Zeus's head hung from my hand. Blood dripped onto the marble, hot against my fingers. The lightning sign burned into my skin—claimed, marked, mine.

  Gods filled the throne room. Athena raised a barrier. They watched. Frozen.

  Then Hercules ran at me.

  The Copy-Blade swallowed him whole. Opened like a mouth and pulled him in—his momentum, his rage, his legend. The blade shuddered. Closed. Did not open again.

  The room went silent.

  I looked at them. All of them. Athena. Poseidon. The rest.

  "Fools."

  The word hung in the air. Then I moved.

  The Ur-Blade sank into Zeus's head—through skull, through flesh, deep into what remained. I threw it at the barrier.

  Only Zeus could cross. But his head still carried his authority.

  It passed through like the barrier wasn't there.

  I ran. My hand breached it. Then my arm. My shoulder. My body. Cold washed over me—then nothing.

  I was through.

  I looked back one last time. The gods stood trapped on the other side. Athena's face unreadable. Poseidon's something else—fear, maybe. Respect.

  I smiled. Just enough.

  Then I turned.

  The Ur-Blade was gone—thrown ahead, somewhere beyond. But I felt it. The connection. The debt. The claim.

  I teleported.

  The void between pantheons was cold. Silent. Empty. The kind of empty that presses against your skin.

  My body dissolved and reformed, dissolved again—riding the thread between me and the blade. The Ur-Blade pulled, and I followed. It always knew where I needed to go.

  This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  "I know where you're taking me."

  My voice was the only sound in the nothing.

  "I'm tired. But you also know that work is important."

  The blade pulsed. Agreement. Or maybe just acknowledgment.

  I let it pull.

  The bar emerged from the void—a structure that shouldn't exist, but did. Outside all realms. All rules. All time.

  I landed. The Copy-Blade's wings folded into my back. I pulled the Ur-Blade from where I'd tucked it—a sheath I hadn't known existed until I made it.

  The entrance shimmered. A scanner of pure light passed over my body.

  *Scanning... *

  Pause.

  *Identity confirmed: Fallen Head of Brahma. *

  The doors opened.

  *Welcome, World Creator. *

  I stepped inside.

  The bar stretched forever. Tables in every style, every era. Gods sat everywhere—some I recognized, most I didn't. They drank. They talked. They watched me enter.

  I walked past them. The Ur-Blade hummed. The lightning sign on my hand still burned.

  Egyptian gods sat at a long table, drinking from golden cups. Wine of Grapes—deep red, almost black. Two goddesses—dark-haired, kohl-lined eyes—watched me pass. One bit her lip. The other leaned close, whispering.

  "He shouldn't be this cute."

  "I know. It's almost unfair."

  "Look at him. Walking in here like he owns the place. With that face."

  "And that head." A pause. "Zeus's head."

  "I don't care about the head. Look at his jaw."

  Their eyes followed. I didn't look back.

  Further in, Japanese gods knelt on cushions, passing cups of Kuchikami no Sake—the ancient wine, chewed and fermented, sacred. A goddess with too many faces turned as I approached. Three of her faces smiled. The others just watched. Her lips moved—no sound, but I felt the words.

  Cute. Too young. Impossible.

  I kept walking.

  A table in the corner. Jesus sat alone, two cups before him. One held Marawi—white, crisp, the wine of his homeland. The other held Bittuni—red, like Pinot Noir, the blood of grapes he must have known.

  He looked at me. Nodded.

  I stopped.

  "Hello, sir."

  My voice came out quieter than I expected.

  He smiled. Just slightly. Nodded again. Didn't speak. Didn't need to.

  I nodded back. Kept walking.

  Then I saw him.

  Thor.

  He sat at a heavy wooden table, a massive horn in his hand, foam dripping from his beard. Mead—the drink of warriors, of thunder gods, of those who had earned the right to sit. His eyes were on me before I reached him.

  I walked toward him. Sat next to him.

  He didn't speak. Didn't move. Just drank from his horn.

  I didn't speak either.

  Behind me, the goddesses still whispered. The Japanese goddess still watched. Jesus sat alone in his corner.

  I didn't care.

  I sat next to Thor. Zeus's head on the table between us. The lightning sign burning on my hand.

  And for the first time since Olympus—I rested.