The hall was vast, bathed in the eternal, bleeding orange light of a frozen sunset. Shadows stretched long and thin across the floor, converging on a long, dark red table that seemed stained with the blood of epochs.
The air was heavy, suffocating with the presence of multiple Deities and Kings of Angels.
At the head of the table sat a man shrouded in shadows. He had dark, curly hair and eyes that held the depths of a corrupted sea.
Dark Angel Sasrir.
The Left Hand of God. The Deputy of the Kingdom of Heaven.
To his left sat the Kings of Angels: The silver-haired Ouroboros, staring blankly at a mural he was likely drawing in his mind. The red-haired Medici, his legs propped up on the table, picking his teeth with a dagger. The dignified Herabergen, reading a stone tablet. The muscular Leodero, sparking with impatient lightning, his turquoise armor ripling on his body. The handsome Aucuses, radiating a blinding, arrogant light of white-gold robes.
To his right sat the Subsidiary Gods: The warrior Badheil, encased in silver armor. The gentle Omebella, adorned with vines and flowers, her face covered with big botanical hat. The gloomy Salinger, wrapped in bandages and a skull as a hat. The indistinct Tolzna, like a mummy with rose thorns weaving around his body.
"The Lord is resting," Sasrir spoke. His voice was not loud, but it resonated in the spirit bodies of everyone present. "The awakening of the Primordial One is accelerating. 'He' has received a revelation."
"A revelation?" Medici scoffed. "Does the Old Man want us to kill more ancient gods? I'm running out of space on my armor for trophies."
"No," Sasrir's gaze was solemn. "He spoke of 'Intruders'. Anomalies in the river of fate. He believes they may be the key to the ritual."
"Intruders?" Leodero frowned, thunder rumbling in his throat. "The ones the Shadowcloaks are chasing? Rats hiding in the dark."
Creak.
The heavy double doors of the palace swung open. The twilight outside swirled, forming a path of starlight and fog.
Three figures walked in.
Leading them was Amanises, the Goddess of Evernight. She wore her starlight dress, her veil lifted to reveal a calm, confident smile.
Flanking her were two men. To her left walked a man in a pitch-black coat that seemed to absorb the light of the dusk. His face was pale, his eyes sharp and reading the room like a text. Kim Dokja. To her right walked a man in a red regalia, wearing a tall silk top hat. His face was obscured by a thin layer of distortion, but his monocle glinted with a scholar's intellect. Klein Moretti.
They were perfect opposites.
Medici tensed as he saw the monocle. Luckily, It was on his left eye.
Amanises didn't stop. She walked straight to the other end of the table, opposite Sasrir. She sat down in the second seat of honor.
She waved her hand casually. "Sit."
She gestured for Kim Dokja to take the empty seat at the end of the Subsidiary Gods' row. She gestured for Klein Moretti to take the empty seat at the end of the Kings of Angels' row.
The silence in the hall shattered.
"Who are they?" Medici slammed his foot down, sitting up straight. His eyes burned with fire and provocation. "Since when does Rose Redemption accept stray dogs? And why is that one..." He pointed at Klein. "...sitting on our side?"
"They are the Key," Amanises said, her voice cutting through the tension. "The 'Intruders' you were looking for."
"Them?" Aucuses looked at Klein with disdain. "He is not even a King of Angels. He is unworthy of this table."
Amanises countered. "They are not bound by the fate of this epoch."
"I don't care about fate," Badheil (Combat) grunted, his hand reaching for his greatsword. "Are they strong?"
"Strong enough to kill Antigonus," Amanises dropped the bomb.
The room froze. Antigonus. The Demonic Wolf. A Sequence 2 Mythical Creature. Dead?
"Antigonus is dead?" Ouroboros turned his head slowly, his eyes focusing on Klein.
"Enough," Sasrir's voice boomed. Shadows erupted from him, suppressing the rising auras of the gods and angels. "If the Evernight vouches for them, they stay. We do not have time for internal squabbles."
He looked at Amanises. "Is Adam ready?"
"'He' is preparing," Amanises replied. "The stage is being set. But we need time."
"The Lord does not have time," Sasrir said, his face twisting with pain, as if he were holding back a monster inside him. "Maybe half a year. At most."
"Half a year..." Herabergen calculated. "That is tight. The anchors need to be stabilized."
"We must be ready at any moment," Sasrir declared. "The Primodial will not wait for us." He looked at the gathered members. "This meeting is adjourned. We reconvene in one month. Do not fail Him."
The figures began to stand up, their projections fading or turning to leave.
As they rose, Amanises turned to Omebella, the Earth Mother. Omebella was a beautiful, voluptuous woman with a gentle smile. Amanises caught her eye. And then, the terrifying Evernight Goddess raised her hand and made a V-sign. A peace sign.
Omebella blinked. For a second, the gentle mask slipped, revealing a flash of confusion, then... a sly, knowing glint? Or perhaps sheer bafflement at the anachronistic gesture. The other deities stared, utterly confused. 'Is that a secret code? A rune?' Herabergen furiously memorized the gesture.
Amanises grinned, then grabbed Klein and Dokja. "Let's go."
Flash. Their existence was erased from the Giant King's Court.
They reappeared on the snowy peak outside the cathedral.
"That went well," Amanises said, stretching her arms. "Medici wanted to burn you, Klein. I saw it in his eyes."
"He always wants to burn things," Klein said, wiping sweat from his forehead.
"By the way," Amanises pointed to the valley below, to a small, insignificant hamlet of humans protected by her Nighthawks. "That village. It's called Backlund."
Klein looked at the wooden huts and mud roads. "Backlund?" The future capital of the Loen Kingdom. The capital of capitals in the Fifth Epoch. "It... looks small."
"It will grow," Amanises smiled. "It will be very important. Like New York. Or London. Buy real estate now if you can."
'Oh, Goddess it definitely will,' Klein smiled.
Kim Dokja sighed, kicking the snow. "We should get back. We shouldn't have left him alone."
"The Plotter?" Klein asked.
"Yeah," Dokja stuttered.
"Ah," Amanises laughed. "What was that mini-regressor. He's cute. Can I keep him?"
"Let's go," Klein stretched out his hand.
"See you later," Amanises made a V-sign once more.
They stepped into the living room. It was quiet. Too quiet.
The Secretive Plotter was sitting on the sofa, reading a newspaper from the Third Epoch. He looked bored out of his mind. There was a plate of empty dumplings on the table.
"You're back," the Plotter said, not looking up.
"We survived," Klein said, taking off his top hat. "The meeting was... intense. We have a month."
"A month," the Plotter folded the newspaper. "To prepare for the death of a God."
He looked at Klein. "How was it? The gathering of Traitors?"
"Colorful," Klein summarized.
The Plotter paused. "A peace sign?"
"Don't ask," Dokja muttered, heading for the kitchen to find the Kkoma.
The Plotter stood up. He walked to the window, looking at the sun that would soon fall. He turned to Klein, his expression unreadable.
"So," the Plotter asked, his voice low. "Is that enough time for your advancement ritual?"
He looked at the Plotter. 'He knows? Or is he guessing?'
He gestured to the window, to the Sanguine town of Blood Moon. "You have a town. You have a month. And you have a war coming."
Klein gripped his cane. A smile slowly spread across his face—the smile of a Magician who has just revealed the prestige.
"It is tight," Klein admitted. "But I have a plan in my mind..." He tapped the floor. "...I'm gonna create a real Utopia."