"PFFFF!!! HAHAHAHA!"
King Enma doubled forward in his seat, one hand clutching his stomach, the other slamming against the armrest. His glasses slid halfway down his nose as he wheezed. "An eye test?! An eye test?! I judge the dead and I haven't seen something that cruel in centuries!"
He wiped a tear from the corner of his eye, still laughing. "Did you see his face? The SUN GOD… asking someone to read letters!"
Beside him, another god finally broke.
A tall figure leaned back, laughter booming like rolling thunder wrapped in mirth. His skin was bronze-dark, his hair a wild cascade of curls tied with gold bands. He wore a long, flowing robe patterned with constellations and carried a staff topped with a crescent and star.
Tezcatlipoca.
The Aztec god of night, mirrors, and deception.
"Oh, this is delicious," Tezcatlipoca said between laughs, sharp obsidian eyes gleaming. "Illusions within illusions. Comedy as a weapon."
He snapped his fingers, and a smoky mirror shimmered briefly in his palm, replaying the moment.
"Look at that," he added, grinning. "For a second there… he forgot he was a god."
King Enma nodded vigorously. "That's the dangerous part. Not the jokes. The humanity of it."
The arena blurred at the edges again, stone softening, sky folding like paper burned at the corners. The roar of gods and mortals alike dulled into a distant echo, as if heard through water.
Ra reached out instinctively.
Too late.
The world cut.
Beep.
Beep.
Beep.
Anaxagoras lay flat on his back.
A hospital bed. White sheets. IV drip in his arm. His chest was bandaged tightly, rising and falling with shallow breaths. The air smelled sterile, clean, painfully mundane.
He blinked.
"…Ow," he muttered. "Yep. Still hurts. That's real."
He turned his head slightly, eyes unfocused. "Nurse?" he called weakly. "Hello? I think I've been stabbed, elbowed, electrocuted, run over, and philosophically dismantled."
Footsteps approached.
Measured. Calm. Almost regal.
A curtain slid aside.
Anaxagoras squinted, and then froze.
The nurse stood tall, radiant even beneath fluorescent lights. Dark skin glowing softly like sunlit bronze. Long black hair pulled back neatly. Golden eyes calm, clinical, unreadable.
She wore pale blue scrubs.
A name badge rested on her chest.
NURSE R. SOL
Anaxagoras stared.
Then smiled faintly.
"…Wow," he said. "I knew universal healthcare was impressive, but this is something else."
The nurse tilted her head. "You are awake."
Her voice was Ra's.
Softer.
Controlled.
But unmistakable.
"Congratulations," Nurse Ra continued, checking his chart with practiced efficiency.
"Most patients do not survive being crushed by a god of war, struck by the sun, and
psychologically assaulted by their own jokes."
Anaxagoras winced as she adjusted his IV. "So… bedside manner isn't your strong suit in any reality, huh?"
She ignored the comment. "Pain level. One to ten."
"Depends," Anaxagoras replied. "Is ten being incinerated or being judged by Zeus?"
"…Seven," she said flatly, making a note.
He watched her carefully now. The illusion felt thicker. More stable. Less playful.
"Ra," he said quietly. "You're really leaning into this one."
She paused.
Just for a fraction of a second.
"This is no illusion," Nurse Ra said. "This is recovery."
Anaxagoras chuckled weakly. "Funny. Last time I checked, gods weren't licensed practitioners."
She leaned closer, golden eyes locking onto his.
"And last time I checked," she said, voice low, "humans did not make gods laugh."
Silence stretched.
The heart monitor beeped steadily.
Anaxagoras broke it first. "So… am I dying?"
Nurse Ra straightened. "Not yet."
"Good," he said. "Because I still haven't finished my routine."
She turned toward the door. "Rest. You will need strength."
The heart monitor's beep stretched.
Lo-o-o-ng.
Then warped into.
DING!
Anaxagoras' eyes snapped open.
He was no longer in a hospital bed.
He was standing.
Behind a counter.
A laminated menu hovered above him in glowing letters:
WELCOME TO COSMIC CAFÉ: Serving Breakfast Since the Dawn of Time
The smell of burnt coffee and overcooked eggs filled the air.
He looked down.
Apron.
Hairnet.
Name badge.
ANAXAGORAS – TRAINEE
"…You've got to be kidding me," he muttered.
A bell rang.
DING DING.
"Order up."
He turned.
Behind the counter stood Ra.
Fully radiant again, but downgraded. His glow was muted, like a sun behind clouds. He wore a crisp café uniform, sleeves rolled up, arms crossed, expression permanently unimpressed.
His name badge read:
RA – SHIFT MANAGER
"You're late," Ra said flatly. "Again."
Anaxagoras blinked. "I was dying."
Ra slid a tray across the counter. On it sat a plate holding… a miniature sun. Sunny-side up. Literally.
"No excuses," Ra replied. "Table seven wants light without heat. Table three wants heat without light. And someone in the corner booth keeps asking if you're 'the guy who said the sun was just a rock.'"
Anaxagoras winced. "Yikes. That's on me."
The café was packed.
Gods. Mortals. Creatures that probably didn't have names yet.
A god sat at a booth, sipping coffee labeled DECAF (FOR THE DEAD), watching with amusement.
A giant cosmic being raised a hand. "Excuse me! My sunrise is overcooked!"
Ra slammed his palm on the counter.
"That's impossible," he snapped. "I cook perfectly."
Anaxagoras leaned in, whispering, "Maybe try… medium rare?"
Ra glared.
Then against his will he paused.
"…That's not a thing."
"Neither is customer satisfaction," Anaxagoras shrugged.
DING DING.
A ticket printed out of thin air and slapped onto the counter.
Ra read it aloud.
"ONE BLACK HOLE ESPRESSO. NO SINGULARITY FOAM."
He pinched the bridge of his nose. "I hate mornings."
Anaxagoras grabbed a coffee pot and poured. The liquid immediately collapsed inward, sucking the mug halfway through the counter.
"…Oops."
Ra stared.
Long.
Hard.
Then sighed. "Clock out."
"What?" Anaxagoras said. "I just started!"
Ra leaned close, voice low and dangerous. "You turned Armageddon into customer service."
Ra straightened, light flaring violently as the illusion began to unravel.
"This ends," he growled.
Anaxagoras saluted with the apron. "Five-star review though."
Ra stood still as the remnants of the Cosmic Café drifted around him: half-formed tables, a bell frozen mid-ring, Anaxagoras still wearing the stupid apron, mid-smug.
Something clicked.
Ra's glow dimmed.
Not weakened.
Focused.
"…No," Ra said quietly.
The illusion tried to continue anyway.
The bell rang again.
DING.
A laugh track started, soft, coaxing.
Anaxagoras opened his mouth. "Okay, but hear me out."
Ra raised a hand.
The sound cut dead.
No echo. No reverb.
Silence fell like a guillotine.
Ra looked around, not at the set, but through it. His eyes burned, not with fire, but with comprehension.
"This isn't about confusion," Ra said. "Or distraction. Or mockery."
The café flickered.
A god in the audience laughed and was immediately erased from the background, like chalk wiped from a board.
Ra continued, voice steady.
"You don't win by overpowering me."
A chair dissolved.
"You don't win by outthinking me."
The menu vanished.
"You win by making me react."
Anaxagoras' grin faltered for the first time.
Ra stepped forward.
The floor no longer squeaked. It cracked.
"Your comedy isn't chaos," Ra said. "It's bait."
The laugh track returned, louder, desperate.
Ra did not flinch.
He did not smile.
He did not even frown.
He simply… refused.
The jokes started failing.
A pie flew toward his face and stopped mid-air, sagging like a bad idea.
A rimshot tried to fire.
Nothing.
Anaxagoras snapped his fingers. "C'mon, that one was good."
Ra stared at him.
Unblinking.
Unamused.
The illusion began to starve.
Colors dulled. Props lost mass. Punchlines arrived and fell flat, hitting the ground with soft, embarrassed thuds.
Anaxagoras took a step back.
"…Oh," he said. "You figured it out."
Ra nodded once.
"The moment I laughed," he said, "I accepted your rules."
He clenched his fist.
Light did not explode.
It compressed.
"I am the Sun," Ra said. "I do not orbit."
The Cosmic Café collapsed inward, not violently, but awkwardly. Like a joke told to an empty room.
Silence.
Bare reality.
Just the two of them now.
Anaxagoras exhaled, apron unraveling into dust.
"Well," he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck, "that's devastating for my brand."
Ra's glow returned. But there was something new in his eyes.
"You may still win," Ra said. "But not like this."
He turned away, the last fragments of comedy evaporating behind him.
Anaxagoras watched him go, thoughtful.
"…Damn," he muttered.
Then smiled, smaller this time.
"Guess I'll have to be serious."
Ra stopped.
Slowly, deliberately, he turned back.
The arena lights dimmed as his presence alone bent the air. He raised one hand, no flourish, no dramatics, just a single finger leveled at Anaxagoras' chest.
The gesture was almost… casual.
"Sun Blast."
There was no beam.
No roaring column of light.
Just a sharp flash, like the snap of a camera shutter taken by the universe itself.
BANG.
The blast hit like a god-fired bullet.
The force punched straight through Anaxagoras' upper body in an instant. Not an explosion, but an erasure, light moving faster than thought. The shockwave followed a heartbeat later, ripping the air apart and hurling what remained of him backward across the arena floor.
Stone shattered. Dust screamed outward.
For a split second, Anaxagoras was simply… gone from the waist up, his cane clattering uselessly to the ground as the divine light burned itself into the arena wall behind him.
Silence.
The gods froze.
The humans couldn't breathe.