Anaxagoras groaned from the floor, smoke curling from his hair.
"…Worth it," he wheezed.
Ra wiped a tear from his eye, smile lingering.
"You are insufferable," he said.
The laughter hadn't even finished echoing when the hospital walls began to bend.
White tiles stretched like rubber. Fluorescent lights drooped and curled, melting into glowing ribbons. The heart monitor's beep slowed… warped… then morphed into the steady tick-tock of a clock.
The floor dropped.
Not collapsed, dropped, like a stage trap.
Ra and Anaxagoras fell and landed gently.
On wooden planks.
A spotlight snapped on.
They were standing in the middle of a late-night talk show set.
A polished desk sat to one side. A city skyline glowed behind them, fake and painted. Applause erupted from an invisible audience, a glowing APPLAUSE sign flashing overhead.
Ra blinked.
Once.
"…Why are there stars indoors," he asked.
Anaxagoras was already sitting behind the desk.
Now wearing a tailored suit.
Hair perfectly combed.
A mug in his hand that read:
WORLD'S OKAYEST PHILOSOPHER
"Good evening!" he said cheerfully, tapping the desk. "I'm Anaxagoras, and tonight's guest is…"
He gestured dramatically.
"The literal sun."
The audience cheered.
Ra looked down at himself.
A suit had appeared on him too. Golden tie, immaculate tailoring. His sun disk now doubled as a glowing stage light behind his head.
"I did not agree to an interview," Ra said.
Anaxagoras smiled. "Nobody ever does."
He flipped a card.
"So! Ra. Big fan of your early work. Sunrise? Bold. Innovative. Really shook up the darkness market."
A laugh track fired instantly.
Ra frowned. "…Thank you."
Anaxagoras leaned forward. "Now, people want to know—what's it like being worshipped for thousands of years and still getting blamed when crops fail?"
Ra opened his mouth.
Paused.
"…Exhausting."
The crowd roared.
Ra froze.
"…They laugh at that?"
"Self-awareness," Anaxagoras said. "Kills every time."
Ra crossed his arms. "Your kind prays to me for warmth, for life then curses me for sunburn."
"Ah yes," Anaxagoras nodded solemnly. "The duality of man. Also umbrellas."
Another laugh.
Ra tried to suppress a smile.
Failed.
The skyline behind them suddenly changed flickering into ancient Egypt. Pyramids in the background. Priests waving arms frantically.
A giant sign popped up:
DAY 4,382 OF THE SUN NOT MOVING
Ra groaned. "Do not remind me."
Anaxagoras squinted at the card. "Oh! This one's from the audience. 'Ra, have you ever considered… taking a day off?'"
Ra stared.
Then burst out laughing.
"A day off?" he repeated. "The cosmos would freeze."
Anaxagoras shrugged. "I dunno. We survived the weekend."
Ra laughed again, louder this time.
The APPLAUSE sign exploded in sparks.
Suddenly the desk flipped.
The skyline collapsed inward.
The stage folded like paper and the world twisted once more. Ra found himself standing in a cramped kitchen.
Tiny.
Mortal-sized.
Wearing an apron that read:
KISS THE COOK (OR PERISH)
Anaxagoras stood beside him, holding a mixing bowl.
"Alright," he said. "Next bit."
Ra looked down at the bowl.
"…What are we making."
Anaxagoras grinned.
"Soufflé."
Ra stiffened.
"…I control the sun," he said carefully. "I do not do subtle heat."
The oven behind them burst into flames.
A smoke alarm screamed.
Anaxagoras clapped his hands. "Ladies and gentlemen…"
The kitchen shook.
"GOD TRYING TO COOK ON LOW HEAT."
Ra stared at the burning oven.
Then at Anaxagoras.
Then.
He laughed again.
Long.
Hard.
Unrestrained.
And somewhere above them, in the real arena, gods and humans alike sat in stunned silence.
Ra's laughter faded.
Not abruptly.
but deliberately.
It slowed, thinned, until only a single breath escaped his lips. His smile lingered for half a second longer than it should have… then vanished entirely.
The kitchen froze.
Flames hung motionless in the air. Smoke stopped rising. The laugh track cut mid-note with a sharp click.
Ra straightened.
The light around him shifted, from warm, playful gold to something ancient and merciless.
"That is enough," he said quietly.
Anaxagoras was still grinning, apron crooked, bowl in hand. "Oh come on, I was just getting to the part where the oven."
Ra moved.
No flash. No warning.
Just an elbow, driven forward with the weight of a star behind it.
It slammed into Anaxagoras' chest.
CRACK.
The sound wasn't bone.
It was space folding.
Anaxagoras was hurled backward as the illusion shattered like glass. The kitchen splintering into shards of light, the frozen flames exploding into solar fragments.
The world inverted.
Colors collapsed.
BOOM.
They were back.
The arena returned in a violent rush of sound and heat. Stone. Sky. Gods. Humans. The crowd roaring as reality snapped back into place.
Anaxagoras skidded across the arena floor, trenching stone with his heels before crashing onto his back. His cane clattered away, rolling to a stop near the edge of the field.
The philosopher coughed hard, gasping as he rolled onto one knee, a hand pressed to his chest.
Ra stood where the illusions had died, sunlight pouring off him in blinding waves, his expression cold once more.
"Do not mistake my amusement for mercy," Ra said, voice echoing like noon over a desert. "You were allowed to play."
He stepped forward.
Each footfall scorched the stone.
"But this," he continued, raising a glowing hand, solar fire coiling around his fingers, "is still Armageddon."
Up in the stands,
Joachim's smile had vanished.
Bialorus stared, pale. "H-he broke the illusion… just like that…"
Ferbiris narrowed his eyes. "No."
He leaned forward.
"He didn't break it."
On the arena floor, Anaxagoras pushed himself upright, blood at the corner of his mouth and smiled.
Anaxagoras wheezed. "Took you long enough, sunshine."
Ra advanced.
Slow. Certain. Each step toward Anaxagoras carried the weight of an era, the stone beneath his feet glowing faintly, cracking like overheated clay. His eyes never left the philosopher, as if staring long enough might burn the humor out of him entirely.
Anaxagoras straightened, wiping blood from his mouth with the back of his hand. His cane lay several meters away.
"So," he said lightly, chest still aching, "this is the part where you incinerate me, right?"
Ra stopped an arm's length away.
"You have exhausted my patience," the sun god said. His voice was no longer thunderous. Worse, it was calm. "No more tricks. No more farce."
He raised his hand.
Light gathered.
And then.
HOOOOONK
.
A deafening horn blasted through the arena.
Ra's head snapped sideways.
"What—"
CRASH.
A white van came out of nowhere, tearing across the arena floor at impossible speed. Stone shattered as it ploughed straight into Ra's side, slamming into him like a freight train.
"OH COME ON!" Ra roared as he was sent flying.
The impact folded reality.
The arena warped, stretched, and then collapsed inward, light bending around the tumbling god as the van, Ra, and Anaxagoras were swallowed whole.
Ra hit asphalt.
Hard.
He groaned, rolling onto his back, blinking up at a dull grey sky. Sirens wailed somewhere nearby. Red and blue lights flashed rhythmically, painfully bright.
"…What," Ra muttered, "have you done now."
He sat up.
He was no longer radiant.
No sun disk. No divine glow.
He was wearing a police uniform.
A cheap one.
Next to him, another figure groaned, some random man with a moustache, equally confused, also dressed as a police officer.
"Ugh… I told you we should've called this in," the man said instinctively, rubbing his head.
Ra stared at him. "Who are you."
The man blinked. "Uh… your partner?"
Ra looked down at his badge.
OFFICER R. SOL.
His eye twitched.
From the front of the van came a cheerful voice. "Alright boys, we good back there?"
Ra's head snapped forward.
Anaxagoras sat in the driver's seat, hands on the wheel, sunglasses on his face, looking entirely too relaxed. The van's dashboard was cluttered with empty coffee cups and fast-food wrappers.
He glanced in the rear-view mirror and grinned.
"Ah, you're awake! Perfect timing."
Ra slowly pushed himself to his feet, fury radiating even without his power. "You struck me with a mortal vehicle."
"Correction," Anaxagoras said. "I struck you with symbolism. Nothing kills divinity faster than bureaucracy."
Sirens grew louder.
The random cop beside Ra sighed. "Great. Dispatch is gonna kill us. This is the third reality breach this week."
Ra turned slowly toward him. "…Reality what?"
The man froze. "…I shouldn't have said that out loud."
Anaxagoras slapped the steering wheel. "Gentlemen! Focus. We've got a call."
Ra marched toward the van. "This illusion will end now."
"Oh relax," Anaxagoras replied, throwing the van into gear. "You're not even the sun here. You're Officer Sol. You write tickets. You fill forms."
The van lurched forward.
Ra grabbed the side door as it sped off. "I command stars."
"You command traffic," Anaxagoras cut in. "And right now? You're late for a donut break."
The random cop leaned toward Ra, whispering, "Trust me… just play along. It's easier."
The sirens faded.
The city smeared into light, buildings stretching upward like reflections in warped glass. The van slowed, not by brakes, but by reality losing interest. Asphalt softened into white. Sound dulled.
Ra blinked.
Once.
The steering wheel was gone.
The dashboard dissolved.
And suddenly.
Click.
Ra was sitting on a rolling stool.
In front of him stood a pristine optometrist's office.
White walls. Soft lighting. A faint smell of disinfectant and cheap coffee. A chart hung on the far wall.
Big black letters.
E
F P
T O Z
L P E D
Ra looked down at himself.
Gone was the police uniform.
He now wore a white coat again, but this time it was short, mundane, with a stitched name tag:
DR. RA SOL, O.D.
His sun disk hovered faintly above his head, dimmed like a tired desk lamp.
Across from him, Anaxagoras sat in the exam chair, spinning slightly, already wearing one of those ridiculous metal eye-test frames.
He grinned. "Ah. Vision check. About time. You've been missing a lot."
Ra pinched the bridge of his nose. "You are exhausting."
"Please," Anaxagoras replied. "I'm enlightening."
Ra exhaled sharply and snapped into motion, professionalism overriding irritation. He slid closer, rolling on the stool, picking up a small flashlight.
"Cover your left eye."
Anaxagoras complied immediately. Too eagerly, slapping his hand over his eye.
Ra gestured toward the chart. "Read the first line."
Anaxagoras squinted. "E."
Ra nodded. "Second line."
"F… P."
"Third."
Anaxagoras leaned forward. "T… O… Z…"
He paused, frowned dramatically. "Is that a Z or are you judging me?"
Ra did not smile. "Focus."
Anaxagoras chuckled and continued. "L. P. E. D."
Ra flipped a lens on the frame. Click.
"And now?"
Anaxagoras blinked.
His smile softened.
"…Oh," he said quietly.
Ra narrowed his eyes. "What do you see."
Anaxagoras looked past the chart.
Past the room.
"I see fire," he said. "Stars collapsing. Worship turning to fear. Gods… very tired gods."
Ra's grip tightened on the flashlight.
"Read the chart."
Anaxagoras glanced back. "Same letters. Different meaning."
Ra swapped lenses again. Click. Click.
"And now."
Anaxagoras smiled again, wider. Sharper.
"I see you," he said. "Not the sun. Not the throne. Just… someone afraid of going dim."
The room flickered.
The chart trembled, letters briefly rearranging themselves into strange symbols, solar glyphs, ancient prayers.
Ra leaned in close, eyes burning.
"This test is over."
He pulled the frames off Anaxagoras' face.
Instantly, the office shuddered.
The walls cracked like porcelain. The eye chart split down the middle, letters falling away into darkness.
Anaxagoras stood, stretching his arms. "Diagnosis?"
Ra straightened, light flaring back into him. "You see too much."