How dare these petty minor pantheons claim the title of God-King?
Tear them all down!
Thalos's actions were aimed squarely at restoring the weight of the "God-King" title.
Those small-time god-kings, now assigned under the command of newly appointed kings, could forget about ever rising again.
The political message this broadcast was crystal clear.
Since those mini pantheons and their entourages were entirely dismantled—cross-assigned and made to pledge loyalty to different new kings, who themselves were posted to unfamiliar realms—Thalos had cut off any root of power or homegrown base. And since none of the small-world gods were native to the new kings' bloodlines, there was no chance of manipulating them to turn against their emperor.
Before long, more news came:
The new kings would have administrative authority only—no military command, and no right to enfeoff others. If a new god was born, once they came of age, they would report directly to Thalos at the Golden Palace in Asgard. Their appointment would be determined by the God-Emperor, and they would not be allowed to remain in their father's domain.
This announcement sent shockwaves through the divine world.
Everyone now clearly saw that Thalos was still enforcing a strong centralized regime. He had merely delegated civil administration—these "kings" held a title of prestige, not autonomous power.
In the past, such a move would've met with widespread resistance.
But now:
1. Thalos's feats were unrivaled and could silence any protest.
2. After witnessing Odin's descent into chaos, his fratricidal betrayals, and the onset of Ragnarök, even the old gods understood the need for stricter oversight.
3. With so many new gods flooding in, the older deities knew there had to be a system to keep them in line.
And let's face it—for many semi-literate gods, even if you handed them this governance puzzle, they couldn't have come up with a better, more refined restructuring strategy than Thalos already had.
Not long after, the third royal appointment was announced:
Yekaterina, the Slavic goddess of dominion!
With her impressive talent in civil governance, Yekaterina would be sent to the dismantled and rebuilt Indian subcontinent, tasked with governing and civilizing the Shudra caste.
Don't underestimate these once-"fourth-class" citizens—they were now liberated and, each of them, full of gratitude toward Thalos.
But after freedom, order is required.
Post-neoliberal chaos tends to spiral back toward entropy. Yekaterina had previously handled the remaining Maya mortals with a heavy hand, paving the way for Gilgamesh's more nuanced leadership.
Back then, both Perron and Shiva had viewed their "princess" daughters as chess pieces—moved wherever needed.
Though they sighed inwardly, they had long accepted reality.
After all, what choice did they have? Their pantheons had fallen so far that they had no worlds of their own—just slaves of the Aztecs.
That debt to Thalos was one they could never repay in full.
To be allowed to rebuild a Slavic realm at all—they were already grateful.
What they didn't know was that Thalos had thought even further ahead—gratitude fades. Short-term, the Slavic gods may have no complaints. But over time, as imbalance grows between effort and reward, tension is bound to flare.
Sending Yekaterina to subdue the Indian pantheon? A strategic move.
Thalos had considered sending a Celtic god to the region. After all, "British gentlemen" had a certain historical edge when it came to India. But one: he hadn't fathered any children with Scathach or Medb. And two: back in his previous life, Britain had actually elected an Indian prime minister, so that "edge" might not hold anymore.
In the end, he decided to let Queen Yekaterina handle it.
And by the way—when Thalos slaughtered all the Indian gods, two heroes unexpectedly survived:
Arjuna and Karna.
Because there had been no clear directive on whether to purge all demigods, none of the Aesir had acted against them. So the two simply… survived. Days later, when the matter finally came to Brunhilde's attention and she reported it, Thalos simply pardoned them.
"Let Queen Yekaterina handle their training."
The fourth king was, ahem, Anubis.
Thalos assigned him to govern the newly-formed South Union World, a combination of various small South Asian realms. While the mortals there didn't pose a major threat, the massive ethnic diversity meant governing them would be messy and full of friction.
Anubis's job was simple: Fairness. Fairness. And still more f\ing fairness.\\
The fifth king surprised everyone: Enkidu.
He would govern the mortals of the Egyptian world.
After this fifth appointment, the Golden Palace issued a new proclamation: Royal titles were honorific only—not permanently bound to a specific domain. If needed, a king could be reassigned to another world to continue fulfilling their duty.
The announcement was so explosive, most gods glossed over that final clause.
What they did focus on was one shocking detail—two of the newly-appointed god-kings came from the Sumerian line!
This caused a stir.
Especially when princes like Tyr, Vidar, and Heimdall all stepped forward to declare: "We are specialists of the Aesir. We do not seek kingship." Suddenly, the Sumerians seemed to be in the spotlight.
Only the sea god Enki let out a bitter smile. He pulled aside Ereshkigal, Ishtar, Enkidu, and Gilgamesh to speak to them in private:
"Ginnungagap is the world of the Aesir. Sumer is only a part of it. You must never forget this. If you let yourself be influenced by the lower ranks, if wild thoughts take root… that will be your doom."
Enki spoke with such gravity that even the most spirited of them—Ishtar—was visibly startled, nodding quickly in agreement.
He looked directly at the two young kings and said, "Let's not forget: Thalos defeated Enlil in direct combat. Even if he hadn't, as Enlil's older brother, I wouldn't defend that arrogant sadist. The Sumerian era is over. Remember: in all things, obey His Majesty Thalos. If he's not around, follow Thor."
Both Gilgamesh and Enkidu nodded solemnly.
After they left, Enki sighed deeply. "Your Majesty… you really think so highly of Sumer, don't you?"
As the former god of wisdom and water, Enki knew exactly what Thalos was doing.
He never cared much about the title of "God-Emperor."
This entire round of enfeoffment was forced upon him by the collective will of the gods.
After all, if even random nobodies from tiny worlds could self-declare as "god-kings," then how could the mighty Aesir—who had conquered pantheons and ruled dozens of worlds—still have a leader who only called himself "God-King"?
It wouldn't stand.
So Thalos's self-coronation as God-Emperor was really just a formality.
By appointing five of his own offspring as god-kings, it looked like five sub-kings pushing their father to ascend—but in truth, Thalos was using this opportunity to reform the entire divine hierarchy.
On paper, each was a God-King.
In reality? Every single one was just a divine bureaucrat.
What Enki didn't know was that, in Thalos's former world, there was a term for this exact system:
Technocrats.
(End of Chapter)
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