"Now that we have settled the other part of the deal—on what's in it for me—that brings us to the main issue." Avalon leaned forward from her spot on the adjacent cell bench, her expression unreadable but her tone sharp with interest. "What exactly do you want me to do for you, Josh of planet earth? What help do you seek?"
Her narrowed eyes bore into him with that unnerving clarity—like a serpent watching prey not out of hunger, but out of curiosity.
Josh cleared his throat, straightened up, and rubbed his hands together like a merchant about to pitch the most outrageous but irresistible proposal. "I know every god and goddess has a soul avatar," he began, his voice level but intense. "This is the pure essence of their consciousness, the core that holds a significant portion of their power. Even if their physical bodies are destroyed, their avatars allow them to rebuild, to continue... essentially immortal through this vessel."
Before he could continue, Avalon tilted her head and gave him a side glance, her gaze sharpening with suspicion. "How exactly did you come about that information?" she asked, her voice low but biting. "Are you some mysterious god killer or something…?"
Josh blinked, then rolled his eyes so hard it was a miracle they didn't pop out. He slumped back a little, frustrated. "Can we focus, Avalon?"
Realizing how absurd her question sounded—especially given that Josh was stuck in a prison cell beside her, very much not a triumphant god slayer—Avalon broke into a small laugh. "Sorry, sorry… continue. Go on, genius."
Josh exhaled and went on. "Your physical body might be trapped here by the divine prison's enchantments, but your soul avatar isn't bound the same way. That's the gap I'm banking on. If your avatar can temporarily shift into my cell and act as a substitute prisoner—like a phantom decoy—I can slip out unnoticed."
Avalon's brows furrowed slightly as he spoke, her arms crossing as she digested every word. He watched her carefully, the silence between them stretching thin like drawn wire.
Josh gave a slight nod at the end, like a CEO closing a pitch deck. "That's it. That's the plan. I go out, get help, find reinforcements, and come back for both of us. It's a temporary switch."
There was a long pause.
Then Avalon leaned back slowly, her shoulders relaxing against the stone wall of her adjacent cell, a sly smirk curving on her lips. The flickering light from the cell walls and corridors cast a clear dim light across her face, making her eyes glint with mischief and curiosity.
"You're a smart man, Josh from planet earth," she said at last, her voice silky and teasing, almost as if the compliment had reluctantly slipped through her pride. "Alright. Let's do that. But when do you want to start?"
Josh turned his gaze to the glowing runes etched into the metallic bars of his cell—ancient inscriptions pulsing faintly with a mystical amber hue. His expression grew solemn, a weight settling in his eyes. "That would be once I'm able to break through the 'I Am King' protocol—to the next level," he muttered, more to himself than to her. "Without that... I can't even activate the summoning circle. Let alone escape this place."
Avalon raised a brow, twirling a strand of silver-blonde hair between her fingers, unimpressed. "Oh, I don't know what any of that means," she shrugged, "but be fast with whatever that is. Mama needs to get out of this rat hole."
She paused then, her smirk fading ever so slightly as a flicker of seriousness crossed her face. "By the way... you can't be gone too long. If I don't return my soul avatar within a week, my body will start to decay. First the skin will dry out, then the muscles will atrophy. By the eighth day, I'll be a withered husk, and by the ninth—poof." She clicked her fingers dramatically. "Gone. And rebuilding a body from scratch?" She let out a bitter chuckle. "Not something I can pull off in this dimension, not with my current strength."
Josh glanced at her then, eyes sharp, taking in the weight of her warning.
"So," she said with a casual wave of her hand, as if they were discussing loan terms rather than metaphysical death, "if I don't see you back in that time frame, I'll just yank my soul avatar right out of your little plan and leave you to enjoy the full wrath of this prison yourself. Hope your bones like the sound of breaking."
Josh didn't respond. He simply exhaled slowly, lowering himself into a cross-legged position like a monk before a mountain. His fingers formed an arcane mudra, his breathing steadying.
From outside their cells, the air began to thrum with a low vibration—barely perceptible, like a whisper at the edge of a dream. Josh's consciousness was already reaching inward, slipping past the pain, the weight of confinement, and diving into the layered depths of his mind.
There, in the quiet beyond thought, he sent out the signal.
"David. I'm ready. Begin the 'I am King Protocol' training."
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Region 1
Imperial City
The Colosseum…
Back on Earth, beneath the glimmering suns of the empire's capital, the famed colosseum stood in all its glory—a towering architectural wonder of green painted stone and gold-veined marble, designed for blood, cheers, and indulgent spectacle.
Today, however, the atmosphere was taut with unease.
The crowd gathered as per the emperor's mysterious instruction. No specific reason had been given—just a royal edict: "All great heads of the realm are summoned to the Colosseum."
From the highest balconies to the ground-level amphitheatre, the seats were alive with speculation.
The High Generals, seasoned and bloodied from countless wars, sat with their ceremonial sabres sheathed but fingers twitching. The noble houses arrived in full regalia, robes trailing behind them like serpents, their heads adorned in crests that told stories of conquest and betrayal.
The entire imperial court was present, their silk whispers barely containing their suspicions. Was the emperor ill? Was he abdicating? Had one of his bastard sons been chosen as heir?
Meanwhile, the colosseum itself buzzed with anticipation. The great arena floor, often bathed in blood and sand, had been scrubbed clean—spotless. An enormous golden podium stood at its centre, untouched.
Friends reunited, laughing and whispering into each other's ears. Some wept as they embraced after years of silence or exile. There was joy—but beneath it all, a steady undercurrent of dread.
And above the murmuring, high in the royal tier, several key figures were gathered.
Manual Stunner, the hand of the emperor, stood stiff as ever in his deep emerald robes. His eyes scanned the crowd like a hawk, lips unmoving, hands clasped before him in militant precision.
Beside him was the imposing Adolph Li, the King's Reagent, known for his expert fighting ability, unusual calm and wisdom. His fingers, adorned with bone rings, tapped rhythmically on the edge of the marble seat.
And pacing like a restless lion nearby was Darke Dean, the legendary head trainer of the imperial army, and a man known more for brute strength than subtlety. His contempt for Adolph Li was no secret. The two men were like fire and oil, barely tolerating each other's presence for the sake of imperial duty.
Today, however, both stood in silence, only glancing briefly at one another—Manual Stunner playing the eternal role of mediator between them.
Their section was slightly lower than where the emperor would traditionally sit, separated by a curtain of blue mana thread that obscured the emperor's private tier from direct view.
But still, the emperor had not arrived.
Ten minutes passed. Then twenty. Then nearly thirty.
The crowd's noise began to escalate again. Whispers returned. Murmurs turned to questions. Some nobles shifted uncomfortably, while a few looked toward the sun, trying to read omens in its heat.