Mike stepped across the polished white stone floor, footsteps echoing through the vast chamber as he approached the massive table.
Across the circular table, six figures watched him—power radiating from their stillness, each one different in energy and presence. Mike scanned their faces, wondering which of them had answers. Wondering which were lies in disguise.
The first to speak was a young woman with sun-kissed skin, shoulder-length black hair, and piercing emerald eyes.
"Hello, Mr. Reed," she said warmly. "I'm Cyra Farzaneh, chosen of Ninsun, goddess of fertility and nurturing. We welcome your arrival. There's much to discuss."
She smiled—gentle, maternal, almost disarming.
Next was a larger man—mid-forties, with styled dirty blonde hair and a jaw that looked carved from stone. His piercing blue eyes were sharp, but calm.
"I'm Leo Francis," he said with a professional nod. "Chosen of Mithra, god of contracts, justice, and the rising sun. I look forward to a productive conversation—one that benefits us all."
A motherly woman spoke next—kind, calm, presence steady.
"Welcome, Michael," she said. "My name is Lisa Ariti, chosen of Hestia, goddess of hearth and home. We're glad you made it here after what you've endured."
Her voice wrapped around him like a blanket.
Mike said nothing.
A short man with a long ginger beard gave a nod.
"Pete McCallister," he said. "Chosen of Dagda, god of agriculture, wisdom, and strength."
His words were simple, direct, rooted.
Beside him, a poised, elegant woman—Asian, middle-aged, dressed in soft white robes. Her jet-black hair fell in clean waves, and her amethyst eyes shimmered like violet glass.
"Welcome, Michael," she said. "I'm Jennifer Lee, chosen of Tara—goddess of compassion and enlightenment."
Finally, a man with wavy silver hair and swirling silver eyes looked at Mike. His aura was undeniable—intense and ancient.
"I am Nicolas Galanis," he said, "leader of this council. Chosen of Aether—god of light."
His voice carried authority. The others fell silent as he continued.
"Now that you're here, we have questions. Answer them, and in return, we will give you what answers we can. Does that sound fair?"
Mike stared at Nicolas, the image of the swirling cloud statue burning in his mind.
"…Yeah. That's fine."
Nicolas leaned forward. "How long did your trial last? The report from the medical facility says fifteen days—but that would make yours the longest trial recorded to date."
Mike frowned. "I don't know. Time didn't exist there—not in any real way. I remember pain. Then darkness. Then… surviving. Killing. Eating. No grasp of time after awhile. Just blood and killing"
Cyra tilted her head. "Did your god not give you a goal? A path? A message?"
Mike shook his head. "No. I was on my own."
"Did you receive a blessing or any abilities directly from your god?" Nicolas asked, tone tightening.
Mike exhaled through his nose. "Everything I got, I took. I killed. I consumed. I earned it."
He looked around the chamber. "Only when I came here did I see the name appear on the statue."
His jaw tightened.
"…Bahamut."
"Who said you could speak my name?"
The voice exploded in Mike's mind—thunderous and wrathful.
You don't guide me! You just growl and throw fucking riddles! I gave up everything in your trial. I lost my fucking wife. My humanity! You owe me answers!
"You are the only one to ever finish my trial," Bahamut growled. "The rest died in madness or spilled their own blood. You survived because I gave you the mindset of the absolute."
You gave me nothing. I became a fucking monster. I forgot who I was.
"You believed the words of cowards. You think you've lost—but you haven't. Ask the weaklings in front of you about your wife. Then you'll see who lied."
Mike's breath caught.
He blinked—pulled back into the room.
The council was staring at him. The stone below his feet had cracked. His hands were buried in the marble table—fingers dug deep into the stone like claws.
"Michael…?" Cyra's voice was soft. "Did you hear the question?"
Mike didn't answer her.
His eyes stayed locked on Nicolas.
"I was speaking to Bahamut," he said coldly. "Where is my wife?"
He withdrew his hands from the broken table, sitting back slowly, tension visible in his shoulders.
Leo was the one to speak. "The angels took her while you were still in the military medical facility. Barachiel's chosen—the one you killed—was assigned to earn your cooperation."
He folded his hands calmly. "That's all I was able to uncover once Hunter told us you believed demons were responsible."
Mike said nothing.
Nicolas cleared his throat. "Now, let's finish our questions—where were you when—"
"No," Mike said.
Nicolas paused. "No?"
"I'm not answering anything else until I have my wife. I'm done cooperating."
Nicolas's eyes narrowed. "Tread carefully, Mr. Reed. I have little patience for disrespect. I am not like the others here."
Mike's voice dropped to a growl. "Fuck you. I didn't fight anyone. I came here because Hunter asked me to. You want something from me? Then act like it."
His pupils narrowed. His eyes glowed—a deeper, brighter red. The slit cut straight through the center.
"Obliterate the pretend primordial."
Bahamut's voice curled around his thoughts like fire.
Mike stood.
The floor cracked.
The chair splintered beneath him.
His hands clenched. His teeth gritted.
Nicolas rose, silver eyes swirling. Winds formed around his arms—spiraling upward.
Lisa gasped. "Stop—both of you!"
"Nicolas. Stop provoking him. We need him on our side—not as an adversary."
Aether spoke strongly in his mind.
The wind around Nicolas vanished. He exhaled slowly, lips tightening. Then he spoke:
"We don't know exactly where the angels are. That's the truth."
He stepped back from the table.
"The gods have begun to awaken. Old and new pantheons now claim territory all over the earth. The Christian pantheon… doesn't speak to us. They do not acknowledge other gods. They wage war against everyone else."
Mike remained standing.
Eyes glowing. Breath steady.
And in his mind, Bahamut waited—silent. Watching.