While Kokabiel was fighting the two Dragon Emperors, the whole world was going through an uproar.
The battle was mostly limited to the Underworld, but it's impact could be felt across the entire world.
Supernatural forces could sense the power spike, but they didn't know what kind of power it truly was.
Every being with even a shred of power sensitivity knew something massive was happening.
Three distinct signatures. Clashing. The force was enough to make reality itself groan under the pressure. Everyone knew two of them . The Red and White Dragon Emperors.
The other one had a familiar presence of an angel, but nobody ever knew such an angel with so much power existed. Even Michael, Yahweh's right hand is not so strong to fight those 2 dragons.
When Kokabiel went into his Origin Star form, he didn't know how the outside world was affected.
The whole world was engulfed by the night sky, with the stars shining ever so brightly. It happened in an instant.
The sun didn't set, it simply vanished to make way for the endless starry night.
Day became night. Every timezone on the planet experienced the same impossible phenomenon simultaneously.
The stars weren't distant pinpricks of light.
They were close. Burning with intensity that should have been impossible to look at directly, yet somehow wasn't blinding. They painted the sky in colors that human eyes struggled to process.
Humans were mostly confused and terrified as the natural laws were affected.
Fire suddenly lost its warmth, and water started to flow upwards when poured. Although it was night, the starlight was enough for them to see clearly.
In a small forge, a blacksmith was hammering out a blade when he noticed his apprentice staring at the flames. The boy had stuck his entire hand into the forge fire. The flames licked around his fingers harmlessly.
"Boy! What are you—" The blacksmith grabbed him, yanking him back. But there were no burns. No marks.
The apprentice looked up with wide, confused eyes. "Master... the fire. It doesn't burn anymore."
The blacksmith tested it himself. Thrust his calloused hand into flames that should have melted flesh from bone. He felt nothing but a faint tingling. Like touching cool mist.
"God have mercy," he whispered.
A few villages over, a woman was drawing water from the well. Her bucket was full, heavy with the day's supply. She turned to carry it home when her foot caught on a root. The bucket tipped.
The water spilled out , floating upward.
She watched, frozen, as the water climbed into the air in lazy spirals. Defying everything she'd ever known about how the world worked. It rose toward those impossible stars like it was being called home.
Other villagers saw it too. Gathered around, pointing and crying out. Someone made the sign of the cross. Someone else fell to their knees in prayer.
Rivers across the world began flowing backward. Wells emptied as their contents climbed skyward. The ocean itself seemed confused, waves moving in directions that made sailors weep and pray.
Some enjoyed it.
A traveling bard in what would one day be called France sat down his lute with trembling hands. Stared up at the transformed sky. Tears streamed down his weathered face, catching starlight.
"Beautiful," he breathed. "God in heaven, it's beautiful."
He would spend the next forty years of his life trying to capture this moment in song. Would write hundreds of verses, compose dozens of melodies. None of them would ever feel adequate. But he would never stop trying.
Some got afraid and started praying, thinking it was an ill omen.
Churches filled beyond capacity. People crowded in doorways, pressed against walls, fell to their knees in the aisles.
Priests tried to maintain order, tried to lead prayers, but their voices shook. Their hands trembled as they clutched crosses and holy books.
"Is this the end times?" a woman sobbed, clutching her rosary so hard the wooden beads left imprints in her palms. "Has God abandoned us? Are the stars falling to punish our sins?"
The priest opened his mouth to comfort her, then closed it. Because he didn't know. Nobody knew. And that uncertainty was more terrifying than any demon or plague.
In monasteries, monks prostrated themselves before altars. In mosques, the faithful pressed foreheads to prayer mats. In temples, offerings were made to gods who seemed very far away.
****
Odin, who was snoring softly with a lecherous grin on his face, woke up and jumped to his feet.
He'd been having the most wonderful dream. Something involving that lovely Valkyrie from the eastern halls and several bottles of mead and a very creative use of Yggdrasil's branches. The kind of dream that made immortality worthwhile.
Then the power spike hit Asgard like someone had rung the cosmic bell directly in his ear.
His single eye snapped open. The lecherous grin vanished. In one fluid motion that would have impressed warriors a fraction of his age, the Allfather was on his feet.
Gungnir materialized in his hand with a thought. His eye—that single remaining eye that had cost him so much—gleamed with the kind of intensity that made younger gods remember why he was the Allfather.
"What the hell is that terrifying aura!" His voice boomed through Valhalla's golden halls. Ravens scattered from perches. A few einherjar who'd been drinking stopped mid-toast. "It's coming from the Underworld!"
He extended his senses and felt the weight of that presence even across dimensional boundaries. It was Ancient in a way that reminded him uncomfortably of the primordial beings that existed before the gods had properly ordered the Nine Realms.
This wasn't just power. This was something fundamental. Like staring into the moment before creation. Or after entropy.
His mind raced through possibilities.
Ragnarok? No, the signs were wrong. Surtr awakening early? No, this felt different. Something that shouldn't exist.
Then his expression shifted to sudden, comical panic. His eye widened.
"I better make sure my porn collection is safe!"
The cosmic weight of the moment vanished. Divine dignity abandoned. The Allfather of Asgard, who had hung himself from Yggdrasil for nine days to gain wisdom, who had traded his eye for knowledge, sprinted toward his private chambers like a teenage boy hiding contraband from his mother.
He'd spent centuries curating that collection! Scrolls from Greece! Paintings from the Far East! That lovely illustrated manuscript from Babylon! If some cosmic catastrophe was about to reshape reality, he was damn well making sure it was all safely stored in his dimensionally-locked vault first.
Priorities. Even the Allfather had them.
Thor, who was training, stopped and looked towards the direction it was coming from.
His hammer Mjolnir halted mid-swing.
The construct of divine metal specifically forged to withstand the Thunder God's full strength, toppled over forgotten. Thor didn't notice. His attention was completely elsewhere.
"That guy is strong," he said slowly. His voice carried the kind of reverence usually reserved for worthy opponents. A grin spread across his bearded face, wide and eager.
Lightning crackled around his arms unconsciously, responding to his excitement. "Stronger than myself."
It wasn't said with shame or concern. Thor stated it as fact.
He could feel it even at this distance. Power that eclipsed his own. Strength that would actually test him. The kind of battle he'd been craving for centuries.
Not the easy victories against frost giants. Not the predictable clashes with dark elves. A real fight. One where victory wasn't guaranteed.
His entire body thrummed with barely contained energy. "I can't wait to fight him." The grin widened impossibly further.
Vidar shook his head with a wry smile. "Don't even think about it."
Where Thor was all boisterous enthusiasm and barely restrained violence, Vidar was calm observation and measured response.
He'd watched his brother long enough to recognize that look.
That was Thor's "I'm about to do something incredibly dangerous and stupid" look.
"That entity," Vidar continued, his quiet voice cutting through Thor's battle-lust, "is not something you can simply challenge to honorable combat, brother.
That power we're sensing—it's not just strength. It's more fundamental. Like trying to fight a natural law. "
Thor's enthusiasm dimmed slightly. But only slightly. The gleam in his eyes remained. "All the more reason to test myself."
"All the more reason to wait," Vidar corrected. "Father will want to assess this carefully. Determine if it's hostile. If it's a threat. We don't even know what it is."
"But—"
"No." Vidar's wry smile widened just a fraction. "Though I'm sure once Father gives the all-clear, I won't be able to stop you."
Thor grumbled but didn't argue further. His grip on Mjolnir remained tight. The hammer hummed with barely restrained power, feeding off its master's desire for battle.
****
On Olympus, Zeus gritted his teeth. He could sense the power felt similar to the angel who defeated and humiliated him.
His hands gripped the marble railing of his balcony. Gripped hard enough that cracks appeared in the stone. Thunder rumbled overhead as dark clouds gathered in response to his mood.
That power signature. He'd felt it before. Or something like it. Similar enough to make his jaw clench and old wounds of pride ache anew.
That bastard angel who had fought him. Who had defeated him in single combat with ease. Who had made the King of Olympus look weak in front of his own pantheon.
Zeus's eye twitched at the memory. The humiliation still burned fresh despite the time that had passed.
Not to mention he even slept with his daughter Athena and never returned to her!
That made it so much worse. Bad enough to be defeated in combat—that could happen to anyone. Warriors lost battles.
But to be defeated and then have the victor seduce your daughter? To have her defend him afterward? To know that every other god on Olympus was probably laughing behind his back?
Although Athena refused the accusation, he didn't trust her. Like hell he'd believe she was just negotiating a peace treaty. What kind of discussion required taking her clothes off!
"Negotiating," Zeus muttered darkly to himself, lightning intensifying around him. "Peace treaty discussions that required privacy. Hours alone with closed doors. Her refusing to be disturbed."
Athena had explained with perfect logic and flawless composure that their interactions had been purely diplomatic. Political necessity. Alliance building. Her expression had been so calm, so reasonable, so controlled.
And Zeus didn't believe a single word of it.
He knew the game. Hell, he'd invented most of the rules. How many times had he used "political discussions" as an excuse for his own affairs?
How many times had "alliance building" involved considerably less talking and considerably more... Thrusting.
The hypocrisy of his suspicion never occurred to him. That was the privilege of being king. Rules for thee, not for me.
Not to mention he had to tolerate Hera and her bastard daughter from Yahweh.
His jaw clenched harder. That was another humiliation. Another reminder of his failures.
Hera's constant jealousy, her passive-aggressive comments, her ability to make every day of immortal life slightly more miserable. And that daughter of hers—living proof of Hera's own affair with the biblical god.
Zeus hoped those damn dragons would kill that bastard. Maybe they would kill each other. Either way, it didn't concern him.
He decided to go and look for a new Queen of Olympus.
The thought crystallized as he stood there, lightning crackling around him.
Yes. That's what he needed. A fresh start. Someone who would appreciate his divine magnificence. Someone who wouldn't constantly nag about his past relationships . Someone young and beautiful and properly grateful for his attention.
"Yes," he said aloud, his expression shifting from rage to calculation. "A new queen. That's exactly what Olympus needs. What I need."
He was already mentally cataloging possibilities. That nymph from the eastern groves? The titaness who'd caught his eye last century? Perhaps something more exotic? he'd heard interesting things about the goddesses of the Far East.
This was a terrible idea. Everyone who knew Zeus could have told him it was a terrible idea. But nobody was there to stop him, and Zeus's terrible ideas had a way of becoming reality.
The other Olympians, however, weren't focused on self-misery like Zeus.
Apollo felt the sun became more warmer despite not being present.
He stood in his golden temple, hands pressed against one of the pillars. His divine senses extended, analyzing, categorizing, trying to understand what was happening.
The sun had been effectively overwritten by this supernatural night. By all rights, that should have weakened him. His essence was tied to the sun.
Instead, it felt like someone had thrown fuel on his inner fire.
"The sun," he murmured, golden eyes wide with wonder and confusion. "It's not suppressed. It's... empowered. As if the stars themselves are acknowledging it as one of their own. As the closest star to Earth."
"Fascinating," Apollo breathed. His mind was already racing with theories and calculations. As god of knowledge and prophecy as well as light, he couldn't help but analyze.
"This entity doesn't conquer domains, it recontextualizes them. Transforms them into something new while keeping their essential nature. It's not destruction. It's... evolution?"
If his father wasn't so busy being petty and planning his next romantic disaster, Apollo would have found this absolutely exhilarating from a scholarly perspective.
Athena stood at her balcony and smiled sadly, looking at the stars. "The stars are so beautiful tonight, yet so out of reach." She whispered.
The Goddess of Wisdom wore a simple white dress.
Her gray eyes, normally so sharp and analytical, were soft now. Vulnerable. Fixed on the stars that shined across the sky.
Her hand rose unconsciously, fingers reaching toward the distant lights as if she could somehow touch them. As if she could bridge the infinite distance through sheer will.
Then her hand fell back to her side. Because she couldn't. Some distances couldn't be crossed.
She was thinking of him. Kokabiel.
They had met for diplomatic purposes, that was true. Athena never lied. Lying was beneath her. Their meeting had been sanctioned, official, proper.
But those discussions had evolved into something more. Something she didn't anticipate or planned for.
He had been different from every other male she'd encountered—god, mortal, or otherwise. He didn't look at her and see a prize to be won. Didn't see a challenge to be conquered. Didn't see Zeus's daughter or a strategic alliance or a notch for his reputation.
He simply saw her. Athena. The person beneath the divinity.
They had talked for hours about countless tuings. Philosophy and warfare. The nature of existence and terrible jokes that only beings who'd seen too much would find funny.
She'd found herself smiling at his words. Not the polite acknowledgment of humor she usually offered, but genuine smile.
She'd found herself relaxing. Letting her guard down. Showing parts of herself she kept hidden even from her siblings.
And somewhere in those conversations, surrounded by maps and treaty documents, she had done something incredibly foolish for a goddess of wisdom.
She had fallen in love.
She didn't mean to. Love wasn't logical or strategic or wise.
But it had happened anyway, creeping up on her like dawn creeping across the sky. Inevitable and unstoppable. She even did something foolish like confessing it to him, and inviting him to share her bed as she bared herself to him.
But he merely sighed and wrapped her with the bedsheet, saying it can't happen. Not because he didn't find her attractive, or that he had a lover - angels didn't have those.
He just simply smiled sadly and told her he is incapable of such feelings anymore. He couldn't accept her love if he knew he couldn't return it.
Then he had left. Returned to Heaven. To his duties and responsibilities and place in the cosmic order.
As she had known he would. As she had accepted intellectually even while her heart protested.
"Out of reach," Athena repeated to the empty air. Her voice was barely a whisper. "Always out of reach."
She closed her eyes.
When she opened them again, the vulnerability had passed. The mask of cool composure had returned. The Goddess of Wisdom stood straight once more.
But inside, the pain remained. And the feelings, they didn't fade away as she hoped for.
****
In Swarga, Indra cracked his wine chalice. His usual relaxed demeanor gone. "This is quite... Problematic. To think there's someone like that exist other than Shiva..."
The finest soma, wine of the gods—spilled across his divine silk garments. Staining them. Indra didn't care. His attention was entirely on the power signature that had just washed over Swarga like a tidal wave.
The music in his throne room stopped abruptly. Musicians froze mid-note, instruments falling silent. Beautiful apsaras ceased their graceful dances, looking around with growing alarm.
His wife, Shachi, was reclined beside him. She asked curiously, "I've never seen you look so worried, husband. What is it?"
Shachi had been married to Indra for eons. Had seen him through countless battles, political machinations, wars with the asuras. She'd seen all his emotions.
She'd never seen him look like this. Tense. Almost... afraid?
Indra took off his sunglasses. His eyes looked scary and cold. His face twisted in hatred.
The apsaras who could see his face gasped. Several averted their eyes quickly. Two of the musicians dropped their instruments with clattering crashes.
Without the sunglasses, Indra's true eyes were visible. And they were terrifying.
Not the eyes of the jovial king who spent his days in comfortable luxury surrounded by pleasure.
These were the eyes of the warrior who had led the Devas in their ancient, bloody war against the Asuras. The eyes of the god who had slain Vritra—the dragon whose death had been so catastrophically violent it reshaped continents and altered the course of rivers.
These were the eyes of a being who had fought and killed and clawed his way to supremacy over all the heavens through millennia of warfare.
"Those pathetic birds," Indra said quietly. Dangerously. His voice was soft but it carried through the throne room like distant thunder. "I never thought one of them would reach such a level so quickly."
He'd been keeping watch on Heaven's forces. Intelligence gathering. Basic strategic thinking. You didn't rule for eons without learning to monitor potential threats.
He'd noted their strongest warriors and abilities. Tracked their development. Michael with his flames. Gabriel with her purity. Raphael with his healing. The angels were powerful, yes, but manageable. Predictable.
But this? This was neither manageable nor predictable.
"This changes everything," Indra continued, his mind already racing through implications. "The balance of power just shifted. Dramatically. A great war is coming."
Shachi watched him carefully. She knew that look. Her husband was already calculating. Already figuring out how Swarga needed to respond to this new reality.
Elsewhere, Shiva paused his meditation and widened his eyes slightly. A smile appeared on his usually calm face. "Finally, a worthy opponent! I want to see his true limits. "
The Destroyer had been sitting in perfect stillness for the past century. Meditating on the nature of existence. Contemplating the cosmic dance of creation and destruction. Achieving states of consciousness that mortal minds couldn't begin to comprehend.
He'd been bored out of his divine mind.
Now this. This power signature that made even his ancient senses sit up and take notice. Something that felt genuinely dangerous. Genuinely challenging.
The smile on Shiva's face was the smile of someone who'd just been handed the most interesting toy imaginable.
His third eye remained closed, but power rippled around him. The world was about to get much more interesting.
****
Even Ra, sitting on his divine ship, looked curiously. "Such power, it's unbelievable. He overwritten my domain, again."
The sun god, one of the oldest deities in existence—sat on his throne. The divine barque that carried him across the heavens had paused in its eternal journey.
Even Apophis, the serpent of chaos, had stopped its attack for a moment, sensing something greater at play.
Ra's domain was the sun. His authority. His very essence. He was solar power incarnate. The concept of day made manifest.
And this entity had simply... rewritten it. Just incorporated it into something greater as casually as breathing.
"Fascinating," Ra murmured. His ancient eyes gleamed with curiosity rather than anger. "I haven't felt challenged like this in millennia. Not since the old wars."
Horus stared at the night sky and grinned. "It looks so cool! I can't wait to meet the being who can do this!"
The god of war and sky stood with his arms crossed, practically vibrating with excitement.
Where Ra saw implications and power dynamics, Horus saw an amazing light show and the possibility of an incredible fight.
"Patience, Horus," Ra said, though he couldn't quite keep the amusement from his voice. "Something this powerful must be approached carefully."
"Where's the fun in that, Gramps?" Horus shot back.
"The fun," Ra replied dryly, "is in surviving the encounter to talk about it afterward. A being casually beating up the two Dragon Emperors isn't someone you should wish to meet. "
He then chuckled. " Those bastards of Hindu Pantheon must be angry that someone strong to threaten them has appeared, and it was their enemy."
Other pantheons also sensed it, but they didn't have anyone strong enough to fight against someone like this. So they only hoped this entity wouldn't come for them.
Japanese kami stirred in their shrines, whispering prayers to each other. Celtic gods paused their eternal revelries, suddenly sober and concerned. Slavic deities looked up from their domains with worry. African orishas conferred in worried groups.
They could all feel it. All sense the shift in cosmic power. But none of them had champions who could stand against this.
None of them had warriors capable of challenging whatever had just announced its presence so dramatically.
So they hoped. Prayed. Made offerings. And stayed very, very quiet.
Hoping they were too small to notice. Too insignificant to bother with.
Hoping this entity's attention would remain elsewhere.
But it was too late. The scale of balance has shifted already.
*****
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