didn’t even have it in him to make snide comments about how all the other demigods from different pantheons were copying the Egyptians, making normal humans underlings of their own.

Chrome leaned against a seemingly abandoned barn on the outskirts of a forest to catch his breath. He had the feeling that he was probably somewhere in the Midwest, maybe—he was just unsure of which state. He hadn’t felt himself being followed for a while, so he could only assume he’d managed to escape the torture that had been adapted from the Spanish Inquisitions of the moors.

Once he caught his breath, Chrome stood straight and quickly glanced over himself. His hair was a little messy and his clothes wrinkled. His body did not feel sore when moved and his skin showed no blemishes, giving him an immaculate appearance.

No one would ever guess he’d once had his flesh shredded from his bone and his limbs ripped from his torso. They’d never know he’d spent four months in darkness with his eyes pierced by metal rods or that he hadn’t be able to eat for a collective six months because his tongue had been ripped out and boiling tar had been poured down his throat. No professional physician could guess that his fingers had once lost all their bones and no expert on anatomy would come to the conclusion that he’d once had his nerves spliced in an unnatural manner. 

He had no idea how long he’d been on the run. He’d been chased here, chased there. Every time he took a break, some masked jackass was on his tail. Only now did he dare to think that he’d lost his pursuer.

“Hehehe.” A smirk split Chrome’s face in half and he wrapped his arms around his stomach, bending over as if he was going to vomit “Heehee…HAHAHAHAHAHA! I MADE IT! FINALLY! YOU BASTARDS ARE GOING TO REGRET EVER LETTING ME GET AWAY! I’LL DRAG YOU ALL INTO HELL WHEN I REACH MY GOAL! DO YOU HEAR ME, YOU DAMNED CHRISTIANS?! I’LL SEND YOU ALL INTO YOUR TERRIFYING SATAN’S MAW—aghbbfff!!”

Scarlet red blood spilled from Chrome’s mouth as he hunched over into a deep bow, coloring the grass below him so that it matched his clothes. His throat burned fiercely as his gut groaned, as if he were constipated. He leaned one shoulder against the barn in order to prevent himself from falling, gritting his teeth as he pushed his entire back against the wall. Blood continued to drool from the corners of his mouth, making him grimace.

“Isis.”

The forest and barn melted from around him, blending in with the background before disappearing. In its place, Chrome found himself in an Egyptian temple that was likely deep underground. The walls were made of large blocks and the ground was covered in sand that looked like liquid gold, some spilling from the cracks in the ceiling above as if it could cave in at any moment.

The pain was beginning to wane already, turning into a minor annoyance that could be ignored. He turned his attention to the steps ahead that led to a massive black throne that towered like a building over Chrome. It was not a throne for any mortal—that was for sure.

The owner of the throne was not sitting in it. Instead, she sat on the last step at the top, looking down at Chrome with unfathomable eyes.

She was a beautiful dark skinned woman wearing a blue Egyptian gown that bared her skin in several areas. At first glance, her hair was long and black, falling down her shoulders like a curtain of braids. But on closer inspection, one would see that the ‘hair’ was really a collection of small and tightly knit pictographs that each meant a different word. Chrome was no expert on the matter, but he was pretty sure that they were hieroglyphs. This woman, however, insisted that they were simply words of power that took a physical form on her person.

She, too, was dwarfed by the massive throne, choosing to sit at human proportions rather than take a seat in it.

“Congratulations on your successful prison break and consequence escape of authority.” Isis spoke without much real praise in her words. “You were killed quite a few times on the way, but you deserve credit for enduring that much pain with minimal screaming. Those Apostles can be quite a hassle.”

“Forget about that!” Chrome shrugged aside the topic of his own torture with complete indifference. “Isis! We almost succeeded nine months ago! Now that everyone but me is dead, how the hell are we going to go about this?”

“Hmm…I’ve considered this already, but it’s difficult to say. Killing you may be unlikely, but if you continue to use my power so freely, you’ll die.”

“Hey, hey.” A smirk appeared on Chrome’s face again that lacked any humor. “Don’t joke like that. You know why I’m going through with all of this pain? I don’t want to die. I’m not a noble warrior or a loyal servant who’s ready to die for his cause. My cause is to avoid dying! I can’t be cut to death, squashed to death, pierced to death, shot to death, suffocated, or even burned! Dying because I’ve managed all of that is a really sick joke!”

“People call it ‘irony’, I believe. But what you ask for is the remedy for mortality. As you already know, the only cure for such a disease is either death or immortality. You lost your best chance ten months ago, and I am still too weak to grant you such a blessing. And so the situation remains unchanged—you must revive me.”

“Tch.” Chrome turned away sharply to glare at the sand covered walls. “I swear—the first thing I’ll do when I can’t die is give immortality to those damned Apostles and force them to go through the same torture I was forced to deal with! Then I’ll rip it away and let them die a slow and painful death as they grovel at my feet, begging me to forgive them!”

“You’re quite the vengeful spirit.” Isis boredly laid her chin on her propped up knee. “But don’t get ahead of yourself. If you rush to gain immortality, you’ll end up using my power too frequently and you’ll die. Demigods are simply that fragile of an existence. What you need is a goal to aim for. Once you have one in mind, you can rush for that and hope you don’t mess up. That almost succeeded when we tried to revive Osiris, after all.”

“Yeah, I remember you crying for joy when he began to materialize.” Chrome frowned back at Isis in discontent. “I get that he’s your husband and all, but I didn’t think a god could get so emotional.”

“‘God’s are the perfect beings who are basically the perfect human, in a sense’…is what you are thinking, isn’t it?”

Isis shook her head back and forth, denying her own words.

“That is an idea forced upon us by worshipping human and fed by egotistical gods. While we are far above mere mortals, we are not perfect. We are all different entities with different personalities, history, powers, and appearances. How on earth can we, who are so different, all possibly be ‘perfect’? You’d best perish the thought.”

“What about ‘all powerful’ and the like?”

“All religions have their doomsdays. If we were all powerful, we would do away with such a morbid thing. Of course, you could also say that, because we are all-powerful, we can have such a thing happen. But—this is simply my personal opinion—no pantheon is so masochistic as to wish for the end of the world. Just as you fear death, any sentient creature fears the concept of ceasing their existence.”

“Then you’re no different from a human being with strong powers.”

“Hmm…” Isis seemed to consider this as she casually played with a strand of ‘hair’ that was made of hieroglyphs. “No, this is not so. That describes you—a demigod. We gods are…different. Fundamentally, we are something above and beyond.”

“Like what?” Chrome impatiently tapped his foot. Isis sighed as she dropped her hair. She swept her foot out and sand rained down on Chrome, causing him to splutter and stumble back.

“Such a subject is difficult to explain with language and it does not even concern you in the least. You’ll figure it all out once you are immortal.”

Chrome muttered in derision as he brushed the sand off of his body. He observed the strange sight of seeing Egyptian sand on grass in the Midwest of America, knowing full well it was all in his head, before snorting and pocketing his hands, striding away from the barn and back toward the forest. He needed to find the nearest gas station or inhabited home and find a map of the country and a compass.

He’d already decided what his next attempt to gain immortality would be.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

[A few miles off of Jupiter Florida]

Their destination was a rest stop on I-95, an interstate highway that extended from southern Florida to northern Maine. From the city where they lived, it was about a fifty minute drive. Apparently, Vesna’s ability worked using a unique unit of measurement that she herself didn’t understand, since she had a difficult time even generalizing the distance for the others to understand. She could really only point in a direction and say “That way” and “It’s far” as a meaning of directions. It didn’t prove to be a problem since she at least knew it was by the highway, so there was really only one direction to go, but it was like she was a GPS that could only tell you when to turn at the last minute. It led to a lot of arguing in the car during the road trip, during which Sorcha nearly evaporated them all twice.

Primo was relieved to be out of that confined space at last, stretching his arms over his head and sighing. Sorcha headed off to cool off her head and Uzumel smartly accompanied her. It was just as well—according to Vesna, the two demigods she sensed often headed into the nearby forest for whatever reason and they had to check it out eventually. Splitting up seemed like the best idea.

“But seriously,” Vesna sounded none too thrilled as they headed into rest stop. “This is the middle of nowhere. It’s like they just paved the highway through the jungle and left it at that.”

“And killed all the trees. You’re in college, aren’t you? Shouldn’t you be more…liberal?”

“Shouldn’t you be taller?”

“Ouch. Still grumpy from the car ride?”

Vesna pointed as soon as they got passed the sliding door.

“Food is our priority.”

She hurried off to get in line before Primo could agree or object. They’d left for their road trip in a rush since they were trying to time their arrival with the demigods’, which proved surprisingly difficult with Vesna’s half-assed guidance system, but apparently that urgency was gone. 

“Where’re our anonymous friends?

“One’s not here.” Vesna flashed a look at Primo, indicating for him to keep his voice low. “Left before we got here. The other is in the bathroom over there. He hasn’t moved in the past ten minutes, so I feel like we’re better off waiting for him to come out on his own.”

“You can tell it’s a guy?”

“Of course. My power to read the sign next to the bathroom says so.”

Oh, she’s definitely a keeper, Primo. Much better than the blonde one who was actually nice to you.

“Serqet thinks you should eat sooner, rather than later.”

Rather than responding, Vesna busily scanned the menu overhead for what she wanted to eat. It took Primo barely a glance to find what he wanted, so he focused on an internal conversation by whispering as quietly as he could.

“Are you going to be a pain all day?”

Depends on you. Ask her out now, and I stop now. Try to stall and I’ll keep being witty.

“You can’t just expect me to—”

Don’t make me quote your resolute confrontation with her brother. Because I will. Honestly, the fact that you did that only to wimp out now because you missed your chance makes this even harder to watch. Oh, you never got around to telling Vasil what happened in California, by the way. You probably should have found time for that.

…Damn it.

“Just let me find the right timing, okay? It’s a bad time for me to bring it up now, anyways. Maybe…after we deal with this whole thing.”

Primo—

“Just trust me, okay? I don’t want to just randomly bring it up out of nowhere like some weirdo—”

Primo, it’s your turn to order your food.

Primo glanced up and blushed sheepishly when he found everyone, Vesna included, looking right at him. He was used to being caught talking to himself, but it actually bothered him in present company. He forced down the shame and placed his order and remained silent while waiting for it to be prepared. Vesna didn’t make any comments, though he wasn’t sure if she was trying to be polite or just didn’t care.

Probably the latter. Anyways, I was thinking through the solution you’ve been working on that causes intense pain without causing the target to black out. For interrogation purposes. I think you’ve come pretty close, but it might still make it impossible for them to talk or do anything but scream in agony as it is now. You’ll have to try it on someone to be sure, so, not mentioning any names or throwing out any ideas, but you might want to keep it in mind while out here. Maybe if you have to go to the bathroom or something. Just saying.

Subtlety was truly this goddess’ strong point.

Oh, by the way, just talking to myself here, don’t pay the random comment any attention, but I remember how to make a highly effective aphrodisiac. Totally harmless. Looks like water and tastes like grapes. Might just rattle off the chemical formula and/or ingredients for no reason. Who knows? I sure don’t.

“No…Just…no.”

“Is Serqet giving you a hard time?”

Primo gave a start, surprised that Vesna was looking right at him, their tray of food in her hands. He quickly regained control of his pounding heart and nodded, holding his hands out to take Vesna’s burden.

“She’s always like this. I wish it were easy to just ignore her, but a second voice in your head is just as loud as your own.”

Vesna looked at Primo’s raised hands and his body froze. He’d always fantasized about doing this sort of thing once they were a couple, so he’d instinctively offered to carry the stuff. But this sort of nice gesture was the sort of thing Vesna used to always whine about some years ago, before he left for California. Something about gender roles and such.

So he was surprised when Vesna acquiesced and let him take the tray of food. He didn’t get a good look at her expression since she walked right by him with a casual “Thanks” to look for a table to sit at.

‘It’s a sign! It’s a sign!’ I can practically hear you trying to smother that thought. What’s wrong with being a little optimistic? You’ll find out whether it is or not soon enough.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

[District of Columbia]

Washington D.C. was a special place in the United States of America. It was not one of the fifty states, nor was it a territory, like Puerto Rico or Midway. Small enough to be a mere city, it held a special status as the capital of the well-known country of America. The Executive Branch, the Judicial Branch, and the Legislative Branch of the democracies famous ‘balance of powers’ were all based in this one area in the far east of the country.

Of course, it turned out that this specific restaurant was not actually a part of Washington D.C. It was outside the perimeter, residing on the border of Virginia. However, the majority of visitors were people who worked in the capital but lived in Virginia, commuting every day. As such, breakfast and dinner were commonly filled with talkative men in business suits who spent their extra time discussing business and other things with their colleagues.

In America, eating out wasn’t a simple attempt to leave home to have someone else cook for you. It was also an opportunity to meet with others and simply talk. As such, it was common for such meals to take hours, slowly going through appetizers and desserts.

It was easy for a person to blend in with such people. And it happened quite often. People with all sorts of backgrounds aimed for their individual goals, unseen as they blended in with the landscape. There was no telling what sort of people were nearby, especially in this place that was so close to the capital of one of the most powerful governments in the world.

However, there were those who should have been blending in, but failed due to various reasons.

William sighed as he pushed his spoon through the chunky chowder he’d ordered, fully aware of how conspicuous he appeared in his army vest and beanie that did not fit the atmosphere at all. He was dressed for breaking and entering the homes of the business men around him, not to eat the same overpriced food as them.

He knew that. He was well aware of that. He was even self-conscious about it. But he refused to be ridiculed. Compared to a certain woman who wore eccentric clothing without the slightest bit of shame in that proud, beautiful smile of hers, he should be praised for being able to feel some degree of embarrassment in the situation.

The same could be said for this situation.

William peered over his chowder toward the pretty smile of the girl sitting directly across from him. Anyone would think that she was flirting with him; she wore a pretty red dress that was cut low to display cleavage and had a tight skirt that accentuated her hips. She wore high heels that drew attention to her long legs and flawless skin and her short blonde hair was pinned up with fake gems that seemed to glitter in the light.

William had to pretend not to blush as she smiled at him. She was undeniably pretty, but she came across as young due to her overall appearance. There was no telling how many products or how much money went into buying products to keep that skin healthy and young, though it probably worked a little too well. Some men had even glanced doubtfully in her direction when they saw the waiter serving alcohol, but they might have been discouraged from saying anything at the sight of the thuggish looking William.

“Don’t the stares bother you at all?” William muttered as he stuffed a spoon full of chowder into his mouth. “It makes me self-conscious—”

“Silence, brute.” The young woman spoke calmly and cleanly while keeping her pretty smile. She sounded a lot like the young actresses from back when movies first were first popularized. Somehow, the tone was sharp enough to make William wince slightly. “Your lack of manners is insulting enough. The only reason I tolerate you is because you can no longer be considered a ‘normal’ human. Do not make me reconsider my kindness by showing such poor manners. So pause for a moment and correct what you did wrong.”

William grimaced as he swallowed a large amount of chowder at once and wiped his mouth with a napkin, already well aware of what bothered her. The young woman took a sip of her wine in an elegant fashion as she sat back, folding one leg over the other in a casual manner. William felt no need to repeat his question; he could tell that she didn’t care.

“Honestly,” She casually rocked the glass to let the blood red wine swirl in a methodical motion. “I understand that I look absolutely ravishing, but you are no common man. You have been blessed with a small portion of Amaterasu’s light and her strength, having been at her side for some time now. A small amount as it is, you should have the presence of mind to address me properly. Being bewitched by my appearance is no excuse. Or has Mirasaki failed to teach you manners? Your unrefined appearance is only a plea to be properly tamed, isn’t it?”

William sighed once more, feeling miserable. He didn’t care about the verbal abuse. He was actually relieved that he’d been reminded that people like her were still around. He’d gotten so used to Alicia, he’d forgotten just how widely demigods varied. There were those who were prideful in their divine nature, viewing humans as lesser beings with certain faults that a demigod lacked.

Penelope Russo was the perfect example.

She was not an opponent who could be defeated normally through mere force of will or violence. Her obsession with elegance and her large ego were one thing, but the way she affected people was a different story. She had an aura that made people feel like she was really above them, as if she was a transcendent being. As she was a demigod, this was not unfounded, but she could somehow impose that aura onto even the densest of people without trying. She seemed like the type who belonged on a red carpet and naturally made others feel that they’d be better off kissing up to her. In a word, she had the eternally coveted trait known as ‘charisma’. Just like Alicia.

That may have been why she had such a large fan club. Young as she was, her fame as an actor was so strong, not even the tabloids could print any negative rumors about her. People all over America worshipped the ground she walked on and her ‘empire’ was large enough to even touch the world of politics. The fact that William could sit at the same table as her, regardless of whether or not he was a demigod, was actually a very big deal. Even though Penelope and Alicia got along quite well, this was William’s first time even meeting her and he had mixed feelings about the privilege of seeing her true self behind the public eye.

According to Alicia, Penelope’s opinion of him was quite high. He’d yet to see any proof of that claim.

“Alicia isn’t the sort who’d consciously force me to do anything, especially regarding something of my own will, like clothing.” William responded with a bit of defiance in his voice, though he made sure he’d finished his chowder first. “She’s too good-natured. And just because I look like this doesn’t mean I’m a bad guy. Judging people based on how the look is too shallow-minded.”

“Is it really?” Penelope raised a golden eyebrow, as if she were amused by his cheekiness. “You’re the one choosing how to dress yourself, aren’t you? Which means your clothing is a reflection of your decision, which comes from within. A perceptive eye can easily discern quite a bit just by observing the clothes of another. You may seem thuggish, but you are actually quite reserved, aren’t you? You try to keep up with Mirasaki without getting in her way, acting as her shadow as she is the light you can never touch. It’s nice to see someone who knows their place.”

“If you think that, why—”

“Do I call you a brute? Is it that hard to understand? I call you a brute because that is the best term I can use for a dog such as you.”

William’s scowl deepened as he glared into the idol’s smile. He understood how she and Alicia got along less and less with each passing second.

“I don’t understand. How am I a dog?” He asked carefully. The corner of Penelope’s mouth shifted in disappointment.

“Ignorance is not very charming. Must I elaborate? A dog is loyal, fierce, and, above all, brutish when it comes to protecting that which it sees as ‘master’. Need I explain any further? Your loyalty to Mirasaki is much like a dog’s.”

“Is that a compliment?”

“What do you think? I simply find you to be quite a tragic case. You love, despite knowing it is unrequited. You give your life to one who will give their own life to everyone equally, to you no more. It is unfair. It is cruel. It is unreasonable. You are the shadow that is obliterated by the sheer brightness of the light that is Alicia. The life you are leading is quite the tragedy.”

Tragedy…she seemed to enjoy that fact. So she was fond of him because she enjoyed watching his struggle. That made sense. William didn’t really care how people viewed his relationship with Alicia, but he was a little surprised to know Penelope viewed it with the mindset of a person watching an enjoyable television show. She was the first to offer such a…unique view, positive or negative.

But if he lived a tragedy, was he destined to suffer and die full of regrets?

“I’d much rather live in a comedy.”

“I doubt that’s true. No one would be happy if their life was just a joke. Tragedies are far more interesting in that your inevitable death will be worthy of mention. I certainly hope it’s as entertaining as the setup.”

William wanted to dislike this woman, but he somehow couldn’t. She may have found his relationship amusing, but she wasn’t ridiculing it or making fun of him. She was simply giving her honest opinion, however warped. In a way, he was sort of flattered by it. Was that her charisma at work again?

“…Haha.”

William looked up with a raised eyebrow as Penelope laughed gently, seemingly without provocation. She set her glass down and smiled coyly at William.

“An interesting proposal. The fact that he hasn’t been torn to pieces yet is enough proof, but this is a special occasion…Care to make a wager, then? I’m certainly in the mood for a game…No, no, nothing like that. I was just thinking that he might be the source for even more amusement.”

Penelope suddenly went on talking aloud without waiting for a response from William, as if she was having a conversation with someone else entirely despite no one else being within earshot. A normal person would think she was insane, but William knew better. He didn’t even take the time to consider it weird; he was just that used to these sudden digressions from demigods.

“That seems reasonable enough. It’s surprisingly benign considering you thought of it. Fine, fine; I accept. You’d better hold your end of the bet when you lose, Trivia.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Malique Cayson hated lying.

More than that, he hated deception, treachery, scheming, cheating, and fraud. He was the loyal type. He liked being straight with his friends and smiling with them because he was happy, not because he was trying to hide something even more dangerous. And for the greater part of his life, that was how he’d lived. It was a time he was proud of, even.

But in the past two weeks, he’d done more lying than he ever thought himself capable of.

Just the thought made him so queasy, he found himself unable to leave the stall in the men’s public bathroom for nearly ten minutes.

Quit puking, you caramel craven. You have yet to complete the job.

Malique ignored the voice in his head, unable to even try to respond. He was breathing far too heavily, sitting on the cold tile floor with his head inside the filthy toilet bowl. His stomach and bowls were protesting and burned with pain, butterflies in the former and growling coming from the latter. He’d already peeled off his sweatshirt, leaving him to sweat in his undershirt. He considered just taking everything else off too since he was so hot, but his limited amount of dignity prevented him from going that far.

Malique liked to consider himself a nice guy. That was why he’d even volunteered to do this out of the way job. He’d just wanted to help out. But the moment he’d actually been told what he had to do, there was no longer a choice. He didn’t even know the full story or just what the grand plan was, but it was enough that he knew he just had to smile and nod, throwing out some ‘no problem’ and ‘I got it’ here and there. It was the best he could do on short notice, but apparently it was enough to appease Conroy, who’d been working with him. Part of what made Malique who he was was the fact that he’d been trusted—he wasn’t the type of guy who backstabbed. He definitely didn’t want to be one, either. But if there was a chance he could revive Vayu…

This was the first real break Malique had had since Conroy had asked him to travel the country with him and find all of these megaliths. They were randomly scattered in every state in out of the way places, so it was necessary for someone like Malique, a demigod of directions, to search. He suspected that there were at least two others doing the same thing separately, but he was the primary guide to each and every one. He’d done his job and mapped them all out, as he’d been asked. Since the job was done, Conroy had already left and Malique was supposed to head home at his own pace.

Which meant that this was the opportune time to betray Conroy.

Stand, man-slave! This world is too unpredictable to be taken at your leisure! The dull-faced leader of your friend’s allied syndicate assured that this should work. That makes this attempt worth it. We will ‘get the jump’ on the others and have me revive first!

“But…but we don’t even know how—”

Quell your doubts! You cannot learn how to do anything from this pathetic posture in the plebian lavatory! Clench your rectum, grit your dirty orifice, and go to the location of my glorious resurrection! Do as I say and I can erase all your worries in an instant!

“Alone…? Even if…even if I get over there, I’d be turning everyone else against me…”

So?

“Conroy is a demigod of bloody war. When he finds out, he’ll—“

SO?

There was no argument for Malique to give. First and foremost, he was loyal to Vayu. Everyone else came second. But this was the first time the Hindu god had ever been so adamant about forcing Malique to choose. No, it wasn’t even a choice. Malique would do as he was told. It was his entire purpose for existing. But the thought of the following consequences made him throw up again. Vayu made an impatient noise.

Fear not the consequences of your actions, but those of your inaction. No mere demigod is a threat. Revive me, and I can easily blow them all to nothing. Fail to, and you’ll pay for your incompetence. Now STAND.

Malique found himself on his feet, gritting his teeth painfully. He was still a little queasy and unsteady, but his mind was focused. The safest way to deal with the threat of the coming consequences was for him to stop thinking about them at all. Pushing all of those negative thoughts from his mind, he managed to compose himself again and put on a stern expression. He pulled his sweatshirt back over his head and headed out of the bathroom.

“Yo.”

Malique froze in midstep at the doorway. Two people were waiting for him right outside the bathroom, both unfamiliar. One was a pale girl with really dark hair in fashionable summer clothes and a kid with a mature face (her little brother?). The girl had a half-finished gyro in her hand and swallowed what she had in her mouth before speaking again.

“You’ve been acting pretty suspiciously around here. Mind telling us what’s up?”

The kid looked up at the girl with a disbelieving look, as if silently demanding “That’s how you’re asking?” Malique took a long moment to consider the situation before responding.

“Who sent you?”

“What do you mean?”

“Conroy would have come back to see me personally if he had a problem. I bet you were sent by one of the others to spy, huh? Was it that ass, Nicolai? Or that crazy slut, Veronica?”

Surprisingly, it was the kid who reacted, rather than the girl.

“You…you’re one of Conroy’s? Don’t tell me he was the other demigod who was with you, earlier.\? That means you were definitely doing a ritual. How? For whom?”

That gave Malique a pause.

They knew those names, but didn’t know what was going on? Were there even groups like that out there? What were their goals? Whose side were they on? How should Malique respond?

…Demand that they name themselves. Who are their affiliates?!

Malique opened his mouth to ask, but what he saw made him change his mind quickly. The boy’s body language became hostile; he was leaning forward slightly and was raising his arms slightly. Deciding not to take the risk, he took a deep breath, filling his lungs as much as he could, and blew out as much as he could like a kid trying to make a pinwheel move as fast as possible.

What resulted was a powerful gale of wind that filled the entire space from wall to wall right in front of Malique. Every person in the surrounding crowd was caught in it along with the nearby vending machines and stands filled with fliers about Orlando. They were all throwback helplessly by the gale like tumbleweed.

The megalith! Find it! Who they are matters not so long as I achieve my objective!

Malique turned on his heel and rushed for the north exit at top speed, ignoring the chaos around him. Even with everything going on, his sharp ears picked up on a voice behind him.

“Seriously, in broad daylight?! Call the others, Vesna! We need to catch that idiot before he does something even stupider!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

[South Beach]

“A rock?”

“Yeah, somethin’ like that. Uzumel’s going crazy, sayin’ that there’s gotta be at least a dozen scattered around in some formation. The thing’s just sitting out here in the middle o’ these trees and he’s tryin’ to get yer pal over here to look at it.”

Vasil shut his eyes briefly to take in Sorcha’s words. He was supposed to be in another state, hundreds of miles away, doing something unrelated to whatever the others were doing. But by sheer coincidence, he was hanging out in the beloved city of Miami, just south along the same coast that the others were by. He didn’t bother mentioning it since he would leave as soon as business was done, but even he could appreciate the irony.

He hadn’t asked for Sorcha to report to him. If fact, he hadn’t expected this phone call at all. It was a surprise to him. But he didn’t complain. He hadn’t said much of anything in a while, having been partnered with a woman who was ill-tempered in a way completely different from Sorcha. It was a relief to be able to take his mind off of wondering what chaos the blonde Spartan would be getting herself into at that moment.

“Look, Vasil,” Sorcha switched gears as if guessing Vasil’s thoughts. She hesitated for several beats of silence before continuing. “Let me just thank ya for listening to me go on like this. When I came to complain to ya in yer own home, I expected you to toss me out cause I was annoyin’.”

“If you were annoying, I would tell you.”

“I know. That’s why I’m thankin’ ya. It’s…nice, bein’ able to talk to someone without havin’ to worry about blowin’ up. Even Uzumel can barely handle me.”

Probably because Vasil didn’t say stupid things. Or much else.

“It ain’t love, I know that. Pele knows all about passion and says that this is the opposite, ya see? It might be because ya don’t always try to control my moods when ya talk…Look, I gotta go. So, um…”

“Feel free to call again. If I don’t answer, it’s because I can’t.”

It was only after he already said it that Vasil noticed just how unnecessarily clipped his response was, even if he was trying to be nice. But Sorcha didn’t seem bothered by it. She didn’t even retort—she just hung up.

Vasil pocketed his phone and rubbed the bridge of his nose with his forefinger and thumb. He decided to shelf the information Sorcha had given him—it wasn’t immediately concerning for the moment. He was still trying to process all the new information he’d been given and he didn’t see the two separate issues connecting in his head.

In a nutshell, there was a big difference between the world of demigods now compared to some years ago. Nowadays, there was a lot more organization. All the reckless demigods who acted without thinking (with a few exceptions) had been pretty much wiped out over time due to their lack of flexibility. All that were left were demigods who kept their heads low and out of sight, and those few weirdoes like Vasil and Sorcha who didn’t do anything to attract attention on a regular basis.

One could even further categorize the demigods who kept their heads low. There were those who gradually gathered energy for their gods via effective and practically harmless means and then there were those who were preparing for their chance to perform some big ceremony. In order to avoid getting in each other’s way, they ended up forming ceasefires with each other because their fear of the Twelve Apostles was greater. But that was dangerous in and of itself. Primo, who was one of those demigods, was stuck in a quagmire. He’d run out of ideas—he couldn’t think of any way to get ahead in this race to revive the god he idolized first without doing something that put attention on him. Vasil was sure that there were a bunch of demigods just like him in that respect.

That was the basis for this group he was currently in. It seemed that, aside from Vasil, all of them joined in order to eliminate the biggest threats that was forcing this stalemate among demigods in order to open the path for progress for everyone. It was a nice and selfless ideal, but it was also a lie. Vasil was sure that Averis, the man who’d invited him and the others, was thinking even further ahead. He had some plan in motion that this group was a part of. Vasil was sure that they wouldn’t last long. In fact, he’d bet that they’d fall apart after making contact with the first target, whether it be Apostle or the so-called tochigami. But the more he thought about what benefit there was in that, the less he could understand.

But he did understand that James Charles Domville was a part of it. He’d heard the name being thrown around recently and it was more than enough to get his attention. For others demigod, it was probably just something that got them on their guard, maybe even warrant a little looking into. But for Vasil, this was an indication of something bigger. He was absolutely positive that the third large scale group of demigods to be made in the past twelve months that was creating so many rumors was directly connected, and he suspected that their goal wasn’t simply to ‘revive a god’. He didn’t know if Averis was aware of his intentions or not, but he’d make use of whatever freedom he had to look for any connection between this group and the one related to James. And the moment he found that small thread…

A loud explosion followed by the sound of shattered asphalt raining onto the street distracted Vasil from his thoughts. He turned in the sound’s direction to see a small dust cloud and the monster standing among it, looking totally at ease among the light destruction.

Gwendolyn Conley was a tall, buff, Amazonian woman. Vasil was very familiar with the concept of the ironic portrayal of strong Viking-like woman from Northern Europe commonly depicted on television and other media, but until now he’d always imagined that they were just that—comically exaggerated depictions of a rare, possibly extinct, female body type. Well, Gwendolyn was big enough to actually be that. Her shoulders were broad and her body was so streamline, Vasil had actual trouble trying to imagine what she looked like underneath her turtleneck. Her hands were huge enough to easily palm NBA regulation basketballs and her thick calf muscles were visible through her jeans before disappearing into her high black boots. That wasn’t to say she was unattractive—her face might have been nice to look at if Vasil wasn’t so distracted trying to wrap her head around the many possibilities for what her torso looked like that he wrestled with in his mind.

“Nothing.” Gwendolyn muttered aloud to herself as Vasil approached. He made sure to maintain a safe distance in case she lashed out. “No workers, no commuters, no street rats, not even any police after I smashed up an entire block. Is something like this possible?”

Vasil didn’t answer. This time wasn’t because he wanted to avoid interaction, but because he really didn’t know the answer. Was it possible? Probably. As far as he knew, even if two demigods have similar domains, there were no two with the same actual abilities. Even two sun gods would be different if only due to the fact that they come from different religions, and thus different cultures. Theoretically, there were as many possibilities as there were gods. Which meant they couldn’t rule demigods out, even if none came to mind. On the other hand, the Twelve Apostles were capable of more ‘traditional’ magic found in books, like setting up wards and barriers to keep others out. It was possible that this was a trap, clearing the area of normal people to minimize casualties.

That would be the worst case scenario.

Vasil disapproved of Gwendolyn’s reckless decision to try to smoke people out of hiding, mostly out of fear for the consequences, but it turned out to be the fastest and surest way to show the results. There was no need to go looking for the perpetrator—their target knew people were here and would come out of hiding soon enough if the two of them waited long enough.

…Vasil just hoped they would show up before Gwendolyn decided to topple the entire city to find them.

“Hey.” Gwendolyn turned her gaze toward Vasil, who silently lamented. “Simon said that this was where we’d find a demigod who we had to either get to join us or kill, right?”

“…I’m pretty sure Simon gets his orders from Averis, but yes. That is why we’re here.”

“So that’s who’s behind this.”

“Probably.”

Gwendolyn clicked her tongue and impatiently scanned the area with her eyes for the hundredth time.

“Then why haven’t they shown themselves? They’re the ones who set up the battlefield, so let’s get this started already!”

She fully intended to fight without even knowing how the demigod would react, or what their worth was. Vasil wasn’t necessarily interested in succeeding, nor did he want to potentially start a fight with a crazy person, so he didn’t bother rebuking his temporary partner.

“So you’re here to headhunt me? Geez, that’s worse than I was expecting.”

Vasil’s eyes flickered upward the moment another woman’s voice reached them and managed to zero in on the speaker entire seconds before Gwendolyn found them. 

Standing on top of one of the nearby streetlamps was a woman, and she was an absolute walking misfortune hazard. Look at it from a basic perspective, she was already strange. She was a slender woman wearing high platform shoes and tight pants that accentuated the shape of her legs, though they had slits along the sides at the very bottom in order to give her ankle freedom to move. She wore a see-through t-shirt with a tank top visible beneath it and wore an open denim jacket over that, making three visible layers. Her hair was short in a boyish cut (even shorter than Gwendolyn’s) and was dyed red. She also wore ears with several golden tassels hanging from them like a curtain and a ring on each finger.

Her choice of clothing had poorly concealed meaning, visible after the first glance. The earrings had thirteen tassels each. The denim jacket had a design sown all over it—an umbrella surrounded by a box. The see-through shirt seemed had some reflective properties, but the many wrinkles ruined it in the light, reflecting the light in a white screen, like broken glass might. Both rings she wore had an opal stone in them. Hanging from her wrists were bracelets with thirteen holes in them, with one of the holes latching onto a small bell that didn’t ring, as if it was broken.

There were countless more signs, many of which were less obvious, but basically, she was walking around with ever superstition possible to represent bad luck. She was literally tempting fate just by walking in broad daylight with that an outfit.

“I got a question for you.” Gwendolyn pressed as she balled her hands into fists. Vasil could practically hear what she really wanted to ask just by standing next to her: was this woman strong? Would she fight? “Did you do this?”

“When people have a strong sense of foreboding—or a ‘bad feeling’—they tend to avoid the place altogether. A dark alleyway, a place where moaning and creaking is heard…maybe crows are hanging around overhead. Whatever the case, it’s easy to trick people into not going somewhere by messing with their subconscious.”

The woman replied easily, confirming Vasil’s suspicions. She casually sat on the lamppost, folding one leg beneath her while she let the other hang limply over the side. She smiled down at two with a casual demeanor, as if such a display of balance was natural for her.

“Demigods sure are interesting finds. One of you has used up a lot of their bad luck while the other accomplishes everything without using any luck at all. I have to ask: what hell could you have gone through to have used up so much misfortune? And for the other, a comment: A normal human being would be a depressed and tiresome sack of flesh by now in your shoes.”

“You talk like you aren’t a demigod.” Vasil narrowed his eyes cautiously. He didn’t phrase it as a question because there was none. There were all kinds of eccentric people in the world, but if they knew about demigods, there weren’t many realistic possibilities.

“Oh, I’m a demigod alright. But even if I wasn’t, I’m pretty spiritual. I would have gotten involved with the supernatural and paranormal either way. Because of that, I can see things in a way differently than normal. That’s why I work as a gypsy of sorts, exorcising spirits and taking away people’s luck, for a price. Some people call me a fraud. Others call me crazy. You may call me Marceline.”

“‘Exorcising spirits’?” Gwendolyn repeated, putting the pieces together in her head. “I doubt that’s what we need you for?”

“Maybe. Maybe not. But before we get into why you’re here, let me quiz you two. First question; what is good luck? The simple lack of bad luck? Or is bad luck the simple lack of good luck?”

“Luck doesn’t exist.”

“Reality doesn’t work by human standards. Humans made luck up to define the unknown.”

“Bzzt! Both of you are dead wrong!”

Gwendolyn replied indifferently and Vasil mindlessly repeated one of Vesna’s beliefs, but Marceline seemed amused with their answers nonetheless. She crossed her fingers and held them out to them.

“Luck definitely exists, but not because we observe it. Miracles occur all the time, but not in obvious ways. Maybe a miracle simply prevents a tragedy from happening. Maybe a person who doesn’t seem to have any luck was supposed to trip and break his leg, but luck prevented that. He’d never know, so he’d assume he had bad luck anyways, wouldn’t he?”

“So bad luck occasionally prevents good things from happening is what you’re saying.”

“You catch on quick. Yep; bad luck and good luck are intertwined. They balance each other and affected each other on an intimate level. When the odds of winning are twenty-percent, the odds of losing are eighty-percent. Good luck and bad luck all depend on the person, so it also depends on the individual whether or not they veer toward the twenty or the eighty. It’s like an extra layer of chance. That is how life works.”

“That’s contradictory.”

“It is. But does that mean it’s not real, demigod?” 

Vasil didn’t object further. Personally, he believed the very concept of odds and statistics were completely fabricated by human ego to begin with, even if they were useful for understanding from the perspective of the ‘unknown’. But even after digressing this far, he still didn’t know why they wanted to recruit this woman. Did Averis want her because she could manipulate the odds in his favor, assuming that was her god’s domain? If so, that would actually be problematic. Vasil didn’t think much of handing over such power, regardless of how baseless it might have been in concept, to a man he didn’t trust.

Marceline quickly hopped up and jumped to the next lamppost just as the one beneath her was struck by something from below and toppled over like a tree that had been chopped down. She whistled as she watched Gwendolyn cast her eyes in her direction, fists tight for punching.

“Enough wasting time. You’ve got a confident look in your eyes—the sort that says you’re not used to losing.”

Gwendolyn’s eyes had a harsh glare in them as a grin appeared on her face. Her hair seemed to become stiff as electricity sparked from her bangs, flickering blue. 

“You’re coming with us, dead or alive.”

“Can’t say I like either option.” Marceline’s eyes focused briefly on Vasil and her smile widened slightly. She probably saw the momentary look of irritation that appeared on his face. “I wasn’t planning on going with you either way. My goal has nothing to do with you people!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

[???]

Senator Michael Bernstein grimaced as he looked around the dark room. He had been lying on a carpet in the middle of a room with the lights off and blinds shut. His eyes were already adjusted to the dim lighting, so he could easily tell that the room was an office. A projector screen had been pulled down and the projector was switched on, showing a screensaver due to having been on for a while.

Thinking back to what he’d last been doing, he could remember it all in clear detail. He’d been playing golf. Nothing too special; he’d had the time to do so after finishing his work for the day. He’d been on the third hole with a few friends, drinking beers and joking around…had he gotten drunk and passed out?

That didn’t explain why Michael was in this unknown room all alone. He was not suffering from a hangover, nor did he feel the least bit tired despite having just woken up. In fact, he felt fresh and well rested—his back had stopped aching and the usual pressure he felt in his head was gone. It was as if he’d become a decade younger.

“Well then, shitty senator, can we get started?”

Michael gave a start when he realized that there was another person in the room. A young man had been leaning against the wall just outside of his vision, but once he turned his attention to him, he could see him very clearly through the darkness.

The young man had a handsome face and his eyes and hair gave off the imagery of ‘autumn’ due to their light brown color. He wore a red sweater vest under an open salmon colored collared shirt and a maroon jacket was open over that. His pants and shoes matched that deep red color, almost like a fashion statement.

He casually walked forward with his hands pocketed and leaned his weight against the desk in front of Michael, crossing one leg over the other and stretching them out in front of him, grinning all the while.

“Yo.” He greeted casually with a dangerous look in his eye that gave off an obvious sense of anger. “You’re pretty quiet there. Don’t you have anything to say?”

“Who are you?” Michael managed to say, finally recovering from shock of the strange situation. He was a little taken aback by this guy’s frank tone and arrogant posture despite knowing the position of power Michael had. 

“Well, that’s a start.” The young man shrugged. “I’m Chrome E. Heyne, a demigod and the one who kidnapped your ass. And before you ask; yes I’m the one who healed your body and neutralized the alcohol in your system. I don’t get how you idiots can do that to yourselves; you’re shortening your lifespans. You probably would have died off if I didn’t do anything…”

Words failed Michael once again for a minute. This man had been so arrogant just a moment ago, but now he was muttering belligerently like a worried relative who didn’t want to admit it. This guy—Chrome—had healed his body? How? The things that had been fixed were obvious signs of aging. Healing them wasn’t really something one could just do. And, even if he could, why? Wasn’t he a kidnapper? What even was his agenda?

“What is a demigod?” Michael decided to clarify that point first, since that made the least amount of sense. Chrome raised an eyebrow at him when he heard the question.

“Hmm? Oh, well, if you don’t know what it is, don’t worry your ignorant little head about it. It’s better if someone like you didn’t bother with that side of the world.”

Michael frowned. He prepared to ask a follow up question, demanding more answers, but Chrome cut him off by glaring off into space and clicking his tongue.

“What do you mean ‘You’re one to talk’? You trying to give me sass? …It was my idea, so let me have this! If you want to complain, do it after thinking of a better idea! Yeah? Thought so.”

Michael decided not to ask anymore. He had to guess that ‘demigod’ was a way to refer to himself as a member of some organization or cult; he highly doubted that anyone would seriously use that sort of religious reference with a straight face. Or maybe this guy was just crazy. It troubled him that he refused to give him a straight answer, which would have been expected in the first two cases. When one acted for a cause, usually they were proud to announce it.

Deciding to test the waters, Michael decided to avoid using a hostile tone just yet.

“Then tell me this…Mr. Heyne. What exactly am I doing here? I have a lot of things to do. My family—“

“Don’t worry about that either.” Chrome’s face broke into a sinister smirk that showed perfectly square teeth and a rugged jaw. “And don’t be so formal. Just call me Chrome.”

“Okay…Chrome then.” Michael felt an uncomfortable sensation in his chest, suddenly becoming very nervous. “Why should I not worry about my family? We have an affair. My wife is hosting an open house at an orphanage…”

“Yeah; good job on that. It saved me a lot of time since they were expecting to see you. I was worried that they’d be smarter, what with all the weird stuff happening lately, but it looks like, even with the sheer speed of information in this age, the ability to analyze it has been left behind. They didn’t give me any trouble and let their guard down pretty quickly, so convincing them that you had to break your promise and work through the evening was easy.”

I knew it.

“Hehehe. Looks like you’re a lot quicker than your family was.” Chrome snorted as he read Michael’s horrified expression, who looked as if he’d been struck by a horrible revelation. “I kidnapped you, shitty senator, and no one knows about it. You’re not going anywhere.”

“Ugh!” Michael immediately tried to stand, but failed miserably. He barely got to his knees before his arms and legs trembled and he collapsed. He felt weak and had trouble controlling his limbs. He’d probably been drugged when Chrome had ‘healed’ his body. Chrome cackled at the pitiful sight without much pity, taking pleasure in Michael’s desperate expressions.

“Hey, shitty senator.” Chrome went on casually, as if the nature of their conversation remained unaffected by the threat that hung in the air. “What are you thinking right now? Do you think I’m some sort of villain? I don’t think so. I just want the same thing all of humanity has dreamed of for thousands of years; something so obvious and amazing, you’d probably be all over it in a moment if you had the chance. Is it wrong for me to search for immortality, no matter what I have to do? If you had the opportunity, would you frown at the methods I have used to reach my dream? Am I evil just because I wish for what all of society has long since given up on?”

Michael didn’t know how to respond. He couldn’t see this situation happening in anything but a movie. Immortality? Dreams? It was all just too ridiculous for him. There was no way he could be expected to respond normally to such a random and stupid concept.

Chrome looked over Michael’s dull expression and his eyes became dispassionate and ridiculing before he sighed miserably.

“What a kill joy.” He muttered irritably. “You’re not even worth talking to.”

“What are you going to do with me?”

Michael squeezed out those words and Chrome rolled his eyes.

“I was hoping you’d be a bit more interesting, but people these days really have no ambition. The only people who had any remote use were all killed last year, so I guess it’s my fault for hoping there’d be anyone left out there worth the time.”

Chrome sighed once more and he babbled something that Michael could not understand at all. Killed? Last year? Use?

“Alright then!” Chrome said as if suddenly deciding something, his smile returning to his face. “Let’s move on to Plan B then!”

“Plan…B?”

Michael gave a start as the blank screen on the projector screen suddenly switched to a new screen. Chrome had taken a wireless mouse out of his pocket and clicked it while aiming it at the nearby computer. A screen with the words “Plan B” written across it in bright red letters appeared in a glaring font that hurt Michael’s eyes in the darkness. Michael still struggled to stare at it for a moment as if unable to make sense of it.

“I’m the type who seeks out personal pleasure to keep myself occupied.” Chrome went on speaking without concern for Michael’s mental state. “Not sex or anything, you damned pervert. I intend to not die and there are all these people talking about ‘dying of boredom’ everywhere, and I can’t have that happening to me, now can I? How do you even heal that shit? Do you know? Don’t lie, I know you don’t. So to occupy myself, I made a little game, custom just for you.”

With that, Chrome clicked the mouse again and the screen switched to a video. It was apparently live feed coming from a video camera, showing footage of what was going on in a different room, like a spy camera.

“Well then, let’s begin!” Chrome excitedly picked up the smartphone sitting on the desk beside him and held it up for him to look at. “The rules have been changed up a bit, but we’ll be playing Russian roulette! Our contestant is a congressman from North Dakota, Michael Bernstein! On the screen before us, five people are strapped to chairs with powerful rifles pointed at each of their temples! All are dear people to our contestant in various ways, so he’ll want to keep each of them alive! The rules are simple; only one of these five rifles is loaded, and he must choose one to fire by picking a number 1-5. If he picks one that is not loaded, the entire family may leave in one piece! If he chooses wrong, however, we can expect chaos and trauma!”

Chrome tossed the phone down to Michael with the screen facing up in front of him. The keypad for the dial screen was up, and numbers one through five were highlighted in red. Chrome had probably messed with his phone’s settings just for the sake of that effect. Eccentric was too kind a word to use for this sadistic personality. 

Michael recognized all five people in the video. His wife, eldest daughter, youngest daughter, eldest daughter’s husband, and an unrelated kid Michael knew from the orphanage. The logic with the last one was easiest to understand—if he killed an innocent kid, his life as a politician would be over with no possibility to salvage it.

“Using the questioner’s mental state as a clue is fair game.” Chrome went on with an evil smirk, speaking calmly and grandly as if he truly was a game host. “Searching for hints in the footage is fine too. You can even pray to whatever god you feel like or choose at random! Of course, you can just as easily choose a family member you’ve always hated to minimize loss! Your time limit is sixty seconds, Mr. Bernstein, at which point the ‘real’ gun will automatically fire. Please; try your best.”

Michael’s eyes flickered slowly from Chrome’s evil face to the screen, sweat pouring down his entire face as his heart rate quickened by the second. There was no possibility of him mistaking those faces and even if he did, he was sure that they were living people all the same, which was really no better. Threatening the lives of a person’s loved one could not have been tactic widely used by these ‘demigods’, whoever they were. In fact, Michael was sure that this guy had insisted on this tactic on his own. Saying it was ‘Plan B’ had to have been a lie, just like when he said he had told his family he was working late. He had intended for this situation to happen from the very beginning.

Just for his sick pleasure.

“…Why?” Michael croaked, his throat suddenly feeling extremely dry. “Why go this far?”

“Hmm? I’ll take a shot in the dark and say that you want to know why I’d use this method to achieve my goal. It’s simple, really. Doing something simple and easily predictable would be pointless. So long as I have you kill your loved ones, it meets the bare minimum requirements. But doing it this way leaves room for some extra bonuses. But honestly, if I had to give you a reason, it’s because going this far is really the only way I know for sure that I’m progressing forward.”

Even though he said that with an expression that showed brutal honesty, Michael couldn’t comprehend it. The life of one of his family members was in his hands, but he didn’t know which one it was. The odds of picking an unloaded gun were exceedingly high, but the idea that he still had a one in five chance of choosing wrong froze him in place, forcing his thoughts down a narrow and pessimistic path.

“D-Do I get a hint?”

“There are a bunch. You just have to find one.”

“Shit! Please, I’ll do anything! I’ll even cut off an arm; just give me a hint!”

“Twenty seconds left, Mr. Bernstein. This really shows what you can do under pressure. Is this what congress does all day when they convene? No wonder nothing gets accomplished.”

Michael gave up on trying to persuade the villain. He had no time, so he had little choice but to bet on the one in five chance. Michael pressed one finger to the smart phone’s screen and Chrome immediately bent down to snatch it up quickly, eying it apathetically as he straightened up.

“Number four, is it? Is that your lucky number or something?”

“…”

“Choosing the son-in-law comes as no surprise. Is it because he’s not related by blood? Or do you just not like your daughter’s choice?”

“Was the gun loaded?!”

“Are you hoping it wasn’t the one? Or are you hoping that it was loaded?”

“How can you even ask something like that?!”

“Tch, how boring. Ah well. It’s time for the moment of truth!”

Chrome casually spun the smartphone around in his hand before theatrically pointing the phone’s screen at Michael. The situation in the room was unchanged on the screen on the projector.

“The footage you see here is not live. It’s a looped scene from an hour ago.”

“What?”

“But the number you pressed is remotely connected to the corresponding rifle—meaning that you pulled the trigger yourself.”

Having the timing switched on him was enough to make Michael’s stomach drop. He hadn’t expected for the phone to literally be the trigger. But Chrome’s cruelty did not end there.

“And the biggest climax has yet to come! Remember when I told you that only one of the guns was loaded? I lied. In reality, every single one of the guns was loaded, so no matter which you chose, you would have shot someone. Don’t you just love quizzes so simple, you’d have to really bust your ass in order to get them wrong?”

Michael Bernstein was unable to reply. His eyes were wide with shock as his mouth moved wordlessly, unable to keep up with what was going on.

“So, with the odds at a full 100%, your son-in-law has had his brains blown out by none other than his own father-in-law! How do you feel?”

“Stop it…”

“And this is the fun part. The victims were only told that Mr. Bernstein would be choosing who would die in a way that implied you had complete and utter freedom in the decision. The look on the survivors’ faces will be worth seeing. Will they be sheathed in hatred toward the man they had once seen as their own family? Or will they all be too deep in shock to even remember what they were told? Perhaps the poor grandchildren who saw their own father’s head turn to mush before their eyes have been driven into pure insanity? Let us turn our attention to the big screen as we turn to the real…no. To the live footage!”

“STOOOOOOOOP!”

Michael’s yell meant nothing to Chrome whatsoever as he yelled at the top of his lungs. He put so much energy into it, blood vessels in his eyes popped and he began to cry tears of blood. He soon collapsed as he passed out, unable to handle the stress gripping at his body. Chrome ignored him as he manipulated the mouse for a moment, switching it to the live footage to see what the outcome was.

“Hmm…?”

A frown appeared on Chrome’s face. Considering the planning and situation, what should have come up was a bloody scene with four restrained people in chaotic states as they grieved over the corpse in the fourth seat between them. But instead, all five seats were entirely empty, though the chair and rifles remained in place. Only one figure remained in sight of the screen, standing among the seats daringly. A large smirk spread across Chrome’s face as he recognized the slender figure.

“Apostle…”

“Oh, so you’re there now, scum?” Eleven of the Twelve Apostles turned her attention to the small camera that a normal person shouldn’t have noticed without knowing what to look for, especially since it was camouflaged. “You’ll be happy to hear, congressman, that your family is safe. I managed to get them out before the gun fired. They told me that you were the one shooting, so I guess you were forced somehow. Well, that doesn’t really matter.”

Eleven calmly pushed her long blonde hair back over her shoulder. The composed action was in complete opposition to the fierce glare of hatred and anger in her eyes.

“Where do I even start with you, Chrome Evan Heyne? Or should I be speaking to the god inside you? Forcing humans to sacrifice their loved ones so that they feel the same pain you suffered when you lost your husband, twice at that…That egoism is just like a child’s. Tell me; did you lose your mind when we eradicated Osiris when he nearly resurrected last year on the summer solstice? I look forward to seeing your spirit break just like it did then.”

Without waiting for a response, Eleven headed out of the room and left the camera staring at an empty room. Chrome stared at this picture for a long minute in silence before laughing maniacally and hysterically, clutching his sides with his hands as he leaned against the desk for support. Though he was mirthful, his face was filled with hate and anger beyond anything a normal person could comprehend.

Murder that arrogant slave of the Church, Chrome. Make it so she will never speak of Lord Osiris with that filthy mouth of hers ever again!

“Damn it! This really is bad!” Chrome continued to cackle maniacally, nearly toppling over. “An apostle caught up to me! I don’t want to be caught again! Agh, screw this! I just have to murder her, right? Since she’s alone, I’ll just have to screw her up so bad, she’ll wish she’d kept his nose out of this!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Gwendolyn had been possessed by the illustrious Thor, god of thunder and wielder of the mighty hammer called Mjolnir.

While she’d smartly chosen to not tell everyone that earlier during the meeting, Vasil saw now that it had just been her being a contrarian. Five seconds into the fight, and even the most uneducated people who had at least heard Thor’s name before, whether from his famous comic book incarnation or somewhere else, would immediately draw the connection.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Eleven of the Twelve Apostles was seething with rage.

It had actually been a long while since she’d last been this angry, a reality for which she was very thankful. She’d known that any experience with Isis’ demigod was bound to be an unpleasant one, but what were the odds that he’d attack one of the very orphanages for which she was a benefactor? Walking through the first floor, all she saw was messed up furniture that proved that everyone inside had evacuated in a panic. When she’d received a call about the unknown gas that had apparently filled the building, she’d rushed over, expecting a more natural occurrence, like a gas leak or something similar. She’d even rushed in after hearing that one of the kids were missing because she thought they’d accidently gotten left behind. The truth couldn’t have been any worse.

Eleven somewhat wished that she’d worn more appropriate clothes. She was all dressed up like an office lady with her panty hose disappearing beneath her short skirt and high heels that echoed loudly with every step. Anyone would hear her coming from a mile away and the only thing that kept her from just taking them off was the fact that she would probably need them in the near future. 

She hadn’t identified what gas had been leaked into the orphanage, but could tell from the rancid odor that it was coming in through the vents. She’d considered finding the source and eliminating it, but she didn’t want to risk letting her idiotic target escape, so she opted to neutralize the effects it might have had on her with a simple prayer that blessed her clothes, making the space within about two centimeters from the surface of her skin a ‘pure zone’, keeping the air she was actually exposed to clean. Soon, she was striding up the stairs to the second floor, which was more like an office compared to the homier and more colorful bottom floor meant for children.

Eleven bit gently on her bottom lip as she approached the room with all its windows boarded up, preventing anyone from crashing in from the outside. Eleven had considered breaking in through there anyways, but she didn’t want to give the target an escape route right away. She wanted to let him box himself in with his own arrogance and crush any hope he had for survival.

Not that she could actually kill him.

“I hope you’ve said your prayers; you’ll need them for reference when you’re sentenced to eternity in purgatory.”

Eleven’s eyes instantly adapted to the dim light in the room, lit up only by the glow of the nearby screen that showed an empty room with five chairs. Chrome E. Heyne looked right back at her, sitting on the desk and swinging his legs back and forth like a child.

Just seeing his familiar face brought up unpleasant memories, probably for both of them. Eleven could see from the minute change in Chrome’s expression that he definitely recognized her, which was impressive. They’d never met in the Empire State Building. The first time they’d ever been within intimate proximity was when he’d suffering through torture for three quarters of a year. Eleven hadn’t been the one to personally put the boy through the perdition, but she’d been there to witness a lot of it. She’d watched over him as his immortal body was tried and tested for every conceivable means of putting him out of his misery and at one point, she remembered wondering to herself: what did this boy see through the agony? During those brief periods where his eyesight was afforded to him, what did he look at? Did he just glare at his torturers like a cornered dog, with hate and malice? Or maybe, just maybe, he had the presence of mind to see the woman that looked at him with concern, eyes glazed over with frustration that she couldn’t think of a way to end it all for him. 

But now the answer was clear. He saw nothing in front of him. All he looked at was the future. He saw what people he’d hurt in the future, how he’d hurt them, and how many. He felt no compassion or empathy—just the same overwhelmingly selfish desire to further his own goal, just like before the torment. All the pain, all the punishment…none of it phased him. So now he could look at the woman and see no softness or tender, motherly concern, no matter how hard he looked. All he’d find were the claws of an angry lioness and maternal judgment.

“Quit it with the poetry.” Chrome put on airs by swinging his torso back and forth with every two syllables. “You sound just like that geezer with the crosses and tuxedo mask. You’re a forty year old office lady, try bitching about men a bit more. It’ll help with your vain attempts to hide your wrinkles.”

“Alright then,” Eleven’s voice was absolutely frigid. “Let’s start with the senator. Where did you hide him?”

“You mean my hostage? Who knows? Honestly, he might be in mortal peril. How about you reverse the stereotype and go save him all heroic like? You’ll have to look a bit, but don’t worry. I’ll wait for you right here. Promise.”

Eleven didn’t respond with words. With a fluid movement, she closed the distance between them and hopped lightly in the air so all her momentum carried her forward. Her foot met with Chrome’s exposed jugular and her forward motion sent them both over the desk and into the wall that the empty room was being projected on. Eleven landed skillfully on one foot as she felt the satisfying feel of her heel pushing through the resistance and hitting the hard wall on the other side.

Blood spurted from the hole in Chrome’s neck and his eyes grew bloodshot, causing him to flail a bit. But rather than stopping there, he managed to look up at Eleven with the whites of his eyes changing color, quickly turning red like a cup being filled with water, and smiled.

“By the way, I hate your face.”

Splat.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

If one looked at the facts critically, Chrome E. Heyne had suffered the feeling of being killed quite a few times in his life, and yet had never died. He’d survived many fatal injuries to his body that should never have been able to heal. So he could say with certainty—one never developed a tolerance for pain. The entire concept was a lie. One’s body never got used to pain, no matter how much it went through the intense and excruciating sensation. You could numb it by cutting off the feeling going through your nerves or prepare for the pain through mental fortification, but the pain was always painful.

So unlike war veterans and hardened soldiers who’d fooled themselves into thinking they were tougher than other people, Chrome had long since overcome that delusional faze and could relish in the sheer agony of having his ribs crushed brutally, absorbing the tender moment when the shards embedded themselves into his lungs and heart.

“Hehe…hehehe…”

Chrome pushed himself up onto the desk once more to sit on it while his assailant retreated to search the room for someone who wasn’t there.

“You’re underestimating Isis’ power, Eleven.”

“Keep talking. I already knew about your unnatural healing ability,” Eleven muttered irritably and slammed one fist absently against the wall, frustrated that she couldn’t find any hint of the senator. “I’m surprised you haven’t dropped dead from how inefficient that magic is. No one else could live a proper life with such a masochistic ability.”

“I hear you, man. Really; you’re telling me.” Chrome shook his head back and forth. “I mean, I used to wear a white shirt not too long ago. It’s just not fair.”

“Are you trying to tell me you soaked your own shirt with your own blood?” Eleven grimaced darkly. “That’s disgusting.”

Chrome blinked at the Apostle for a long moment before laughing hysterically, slapping his knee as he almost toppled back on the desk.

“Hahaha! As if! While I’ve probably lost enough blood to do that, I’d definitely wash my clothes, you idiot! I just bought some dark red clothes so I wouldn’t have to worry about it as much. I mean, sheesh! Do I look like I’m some dark hero from a Hollywood movie?”

Chrome hopped down from the desk and pocketed his hands, continuing to grin nonchalantly at Eleven and showing his square teeth.

“I guess that would be kind of cool, huh? Although you and your eleven friends spilled a lot more blood than I did in the Empire State Building—”

Eleven’s fist sank into Chrome’s face with force disproportional to her body mass, making sure to position her feet so she could twist her torso and follow all the way through with as much torque behind the frightful attack as possible.

Chrome hadn’t had the chance to even wince toward the oncoming attack with his unprepared posture, his neck titling back with the disquieting sound of his nose breaking filled the air, followed by several smaller cracks that must have been his skull faltering under the force of the punch.

Ah, what a sweet and damnable burning sensation this left in his face. If his mouth wasn’t going through similar pain due to having his front teeth knocked out, he might have tried to make a groan due to the sheer pain. But even so, he didn’t lose his balance. He maintained his lax posture and casually reached a hand out toward Eleven’s collar, his eyes crazed with unfathomable focus.

Eleven retreated immediately the moment Chrome’s fingers brushed against her white collar and an invisible force swung through the air exactly where Eleven’s face had been a moment before. She could feel the air of the attack passing by. Judging by the trajectory and force of the attack, she could easily guess what it resembled.

“You’re so damn hasty.” Chrome muttered, now irritated by the uncomfortable feeling of his face rearranging itself. He could see himself at the moment, but he could imagine what it must have looked like for his flattened face that must have had the imprint of someone’s knuckles in it slowly popping back to its original shape, similar to blowing in an empty water bottle that had been squeezed. “Office ladies aren’t supposed to be sporty. Well, at least you look nice—if I were into older women, you’d probably be a 9.”

“You’re pretty talkative today.” Eleven observed cautiously. Her previous anger had simmered down now that she’d effectively killed Chrome a couple times, relieving herself of her pent up rage. “I expected you to be a lot more energetic, considering how you were cursing our names at every second you could when you were being torture.”

“Heh. I’m pretty erratic, so there’s no telling how I’ll act, huh?”

“You shouldn’t be able to joke about your issues, kiddo.”

Eleven raised one hand up and rushed at Chrome, but this time Chrome prepared himself. He took a combative stance and evaded Eleven’s first swipe, swinging his fist out without hesitation. Eleven easily deflected this punch with her hand and jabbed Chrome in his side mercilessly, causing the demigod to stumble as a searing pain ate away at his flesh. He couldn’t see it, but he was sure that his skin was red and raw from what he assumed was the compressed gas he’d filled the entire building with. When spread thin, it would give people some annoying rashes. The ever-healing Chrome didn’t even notice the effects. A concentrated dosage apparently had much worse effects on the human body. Regardless, Chrome smirked and continued to swing furiously at Eleven. He managed to force the Apostle to continue to move and evade the demigod’s swings and ended up getting jabbed several times in various parts of his body.

After what was probably the ten or so hit, Chrome realized that the damage he was taking was worse than expected. Intense pain burned throughout Chrome’s body, especially certain afflicted areas. Was Eleven somehow making the effects of the gas worse? Could she even do that? He was pretty sure that diseases and the like were Ten’s domain. Chrome didn’t take the time to dwell on it. Instead, he ignored it, focusing on attacking. He had no idea how to use martial arts and had never been bothered to learn at any point in his life, but he could put up some semblance of a fight just by acting instinctively and aim to hurt his opponent in some way. Of course, his current movements were far too random and imprecise now to even pose a real threat to someone who had actual combat knowledge, which made this short fistfight incredibly one-sided.

It ended with Chrome being thrown into the desk forcefully, crushing it beneath his weight so the splinters entered his body like a bed of needles through his clothes.

It was impressive that he’d landed with that much force, since almost fifty-percent of his body had been eaten away.

“Ah, it hurts.” Chrome cackled without any change in expression. “You’re so cruel, Eleven. Is this really how you treat an old friend you came so far to see?”

Eleven made no comment. She was too busy watching the horrible sight before him.

Even with fifty-percent of his body gone, Chrome had somehow remained conscious—no, alive. From the very first blow, the incredibly concentrated poison gas should have rendered him immobile. But Chrome healed so fast, the damage didn’t get the chance to truly weigh him down like normal people, since the rest of his body was acting as if the wound wasn’t actually there.

Those parts of the body were now growing back, though the term ‘growing’ was different in this case. It was more like the missing parts of his body were being knit back together as strings of tissue seemed to stretch from the exposed flesh and ties together in uniform patterns, making the same style of knot over and over again to recreate bone, tissue, nerves, skin, and even cloth. Anyone who’d looked at Egyptology before, even at a casual level, would mistake the knots for countless little Per Ankhs knitting together.

It may have sounded nice to refer to it as ‘tying’, but it was a method of regeneration more retched and repulsive than simply growing body parts again like a lizard’s tail, especially at this speed.

That was simply how the Knot of Isis was.

“You’re still getting up?” Eleven demanded just as Chrome’s body finished regenerating. “What’s even the point? You won’t beat me. From the very start, this was all reckless. You do all this to attract attention, try to perform this complicated ceremony out of desperation, and now you give me this half-hearted fight rather than focusing on escaping? What’s your endgame?”

“Huh?” Chrome made a less than coherent response while he pushed himself out of the splintered remains of the broken desk.

“Charlo—no, Four sent us all a message about specialized magic circles based on Egyptian magic that are spread throughout America that haven’t been activated, but have an unknown function due to falling into disrepair. This is your plot, isn’t it? I don’t see how your actions with forcing people to kill their own family and attacking an orphanage full of innocent children relate.”

“Ooooh, I see. I see.” Chrome nodded several times in understanding folding his arms over his chest. “That’s the backup we had in case our artificial heaven didn’t go as planned. I guess you nosy dogs of the Church finally found them, eh? And now you’ve come to the conclusion that I’m using it for some other purpose now after all this time.”

“Don’t deny it. What are you planning, kid?”

“Absolutely nothing. I’m not the one who created the formula, so I have no idea how to work the system.”

“…’system’?”

Eleven murmured under her breath, trying to make sense of the words, but Chrome was now completely ignoring her, frowning as he tapped a finger to his forehead.

“But what could someone be using those useless things for now? They’ve lost their original meaning, so trying to deal with them now is just a hassle that puts your life in danger. Isis, you said that fake demons from the Duat would appear somewhere, but ain’t it just a gateway? The chances of that…could there be meaning behind the activation itself?”

“How about you explain just what you know about that thing? Where does that gateway lead to?”

“Well, whatever.” Chrome completely ignored Eleven once again and his grin return to his face. “It’s not our problem, so who gives a damn? It’s got nothing to do with us.”

“Speak for yourself. You clearly know something, so out with it. If you drag even more innocents into your heinous plot, next time you’ll be permanently sealed away, rather than tortured.”

“How should I know? I can make some random guesses, but it’s not as if I can read minds. I just refuse to speculate on it anymore. It’s a waste of brain cells, you know?”

Eleven’s eyebrows twitched irritably, but she didn’t comment. Instead, she rushed forward with one hand outstretched. Chrome’s grin widened heinously and the entire floor shook violently, causing Eleven to lose her balance briefly. Eleven managed to look down in time to see Chrome’s shoes were merged with the floor beneath him, as if the floor had been ‘tied’ to Chrome’s soles. The entire structure of the floor Chrome was connected to changed by altering the way their fundamental structure was ‘tied together’, changing the floor into hundreds of thin, sharp spears.

It was similar to changing the atomic and molecular structure of solids to create completely different matter, changing what the object was. Just by tying or untying the connections between electrons of different atoms, he could change the atomic number and forcibly change matter. If an apple’s atoms were all changed to the ‘atoms of a rock’, would the apple continue to be an apple?

This resulted in a domino effect that turned the floor into something else, allowing the many spears to topple toward the floor below, conveniently sticking straight up like deadly spikes as both Chrome and Eleven fell with nothing to grab onto.

“You really are one insane child!”

“Heehee!! I hope one of these things gets stuck right up your European ass!”