Ethan's eyes snapped open, only to be immediately assaulted by dizziness, pressure, and a deeply unsettling sense that something had gone catastrophically wrong somewhere in reality. As his vision stabilized, he found himself staring at a palace so vast and impossibly magnificent that his brain briefly considered shutting down entirely rather than attempting to process it.
Towering pillars carved from radiant gold stretched endlessly upward, while the air itself seemed to hum with ancient power, as if even existence here had better things to do than obey normal rules. For a long, painful moment, Ethan simply stared ahead in complete silence, his thoughts lagging several seconds behind what his eyes were desperately trying to understand.
Then, like a man making the worst possible decision with full awareness, he slowly looked downward. He instantly regretted everything.
He was sitting on a massive golden throne that radiated authority, divinity, and an alarming level of responsibility he absolutely did not apply for. Surrounding him were rows of figures seated in perfect order, each one emanating terrifying auras that made his instincts scream at him to apologize for existing.
His brain tried to deny reality for a few seconds, but then recognition hit like a truck going at full speed. Thor, Loki, Heimdall—several others his mind barely managed to register before giving up entirely.
"…No," Ethan thought, his inner voice already cracking under pressure, "no no no no no, this is not happening, I refuse, I literally just went to sleep like a normal unemployed human being." A sharp headache slammed into his skull as fragmented memories flooded in—names, authority, power—but none of it felt complete or stable.
Just as suddenly as they came, the memories vanished again, leaving him with the worst possible conclusion. "I have somehow transmigrated into Odin," he thought numbly, "and I don't even have the full tutorial unlocked, what kind of scam is this."
Before he could spiral further into existential despair, his body moved on its own with an ease that made everything worse instead of better. He shifted slightly on the throne, a small, controlled motion that felt completely natural to the body he was borrowing.
Immediately, every god in the hall stood up in perfect unison. "We greet the All-Father. We greet the God King."
Ethan's soul tried to leave his body. "WHAT THE ACTUAL—NO—STOP—SIT DOWN—WHY ARE YOU ALL STANDING—WHO APPROVED THIS—" his thoughts screamed internally while his face remained frozen in what he desperately hoped looked like calm divine indifference.
Beneath the white beard and regal presence, however, a 23-year-old virgin was experiencing what could only be described as a complete system failure. "I am not the All-Father," he continued internally, panic escalating rapidly, "I am barely the All-Pay-Rent-On-Time-Father, what is this promotion and how do I decline it immediately."
The hall fell silent again, but it was not a peaceful silence; it was heavy, expectant, and dangerously attentive. Every single pair of eyes was fixed on him, waiting for him to speak, act, or do literally anything worthy of a god king.
Ethan realized something horrifying in that moment. One mistake here, just one tiny, stupid mistake, and he was absolutely, unquestionably dead.
"…Right," he thought after a long pause, forcing his panic into something resembling structure, "okay, new plan, don't talk too much, don't move too much, just act mysterious and powerful and maybe nobody notices I'm completely unqualified for this position." It was, without question, the worst plan he had ever made, which unfortunately made it the best one available.
Trying to maintain the illusion of control, Ethan slowly raised one hand in what he hoped looked like a deliberate, commanding gesture. The moment he did, something terrifying happened.
Power responded.
The moment his hand lifted, the weight in the hall shifted so violently that even space itself seemed to hesitate before obeying him again. An invisible pressure descended like a collapsing sky, and several gods were forced back into their seats while others instinctively dropped to one knee under the sheer authority of it.
No one resisted.
"…I did not sign up for this feature," Ethan screamed internally, "why are they kneeling, why are they sitting down, I just raised my hand like a confused customer trying to ask for help."
The golden hall trembled faintly, not from destruction but from submission, as if the very structure recognized a command that Ethan himself absolutely did not remember giving. Even the air grew heavier, pressing down on every being present except him, which was frankly the least comforting outcome possible.
"Oh great," he thought with rising horror, "not only am I in charge, reality itself is also taking instructions from me, this is exactly how disasters start."
Thor staggered half a step before stabilizing himself, his expression shifting from confidence to something far more serious as he lowered his head slightly in respect. Loki, on the other hand, did not move as much, but the subtle tightening of his eyes made it very clear that he had noticed everything.
"…Yep, he saw that," Ethan thought, mentally collapsing further, "of course he saw that, the one guy here who actually questions things is definitely not going to let this go."
A few gods remained kneeling, their heads lowered as if waiting for further command, while others sat rigidly in their seats, unwilling or unable to move against the pressure. The entire hall had transitioned from orderly assembly to absolute submission in less than a second, all because Ethan had lifted his hand like an idiot.
"I need to stop moving," he told himself urgently, "hands are dangerous, gestures are dangerous, breathing might also be dangerous at this point."
Slowly, very slowly, he lowered his hand back onto the armrest of the throne, trying to look as if everything that had just happened was completely intentional and not a catastrophic accident. The pressure eased immediately, like a storm being dismissed with casual indifference.
Several gods exhaled subtly, though none dared to raise their heads fully without permission.
"…They're waiting," Ethan realized, dread settling deeper into his bones, "they are actually waiting for me to say something wise, powerful, or at the very least not completely stupid."
His mind raced at full speed, producing absolutely nothing useful.
"Okay, think," he told himself, panic sharpening into forced focus, "you are Odin, you are ancient, wise, terrifying, and definitely not someone who just discovered his own hands are weapons five seconds ago."
He straightened slightly on the throne, letting silence stretch again, this time with a fraction more control than before. The hall remained utterly still, every god focused entirely on him, as if even the smallest word would carry the weight of fate itself.
"…Right," he decided finally, committing to the most dangerous plan imaginable, "if I don't know anything, I'll just say something vague and let them overthink it."
His lips parted slightly inside was total chaos and outside, a god king prepared to speak.