Zeus slammed the door. The sound echoed through the celestial hall like thunder, shaking the very pillars of Olympus. Before the echoes could fade, the door burst open again, and Zeus, the mighty king of the Greek gods, stormed inside. His electric-blue eyes crackled with irritation, his thunderous footsteps shaking the hall as he strode to the head of the enormous meeting table—crafted from the bones of a primordial titan— and slammed his fist down, making divine chalices rattle.
"I've had enough of this eternal tedium!" he roared, his voice rolling like storm clouds. "We need entertainment. Does anyone have an idea that doesn't involve another tedious war or another insipid feast?"
He swept his gaze around the table, seated around it were the most formidable gods of every pantheon, each radiating power. The air was thick with divine power, a mix of incense, ozone, and the faint scent of mead.
At his right, Odin, the Allfather of Norse, leaned back in his high seat, stroked his silver beard, his ravens Huginn and Muninn perched on his shoulders. His single eye gleamed with amusement. "If you seek entertainment, perhaps another war? Mortals are always good for that."
"Ugh, too predictable," Zeus grumbled, waving a hand dismissively.
Amaterasu, the Japanese sun goddess, glowed softly. "A festival of artistry, where mortals create wonders in our honor."
Across the table, Amaterasu, the radiant sun goddess of Japan, folded her sleeves gracefully. " A festival of artistry, where mortals create wonders in our honor."
Zeus rubbed his beard, rolled his eyes. "Too gentle."
A low, velvet laugh rolled through the hall like distant thunder. At the far end of the table, Tezcatlipoca, the Aztec god of night and sorcery, leaned forward, his obsidian mirror reflecting shifting shadows. "A game of fate," he murmured, his voice like smoke curling around a blade. "Each of us chooses a mortal champion and grants them one gift—a single boon from their god. Then, we cast them into a trial of our making. Then, we watch them fight, scheme, and survive in a stage of our design."
A murmur of intrigue spread through the divine assembly.
Ra, the Egyptian sun god, tilted his head. "So relinquish is not an escape. Only death grants release."
"Precisely," Tezcatlipoca said. "No divine meddling. Just mortal will, reforged in the fires."
Loki, lounging with a stolen goblet of mead, smirked. "I love a game where the suffering is… recursive."
Ra, the Egyptian sun god, stroked his falcon-headed staff. "Be careful what you unleash, Thunderer. Mortals are fragile creatures."
"Exactly why it'll be fun!" Zeus laughed. "Let's make it grand—a tournament of champions, heroes plucked from time itself, pitted against each other in a fight of wits, strength, and fate!"
A murmur of intrigue spread through the room.
"And the prize?" asked The Morrígan, the Celtic goddess of war, her voice like a sword being drawn.
Zeus's eyes crackled. "The winning mortal ascends as a demigod, free of the cycle. And their patron?" He leaned in. "They claim the right to reshape the mortal world for an age."
Silence. Then, one by one, the deities began to smile.
Chaos, after all, was their oldest game.