Aron could smell it: the sharp stench of Olympian blood gradually creeping into his nose. They lay flat on their stomachs at the edge of a cliff, peering down at the unnatural valley below. No, not just a valley anymore.

  A whole city waited there, gleaming and impossible, carved out of the frozen waste. And it wasn't waiting for them. It was waiting for Aron.

  The illusion rippled across the grass the way heat bends over hot pavement. Then the next tear appeared: a clean slit in the fabric of space itself. Gold light bled through the edges. Something Aron had seen before, not in the past but in futures yet to come.

  Another slit opened. Then another. These weren't wild portals tearing reality apart; they were precise incisions, measured and surgical, as though someone had taken a scalpel to the world and gently pulled the seams apart just enough.

  Figures stepped out.

  Blond hair catching the false sunlight. Bronze armor gleaming. Spears humming with contained lightning.

  One at first. Then ten. Fifty. A hundred. Just as his system had already notified him. They didn't roar or charge. They simply arrived, stepping into perfect ranks with a discipline that felt almost mechanical. It made the mind reel. Were the gods really just bedding every woman they saw and calling the results an army?

  James let out a slow breath beside him. "They're multiplying fast."

  The green floor had vanished beneath spreading gold. More seams split open overhead and between the trees—straight, unnatural lines carving through the air. Warriors dropped into formation so cleanly it hurt to watch: rows snapping into place, shields aligning without a single gap. No chaos. No hesitation.

  Aron's eyes narrowed. "This isn't just a touch of love or a careless mistake anymore. This is deliberate. They're actively breeding an army."

  The ancient law of love and marriage that he, Adam, and Eve had once imposed on the gods—they hadn't merely used it. They had abused it to the very last thread. And it wasn't only that. The way these forces appeared here, in this green city blooming between Greenland's ice, showed they were wielding magic and technology far more advanced than anything else he had encountered.

  James caught the implication immediately. "Rune tech."

  The scanner in Aron's vision flickered in confirmation. It wasn't pure godly power stitching those seams; it was patterned, calculated.

  "They don't just lean on karma," Aron said under his breath. "They're using runes and magic. The very spells the angels and I once condemned." He finally understood who stood at the edge of this green pocket in Greenland. Only one being could sustain this kind of rune magic.

  James swallowed hard, watching the numbers climb and climb in his own vision. Only a fellow god, or perhaps those two dwarves, possessed the capacity to maintain high-volume teleportation on this scale. "My lord, I think Hermez is not alone."

  Aron had already pieced it together. "I know. There are two."

  With those words, even James knew who the second one had to be. His jaw clenched. "Hermez… and Hephaestus."

  The name settled between them like lead.

  "Hephaestus is anchoring the field," Aron said.

  "They're working together," James finished, his voice flat with a hint of disbelief. Olympians were a family, yes, but a chaotic one—always one trying to outpace the others.

  So this was rare. Olympians didn't cooperate unless the stakes were enormous, or unless they were hiding something even bigger.

  The valley floor trembled as another surge phased in.

  James tightened his grip on the cracked staff Aron had handed him earlier. It thrummed quietly in his palm, almost eager, far more responsive to him than it had ever been to its previous owner.

  "This is a kill zone if we enter, my lord," James said, no emotion in his voice. Just pure fact.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  "Yeah."

  "And you're sitting at negative karma, I believe."

  "…Yeah."

  "And Hephaestus is probably linking Greenland straight to the Olympian realm."

  "Yeah."

  James glanced sideways at him. "So we're not charging in."

  "No."

  For half a second, relief flashed across James's face. Then something moved at the edge of the treeline. Aron's gaze snapped toward it.

  Not gold. Not bronze. A familiar shade of yellow hair beneath a black jacket. Hood pulled low. Head down.

  "Theo," Aron muttered.

  Standing among the bastards, spear lowered, posture loose enough to blend into the crowd. But that sharp, subtle aura was impossible to miss.

  His spy.

  He should have checked in already. Aron's hand twitched toward his coat pocket out of habit, then he remembered. The phone had shattered back when Hermez slammed him into the ice. James noticed the motion. Without a word, he pulled out his own device and offered it.

  "Use mine."

  Aron took it.

  The army had thickened into layered rings now, forming a perfect cage around the valley floor. The last traces of the sanctuary illusion dissolved. Aron dialed. Theo picked up on the second ring. No hello.

  "Don't look at me," Theo said, calm and even.

  "I'm not."

  A short pause.

  "You really know how to pick a noisy spot," Theo went on. "I've got at least thirty of his golden-haired kids within earshot."

  "Then don't act suspicious," Aron replied. "Be normal and steady, the way you always were."

  Theo nodded as he leaned casually against a leaning tree, as though everything were ordinary. "So what's going on, immortal? Planning to retreat?"

  "No," Aron said, surprising both Theo and James. "Just a momentary step back."

  Both of them exhaled in quiet relief, thank the Lord but the next words made Theo's breath hitch.

  "In the meantime," Aron continued, "I want you to find Peter."

  Theo's silence turned pointed. "He's still breathing?" he asked.

  "…"

  Another beat.

  "I'm sorry. Bad habit," Theo said. "What happened to him? Where is he?"

  "…He's been captured by Hermez. If you can, search for him and—"

  The line cut abruptly, leaving Aron holding dead air.

  "Peter, Peter… that little herald will be the death of me," Theo muttered, wiping sweat from his brow with a heavy sigh as he started walking deeper into the giant modern palace before him.

  James tensed at the sudden cutoff, but Aron stayed steady.

  "Don't worry," Aron said. "He's green, he'll search for Peter." He dialed again. Theo answered once more, letting out a short, bitter huff that wasn't quite laughter.

  "They used to say the same things about me," Theo said. "Hope. Potential. Purpose incarnate." His voice darkened. "It seems they fed me dreams, immortal. Made me think I actually mattered. But in the end, you wanted me to die too, didn't you?"

  "You already know what it takes," Aron replied, neither confirming nor denying.

  The formations shifted slightly, closing tighter. Theo blended back in. "You want me to locate Peter?" he asked.

  "Yes."

  "And if I find him?"

  "Keep him alive."

  Theo drew a slow breath. "I'll do it," he said after a moment. "Not for him."

  Aron waited.

  "For me," Theo finished. "I want to watch these Olympians crash. I want to see their shiny temples turned to rubble. Don't forget, you promised me that."

  The line hissed faintly.

  "Good," Aron said.

  The call ended. James stared at him. "You actually trust that guy?"

  "No."

  James blinked, surprised.

  "But I understand him," Aron added quietly. "I know what he is, and I know what he will become. The future isn't kind to him, so trust me, this one will be different." He spoke as though he had glimpsed Theo's entire path in the blink of an eye. Maybe he had. James didn't argue.

  The golden ranks kept thickening. More seams tore open above like invisible blades slicing fabric. The count had passed five hundred. Hermez's presence pulsed from the modern temple-like palace at the center.

  Aron's eyes hardened. He knew the other god was still trying to bait them. Bait him.

  "If we push straight at him now," James said softly, "we're dead."

  "Yes."

  "Peter dies too."

  "Indeed."

  "And Hephaestus doesn't even bother showing his face."

  "Yes." James rolled his shoulders. "So what's the move?"

  Aron exhaled slowly. "Above all, Peter comes first."

  "But my lord, your karma," James pointed out.

  Aron's jaw tightened. The system warning still lingered in his mind like a low burn: 'Pathway to Hell detected.'

  James stepped closer. "Please, my lord, don't do it."

  Aron didn't answer.

  "I know that look," James pressed. "You're thinking about converting again, taking another hit to spike your numbers."

  Aron stayed silent, his mind churning, fingers tapping lightly against the snow. The quiet was answer enough.

  "Don't," James said, harder this time. "Khorn's here. I'm here. We can stabilize you without—"

  "When I fought Hermez," Aron interrupted quietly, "I figured something out. My strength by itself isn't going to cut it anymore."

  The words came out calm. Too calm. More frightening than any outburst.

  James swallowed. "Then we pull back. Regroup. Bring in more bodies. We don't bet your whole existence on one roll… right?"

  Aron's gaze drifted to the glowing seams in the sky. "They've built this perfectly," he murmured. "Rune grids. Layered drops. Two gods holding the field together." A faint, almost invisible smile touched his lips. "They expect me to come straight at them."

  James's stomach twisted. "You're not planning to—"

  "No." Aron lifted his eyes a fraction higher. "Freya."

  James went rigid. "No... Hell no."

  "Yes."

  James grabbed his sleeve, tugging hard. "You can't trust her. She's called the witch—even her husband Odin doesn't trust her."

  "I don't."

  "Then why—"

  "Because I can use her. The trick is making her believe she's the one using me."