In the silent heart of the Luminous Court, Nicholas received Julian's report. The whispers from the Pit were now a clear, if distant, murmur in the tapestry of secrets. He listened as the Keeper relayed the demonic council's speculations, their hatred for the God they called the False Master, and their feverish hope in Lucifer's grand, destructive gamble.
A faint, cold smile touched the Shaper's lips. "How quaint," he said, his voice a low hum that vibrated through the strings of his throne. "They believe their machinations are hidden. They think they plot in the shadows, that their rage is hidden from me. From where I sit, their intentions are as obvious as the lines on a mortal palm. Every whispered ritual, every corrupted prayer aimed at cracking the Seal. It is all written in the threads, clear for me to read."
He stood, his immense form a weaving of cosmic light and potential. "Let them bring their master to the surface. Let Lucifer believe he is executing some brilliant, clandestine escape. He will only be walking directly into the snare. His hatred makes him predictable. His madness makes him blind to the larger pattern."
Julian's form shifted in acknowledgment. "The expected summons has also arrived. The Olympians are calling for a conclave. Their panic has curdled into pragmatism. They seek your audience."
"Of course they do," Nicholas said. The moment had arrived. He felt the weight of it, the turning point. "Prepare the Warden. We will meet them on neutral ground."
He did not travel with the violent rip of space he had used against Zeus. This was diplomacy, not demonstration. His form dissolved into a stream of golden threads that flowed seamlessly out of the Atrium and across the material plane, reweaving itself over a vast, empty stretch of the Atlantic Ocean. The sky was a pale grey, the sea a calm, endless plain of deep blue. There was no land in sight, only water and air, a truly uncontested venue.
With a casual wave of his hand, Nicholas enacted his will. The air above the waves thickened, condensed, and crystallized. From nothing, a structure of breathtaking beauty manifested. It was a palace of luminous white stone and crystal, its spires piercing the low clouds, its vast halls open to the sea breeze but sheltered from the elements.
It sat upon a foundation of solidified cloud, a floating bastion of impossible architecture. It was not a copy of Olympus or the Atrium; it was a statement of his own creative power, a divine meeting hall born fully formed from his thought.
He then gestured, and Hercules, the Warden, appeared beside him in a flash of mirrored light. The god of protection had also condensed his form into a human-like vessel, though he still stood a formidable three meters tall, his presence solid and immovable as a mountain. Nicholas led the way into the grand, crystalline hall. At its head, he formed a throne of intricate, woven light, a smaller echo of his own, and sat. Hercules took a throne to his right, a seat of dark, polished stone that seemed to anchor the entire floating palace.
Nicholas allowed his divine form to compress further, the threads weaving themselves into the familiar mortal disguise: the fine suit, the top hat, the golden monacle. It felt confining now, like wearing a glove several sizes too small after decades of freedom. The pressure of containing his true essence within this limited shell was a constant, subtle strain.
But it was necessary. This reduced form was a recognized sign of non-aggression among gods, a symbolic agreement to parley rather than war. He needed this meeting to proceed. It was not the end of a negotiation, but the first, crucial domino being placed on the board. Its fall would establish everything that followed.
A twin flash of light, one a crackling white and the other a cool grey, announced their arrival. Zeus and Athena appeared at the far end of the hall. They too were in their mortal forms.
Zeus was a powerfully built man with a stormy beard and eyes that held suppressed lightning. Athena was a severe, elegant woman in a grey chiton, her gaze sharp and analytical. They approached the thrones, their steps echoing in the crystalline space.
Then they saw Hercules. The reaction was immediate and profound. Zeus froze, his expression hardening into a mask of marble. A flash of something raw, not just anger, but a deep, personal hurt, crossed his features before it was violently suppressed, buried beneath the weight of royal dignity. Athena's eyes widened a fraction, her mind clearly reassessing the situation with this new, monumental variable.
They took the seats provided for them, thrones of simple white stone that were deliberately less imposing. The silence stretched, thick with unspoken history. Zeus pointedly looked at Nicholas, his gaze skipping over his son as if the space where Hercules sat were empty air.
Hercules let out a low, derisive snort. The sound echoed in the quiet hall. "Good to see you too, Father," he said, his voice a gravelly rumble. "You're looking well. The fear of annihilation becomes you."
Zeus's jaw tightened, but he did not acknowledge the comment. He turned his full attention to Nicholas. "We have come to you," Zeus began, his voice a forced calm, "because a situation has arisen that threatens us all. The Great Prophecy. It is active. It is gaining strength from the ongoing conflict. We… require assistance."
Athena's voice was cooler, more pragmatic. "We are willing to offer a favor. A boon. An Olympian favor is not a small thing. It could be of great use to you in the future."
Nicholas leaned back in his throne of light, steepling his fingers. The golden monacle glinted. "A favor," he repeated, his tone flat. "I am to trust the word of the powers who engineered a global slaughter for a power boost, who then lost control of their own children, and who now come begging because the weapon they forged is turning in their hands. I trust you only as far as I can throw you. And given the current cosmological constraints, that is not at all."
Zeus's eyes flashed, and outside the crystal palace, the grey sky darkened. A low roll of thunder echoed over the endless ocean. Nicholas did not flinch.
"What you have done is despicable," Nicholas continued, his voice dropping, each word precise and cold as a surgeon's scalpel. "You have broken the world to feed yourselves and now you fear the bill. I find no sympathy for you here."
The thunder rumbled again, but it was weaker, a fading grumble of impotent rage. The truth of his words hung in the air, undeniable. Zeus looked at Athena. A silent communication passed between them. The arrogance was gone, stripped away by terror of the prophecy. They were not here as superiors; they were here as supplicants.
"What," Athena asked, her voice tight, "would you require?"
"Assistance," Nicholas said. "Not a future promise. Action. Concrete, coordinated action. You will provide it first. Then, and only then, will I consider helping you with your… prophetic problem."
"What assistance?" Zeus ground out.
"Sometime soon," Nicholas said, his gaze shifting between them, "I will be engaging in a conflict. It will be contained, but it will require a stabilization of the surrounding reality to prevent catastrophic spillover. A localized apocalypse would be… untidy. I will require you, and the Warden here," he gestured to Hercules, "to act in concert. To use your combined authorities to reinforce the boundaries of that battle, to ensure it does not unravel the mortal plane or provide an opening for other, less discerning powers."
He let the demand settle. He was asking them to be his auxiliary troops, to serve as a cosmic containment team for a fight of his choosing.
"And in return?" Athena pressed.
"In return, I will pause the progression of the Great Prophecy. I will freeze its advancement towards culmination. I will buy you the time you so desperately need to get your house in order. Or to run from it."
"How?" Zeus demanded, leaning forward, curiosity painting his visage, it would be a great help being able to control prophecies.
Nicholas smiled, the expression not reaching his eyes. He slowly rose from his throne, his mortal disguise seeming to strain at the edges as a hint of his true, cosmic power bled through. "Leave that to me." He did not elaborate. The mystery was part of the power, part of the deal.
He looked at the King and Goddess of Olympus, who had once ruled his life from the shadows. Now they sat before him, bargaining for their survival. The first domino was placed. He could already feel it beginning to tip.
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