The Celestial Hall shook with divine fury.
"YOU CHEATED!"
Ravakar, God of War, slammed his fist onto the stone table. The impact sent cracks spiraling across its surface, cracks that healed instantly, as they had a thousand times before.
Across from him, Tycheros, God of Games, grinned like a child caught stealing a packet of sweets "I didn't cheat. I simply manipulated probability in my favor. There's a difference."
"That's literally cheating!" Aethros roared, flames erupting from his shoulders.
"Is it though?" Tycheros tilted his head, spinning a dice between his fingers.
Seraphine, Goddess of Magic, didn't even look up from her book. "You're both idiots. This is the third time this century you've had this exact argument."
"SILENCE!" Solarius rose from his throne, light radiating from his form. "We are GODS. We should not squabble like—"
"Like what?" Nyxara interrupted, examining her nails. Black energy dripped from them, eating holes into the floor. "Like beings who've existed for eons with nothing meaningful to do?"
The hall fell silent.
She wasn't wrong.
Twenty gods sat around the table, and every single one of them looked.….tired. Bored. Restless.
Morthanis, God of Necromancy, hadn't even bothered to manifest fully. His skeletal form was slumped in his chair, one hand propping up his skull, the other tapping a pattern on the armrest. His hollow eye sockets stared at nothing.
He had stopped paying attention three arguments ago.
"We have watched empires rise and fall," Verdania said softly, her voice calming. "We've seen heroes become legends. We've witnessed the birth and death of stars."
"And?" Ignarius crossed his arms. Gears moved beneath his metallic skin.
"And it's all the same," Verdania continued. "The mortals pray. We answer, or don't. They fight. They die. New ones are born. The cycle repeats. Forever."
"That's the natural order," Valkara said firmly.
"The natural order is BORING!" Aethros exploded. His body burst into flames before reforming. "When was the last time anything surprised us? When was the last time we felt anything?"
Murmurs of agreement rippled through the hall.
Morthanis's tapping stopped.
Now this was interesting.
"What are you suggesting?" Draxion leaned forward, his expression severe. "We abandon our duties? Destroy everything we've built?"
"Not destroy," Tycheros said slowly, that mischievous grin returning. "Remix."
All eyes turned to him.
He stood, and the dice in his hand multiplied into dozens, then hundreds, floating around him in a constellation of chance. "What if we took our seven worlds, all seven of them, completely different, completely separate, and we merged them?"
"That's insane. You have finally gone mad," Arcania said flatly.
"That's the point!" Tycheros laughed. "Think about it. Seven worlds. Seven different power systems. Seven different civilizations that have never met. We throw them all together into one realm and watch what happens."
"They'd destroy each other," Ravakar said. But he was smiling now.
"Exactly." Tycheros snapped his fingers, and an illusion materialized above the table, seven glowing orbs, each representing a world. "But we make it a game. A tournament. Each world sends champions to fight in an arena."
The orbs moved, circling each other.
"Every time a world loses a match, we erase ten percent of that world's population." The illusion showed one orb dimming slightly. "Multiple rounds. The stakes get higher each time."
Another orb flickered and died.
"Last world standing survives." Tycheros grinned wider. "The rest? Gone."
The silence that followed was different now.
It wasn't boredom.
It was hunger.
"That's genocide," Lumiya whispered, horrified.
"That's entertainment," Nyxara countered, leaning forward with interest.
"We'd be killing billions," Lumiya tried again.
"We're GODS," Vormund cackled, his form shifting between shapes. "We've killed billions before. Usually we just call it 'natural disasters' or 'divine punishment' to feel better about it."
"This is different—"
"This is necessary," Solarius interrupted. To everyone's surprise, the God of Light was nodding. "We've grown stagnant. Perhaps... perhaps this is what we need. To remember what it means to have stakes. Consequences."
"You're actually agreeing with this madness?" Lumiya looked around desperately. "Arcania? Verdania? Anyone?"
Arcania closed her book. "I'm curious about the data. Seven power systems interacting for the first time in history? The knowledge gained would be invaluable."
"I want to see who's truly the strongest," Ravakar added.
"I want to see something new," Seraphine said quietly.
One by one, the gods voiced their support. Some for knowledge. Some for entertainment. Some simply because they were desperate for anything different.
Lumiya looked at Morthanis. "You haven't said anything. Surely you won't—"
"Whatever."
Everyone stopped.
Morthanis still hadn't moved. His skeletal form remained slumped, hand propping up his skull. But his voice, dry as ancient tombs, echoed through the hall.
"Do it. Don't do it. I don't care." His eye sockets flickered with faint blue light. "You're all going to vote yes anyway. You're too bored not to. So skip the moral posturing and let's see if these mortals can surprise us for once."
He finally turned his skull to look at them.
"Who knows? Maybe one of them will be interesting enough to kill a god. Wouldn't that be fun?"
The gods were silent.
Tycheros's grin became manic. "All in favor?"
Nineteen hands rose.
Only Lumiya kept hers down, tears streaming down her face.
"Motion carried." Tycheros clapped his hands together. "Now, let's discuss the fun part, which worlds do we each sponsor?"
"Obviously, I'm taking Tianxia," Ravakar declared.
"Aethermoor is mine," Seraphine added.
The gods began shouting over each other, claiming their chosen worlds. The advanced ones went quickly—Tianxia, Aethermoor, Sanctum, Valdris, Mechoria, Veilrend. Fifteen gods total, arguing over how to split them.
That left five gods.
And one world.
"So..." Fortuna giggled nervously. "Who wants Earth?"
Earth. The weakest world. No magic. No cultivation. No divine bloodlines. Just humans fumbling around with primitive technology and shorter lifespans than most worlds' insects.
Silence.
"I'll take it," Morthanis said.
Everyone stared.
"What?" His jaw clicked. "You said I could pick."
"But... it's Earth," Ignarius said slowly. "They're going to be slaughtered in the first round. It's a waste of—"
"That's exactly why it's interesting." Morthanis finally sat up straight. "Everyone expects them to lose. Which means if they don't..." He trailed off, that blue light in his eye sockets growing brighter. "Well, that would be surprising, wouldn't it?"
Tycheros laughed. "You're insane. I love it. Count me in for Earth too."
"Oh, what the hell," Fortuna shrugged. "If we're betting on the underdog, might as well go all in."
"Chaos loves hopeless causes," Vormund cackled.
Oblivorn, who had been silent the entire meeting, finally spoke. "Earth has forgotten much. Perhaps it's time they remembered." His voice was sad. "I'll sponsor them as well."
And so it was decided.
Fifteen gods for six worlds.
Five gods for Earth.
Tycheros raised his hand, divine energy crackling around his fingers. "Then let's begin. May the best world win."
He snapped his fingers.
Reality screamed.
Seven worlds, each with their own laws of physics, their own magic systems, their own histories spanning millennia, all compressed, merged, and reshaped into a single realm.
Continents crashed together. Oceans boiled and reformed. Mountains rose and fell in seconds. The sky itself fractured, showing glimpses of seven different heavens fighting for dominance.
And in the chaos, twenty gods laughed.
Finally, after eons of boredom, something interesting was about to happen.
On Earth, eight billion humans went about their day, completely unaware that their world was about to end.
Or that one ordinary man would be given the power to harvest death itself.
The game had begun.