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Chapter Text

The plainlands were broad and largely flat, broken only by the rise of a rolling hill or the low prickling shrub jutting out of the long strands of grass. Mid-morning sun was shining pleasantly down on the green carpeted earth below, full of insects and wild animals peacefully grazing. A stiff breeze blew, easing some times and blowing more fiercely at others. 

None of the creatures paid any mind as the wind suddenly picked up in strength, tugging at the grass and trying to push over the animals, bringing with it a male who gave a loud, gleeful cry of “LETZ GOOOOOOOOOO!” as he flew past like a flash. Literally flew.

Though he had no wings, the male soared on the wind like he was part of the invisible currents himself, laughter on his lips and the wind throwing back his dirty blond hair. Not a single motal saw him pass as he whooped and spun and flew loop-de-loops. His tunic was a light green, emblazoned with an intricate smiley face pattern on the chest and lined at the hems with pearl fabric that shimmered under the sun, sleeveless but covering his shoulders. White cloth was wrapped tightly around his pale forearms, woven around the gold cuffs secured just below his elbows. From these cuffs ran thin gold chains linking to gold rings on his hands, swinging erratically with each of his movements but never getting tangled.

His tunic stopped in a diamond-shaped cut, giving way to black leggings running into soft pelt boots folded over at the top. A cape made of white translucent material joined to his tunic under his arms and split into tails that flapped vigorously behind him as he crested a hill and dove straight down the white chalk cliff beyond.

He laughed, pure and joyful and free because this was living. This was being alive, and he pulled out of his dive to clear the crashing waves that rose to pound endlessly the cliff base. The flaps of his cape wrapped around his legs as the wind that carried him calmed, bringing him into a gentle glide over the surging, rippling, foaming ocean.

“Oh god of Water!” he called in a sing-song voice, the tips of his shoes nearly brushing the crests of the waves. “God of Water! Time to wake up, got a meeting to go to… GEORGE! Wake up, lazy arse!”

“Wha-? I’m up, I’m up!”

The flying one came to a stop and hovered as a head and then a torso emerged from the sea, the owner flicking away chocolate brown hair laced with mutlicoloured seaweed. White coral goggles with black glass perched on the top of his head, baring the sea green and aqua blue mismatched eyes. Blue foaming cloth graced his chest with coral armour pads on his shoulders and elbows, water dripping from them as he crossed his arms over his chest. The green and candy pink fins on his forearms brushed the top of the water that swirled around him in a frothing whirlpool.

“I’m up , Dream, what is it?” the god grumbled a little exasperatedly, looking up at the floating one.

“Godly meeting, George, the big one where the entire Pantheon gathers, did you forget?” Dream asked. He tucked one of his legs under him as if he was sitting in midair, the other dangling above the waves and blinking at the other.

George scoffed, looking away. “No, I didn’t forget.”

“You forgot.”

“No I didn’t, Wind!” the god of Water protested. 

The other god laughed, the breeze echoing with his joy. “You totally forgot, oh my goodness George! It’s the one huge meeting we have every 100 years and every single god shows up and you forgot about it!”

“Oh just shut up, why don’t you?” George complained, rolling his eyes with a small smile and flicking his hand. A wave rose out of the sea and tried to smash down on Dream but the god quickly soared backwards, swooping around again and lying on his stomach with his chin in his hands.

“Aw, it’s okay George, that’s why I’m here!” Dream grinned, his emerald eyes sparkling and throwing into contrast the X-shaped scar that crossed his forehead and cheeks. He opened his arms wide to gesture to himself. “God of Wind arriving to make sure you get to the meeting of the gods on time. And by the way, if you don’t get going right now then you’re going to be late so you and your serpent tail get moving.”

“Alright alright I will, Mum .” Water rose up amidst the waves a little, stretching his arms above his head and revealing the fade of his human torso into the royal blue scales of a huge tail. “See you in La’Orien, Dream.”

“See you George!” Dream flicked his legs and his cape flung free once more, the breeze picking up and whisking him away as the serpentine god behind him flipped and splashed back into the waves.

Dream’s next target took him soaring up and up and up high into the clouds, away from the sea and back over the land until he slowly spun in midair and plummeted. The ripping wind should have been shredding at his face and body but it was like it simply passed through him as the ground far below slowly came into view. What should have been a patchwork of a dozen different shades of green interspersed by tiny blue lines was instead of a riot of blazing orange and laughing red tongues that cast up thick wafts and blankets of smoke and ash to greet Dream.

His body made a circular hole in the ash clouds as he plummeted straight into the forest fire, his winds ripping around him and coaxing the flames on more. His laugh echoed amidst the cracks of burnt-out trees and it was answered by another, just as gleeful cry. The god of Wind flipped in his flight, breaking out into a burnt-clear space that had a single man dancing in its centre. He wore orange and red and yellow like the flames that poured from his hands and was whisked away by the wind, urging the uncontrolled fire to greater efforts.

The two danced and spun around each other, their combining powers increasing the fire tenfold as they laughed and catcalled each other. Finally, the fiery one opened his hands wide and the fire in the clearing abruptly stopped, giving the two a clear (albeit smokey) patch to talk while the rest of the fire blazed. He gave a grin to the other who was still floating a foot in the air.

“Thanks for joining me,” he said, flicking away a clump of soot from his tanned arms decorated with swirling orange tattoos now fading to black. His white shirt had ripped sleeves and was decorated on the front with an intricate, consuming flame. A belt of coal framed the end of the shirt and the start of his black pants which ran into tall boots, the back of which rose into a curl at his calf. His eyes were brown but shone molten amber in the light of the flames around them and a white bandana kept back his straight black hair. He was smirking as he looked up at Dream, who smirked back.

“You’re welcome,” Wind said. He waved a hand to the flames around them. “Just burning off some steam?”

“That was a horrible pun and you know it,” the god of fire scoffed, tightening his bandana. Around his neck, a circular pendant on a silver cord swung. “But yeah. You know how these god meetings can get, I don’t want to accidentally set Celestial’s wings on fire again.”

Dream scoffed. “Don’t forget about that time you nearly burned Music’s guitar, Sapnap. And are you sure Nature will be okay with you doing all this?” He waved his hands to the blazing forest around them. “This is a large section of forest after all. I’m getting him next and I’d probably have to let him know if he asks.”

Sapnap rolled his eyes. “Yes, it’ll be fine. Stampy and I have had talks and this forest had way too much dead fuel just waiting to be burned up. Besides, the heat of the fire germinates the seed pods.” He picked up a blackened husk from the ground and threw it into the flames.

“Whatever you say, Sapnap. See ya at the meeting!”

“See ya Dream!” Sapnap called after him, waving as the flighty Wind took off again.

Going from a burning forest to a lush, green meadow at the base of a tall, rocky mountain was probably a jarring change for some, but Dream’s job as the messenger of the gods had seen him through worse. He took care to slow his fast pace as he neared the aura of godly energy, lightly setting his feet on the ground and walking slowly up to the kneeling hybrid figure who screamed godly magic. He must have been in the middle of something because Dream saw several mountain goats crowded around him, giving quiet bleats.

“Wait there for me, Wind, these guys are a little nervous right now,” the hybrid said quietly, his aura pulsing.

Dream obediently stopped and waited with his arms behind his back, his cape curled around his legs again. He watched as the hybrid rose and a young mountain goat scrambled up into view, bleating happily and prancing while looking down at its hooves. The other goats bleated in joy, rubbing against the legs of the god then trotting off towards the mountain. The hybrid watched them for a moment before he turned, inclining his head to the god, his deeper green eyes attentive. “Wind.”

“Nature,” Dream replied, bowing his head in turn. “The centennial godly meeting is beginning soon, and I’m sure Life wouldn’t be overly happy if you missed it.”

“No, I doubt he would be. He likes it when people show up to important things on time. But that’s why he sends you, hm?” The god raised his eyebrow at Dream, smiling kindly despite the small fangs that pierced his lips. He was a cat hybrid with yellow fur, pointed ears and clawed hands and paws for feet that padded at the grass that visibly grew around him. His tail flicked behind him, and he was clad in deep green armour-like clothes with the brown shirt underneath running to his elbows and leggings to his shins. A sort of choker made of roots wrapped up his neck and cradled his chin.

“That is indeed why I’m here,” Dream affirmed. He couldn’t be quite as informal with Stampy as he could be with George and Sapnap who were both his friends: at least, not in a formal setting like this. “Life may have a few things on the agenda for you to address too, but I’m not sure.”

“I’d better make sure I’m on time then. See you there, Wind.”

Dream nodded and bowed his head again. He picked up a small rock from the grass and flew up again, his winds tracing the side of the mountain. The air became colder as he rose towards the clouds and when he deemed he was at a good spot, he threw the rock at the mountain as hard as he could with a loud “Move it Schlatt, it’s godly meeting time!”

A voice from the mountain unleashed a long string of profanities at him and he laughed, floating to a standstill and seeing the god emerging from the side of a mountain to stand on a ledge and glare at him, still swearing into the air. Dream hung upside down, purposefully ticking the god off with his smirk. “What? Not happy to see me?”

“Not when you’re being a bastard all the time,” the god snarled. His horns curled around his cheeks and his drooping ears, framing his dark skin and making his deep black eyes glare even more furiously. “And if you try to flirt with me again, I’m gonna break your spine.”

“You could try but I’m pretty sure it’ll just heal.” Dream flipped the right way around, observing the sunken nature of Schlatt’s eyes. “Have you been drinking?”

Schlatt swore at him, then added “What’s it to you what I do with my time?” As he spoke, he adjusted the cuffed sleeves of his black suit and brushed back his scraggly, unkempt black hair. Both actions ultimately achieved nothing as his hair remained just as untamed and his suit just as rumpled. He drew the attention away from this by straightening his deep blue tie and banging one of his cloven hooves on the rocky mountain ledge. 

Dream’s eyebrow rose, taking in the satyr god of Earth. “Wow, you really woke up on the wrong side of the bed today, huh?”

Schlatt sneered. “Why don’t you go and bother someone else? I’ll make it to the damn meeting on my own.”

As much as Dream was tempted to tell him to be there sober, he resisted the urge. Earth was steady and constant, sure, but some days he was a laughing man and others he was grumpy and snappy, and there was no way to tell which day was which until you talked to him. The god of Wind shrugged and flew away, leaving the satyr to melt back into the rock. 

Dream’s path made him soar on the winds above settlements full of humans and settlements of hybrids and a few settlements of both, as well as above the abandoned wild places and ancient forgotten temples. The mortal realm was full of mystery and wonder and magic, but only a few mortals knew just how accessible that magic was if you knew what to do and had a bit of help from a god. 

A wide grin split across Wind’s face and he laughed aloud as he dove down and began weaving through the trees and branches and thick foliage of an old forest. The pace was fast, brutal, mind bendingly agile, and Dream’s eyes were alert and attentive, his reactions faster than the wind. He threw his hand out in front of him and for a split second, a shimmering, opalescent portal appeared, rippling in space until he shot through it and the ripple disappeared. 

From the beginning of the world to the current day, only a bare handful of mortals had ever crossed from the mortal realm into the godly realm of La’Orien, and those that had had never forgotten it. The godly realm was huge, expanding and shifting as needed, creating a huge, beautiful patchwork of dozens and dozens of buildings and courtyards and gardens and waterfalls and pavilions. Everything was built with quartz or deep brown wood with perfect grains, but many buildings were decorated with bright colours and banners and gold and riches and bones. The grass never grew weeds, rain clouds never clouded the sun, and night and day didn’t matter. Gods had no real need to sleep.

Dream rocketed into the courtyards with no regard for airspace laws (and it was lucky for him that La’Orien didn’t have any), propelling himself off of lampposts and building roofs and statues, laughing at the few annoyed snaps he got. He slowed down slightly when he soared under a tunnel and into another courtyard through which a single man was walking.

All the gods stood at 7ft to the mortal, but this man stood yet another foot taller. Long brown locks of hair flowed out of their ponytail to end past his waist, fading to a curling blond at the tips. The long, flared sleeves of his tunic framed his hands and the garment hung over tights, pinched at the waist by an intricate brown leather belt studded with amethysts. Thin armour made up of some light-coloured godly metal formed shoulder pads and arm guards and grooves that went on his shins, barely visible under his knee-high boots. His golden irides gleamed with power and amusement as Dream came to a stop nearby, still floating and leaning with his chin in his hand.

“Hey there good looking, you come here often?” Wind grinned, wiggling his eyebrows.

The god smirked at him. “I don’t know, have you been stalking me?”

“Yes,” Dream answered instantly, then immediately backtracked. “I mean, no! No I don’t- I mean I hang around a lot and like I know where people are but like that’s kinda my job- Don’t laugh at me, Sky!”

“I’m sorry, I am sorry,” the man laughed, smothering his mouth with his hand. “I could not help it, you always panic.”

Dream huffed, crossing his arms, and Sky composed himself. “Have you gathered all those I asked you to?”

“All have been accounted for and are on their way,” Wind confirmed with a nod, his feet touching the ground so he could walk beside the taller god. “I saw other gods making their way to the council hall as well. It seems that everyone will be arriving on time for the meeting.”

“Then go prepare the council room, Wind.” The god of Life smiled, his golden eyes glowing. “We do not want to keep them waiting.”

Wind bowed low, a smile playing on his lips. Once more taking to the skies, he soared towards the huge, domed and circular building that dominated the godly realm and crashed through the huge double doors. The breeze unlatched the various windows, letting sunlight and air stream into the room as well as the voices of the approaching immortals.

The Council of the Gods was about to begin.

Chapter Text

Sunlight shone through the diamond-cut domed glass roof of the council room, scattering the yellow beams across the space and lighting up every corner. A huge, wide bench of white marble with grey veins running like roots curved in a wide circle about a third of the way into the room. It was broken at one end - the end furthest away from the double doors - by a set of stairs that ran to a platform set a little back and up from the bench. Upon this platform sat two chairs, both elegant in their own ways and complete opposites. 

One was made of light, rose pink quartz, fashioned simply but intricately, with wide armrests and a tall back topped with swirls and arches. It was inlaid with gold and bright emerald clear of faults, framing the god who sat in it. Even sitting, Life was tall and imposing but his golden eyes shone with the fondness of a proud (if a little exasperated) parent. His brown hair splayed down the back of the chair and down the armrests and his knee-length boots were crossed one over the other, observing the room.

Beside him was a chair of black onyx inlaid with rubies darker than blood, making up the eyes of skulls and the ends of bones patterned across the chair. It was just as tall as the one beside it but made up of sharp points at the top and the head of hellhounds stood out from the armrests. The god upon it was as tall as Life but clad in a black vest that extended into a cloak brushing his feet and a hood framed in red that was raised. His skin was black, his hair was black, his pants were black and his boots were dark red (and black). His eyes, however, they were what stood out; brilliant, pure white, glowing with power and boyish, innocent enthusiasm. Horns protruded from his temples and curled back but Death’s grin was wide and excited and devoid of anger or malice of any kind.

Around the bench proper were seats for 28 others; all of the current gods of the Pantheon. Every seat was fully unique and each was occupied by its designated god, every being in their godly form and standing roughly 7ft tall. The huge domed building pulsed with godly energy and power, and was loud with a dozen voices talking over each other. One of the two gods of War was catching up with his sister Justice, the god of Hybrids was grumpily talking with one of the three gods of Magic, both having to learn around one of the other gods of Magic whose pure white eyes were looking a touch uncomfortable. Across the other side of the circle, Tinkering and Technology were in deep discussion and gesturing with their hands while Seasons, Nature, and Sky beside them were in a much lighter conversation. Earth and Music were arguing again.

It seemed that this was the way any meeting started, particularly these large ones. From the moment they had first met, Earth and Music had decided that their secondary purpose in life was to argue with each other at every available opportunity. It had become a sort of ritual for them even after they had become good friends. This left them yelling across the circle, having to raise their voices over the hubbub to shout which made everyone else raise their voices to each other speaking which made the first two raise their voices again and… well, it got very loud very quickly.

“Do they ever shut up?” Water complained, putting his head in his hands, “I’m getting a headache.” His serpentine tail was curled around him in his seat that was a little more like a tub than a chair, but it had a back crested like a wave and armrests that curved like the sea.

Wind chuckled beside him. “They’re going to be arguing until the end of time, Water.” He was tempted to use the god’s mortal name but in this formal meeting, they were all restricted to using the godly name only. He turned his head to look on his other side, which was the stairs running to the platform containing Life and Death. Life caught his eye and Wind waved to the room as if to say ‘Can we get started already?’ He saw the older god shake his head and mouthing something that looked like ‘So impatient’, but the god of Life gave a wave of his hand and the conversations and arguments of the gods quietened and stopped completely, all attention on the two head gods.

“Welcome to the centenary meeting of the Pantheon of La’Orien,” Life greeted formally, his voice easily carrying over to all the gods present. He waved to Death’s side of the circular bench and to the god sitting closest to Death, giving him a warm smile. “Welcome especially to the god of Determination, the newest among our ranks. Try not to fall asleep, we attempt to keep these talks interesting.”

“Pff, I don’t need sleep,” the young god scoffed. His hair was unruly and blond and his eyes were brilliant blue and full of self-confident fire. He had a white shirt and a red windbreaker with a tall collar and sleeves that ran to his wrists. His seat was simple wood but meticulously carved. There was no need for further introduction. Everyone had heard the story of the mortal Tommy who had been dragged into the godly realm by War and had accidentally become a god.

Life’s eyebrow rose in a skeptical fashion but he let the young god be. “As always, the first order of business is the realms. Death, how goes the Underworld?”

“Oh, you know, doing great, lots of souls of the dead and whatnot,” Death said with a voice that matched his boyish excitement. “I’m expanding the south east wing of my palace, I’m gonna set up an entire gaming lounge with pool tables and ping pong, it’s gonna be great! I’m also gong to be renovating the pool area cause wow , it really needs some work-”

“Cool, anything relating to this meeting, Death?”

Death’s eyes widened. “Oh! Right, uhh… We had a few of the souls in the High Security prison grounds try to break out a few months ago, which is the seventh time they’ve tried to break out this half-century. But they do seem to be losing their energy so in about another hundred and fifty years, I reckon they’ll be docile enough to go into the general soul fields. Oh, and the demons are getting antsy again.”

“Is that something we need to be worrying about?” one of the three magic gods asked. All three sat side by side, but the one who spoke was perhaps the most casually dressed. He wore a purple tailcoat with a dark purple vest and a cyan shirt underneath. One sleeve of his was cyan while the other was a soft pink, and his brown hair fell into his deeper brown eyes. 

“Oh no no,” Death assured, waving his hand. “I mean, yes kind of, because the demons don’t super listen to me but they’ll settle if we use a bit of force, it’ll be fine.”

“If you say so,” Magic said, not fully assured.

“Celestial?” Life asked, looking across the circular bench. “Any problems in the Celestial realm?”

This question was directed to the god reclining in a huge chair that accommodated the giant white feathered wings behind him. Celestial wasn’t often seen in the godly realm and he was seen even less in his godly form, which was taller than the other gods and was quite nearly as tall as Life and Death themselves. A large white and yellow bucket hat sat on the head of the angel-like god, who bowed his head in acknowledgement of Life’s question.

“All is well in the realm of the celestial beings, and a large part of that is thanks to the old Celestial titan. She’s more than willing to assist me in keeping things running smoothly,” he informed them.

“Woah woah, you’ve got a titan helping out?” Determination asked, leaning forward and looking around at the gods. “I thought the titans were the bad guys?”

“Not all of them are, only some,” Celestial corrected him gently. “Many of the titans have faded peacefully over the centuries, and sometimes their bodies have made up the realms. The mortal realm, for example, grew from the body of one of these titans. The Celestial realm is the same, however that titan is still sentient and helps keep the realm in order.”

“We call her Mumza after Celestial here,” Music chimed in. His brown hair curled over his red beanie, a coat that shimmered with a hundred colours and rippling with sounds that couldn’t be heard draping over his throne. “She’s, like, the only good titan there is.”

A flicker of sadness or perhaps annoyance flickered across Life’s face, too brief to be noticed by the council room. “The Celestial realm is in good hands then. Before we move onto the mortal realm and the matters I wish to address there, do any gods have anything they would like to bring up at this point?”

Earth instantly raised his hand and a nod from Life allowed him to speak. “The gods of Love have been flirting in the main halls again and I would like them to stop , please,” the god said flatly, glaring across the room. His horns had been shined slightly for the meeting, but his suit was still just as crumpled as before.

“Hey, why are you having a go at us?” protested one of the named gods, the other sitting beside him immediately adding “The fact that we’re flirting in public just shows that we’re doing our job, really.”

“Besides, it’s not my fault Red is adorable,” the first mentioned, picking up one of his paws and looking at it innocently. Of all the gods, a good few of whom were hybrids or creatures of some kind, this one was the only one who was in the full form of an animal. A cat to be precise. His fur was the colour of light sand, darkening to chocolate at his legs, ears, nose, and deep blue eyes.

“Awww Ant no, you’re more adorable,” the man beside him cooed. His red sleeves and pants were long, and his shoulders were dressed with a fluffy white throw-over decorated with red hearts. Both wore matching heart earrings and looked at each other with their matching blue eyes full of so much adoration that it was nearly sickening.

“You see what I mean?!” Earth exploded, waving his hands as the two made heart eyes at each other (literally). “It’s disgusting, can we put a curfew on them please?!”

Music scoffed. “We’re not going to control the actions of two gods just because you have a queasy stomach, Earth.”

Earth snarled at him. “Just because you are a sappy bastard doesn’t mean the rest of us are, god of Bards .”

“Oh, just leave it be, Earth,” a different voice piped up. Justice was leaning in her chair, her long boots hooked over each other and her pointed elf ears showing through her long, vibrant pink hair. “If you don’t like it, then don’t look.”

Only a few spots down the table, a different god scoffed. “Of course you find it nice, you’re a girl,” he murmured, smiling behind his hand and his red and blue eyes watching her, knowing he’d get an explosive reaction. And that he did.

Justice instantly rose, picking up her foot and slamming her large boot onto the bench, scowling at him. “Alright Victory , I’ve had just about enough of your crap! You need to pull your head in or so help me, I’ll bash it in myself! Put you back in your rightful place and slap that stupidly large ego right out of your head!”

Her brother War beside her pulled her back down, his own pointed ears flicking as the second god of War beside him scoffed between his large tusks. “Oh just knock it out you two, we hear this all the time,” Water begged, putting his head in his hands.

“And for goodness sakes, you all need to stop picking fights between each other at every opportunity,” the god of Tinkering added. His throne was much bigger than the others, having to accommodate for his horse flanks that connected to his male torso, his hooves decorated with green fetlocks that matched his human green hair. His usual mask was missing, allowing smoke to waft in streams from the edges of his sharp, pointed mouth.

“Sorry, not all of us can lock ourselves away in our little workshop,” Justice mocked. “Some of us actually have a job to do.”

Things dissolved rather quickly from there.

Earth started yelling again which sparked a fight against Music and Beauty, Victory and Justice kept scolding each other, Wind poked a few of Hybrids’ wrong buttons which led to the two and the second Magic god arguing, Hearth and Celestial were either debating about something or complaining about the temperaments of the other gods, and everyone else started having their own conversations or piped up on the arguments.

On his raised throne, Life sighed and leaned his chin on his hand, watching the loud arguments. It was bound to happen at some point, it always did in these meetings. Not everyone worked well together or in big groups, not even the gods. He waved his hand to Death. “Would you like to do the honours?”

Death grinned. “Why certainly, good sir!” He rose from his throne and held out his hand, summoning to it a huge double ended black scythe. He held it in the air, then clashed it on the marble floor with a huge bang that rumbled the circular room, instantly silencing the gods.

“ Listen up, you muffins ,” Death grinned, showing off his sharpened teeth as his brilliant white eyes flashed. A shiver went across the room as his eyes brushed across them, and he grinned again before retaking his seat, keeping his scythe in hand.

“Thank you, Death.” Life also ran his eyes across the room, his gaze just as steady as his counterpart god. “I understand that not all of you get along at all times, but keep your arguments to yourselves and keep them out of the Council. Now-”

He was interrupted by something small and bright flashing through the open windows of the room, darting around the room with small, high squeaks that sounded distressed. The gods murmured in surprise and confusion, and Life immediately rose to his feet, flicking out his hand. A strand of golden energy spun out from his fingers, gently catching the glowing being in a net and bringing it into Life’s cupped hands.

“That’s a soul,” the god of Technology murmured, adjusting the diamond goggles on his head and peering at the glowing spirit being cradled by Life. “What’s a soul doing here?”

“I do not know,” Life said, tilting his head as he examined the soul, pulling it closer and listening to its squeaks. He hummed, gently running his thumb over it, the thin tail of the soul wrapping around his fingers, sensing his calming aura.

The council room was in complete silence for a few minutes as Life listened. “It’s a lost soul,” he said finally. “Mortal, human.” The gods didn’t need more explanation. Souls that hadn’t made it to the Underworld after death for one reason or another were uncommon, but each case had to be taken seriously. One or two lost souls wasn’t a problem. Hundreds of them? That was a much larger dilemma.

“Earth, Justice, Wind,” Life said, his voice brisk and commanding. “As soon as this meeting has finished, you three are to go to the mortal realm and discover what killed this soul. I want it dealt with. Death, be ready to assist them. I will escort this soul to the Underworld.”

Chapter Text

“Alright, now remember; we’re undercover, posing as normal mortals- DREAM will you stop doing that!”

“Doing what ?” Dream laughed as he easily lept between the trees running along the path, a little too agile for it to be normal. As ordered by Life, he, Justice, and Earth were walking towards the city where the lost soul had originated from, all three in their mortal forms and looking more or less ordinary.

Justice picked up a rock from the path and pegged it at him and he laughed as he twisted his body, the rock sailing past him. “The idea is to pretend to be mortal , Dream, not to be an agile monkey afraid to touch the ground.”

“Oh relax , Niki,” Dream told her, flipping and landing easily on the path beside her and Schlatt, keeping in step with them. “The mortals know Dream and I gotta be in character for it. I never expose myself, I know the line.”

“And you toe it like it’s going out of fashion,” Schlatt laughed bitterly. Of the three of them, his mortal form looked the most similar to his god form, the major difference being that his goat legs and hooves had been replaced by human legs and feet clothed in a suit. He also looked slightly more sober, if such a thing were possible, and he was in a better mood after doing his ritual fighting with Music.

“Okay, we all remember the plan?” Niki asked.

“Schlatt’s covering the outskirts of the city, you’re covering the main streets, and I’m covering the backstreets,” Dream rattled off. “We meet up in the centre square after two hours and figure out where to go after that.”

Schlatt pulled the lapels of his jacket. “Thank gods this city has hybrids. I’m sick of people staring at me.”

“Try not to glare at them first, Schlatt,” Dream said and ran off before he could deal with the consequences of that fun little comment. 

The god of Earth stared after his rapidly disappearing back that pungled into the sidestreets of the city they had entered. “One of these days, I’m going to kill him.”

“Call me when you do, I might join you,” Niki told him half jokingly. If Dream had been able to fight the Corrupted One and not die, then probably no one could kill him. She kept walking along the main street while Schlatt shook his horns, ears flopping, and began his scout around the edges of the city.

In the current century, cities such as this one were beginning to emerge. They weren’t much different to a village other than a much larger population of people in one place and planned-out streets and buildings along the main streets that went up two or three stories. Instead of having localised farms, roads went out and connected to farms about an hour away, daily loads of food being transported in each day. Niki, with her long brown hair framed by two blond streaks and a smile in her eyes and on her face, got talking with some of the farmers and store hands. Her long sleeved white shirt and brown shoulder shawl along with her shin-length boots marked her as a casual commoner working from home, though on the more wealthy end than the poorer.

The main streets and squares of the city were clean if a little crowded, but things got dirtier as the outer limits of the city were reached. The poor and wretched lived there, scrambling what they could and living in rubbish and dirt and under roofs that sagged and were one stiff wind away from falling over. 

Souls with hallowed eyes and with malicious eyes scanned the thin, winding streets but Schlatt gave off the aura of one who would leave you alone as long as you left him alone. And if you didn’t, well… You’d be worse off for it. His horns curled around his ears and cheeks, giving him a proud look with his flat, dark eyes that even his rumpled appearance couldn’t dampen, and no one bothered him.

The cobbled side streets where people walked home, where smaller shops set up to do honest dealings, and where bargains of a darker nature were made under the cover of night. In short, it was a place where no one looked twice at you and the city nearly felt like a village among these single-story houses. Dream’s jaunty step and bright green hoodie with his mask hiding his face above his mouth only drew a few politely curious glances, the owners having no idea that a god walked in their midst.

And gods weren’t all that were walking in this city.

Death had said that the demons were getting antsy and when demons got antsy, they liked to go on little trips and excursions to have their fun, play a few games. Mortals were the most fun to toy with and when a demon got hungry, mortals were the best snack.

A dozen of them had huddled in a group in the dark corner of a dead end alleyway, gawfing to each other and gnawing on the bloodstained bones of a mortal, their long black pointed fingers digging into the surface. Their faces were like skulls, their bodies humanoid but only just, with pointed bony elbows and backwards facing knees and eyes that were coal black and soulless. 

They spoke in their own tongue, many of them snorting and laughing with each other as they feasted on their prey. But a demon’s thirst was never truly satisfied and the movement of a shadow across the entrance of their alleyway made all the demons pause. They grinned at each other, licking their bloodied skull-like lips and stalked towards the unsuspecting mortal on all fours, huge claws digging into the cobblestone paving and sometimes striking sparks upon contact.

The shadow of the mortal grew larger as the poor creature walked right into the den of demons who growled near-silently, ready to pounce and devour this mortal when the shadow flickered and suddenly elongated. The demons hissed to each other as the mortal - who was not mortal - entered their view; 7ft tall, dressed in a green tunic with the tails of a white cape whipping behind him, a zulu shield and sword in hand, godly aura pulsing.

“Hello,” Dream said, glancing around at them with an unimpressed eyebrow raised.

The demons backed up a few steps, hissing to each other before one stood on its hind legs, sniffing the air with its skull snout and growling. “God of Wind. What business have you here.”

“I could ask you all the same thing,” Wind said casually, glancing at the mess behind them. His eyes darkened. “I see you’ve been having some fun today.”

“The affairs of the demons are not the affairs of the gods, get lost,” the demon growled. The others snorted and huffed in agreement, but not one approached the god standing in their midst.

“Well lucky you, it’s the affair of the gods now. Get out of this city and don’t come back.”

A second demon rose to its hind legs, stretching its claws. “And if we don’t, Windy?” it spat like an insult.

Wind drew his sword - light but not too long, only the length of his forearm - and crouched, holding his shield before him. It was fashioned in a long ellipse shape with a study pole jutting out the top and bottom, light and maneuverable. “I’ll have to convince you,” he said easily as if he wasn’t outnumbered 12 to 1. This was a group of very low-level demons, given the hive-mind-like nature they possessed, easy marks for Dream who had fought powerful gods before.

The demons hissed, several striking their claws against the stones, but the shadows behind them rippled and a voice snapped out in the demon tongue before they could attack. The demons snarled but retreated a step and allowed the voice to step forward, becoming visible. It was another demon but this one looked quite nearly human. 

He was tall, nearly up to the height of the god, wearing a formal black collared button-up shirt with silver skull cufflinks. A red tie was neatly done up, his black shoes shined and his curling black hair was brushed. The upper left side of his face was human too; pale skin and an eye that glowed red. The right side of his face, from his forehead to his chin and curving around to his left cheek, was the rippled, warped skin of a demon, twisted a deep purple rather than pure black. His pointed skeletal teeth glinted in the low levels of light and his demon eye shone pure white, with a horn-like ear rising from his temple.

“God of Wind,” he greeted, his voice inhumanely low and gravelly. 

“Elder Demon,” Wind greeted back, recognising the more human-like form of the much higher-ranking demon. The hierarchy of the creatures was a complex system he could never bother nor hope to remember, but he’d been told that Death knew it quite well.

“What is the reason for your visit, god of Wind?” the demon asked formally, his red and white eyes boring into the scarred face of the other.

“It has come to the attention of the gods that a lost soul originated from this city,” Wind informed. “Life was displeased and sent a few of us to find the source.” His eyes raked over the gathered demons. “I’m sure Life will be pleased to know that a group of demons were the cause of it. He’ll speak to Halo to make sure any demons involved are dealt with accordingly.”

The demons made sounds of complaint and comments to each other but the Elder hushed them with a sharp snap and they settled under his command. The gaze turned back to the god. “I express my apologies to the gods for this event. I will ensure that all those under my command chose their prey elsewhere to prevent such things occurring again.” 

He flicked his clawed hand with a growl and the demons turned, a few snapping comments at the god and melting into the darkness. The Elder Demon continued looking at the god. “My apologies again,” he said, but Wind knew that the apology of a demon could never be trusted.

“What’s your name?” he asked in a tone that was an order. The demon merely said nothing, gave no hint of a smile nor a smirk, and turned away, disappearing after his fellows.

Dream rolled his eyes. “Classic demon,” he muttered, sheathing his sword and causing his zulu to dissolve into mist. He turned, shrinking in height and adjusting the mask on his face as he walked back onto the streets, shoving his hands into his pockets. At least it was a mission success.

Chapter Text

The Underworld was often portrayed as a land similar to that of the Nether, with furious fire flaming from every surface and a river of damned souls crashing through black sand beaches. The air was said to scream with the torture of wicked souls, and there was talk that demons crawled along every surface of jagged spires rising from the ground.

Now yes, there was a wide river that curved and fell in the hills and valleys of the Underworld and crashed over in a huge waterfall that churned and tossed the slate grey water. And yes, the ground was made of tiny, perfectly spherical grains of black and beige sand that compacted to hard black dirt that rose into black spires of polished rock like the fingers of a great cave. 

And yes, the air did echo with distant screams wailing from the prison of black basalt and onyx that was guarded by spirits who watched over the wicked, imprisoned souls. And demons did prowl among the spires and the black sand shore, from the lower ranking ones that were more animalistic and deformed to higher ones that were near human and cunning in all their ways. 

But otherwise, the Underworld was quite nearly peaceful. There were large fields of pale beige wheat that rustled in the slight breeze caused by souls moving among them, wispy hands stroking the heads of the stalks. Farmsteads nestled and framed the ends of the fields, giving the souls a place to go when they grew tired of aimlessly walking. A constant stream of quiet, content murmurs came from them, at peace with their life of comfort and quiet in death, in a place that felt the warm familiarity of home. 

As the hills of the Underworld rose into a tall mountain, the rock gave way to a huge palace that quite nearly seemed to grow out from the earth itself. Huge arches visible even from the mountain base rose and fell to frame doorways and arches and platforms that extended into nothing. Torches sat in curved bronze braziers, flared with deep orange flames that gave off no smoke, and vases of red rubied roses and blue sapphire forget-me-nots framed by emerald leaves sat on either side of doorways and down long corridors and in spiralling rows in the centre of large courtyards framed with trees of jade with amethyst blossoms.

A whole wing of the palace was dedicated solely to a huge garden decorated thickly with plants both living and jewelled. Thin stalks with wide leaves stained bright blue bleeding into deep grey contrasted with citrine and morganite berries scattered across the surface of a perfect peridot hedges folding around thickly trunked trees with broad branches that rustled to no breeze. Short deep green grass grew perfectly across the ground, the grass vines bleeding into the black and white pebbled path broken up by large stepping stones.

These stepping stones made a pleasant clink with each step of the man’s jewelled heels, made of flawless diamond so brilliant that it glinted a soft blue. His brown skin was just as flawless and rich in its deep colour, with black tights glittering with dozens of tiny crystals. His arms were bare of clothing but festooned with gold armbands and bracelets and chains that hung with white satin. Rings of a dozen colours glittered on his fingers and tattoos etched in pure gold wove across his shoulders and up his neck.

His eyes were as blue as cerulean sapphires and as brilliant as diamonds, his eyelids dusted with gold and emerald flecks with more golden curves swirling from the edges. Gold and silver hung from his ears, glinting with each movement of his head. His black hair was shaved on one side and long at the top, swept to the side of his face and hanging over the edges of his eye. 

Topaz dripped down his cheeks, nestled into his skin in graceful curves that ran down his neck alongside the gold tattoos and disappeared into the sleeveless fabric that fit tightly to his chest, framed by a thin belt of woven rubies and emeralds and amber and onyx and shimmering opals. The hem of a glittering, partly transparent cape ran down from his waist and flicked at his shins as he walked, bedazzled hands stroking the plants as he passed.

Arms suddenly snaked around his waist, stopping him abruptly in his walk and pulling him against the chest of a taller man. “Why hello there, my precious jewel,” grinned a voice beside his ear.

The precious jewel smiled at feeling the chin of the other rest on his shoulder. “Good evening my Angel. How are you today?”

“Oh you know, same as usual,” Death grinned, releasing the waist so that he could walk beside the other. “Doing god of Death things, making sure the demons are behaving themselves, making sure there hasn’t been a prison riot.”

“And how are you after seeing me?” the other asked, casually inspecting his nails.

“I mean, pretty much the same, I like seeing you.”

The god of Riches gasped, shooting him a slightly hurt and slightly teasing glare. “If you’re going to keep saying things like that, Halo, then we might just need to divorce.”

“Noooo Skeppy please!” Halo begged. “I-I didn’t mean it- Well, I did, but I meant that I like seeing you! You always make my day better!”

Skeppy laughed, his arm brushing that of the wide-eyed and worried god of Death. “Relax Halo, I’m kidding. Mostly.”

Halo spluttered. “What do you mean ‘mostly’?!”

“Don’t worry about it,” Skeppy assured him. “Weren't you going to visit Sky today?”

“Well I was going to talk to you first if that’s okay,” Halo said hesitantly. “I like talking to you, my precious jewel.”

“And I like talking to you, Halo. And I mean it. I like it when you’re here,” Riches said truthfully with a warm smile, taking Halo’s hand.

Their talk lasted for the better part of two hours until Halo was really due to be leaving and Skeppy waved goodbye to him as he stepped out of the palace, huge scythe in hand. He raised it and pounded it onto the black stone ground, the force of it rippling across the Underworld and the god vanished, reappearing in the bright quartz and wood scheme of La’Orien.

As desired, he had teleported into a large garden courtyard that was close to Life’s quarters. He desummoned his weapon as he walked with long strides towards the long, low dwelling with a small second level set back from the first. He tapped his clawed fingers on the carefully carved wooden door that he pushed open to enter. “Sky! It’s Halo, don’t blast me!”

“I am upstairs!” the voice of Life called back and Death nodded, closing the door behind him. He carefully cleaned his boots on the mat just on the inside of the entrance then took them off before walking into the house. 

It was a house that immediately felt like home no matter what your experience of home was like. It was bright and warm, with curtains drawn back and windows flung open. Rugs were on the floor, small tapestries and paintings hung from the walls along with shelves cluttered with various knicknacks. Cushions were strewn across the couches of the living room Halo passed through, sunlight glinting off a gold and amethyst amulet that hung proudly from a hook on the wall.

The kitchen was a cozy, organised mess and the stairs were carpeted, the window halfway up hanging with vines that Halo didn’t touch. Sky had said he could and that he could just bring them back to life if Halo accidentally withered them, but it was easier for Halo to just keep his hands to himself. Stained glass hung along the wall in a mosaic that seemed to shift as Halo passed, catching a glimpse of Sky’s robe through the open doorway leading to the balcony. He stepped out, not needing to duck under the tall doorways built for his and Sky’s height, and joined the other head god.

“Hey Sky,” he grinned, quite nearly bouncing over and tipping back his hood, baring his hair and horns. The other god smiled at his boyish enthusiasm.

“Hello Halo, how have you been?”

Halo shrugged. “Good, good. Construction is going well, we’ve got the entire south east extension of the palace mapped out and most of the walls filled in, and a start has been made on the pool too. You should visit when it’s done, Sky.”

Sky chuckled. “Of course, it sounds like it will be quite grand. You love expanding your Underworld, don’t you?”

“Why of course, good sir,” Halo grinned. “Death might not be as comforting as life, but I’ve still got to make it as nice as I can for all of those souls.”

“True, true, you do.” Sky stretched, letting out a sigh as he looked over La’Orien. His home wasn’t the highest point of the realm, nor was it at the centre, but it provided a good view of many of the buildings and gods and demi-gods who walked across the gardens and down the open hallways and pavilions. 

Halo tilted his horned head, observing his friend and opposite. “How have you been, Sky?”

A breath of air puffed out Sky’s mouth. “I have… been better,” he admitted.

“Is the work getting to you?” Halo asked worriedly.

“Oh no no, the work is helping to calm me. Give me something else to focus on.”

“Good, I wouldn’t want you burning out like you did when you first took up the role,” Halo told him.

Sky chuckled. “That was nearly six centuries ago, Halo, and I was trying to learn my task while trying to restore the balance upset by the Corrupted One. Of course I burned myself out, I hardly knew what I was doing under all the stress.”

“And you freaked me out!” Death exclaimed. “Do you know how terrified I was when I showed up and found you collapsed on the floor? I don’t know how to look after living beings, I’m Death!”

“Alright alright, it’s fine,” Sky laughed, patting him on the shoulder. “I’m sorry for freaking you out so long ago, I promise I won’t do it again.”

“You’d better not, you muffin.” Halo shook his head, horns glinting in the light and white eyes blinking. “So what’s stressing you out then, Sky?”

The smile dropped from Sky’s face and he sighed, looking away. “Just… the God war. My father. Memories about it all.”

Halo understood without him needing to explain more. “You know you had to use his soul name, Sky,” he said quietly. “He would have killed all the gods and mortals and spirits if you hadn’t. You needed to control him.”

“I know,” Sky murmured. “It’s just… Everyone seems to have forgotten about him. The mortals hardly remember him but a mortal’s mind is so forgetful, but even the gods and the spirits are forgetting. I… I don’t want him to be forgotten, but I-I don’t want him to be remembered for his corruption.”

“But I remember what he was like before that,” Halo pointed out. “And so do you.”

“A little,” Sky admitted. “But I was in the mortal realm for a lot of it, still a demigod, and when I was in the godly realm, he took time out of his role to spend it with me. I hardly saw him working.”

“Oh I did, definitely,” Halo said, nodding. “He was a lot like you, actually. He acted serious but he was also kind, liked helping people out and keeping watch over things, making sure they were all running smoothly. He taught me a lot too, helped me find my feet and all when I became a god. I mean, he could only help so much since he was technically a titan and I was a god but still, he helped me out a lot, especially when I reincarnated the first time. We were good friends.” Halo gave his counterpart a smile. “Like you and me, Sky.”

Sky smiled slightly, affectionately even. “I should be over it all by now,” he murmured. “The war happened over three centuries ago.”

“No, Sky. No you shouldn’t be,” Death corrected him. “He was your father. And no one should do what you had to do. It’s okay that you’re still thinking about it.”

Life gave a sigh, looking down at the smooth, polished wooden railing. He nodded slightly after a few moments. “I know. Thank you, N-Halo.”

“Hey, don’t go using my soul name, now,” Death laughed. “You of all people should know how much power soul names have, Mr Life.”

Life laughed, a happy, light laugh. “I know I know, sorry. It just nearly slips out at times like this; it’s a much more intimate name, you know? But really, thank you.” He was suddenly distracted as if hearing something that caught his attention, and he sighed. “Speaking of souls…”

“Oh boy, more soul troubles in the mortal realm?” Death asked. 

“You bet.” Life’s golden irides flashed, the gold taking up his whole eye as he listened and stood, turning to look out across La’Orien. “They are distressed and angered souls, restless ones. Their bodies had been killed swiftly.”

Death frowned. “That doesn’t sound like demons. They like to take their time.”

Life hummed. He turned his head, casting his glance across the realm. “I can only sense Bajan here. It is probably the work of the other War god again.”

“Techno.” Death sighed. “You’re going to have to do something about him, Sky. He can’t keep going and killing mortals like this, it leaves a lot of work for me to clean up and it’s a bad habit to get into.”

“I know,” Life told him. “I know who could help him, I just have to convince him. Hopefully, he will be happy to help. We will see.” Sky turned to him with a small smirk on his lips. “In the meantime, I will let you go on cleanup duty.”

“Oh joy, my favourite pastime.” Halo rolled his eyes. “I’ll get Eighty to help me, he’s good with dealing with the rowdy ones.”

“I’ll leave you to it, then.” The two gave a friendly arm bump and Sky went back inside his house as Halo sighed and teleported to the Underworld, calling up the warrior spirit.

Chapter Text

The realm of the mortals was perhaps the biggest realm that existed in their universe, and it was certainly the most well-loved. As well as being home to all the mortal beings and plants of a million kinds, gods often visited and walked across the surface of the realm, as well as many demigods and spirits who spent the majority of their time there. The god of Celestials, however, had hardly visited the mortal realm save for the occasional visit with Death to assist in guiding a spirit’s soul to the afterlife. He much preferred his own realm, the realm of the celestial beings

Few gods ever visited the celestial realm. In fact, the only time Celestial saw them was in the godly meetings once every century. This left him with only the beings who fell under his care, but Celestial never minded. The realm would have probably been described by the mortals as ‘heaven’, though it may have also been described as ‘space’. The celestial beings and spirits glided on clouds, weaving between stardust scattered throughout the air and the huge, spinning purple orbs written in runes and protected by their bars of iron as they shone with light and power. They landed on broad paved paths etched with silver and entered tall homes with no doors attached to the doorways and no glass in the windows.

As well as being quite literally his place of power, the celestial realm was also one of the only places Celestial stayed in his god form; standing 8ft tall with flashing silver eyes, a broad chest and strong arms and flaxen hair braided into a plait that ended a touch past his waist. He wore a robe that shimmered with a thousand colours, tied at the waist by a belt of stars. His broad-brimmed bucket hat was fashioned out of pure sunlight, white and yellow, and he wore sandals that left no footprints.

His pride and joy, however, was what sprouted from the length of his back; six huge, white feathered wings that were larger than the wingspan of any other being, shining with light and each feather glowing with magic. Their plumage was thick, the feathers long and each wing broad and powerful. In all his years, they have never failed in strength nor in beauty, and with them, he could fly for a thousand years unending.

So few and far between were the visits of other gods that Celestial knew one had visited the instant they had entered his realm. He was patient, however, continuing his conversation with the warrior angels as the powerful aura slowly approached. When it was close enough, he gave a nod to the warriors and turned to watch the escort of angels and spirits descend from the skies, the visiting god in the centre. Celestial’s four wings dragged on the ground behind him as he approached them with his head upturned, watching the wings of the escort flash backwards and forwards as they landed. The visiting god bore wings too; slightly transparent insect-like hummingbird wings made out of pure, golden energy.

The escort bowed after they had landed, first to Celestial, then to the god they had escorted before they took to flight again. The other angels who had been passing through the area politely cleared a space for the two gods, the slightly taller one of whom inclined his head first in respect.

“Celestial,” the god greeted, his semi-transparent wings disappearing

“Life,” the winged god replied, bowing his head in turn. “What brings you to visit? You usually call me to the godly realm if you have need of me.”

“This is true,” Life said with a nod. “But I felt that this was something I would prefer to come to you about rather than make you come to me. Besides, I do enjoy getting out of the godly realm on occasion.”

“The other gods can be a little suffocating, ey?” Celestial chuckled, Life joining in.

“Sometimes, yes. And they can also be repetitive. But how have you been, Philza? I don’t get to see you often.”

The god of the celestials waved his hand for the slightly taller god (and the difference was only slight , barely there at all) to follow him and the two walked along the paved paths of the garden-like realm, passing the open houses set back from the path. “I’ve been good, keeping myself busy. A lot of the beings here consider me their father, so I try to spend as much time with them as I can but they understand when my role pulls me away,” he explained, watching with a fond smile as a young spirit dove past, screeching with glee.

“They certainly enjoy you being here,” Sky agreed, winking at a collection of young angel children who whispered behind their hands as they watched the two gods. They scattered with giggles at the motion, making themselves scarce as they gossiped about what Life was visiting for.

Philza chuckled, watching them go. “They do. And I enjoy being with them.”

“What do they do when you have to leave?”

The winged god shrugged. “The same thing as normal. They know how to look after themselves if something goes wrong, and the titan celestial is here to temporarily handle anything extreme until I get there. Other than that...” Philza shrugged again. “Unlike you and some other gods, Sky, my role doesn’t involve too much constant attention, especially with the titan celestial around. Which is why I am available to help Death when he calls.”

“Do you think you would be available to help me?” Sky asked. “I have something that I need someone to do for me, and I believe that you are the best fit for the task.”

“Of course Sky, what is it?”

Life took a breath. “You are aware of the two gods of War, correct?”

Philza nodded. “Bajan and Techno, yes. I’ve only seen the two at the councils however, which is hardly a good time to get to know people.”

Sky chuckled. “Indeed. Together, they represent the two aspects of war; the more noble side of knights and brave acts, and the darker side of vengeance and cruelty. Techno represents the latter.”

“And this takes a toll on him,” Philza guessed.

“I believe that he may be hearing the voices of the souls of those unjustly killed in war,” Life informed. “I cannot be certain, but if he does not hear them now then I fear he will start to hear them soon. Regardless, he is often seized by a sort of bloodlust and ventures down into the mortal realm to slay mortals to ease it. He does it so often that he has earned two titles among them: the Blade and the Blood God. Perhaps the reputation itself is not a bad thing but I do not want his desire for blood growing, nor do I want to risk his corruption. A corrupted god of Life is one thing, but I do not wish to see a corrupted god of War.”

“And he is the cause of these troubled souls that I help Death with?”

“Some of them,” Sky nodded. “But most of the souls he kills end up restless and angered. It gives Death a headache honestly.”

Philza’s gaze faded across the strange, ethereal plants that made up the realm. “Have you tried to talk to Techno about it? There’s a chance that he doesn’t fully realise the implications of his actions.”

“I have talked to him several times,” Life told him, his golden eyes pulsing with annoyance for a moment. “But Techno has a certain character to him. He’s a brilliant strategist and warrior, but he’s harsh in his judgments. His voice is flat and monotone and I have never once seen anything softer than a stare on his face. He doesn’t appear to listen to me. He either is dumber than I feared or has no care for the effect his actions have on others.”

“So why come to me about it?” Philza asked. “Do you think that he may be more willing to listen to me?”

“Oh no, I imagine he’ll abhor another conversation about it all. No, I have something different to request of you.”

The two stopped, turning to face each other in a garden where the spirits weren’t overhearing them. Life had his hands behind his back, Celestial’s huge wings were dragging on the ground at his feet. SIlver eyes met gold, long hair of brown and blond reaching their waists. Life was the one to speak.

“War needs a guardian, someone to watch over him. Someone to coax him out of his blood rages and prevent him from succumbing to the voices of vengeful souls should he begin to hear them. As God of Celestials, you have a deep understanding of both gods and souls and how the two interact, as well as protective nature but a stern disposition. You also are not burdened by constant responsibility, nor a realm that requires your undivided attention. I believe that you would be the best guardian for War.”

Celestial’s head rose slightly, his bucket hat shading his face. “I assume that I shall have to attend to him at all times?”

“For the first few decades, yes,” Life told him. “As time goes on, and as he hopefully grows to accept your counsel, he may require you less and less, and perhaps not at all one day. Until then, you will need to remain with him as much as possible to prevent his rages.”

“And should I turn out to not be a suitable guardian for War, or should I need to step back from the role at any time, will there be another to take up the position?”

Life inclined his head. “Should anything happen, I will find someone else to be his guardian. However, you are by far my most preferred choice.”

A smile broke its way onto Celestial’s face and he stepped back so that he could bow to Life. In truth, the proposition intrigued him. “It would be an honour to assist yourself and the God of Vengeful War in any way I can.”

Life smiled, and Celestial could see the relief in it. “Thank you, Philza.” His back straightened, his eyes flashing with a serious gaze. “I do not know what strife War may give you, nor do I know whether you may be hurt during the task, though I wish for neither to happen. But to prevent such a thing from occurring, you should be told War’s soul name to use should you have need of it.”

A concerned frown crossed Philza’s face. “Sky, you know the power a soul name can carry,” he murmured quietly, worriedly. “I know the stories and I know that they are true. A mortal being controlled by their soul name is one thing but a god -”

“I know,” Sky told him. “But I don’t wish for you to be hurt by taking up this role, Philza.”

“I will be able to protect myself, Sky.”

“I will not risk having one god kill another,” Life insisted. “War does not yet know how to control his godly abilities, and even while he may not desire your death, he may not be in full control of himself. I would not offer you his soul name if I did not know that I could trust you with it, Celestial.”

The winged god bowed his head. “If you deem it necessary, Life. I swear not to use the name unless in the most dire of circumstances set by your counsel, and to never breathe it to another being of any kind, living or dead. I will not think it even in my sleep.”

With a nod, Life stepped forward and put his mouth beside Celestial’s ear, his lips hidden by the god’s huge hat and wings. He spoke a single word - a name - nothing more, nothing less. The syllables were barely audible to either god but they were heard clearly, and Celestial nodded as Life stepped away. “I understand. When will I start?”

“As soon as you are ready. I will come with you to the godly realm and introduce you to War,” Life told him. HIs face then split into a wide grin. “I will admit, I am very eager to see what Techno’s reaction will be to having a babysitter.”

Philza looked at the grin on his face and sighed, shaking his head with his own smile growing. “Oh, it’s going to be a long few centuries.”

Chapter Text

The soul screeched and spat in a furious rage, intent on tearing him apart but a rich black blade flicked up and it spun off, squeaking in fear and fury. The sword waved slowly, keeping back the dozen souls that hovered and screeched in sounds that bore no words. The swordsman watched them with red and black eyes that never blinked, the weapon held in an easy grip in his hand.

“These souls are rather restless, Lord Death,” he warned, shuffling his feet along the ground to keep the souls in his sight. “They’re likely to break and run soon.”

“Well let’s get this over and done with quickly, Eighty,” a deep but light-heated voice replied. “I don’t feel like spending all day chasing after running souls.” The god wielded his scythe, white eyes gliding over the spiritual orbs who thrashed in anger under his gaze. Bringing them under his control would have been all too easy but Death had to be careful. Although he was Life’s balance and was in charge of the resting place for souls of all kinds, the two gods were quite different. Death couldn’t handle souls for fear of killing them beyond death, wiping them from existence so that not even the strongest spells - not even Life himself - could bring them back. Souls knew this in the primitive, untouched parts of them and his presence made them uneasy. Getting violent souls like these under control without harming them would be tricky on his own, but what better to control a restless soul than another restless soul bound into service to Death himself?

Eighty turned his blade in warning as the souls surged closer, his feet shifting. He was incorporeal, present only in the spirit realm that overlapped with the mortal one, the same spirit realm that these two currently inhabited. Their feet didn’t crush the blades of grass beneath them, their clothes were stirred by a soft, intangible breeze that didn’t rustle the garments of the trees, and the lone doe grazing peacefully wasn’t disturbed by the sudden slash of Eighty’s sword as a soul screeched and lashed out.

The man kept his grey sneakers planted firmly on the ground, the chains that swung from his waist, wrists, and shoulders chinking as he moved, the wide, flat edge of his sword rotating to brush away the souls as they flung themselves at him. His jacket was black and grey, his skin pale with death and blank eyes devoid of a pupil and hope. One side of his hair was blacker than night, the other whiter than snow, the long locks flicking about his face as he spun, teeth gritted.

The souls were likewise rushing Death who stepped out of their way rather than try to fight, snarling in warning. One curved to sprint away and he quickly raised his scythe, the curved blade slicing the air before the soul and causing it to vear suddenly with a screech. This was the way it always went: try to force the violent souls to tire themselves out in their attacks and then round them up when they were weaker. Not an ideal method, but the best they could come up with so far.

Eighty grunted as several souls crashed into the black shield he’d hurriedly thrown up to protect himself, stumbling one single step but he didn’t stumble a second. The scars that ran down his chin flexed as his jaw tensed and his sword spat out in a precise strike, slicing a thin line into the extreme edge of a soul, but the thin strike was enough. The soul screeched and howled in pain, immediately soaring away with the other souls also retreating, angered wails turning into terrified squeaks. 

“Careful Eighty,” Death warned. “They’re souls just like you.”

“I know my lord, I’m careful.” Eighty’s eyes watched them, waiting for them to break. The ripped ends of his jacket rippled behind him, the cloth and their white dragon embroidery slashed from his death. As a soul in human form, he could sense the hesitation of these restless souls, their growing exhaustion as their energy faded. One more maneuver...

Death provided them the nudging they needed. He banged the bottom edge of his double-bladed scythe on the ground, sending out a ripple of black energy that washed over the souls, numbing them even more and filling them with the fear that only the unknown of death could bring. And with that, they broke and fled.

But they didn’t get far. 

Eighty flicked his hand, dismissing his shield and summoning a shadow-black coil that sprung from his skin and wrapped individually around each of the souls. The orbs hissed and thrashed as they were trapped but Eighty held tight to the leashes with a grimace, the ends fused to his inner wrist. The souls were going nowhere without his permission.

Death gave a small sigh of relief, allowing his scythe to evaporate from his grip. Fetching and trapping violent souls like these ones exhausted him more often than not, and up until only three or so years ago he’d often collapsed and slept after dropping the souls off at the prison to calm down. 

“Would you like me to drag these to the prison, my lord?” Eighty asked, his voidless eyes finding Death’s blazing white ones.

Death smiled at his right-hand man-soul being. “Yes please Eighty- oh? Who’s this?”

The soul-being turned around, his curiously raised eyebrow quickly dropping into a pained expression upon seeing the doe prance away as a young man - only 16 or 17 years old - unknowingly entered the clearing. He was casually dressed with a light purple hoodie edged in white and black jeans that fed into laced, shin-high boots. His hood was down, allowing the sunlight to glint off his fluffy dark blond hair and the faint tattoos (or scars) that curved down his left cheek from his blue-purple eye to his chin. 

He didn’t see the two beings or the souls that occupied the space, instead seemingly attentive to more physical threats judging by the sword at his waist. Halo made a happy humming noise of “Oh, it’s Seto’s kid!” and his form shrunk from his 8ft tall height, his feet finally crushing the grass they stood on. “Hey Purpled!” the now-physical god said.

The mortal jumped and spun, his hand dropping to his hilt and knees bending, eyes beginning to glow purple. Upon seeing the god, his stance relaxed (but only slightly). “Hello god of Death,” he greeted politely, bowing at the waist.

In his mortal form, Halo was far from intimidating. He wore black, as expected, and his black cape had shifted into a hooded jacket edged in red. His skin was still as black as midnight, but his eyes were a gentle, kind blue and no horns sprouted from his head. His smile was wide and excited with normal, human teeth as he grinned. “How’re you going, Purpled? You’re not wearing your usual cape!”

Purpled looked at his shoulders, as one does when one’s attention is drawn to one’s clothing. “Oh, yeah. Well, I only wear my cape when I go on missions and since I’m just kinda hanging around…” He shrugged, hands in his pocket. “Hoodie. How are you, Death?”

Halo waved his hand. “Oh I’m good, I’m fine as per usual. Just doing god of Death things!”

“What? Like getting comfy with Skeppy?” Purpled smirked.

“Hey! Watch your words, muffin! I am a god,” Halo joked, which made Purpled chuckle and half-heartedly apologise. Eighty watched the exchange, silent and attentive, eyes watching the demigod before he had to look away, the open scars on his chest and back aching. Even if he had spoken, Purpled wouldn’t have been able to hear him. He was a soul. Purpled was mortal.

“Why don’t you visit the godly realm more, Purpled?” Halo asked with what might have been a small pout. “I’m sure Seto would love for you to visit, and why not get tips from all three gods of Magic while you’re there!”

Purpled waved a hand with a small smile. “No thanks, I prefer the mortal realm. Dad visits me on occasion, and I know enough of my magic to be able to teach myself so… I’m good, thanks.”

“Aw, are you sure? Not a lot of mortals get the chance to visit the godly realm, you’ve gotta visit at least a few times.”

“You know,” the demigod remarked with a smirk on his lips, his head tilted, and a hand on his hip. “The way you’re trying to market it to me makes me think that it’s not as good as it sounds.”

Halo pointed a finger at him. “One day, Purpled, your wit is gonna get you into trouble-”

“My lord.”

Halo turned his gaze from the demigod of Magic to the scarred soul near him. Eighty was still holding the cords binding the violent souls, his expression somewhat pained. “Do I have your permission to take these souls to the prison, my lord?” the soul asked.

“Oh yeah sure, sorry Eighty.” Halo waved his hand and his assistant disappeared. 

Purpled was looking at him with a frown, eyes glancing over to the space Halo had been speaking to. “Sorry, was I interrupting something?” he asked hesitantly, not recognising the name Halo spoke.

“No no, I was just here to round up a few angry souls, it’s all good Purpled,” Halo assured him. He suddenly pursed his lips, remembering something and nearly immediately feeling guilty. He should have dismissed Eighty straight away to the Underworld rather than forcing him to stay in the presence of Purpled. The poor soul had been through enough, and being reminded of the situation around his death, especially when Purpled had no idea he was even there…

“Hey, Earth to god, ya good?”

Halo jumped, batting away the demigod’s hand that was being waved in front of his face. “I’m fine, you muffin! I was just thinking, geez.” He straightened his jacket, pulling up the hood and huffing. “I should probably be going back too, as much as I love chatting to you Purpled. I don’t see you enough.”

“It’s by design, I prefer hanging around other mortals rather than trigger-happy gods,” Purpled replied without hesitation. He waved a hand to the god. “I’ll see you around, Death.”

“Hopefully not, cause I might be there to collect your soul!” Halo grinned, his teeth sharpening and it was impossible to tell whether or not he was joking as he vaporised into thin air.

Chapter Text

The workshop was neat and orderly despite what one might expect from the god of Tinkering, whose designs and inventions were wild and unpredictable. The previous god hadn’t been the neatest person in the world despite all of his efforts, but Sam was very organised. Everything had its place and everything was in its place; tools hanging on the wall, pieces of material stored in their boxes and on racks, bolts and nails and screwed in labels tubs organised on shelves. It was all rather spaced out too, with a tall bench that accommodated for Sam’s horse flanks and huge height.

Of course, that was the main rooms of the workshop, Sam’s primary spaces for working. In a large side room, however, the organisation was non-existent and the mess was explosive. Everything was everywhere and nothing made sense, with half-finished projects propped up against table legs and disassembled creations scattered across the bench tops. Tools lay everywhere, some even suspended from the ceiling on hooks, and the floor really could have used a clean- Actually, the whole room could have used a good week of organisation. And in the middle of it all was a satyr boy.

His exact age was hard to tell as satyrs appeared to be both very young and remarkably old all at once, and there was the added problem of people not aging in the godly realm of La’Orien. Still, there was a definite sense of boyish energy about him as he happily worked on the project in front of him, hammering something with a rubber mallet and humming a tune. Little horns stuck out of his fluffy brown hair, his goat ears small and angled downward.

“And done!” he declared, tossing aside the mallet and picking up his project proudly. He spun around, goat hooves tapping happily on the ground as he showed it off to the other being in the room, who was perched on top of a shelving unit, legs dangling and back leaning against the wall.

“It’s… a shield?” he asked, his voice demonically low and grated. The right side of his face was rippled and warped demon skin while his left was human, but both sides had an eyebrow raised in question at seeing the satyr’s invention.

Said satyr pouted, dropping his arms. “It’s not just ‘a’ shield, Corpse!” he insisted. “It’s a very cool shield!”

“I’m not doubting you, Tubbo, I’m just… unconvinced.” This demon was, of course, the same one who had met Wind in the mortal city, but he’d discarded his formal wear for his preferred casual gear: a white t-shirt with a black leather coat ending at his knees, and black skinny jeans with black combat boots. A black chain necklace draped across his shirt, dark rings and bracelets decorated his human hands with his nails painted black, black eyeliner made his human eye stand out and he’d let his hair return to its more curly, unruly state.

“Well you’re about to be convinced in a second, Corpse, don’t worry!” Tubbo grinned, putting aside the shield so he could shove around various articles to make a clear space on the ground. His dark green shirt had the sleeves rolled up to stay out of his way, blue jean overalls looped over his shoulders with baggy pants to accommodate for his goat legs. A burnt brown apron protected his clothes and thick leather gloves protected his hands, with ankle boots stopping his toes from being crushed when he inevitably dropped things.

Corpse lifted his eyes to the sky. “Oh death, the things I do,” he murmured, eyes flicking over to the chalk drawing on the ground that the satyr had used to summon him. Unfortunately, this wasn’t the first time something like this had happened. 

“Okay Corpse!” Tubbo called, picking up his shield again and scrambling to take position, his new project raised and facing the demon. “Fire away!”

“Tubbo, that doesn’t look exactly… sturdy ,” the demon advised, rather nervously eying the thin barrier. “You know that I’m not allowed to be here and I know you’re a demigod and all, but if you get hurt then I’ll get into a lot of trouble-”

“Oh stop worrying and hit me!”

The demon sighed but complied, summoning a large flaming sphere before lobbing it at the satyr nearly negligently. It didn’t fly fast nor with much power, hitting the shield with enough force to rock it slightly, leaving a burnt patch. The shield was nearly instantly dropped, the glare of the satyr striking through the welding goggles that had been lowered from the top of his head. 

“I said hit me !”

A low growl rumbled somewhere in Corpse’s throat and he threw another sphere, harder and faster than the first. It slammed against the shield that was hurriedly raised, the force throwing back the boy who held it and sending the shield flying from his grip. The contraption, however, wasn’t done yet. A small black socket in the middle had glowed with the fireball the moment it had made contact and as it slipped from the grip of the satyr, the socket flared and an identical orb to the one that had been thrown burst out, flying and slamming into the wall of a room, ripping apart some of the godly material it was made of as the shield clattered to the floo.

The satyr, meanwhile, went flying and crashing into a pile of bits and bobs, the stacks of materials around him rocking and a few tall poles dropping onto him. The demon winced at the succession of movements, noises, and blasts, and quickly hopping down from his perch. “Tubbo! I’m sorry, are you okay?”

“That was awesome!” two arms cheered, sticking up from the pile of stuff. They tried in vain to push the various items off and would have failed if not for Corpse walking over and moving the mess away, offering his hand to lift the demigod up. Tubbo gave a small whoop after he was dragged from the mess, dusting off his burnt apron and adjusting his goggles which had half-fallen off. “Where’d my shield go?”

Corpse pointed to the cast-aside invention as a voice called out from the direction of the workshop door “Hey Tubbo! Was that you? Are you okay?”

“Oh heck, Tommy!” Tubbo quickly threw off his apron, dumping a few bolts and washers out of the toolbelt hanging around his waist. “Corpse, grab the shield, quick!”

The demon did so, placing it back on the bench it had originally sat on and covering it with a cloth as Tubbo quickly scrubbed away his chalk circle on the floor. Footsteps were coming from the more orderly parts of the workshop, the same voice calling “Tubbo? You are here, right?”

“Hold on a minute!” Tubbo called back. He gave a quick wave goodbye to Corpse who saluted and was gone in the blink of an eye, leaving the satyr to dash out the door and physically collide with the body of someone else. Both parties reeled back in surprise, one swearing in shock and the other making less profane exclamations. 

“Sorry Tommy, I wasn’t looking where I was going, I’m sorry,” Tubbo apologised when they had both recovered. 

“I really don’t know how you can miss me, I’m not exactly short, Tubbo,” the other said with a slight chuckle in the words. Tommy’s curly blond hair was as unruly as ever, his blue eyes just as brilliant and determined, his white shirt marked with a slight soot stain where Tubbo had crashed into him but he didn’t seem to mind. He was taller than Tubbo but only by about a head rather than the 2 feet he’d be in his god form. “Did you still want to go on that walk that we talked about, or…?”

“Oh! Yes! Yes, I completely forgot about it, I’m sorry, I got really really distracted, lemme just change my gloves!”

The satyr danced over to the door of the workshop where two sinks - one larger and higher and one smaller and lower - were attached to the wall, Tommy following him (he had once been likened to an obedient puppy, but Tommy disagreed strongly with the comparison). The water washed black with the grease and dirt on the satyr’s hands and then ran clear, and Tubbo threw the paper towel into the nearby bin when he was done. He exchanged his leather gloves for some semi-fingerless yellow and black striped ones. One glove sported two bee-styled antennas while the other only had one and the ripped off stump of another.

“So where are we going?” the shorter asked as the two walked out of Tinkering’s workshop, the huge gear doors shutting smoothly behind them. 

Tommy blinked. He hadn’t thought this far. “Uhhh, Smajor’s seasonal garden?” He hadn’t yet had too much to do with the Seasons God but he knew that Tubbo quite enjoyed his company.

“Oh I wouldn’t go there, he and Atlantic are in the middle of a row,” a deep voice said from behind. Both boys spun with a start, looking up to see the huge centaur god towering over them. He held up one of his calloused hands to stop the questions on both of their tongues. “Nothing bad, don’t worry, just the usual winter-to-spring deal. Atlantic wants to keep a certain section of whatever land in his ice kingdom and the Major’s not having it.”

“Do you think Stampy would mind if we went to his garden, Sam?” Tubbo asked.

The god thought and shook his head. “That should be fine. Have fun you two. And you’d better have left my things neat and orderly, Tubbo.” The god’s cloven hooves clopped rather pleasantly on the floor as he passed them to the huge geared door.

“Oh, I used one of your mallets, I left it somewhere in my room!” Tubbo yelled after him, quickly walking away with Tommy. The god’s half-exasperated yell of “You’re the worst apprentice ever!” made the two laugh and they broke into a run, the god slowing down to allow the satyr to keep up with him.

Stampy’s garden was like something out of legend. All the great gardens and plants of the mortal realm - the Dangling Gardens of the ancient city Juhven, the strange snow blossoms of the Snowchester Plains, the burning red flowers and seeds from Nakahara, the slim and beautiful trees and vines of Tu’la - all of them were gathered in the great garden. Between them were strange plants that pulsed with magic, unique only to the godly realm and birds of all kinds and colours and shapes danced between branches.

“So what have you been doing lately?” Tubbo asked, skipping over a few stepping stones in the shallow river running through the garden.

“Training,” Tommy grumbled, grabbing a stone and flinging it down the stream. “Being a god is hard, I hate it.”

“That’s why I like being a demigod,” the satyr grinned at him. “I just get to play around all day.” Tommy stuck his tongue out at him, drawing a laugh from the older (Tubbo had been born a demigod before Tommy had been born mortal, but that was a story for another time). 

“Well otherwise, being a god is great , okay?” Tommy insisted as they entered a section of the garden more dedicated to fruits and vegetables and the like. A dozen delicious smells wafted past them as they strolled past vines teeming with strawberries, passion fruits, blueberries, small pink apple-like fruit, and past things buried in the ground; carrots, potatoes, and something that looked like a large radish. “I get to go wherever I want and… uh….”

“And what, hm?” Tubbo teased. 

Tommy playfully glared and pushed him into the river. He ran off while Tubbo spluttered at the water soaking his pants and bee gloves, scrambling up to give chase. “Tommy! No fair, come back! I wasn’t ready!”

Chapter Text

A village tavern was not Punz’s preferred place to go for a lunch break, but his options had been vastly limited as of late. His face was a little too well known in this particular village but his contractor had insisted on meeting here so here Punz was, sitting at a table with his back to a corner, snacking on a large meal. He had to get his energy up, he’d probably be spending the night travelling home. 

A short white cloak was donned over the grey woolen turtleneck which clung to his strong chest and sturdy arms. Around his waist was a wide leather belt that supported a heavy bag of gold, his latest payment. Around his neck was a gold chain studded with small spikes with a small blade attached at the end. It was no doubt worth hundreds, and many people had tried to take it from him. None had survived. 

His ice-blue eyes idly scanned the large tavern room, brushing over the occupants through his pale blond hair and dismissing them one by one. He was constantly on the lookout for another job, another payment, someone to give him some cash for a certain individual to disappear. He was a mercenary, if you liked that term. Or a bounty hunter if you wanted to be crass. Punz didn’t mind much either way. He didn’t feel guilty.

A quiet buzz and a bump against his leg drew his attention. He glanced down to see the small yellow creature crawling up his pants, part of its body wrapped in shadow with thin wings setting against the rounded body. At first glance, it could have been mistaken for a bee, but no bee was as large as it was, nor as intelligent.

“You’d better not have gone and stung somebody,” Punz whispered to it. The last thing he needed right now was for someone to drop dead of poison when he was an unfamiliar face in a crowded room and had a bag full of gold on him. The bee-creature buzzed and crawled up into his white scarf, hiding under the warm fabric and nuzzling into his neck. He shifted the scarf to ensure his troublesome pet was fully hidden then went back to eating, his hearing focused on the room.

The door of the tavern opened and voices were called in greeting and he didn’t raise his eyes from his food until he heard a new voice call out “Hey, George, Sapnap! Over here!” The familiarity of it nearly made him choke on his tomato slice, icy eyes flicking to the tavern front. He caught a glimpse of neon green clothes, followed by warm blue and white, and then saw the trio sit down at a table, two of them laughing at a comment from the third. 

He recognised them all instantly, and so too did most people in the tavern. It was hard not to recognise the Dream Team, as they had been dubbed after the most energetic and loud of the three. The man’s green hoodie was easy to spot and the white mask over his face smiled just like his mouth did. His companions were likewise recognisable; George with white goggles perched on his forehead and hands in the pockets of his dull purple pants, and Sapnap flicking the white tails of his bandana over his shoulder, tanned arms bare under short sleeves. 

Most people knew them to be your average, ordinary dudes who just hung around and had some laughs and occasionally helped someone out. Punz knew better. These three were gods. 

And as that white mask tilted in his direction, the gods knew he was here. 

The mercenary did his best to act casual and finish his meal while the three gods disguised as mortals had their own lunch and chatted in loud voices and laughs, shoving each other around and generally having a good time, sometimes starting a chat with another patron. When he was finished, Punz left his plate where it was and quietly slipped out a back door, hand hovering near one of the many hidden knives secretly strapped to his body.

As he stepped outside, he pulled the white scarf tighter around his face and neck, hiding his small pet and tossing the end over one of his shoulders. His sneakers took him away from the tavern, down familiar backstreets that he’d learned were common across most cities. He moved swiftly, the bag of gold making muted clinks as he held it with one of his hands, the gold of rings flashing in the occasional shafts of sunlight he passed. He’d made it a good distance further than he’d thought he would when someone dropped down behind him.

“Hey Punz!” the voice cherrily greeted. The voice of Dream. The mercenary gave a small sigh of defeat.

“Hey Dad,” Punz replied as he turned to look at the god standing behind him. The smile on the older’s face was as wide as the smile on the mask as he sauntered a few steps closer, sneakers crunching on the dirt sidestreet. There was no one around to watch their interaction, which the god had no doubt made sure of before he’d approached.

“How are you doing, Punz?” the god of Wind asked. “I don’t get to see you too often.”

“Yeah, cause you’re always busy running messages,” Punz muttered under his breath, clearing his throat to speak up. “I’m good, just running my business, looking after myself, watching my back. You know. Mortal things.” Was he resentful to his dad for being kinda distant for a lot of his life and just dropping into Punz’s day whenever he felt like it? Maybe a bit.

“Mortal things,” Dream repeated with a lazy grin. He wiggled a finger at the chain around the demigod’s neck. “I see you’re taking after me.”

Punz didn’t need to see his accessory to feel its weight. His eyes stayed on the god. “Maybe. Maybe not. But my business was doing well so I figured I might as well do something with all the gold I’m getting.” 

“But you still have those holes in your pants.”

Now Punz looked down at the numerous rips that sliced his jeans across the front and back as if he’d been fighting a large cat, then back up at the god. “It’s a style, Dad. This is by choice.”

“Okay but it’s gotta be hard to put them on in the mornings, right?” The god picked his feet off the ground, sitting in midair and propping up his chin. “Don’t you ever accidentally put your foot in the rips and make them super big?”

Punz had in fact done that on multiple occasions but he wasn’t going to let his dad know that. “Nope.” He swiftly changed the topic. “Are you and your two god buddies here for any particular reason? If there’s one of your god situations going on then I’m out of here.”

Dream waved his hand. “Nah, we’re just chilling. I heard that you were in town and I just wanted to visit and say hi to my second son.” 

A movement in Punz’s scarf distracted him from the snappy retort that was on his lips and he glanced down to see his bee-like pet wiggling out from under his scarf, buzzing for attention. The god’s smile split into a wide grin, legs kicking to be more standing in the air than sitting. “Hey buddy! Miss me?” he greeted the pet happily. “Have you given him a name yet, Punz?”

“Yes,” came the reply but no other clarification as Punz lifted his pet from his scarf for it to perch on his arm. Its yellow stripes glowed happily in the semi-dimness of this particular ally, clearly happy to see the god. His dad had given Punz the present as a coming-of-age gift 6 years ago. Where he’d gotten it, Punz didn’t care to ask.

“Well I’m glad you’re looking after him at least, you should know that his kind is pretty rare,” Dream said with a grin. “I don’t think I could replace him if anything happened to him. I assume he’s helping you with your little jobs.”

“Maybe. Maybe not.”

The god picked up on the idea that Punz wanted to leave now and he must have winked behind the mask, because the demigod could practically hear it in his words. “Well, nice chatting to you again. Hope the business goes well, son. Good luck.” The god set his feet back on the ground and sauntered off as if their talk had never happened.

Punz sighed, rubbing his temples. He knew exactly what he’d find when he arrived home tomorrow; a bag of gold and emeralds sitting on his dining table, pinning down a folded piece of paper on which was written a single name and a location. Was it weird to have his godly dad funding his private business that existed only to go out and murder people for money? Maybe, but Punz had long since gotten used to it. It was all just another day for him, really.

He pulled up his scarf again, using it to hide most of his face as his pet nuzzled back down inside it. “Let’s go home, Beez.”

Chapter Text

“Dad, did you make the demons?”

“Hm?” Death followed the direction of his gaze, his white eyes alighting on the hunched, clawed creatures that clambered up the jagged spikes of the Underworld. “Oh, no no. They came into existence after I did but I certainly didn’t make them. Technically, they’re under Celestial’s charge and not mine, but I look after them anyway since they live in my realm,” he explained.

“Oh.” He looked down at his clawed feet and the tail that curved and flattened at the end like a scythe’s blade. “I just thought… since they look kind of similar to me that you made them too.”

Death chuckled nervously, rubbing the back of his head. “Um… well, I may have drawn a few ideas from them when I made you… but no, Ranboo. You’re my only creation. My demigod son.” Death looked down happily at him with a wide grin. The young teen gave a smile back, unmatched eyes meeting the pure white ones. 

“Did you mean to…” Ranboo started, but then stopped and sighed, looking away. 

“Did I mean to what?” Death asked curiously.

“Nothing, it’s fine,” the demigod assured. “Just… a question I answered myself.”

“Ah, those questions. I have them so often, Skeppy hates me for it.”

The two chuckled, their legs dangling off the ledge of the Underworld’s palace and into the abyss beyond. Or Death’s legs dangled. The demigod had his legs crossed under him as his red and green eyes stared out into the darkness of the realm. His tail curled up around him, its large scythe-like end resting black side up on the ground. 

“I like coming here,” Death’s demigod admitted. “It kind of feels like home.”

“So it should, it’s my home so it’s your home too,” Death told him. “I’m sorry I can’t bring you here more often.”

Ranboo sighed. “It’s okay, Dad. I’m just… I’m sorry that I’m not strong enough to come here on my own to visit you.”

“That’s not your fault, Ranboo,” Death insisted, sitting up a little straighter to address him. “And just because you’re not strong yet doesn’t mean that you won’t be strong one day in the future. One day, you’ll be able to come and visit all on your own.”

“And the End realm, too?” Ranboo asked, looking up. “I know I’ve only been once, but that feels like home too.”

“Of course it does, you are an Ender hybrid.” Death chuckled as if finding it amusing. “But yes. I can take you there too for a visit some time if you want. Well, I won’t be able to take you since it’s Hybrids’ dimension, but I can organise it with him, I’m sure.”

The demigod, smiling, shook his head. “It’s okay, Dad. I’m just glad to spend the time with you.”

Death shuffled closer, holding an arm out as a request and the demigod shuffled in, giving the god a slightly awkward but genuine hug that was returned. He didn’t get many chances to spend with his father, just the two of them, which made him treasure the times he did get. This time was cut short, however, as Death’s head turned as if hearing something the demigod couldn’t, and he sighed.

“I’ve got to go, Nature’s called me,” he said, releasing his son and standing up. “I’ll have to drop you off in La’Orien and then go meet him. I’m sorry, Ranboo.”

“It’s okay. I know you’ve got to do a lot, being Death and all,” Ranboo assured him as he stood a little awkwardly. His arms were long and thin, his legs a little too gangly for him to manage properly, yet Death smiled at him as if he was the most precious thing in the world and held out his hand. When Ranboo took it, they teleported.

“Woah Ranboo, careful!”

The warning came a little too late as Ranboo felt himself collide with something that was shorter and denser than he was and he stumbled over the person, who somehow grabbed him and righted them both before the demigod could become a splat on the pavement. A light, happy laugh greeted his ears and identified the person he’d tripped over.

“Oh my gods I’m so sorry Tubbo,” he started to say but was quickly brushed off.

“Don’t worry about it Ranboo, I was off in my own little world too, didn’t see you until too late,” the satyr laughed, strong arms making sure the much much taller was steady before letting him go. “Are you okay? I didn’t hurt you, right? I don’t want to step on your claws with my hooves, they’re pretty sturdy.”

“No no, you’re okay, I-I’m fine,” Ranboo assured him, gloved hands quickly flying to check the mask on his face and adjust his jacket, tail dragging on the ground. He blinked, looking down from his nearly 7ft height to the five-and-a-bit tall satyr grinning up at him. “Sorry, did I interrupt your walk?”

Tubbo shrugged and grinned wider. “Nah, I was just walking back to the workshop, Tommy’s busy and I’m bored so I’m gonna go blow some things up. Wanna come watch?”

“Uhhh… sounds fun but no thank you.” Tubbo may have been one of the few people whom Ranboo was comfortable (or at the very least semi-comfortable around) but that didn’t mean that he could risk being susceptible to the demigod’s somewhat haywire inventions. His body wasn’t exactly the most resilient thing around. “Enjoy that, though. I guess.”

“Oh I will!” The satyr got a gleam in his eyes. “If you see Sam and Sky running across the gardens, it’s because I’ve accidentally blown up something important so don’t worry too much.”

“... Oh. Uhhh okay then, I’ll… keep that in mind I guess.”

“Okay bye Ranboo, talk to you later!” Tuboo waved, his grin never fading as he trotted off. The Ender hybrid watched, feeling a little alarmed despite Tubbo’s best reassurances that it was all totally fine. Honestly, who wouldn’t feel a little worried when they knew what the demigod could get up to when he was unsupervised.

Ranboo shook his head, refocusing on what he had been doing before he’d zoned out. Honestly, he… didn’t have a whole lot to do in La’Orien. He wasn’t like the gods, who had tasks and chores to do over here and over there, and he wasn’t like Tubbo who was a god’s assistant and had a whole workshop to keep him entertained. Ranboo couldn’t exactly visit the mortal realm either, not because he didn’t have the ability to but because… well, as he’d said to his father. He wasn’t the strongest.

It… was hard sometimes. To know how deformed and mangled his body was despite his father’s best efforts. He was too tall really, with his arms and legs too long and his hearing too sensitive and yet just not sensitive enough. His body reacted to the smallest things, like grass or cotton or metals and his eyes watered and stung with the barest breeze. The god of Medicine had tried to help where he could, telling Ranboo about the things that would most likely make him break out in rashes and finding things that would help protect him; silk clothing for the most part, sturdy leather gloves for his hands, and a specialised black and white mask that helped filter the air for him.

Even so, it was just… difficult. To know he was different for reasons he couldn’t control. Different from mortals, different from gods, caught in that confusing in-between that demigods found themselves in and yet different from them too, for reasons that he tried not to think about. That was something else that always weighed on him, constantly eating away at the back of his mind. The reason why half of his body was black and met up with his white half in a stark, deadly straight line-

He hit something again but this time it was something solid and big that made him reel back after bumping into it. He blinked, shaking his head and raising it to see what he’d hit, and his blood ran cold. Oh heavens damn me .

The back he’d hit was strong and broad and thickly padded with muscles, a long braided plait of pink hair, and a blood red cape that rose into a fluffed white collar. The cape didn’t hide the huge, spiked shoulder pad that turned with the man who wore it. Ranboo gulped and shrank down, feeling utterly overshadowed by the god before him. The skin was tanned to a strange, nearly pink tint with large tusks protruding from lips peeled back in contempt. Blood red eyes bored into the cowering demigod, annoyance bordering on pure anger ripping into his soul. Oh Ranboo was dead, oh he was so dead, his father would have to come to pick up his corpse and soul to take to the Underworld for good-

“Oh hey mate, how’re you going?”

The cheery voice that came from the god before him made Ranboo jump in surprise, eyes widening. A second later though, a second figure popped out from the other side of the god with a smile that matched the voice. He was shorter than the god and clad in a green kimono and a green and white striped bucket hat that was planted on top of flaxen hair falling to his shoulders. From his back sprouted two large, dappled grey wings that were nearly as tall as the man was, their tips scraping his ankles. He was recognisable to Ranboo, though the demigod had to take a moment to catch his name.

“Oh! Lord Philza, uh- Hi, um- I’m so so sorry, god of War, ” the demigod stuttered, backing off slowly as he tried not to make eye contact with the figure he’d so stupidly bumped into.

The imposing god scoffed, the deep scars on his face rippling with the movement of his tusks. The shorter god - who stood in his mortal form - put a hand on his arm. “Calm down Techno, he didn’t mean it,” Philza assured him. His deep eyes seemed to swirl with a dozen different shades of blue as they found Ranboo. “You okay mate? Didn’t hurt yourself?”

Ranboo jumped again at being asked that question for the second time today. “Oh, oh yeah I’m fine. You-You know, I zone out a lot and crash into things so this isn’t new.” He rubbed the back of his head in an embarrassed fashion, his tail scraping on the ground. The movement caught the eyes of the god of War, the red orbs leaping up to Ranboo’s face.

“I can tell that you’re not a god, but mortals do not roam alone in the godly realm,” he growled in what was single handedly the longest collection of words Ranboo had ever known him to speak. “What are you.”

“Techno,” Philza reprimanded and Ranboo swore he was going to self-combust right there and then. “What did I tell you about phrasing things politely?” The demigod’s mouth went dry, evaporating any hope he had of trying to speak. No one, no one , told off the god of Vengeful War. Even Life was careful in how he phrased his disciplines to the man and Philza - sorry, Celestial - had just straight up told him off . In front of Ranboo.

Techno’s eyes latched on the shorter man beside him who stared back with a calm, quiet expression. Their stare was like a deeply intense battle full of strikes and counter-strikes and secret tactics that Ranboo couldn’t hope to understand nor decipher, but surprisingly, and he really really thought that he and Philza were going to be exploded into dust, Techno apparently lost . He huffed, rolling his eyes. “May I ask what kind of creature you are.”

Ranboo suddenly remembered to breathe. “Uh- I-I’m an uh- an Ender hybrid. Uh… Demigod of Death.”

The eyes of both gods instantly found him, Philza’s eyebrows raised in surprise while Techno remained expressionless. “You are the son of Death,” Techno stated.

“Yyyyes. I mean, yes, yes I-I am. Um- My name’s Ranboo, by the way.” Oh he’d just introduced himself to the god of War, oh he was insane, oh he was going to die.

But today was Ranboo’s lucky day as War scoffed quietly and Celestial patted his arm. “His name’s Techno, I’m Philza. It’s nice to meet you, Ranboo,” he smiled.

The demigod gave a nervous chuckle. “Heh. Nice to meet you guys too. S-Sorry again for crashing into you Tech- I mean, uh, god of War.”

War hummed, his hand moving to rest on the hilt of his huge broadsword. The movement unnerved Ranboo and made him notice the deep purple netherite and gold guards attached to the god’s arms, thighs, and shins, running into tall, black spiked boots. The golden crown on his head was fashioned like thorns, which made the rubies entwined in it look like drops of blood. 

The demigod realised with a start that both gods were looking at him expectantly as if he’d missed a question and he blinked himself back. “Uh, sorry could you repeat that?”

Techno’s eyebrows darkened. “I said, why do you wear the mask.”

“Oh! Oh it um- it helps me breathe,” Ranboo explained with a small chuckle. “I um, I react to a lot of stuff, which is why I have the… the gloves and the mask and… and such.” He pulled down the sleeves of his silk black jacket slightly in a poor attempt to hide said gloves. “I get sick a lot which is why I have to stay here instead of visiting the mortal realm like other demigods.”

“You are the son of Death, the only demigod of Death who is one of the two most powerful gods in this universe, and yet you cannot leave La’Orien because you get sick .” The flat, nearly angry tone of Techno’s voice crawled into Ranboo’s soul and made him curl up into a ball.

“I highly doubt it’s his fault, Techno,” Philza pointed out.

The War god rounded on him but his tone never wavered from its monotone nature. “It’s unacceptable, Philza. He is potentially the most powerful demigod in existence and should be one of the most feared. He should know or be taught how to use his demigod abilities to protect himself.”

“You’re hardly one to speak mate, you haven’t yet bothered to learn your own godly abilities.” The avian patted the god’s arm and smiled again at Ranboo. “If you ever do want to learn your abilities or have some company, Ranboo, you’re always welcome to hang out with us. We’re usually either walking around or in the Sunrise Hall.”

Ranboo blinked. “Oh- Oh yeah that uhh- that sounds… fun?” He cringed but Philza laughed good-naturedly. 

“We’ll see you then, mate. Try to watch where you’re going, don’t want to go crashing into any other gods. Come on Techno, let’s stop terrifying the poor demigod.”

War grunted and turned, not giving Ranboo a goodbye as he walked away. Philza followed but gave the demigod a nod of his hat. Ranboo waved awkwardly, standing still where he was until the two were out of sight, after which he promptly collapsed to the ground and let out a deep sigh of relief. Oh he couldn’t believe he’d survived that. Oh that was terrifying. Never again.

Chapter Text

The Vault was a well-known library in the mortal realm, famous for its near-infinite collection of books and novels and writings in many languages from all across the world, gathered over the ages. Each book had been painstakingly documented and copied once and then twice, the original and the first copy kept safe in separate, secured vaults (hence the name) while the second copy went out into the library. Generations of work had been poured into it, the building expanding and growing as needed, becoming great and grand and magnificent.

It was merely a poor shadow compared to the library of La’Orien.

All the knowledge of all the ages of all the realms had been gathered into the space and finding a single book or topic on your own was nigh impossible . Its expanse was quite near infinite, the hallways and shelves stretching much longer and wider and taller than what physically should be able to fit in its white quartz and wood domed building, but that was magic for you. Indeed, few gods could properly navigate it, and three of these were the three gods of Magic.

Originally, Magic had been assigned to a single god but after the war against the Corrupted One and as magic expanded and grew at a rapid rate, other gods were required to keep balance in the universe. As such, Seto now had the privilege to work alongside two other gods; Eret and Karl. Eret had been born a demigod and was promoted to the position midway through the war to assist Seto, but Karl had been a normal mortal before he’d been elevated to god status nearly immediately after the war’s end.

Karl was out now, leaving Seto and Eret to take up the library alone, sitting in moderately comfortable silence. Seto had taken over a sturdy wooden chair and an entire table that was covered in open books he was constantly referring to, his purple magic flicking pages and taking out new volumes from the tall shelves as he wrote notes in a large, thick, faded notebook that was lovingly cared for. He wore the ancient-traditional long and heavy sorcerer cloak made of a deep purple fabric and embellished with runes that glowed faintly under the library’s flickering lanterns. His hood was raised over his brown hair and held in place the red and grey headpiece he wore. On the table beside him was a brown leather satchel that was open and spilled quills and jars of ink and scraps of paper but the purple eyes of the sorcerous god never once looked up from his research.

In comparison, Eret was sprawled rather royally across a plush, high-backed armchair, his legs hooked over one armrest and his back half leaning against the back of the chair. His blazing white eyes lazily watched the air as he traced words into it with his finger, his other hand gently stroking the head of a vibrant pink flamingo who rested in his lap, beady black eyes staring at him with wonder. A royal red cloak was slung over the back of the chair, leaving the god in a white ruffled shirt and black pants with faintly glowing white embroidery that fed into high heeled black leather boots. Around his waist shone a red satin sash and a gold and ruby crown was resting atop his curling brown hair by sheer willpower. Or maybe magic, who knew.

The two remained in silence for several hours as Seto researched and Eret carved sentences into the air, each letter disappearing soon after it was written. The library was a place of peace and clarity, where gods could find some solace assuming they didn’t get lost. That tranquillity was broken rather abruptly by a certain god suddenly making an appearance behind Seto.

“ BOO !”

Both gods of Magic jumped several feet in the air, letting out their own variations of swears and vehement phrases as both automatically sent magic flying in the direction of the shout, the flamingo letting out several noises of distress. The white and purple bolts were easily blocked by a yellow shield that had been expecting it and it dropped to show Life doubled over and laughing.

“Damn you Sky, you made me spill ink everywhere!” Seto snapped, glaring at the black liquid that was seeping through the pages of his precious notebook.

“Sorry, I am sorry, I couldn’t help myself,” Sky wheezed, slapping his knee and trying to recover in some way.

Seto’s glare switched to the tall god. “I much preferred you when you were a demigod,” he muttered, waving his hand over his book and the ink was drawn out of the pages like it was being sucked out, running back into its pot. “Back then, I could at least get some peace and quiet from you.”

“You couldn’t really though, admit it.” Sky stood up straight and sighed with his hands on his hips. “Good morning Eret!”

“Hey Dad,” the other god sighed, adjusting the crown on his head and calling the startled flamingo back over to his lap. 

“Are you here for something in particular Life , or was it just to interrupt my study?” Seto asked rather curtly.

Sky temporarily ignored him in favour of pointing a finger at the sorcerer and speaking to his son. “Have you noticed that he uses my god title when he is annoyed at me? He did that back at the Army too, he would call me Demigod of Life when he was angry.”

“He does that to everyone, Dad,” Life’s demigod remarked.

Seto’s fingers started tapping on the table, his purple eyes flashing with the rune in the centre beginning to blaze with emotion. “ Sky… ”

Life quickly held up his hands. “Okay okay, I did come here for an actual reason. I require some records surrounding the time of the war. The mortal records, not the dimension ones.”

The blaze in the sorcerous god’s eyes settled into something similar to vague concern. “Were you going to look on your own or did you want a hand?” he offered but Sky shook his head.

“I will be fine, I promise. I just do not wish to get lost again.”

Seto shrugged. “Up to you. The history records are down the purple wood shelves, the bird will lead you.” He gave a sharp wave, muttering a few words that caused a misty purple dove to spring from his palm, fluttering into the air and soaring down the aisle. 

Sky watched it go and gave a wave as he followed. “I’ll talk to you two later!”

“See ya,” Eret waved vaguely as Seto simply ignored his old friend and went back to his table of books piled upon books. The two were only able to spend a few minutes settling back down before they were interrupted a second, this time by a swirling portal of blues and purples with flashes of gold that slowly expanded in the air. The gods paid a little more attention to this more welcome disruption, Eret swinging his legs off the armrest and Seto setting down his quill, both recognising the portal. It grew, perfectly spherical in nature until it was a little taller than a mortal man and then a mortal man in a purple hoodie stepped through, stumbling a little as he landed.

Within seconds, the man shifted into his taller god form, brushing his miss-matched sleeves and pushing his brown hair out of his face. A purple tailcoat clipped a darker purple vest and a cyan shirt and draped over black dress pants that ran into black canvas shoes, making his appearance a mix of formal and casual with the contrasting colours both clashing and being quite soothing to the eye. Once he was satisfied with the state of his garments, he lifted the golden goggles from his eyes and gave a tense smile to the two gods. “Hey, I’m back.”

“You good Karl?” Eret asked, raising an eyebrow. “You look stressed.”

“Calm down Eret, he only just got back,” Studious Magic reprimanded gently. “Karl, are you feeling dizzy at all? Lightheaded? Anything go awry with the manipulation of time?”

Worldly Magic shook his head, adjusting his tailcoat again. “Nah nah, it went fine, all good. The goggles are helping me focus a lot better, so that’s all good.”

“So what happened?”

The god hesitated. “Nothing happened,” he tried to assure but the other two saw through it far too quickly.

“Karl, you’re clearly shaken and not looking us in the eyes,” Natural Magic said, rising from his chair to walk over to the third god, putting a gentle hand on his shoulder. “What happened? What did you see?”

The god hesitated again then stepped back, shaking his head. “I… It was an accident, I was just looking around and accidentally looked too far ahead, more than I was meant to. We… We shouldn’t meddle, we’ll only- I’ll only make things worse.”

“Why? What did you see in the future?”

“Oh my gosh Eret, he just said that we shouldn’t meddle,” Studious Magic sighed, putting his head in his hand.

“Well I’m sorry for being curious.” Eret rolled his eyes. “But serious Karl, are you okay? Do you need to take a break or anything? Catch some z’s? You can use my room if you want, you know my bed is super comfortable, I’ll kick out the flamingos for you.”

Karl laughed lightly, shaking his head. “I-I’m fine, I’ll be fine, I promise. Honestly, I… I’m not exactly sure what I saw. But I’ll keep that in mind, Eret, I promise. Did anything happen while I was gone?”

“Apart from Life coming and scaring the immortality out of me, no,” Seto grumbled, flicking a few books closed.

Karl’s eyes lit up and dimmed (literally) with an idea and he bit his lip. “Would… you guys know where Life would be right now?”

Eret nodded his head towards one of the shelves. “The history section, looking up something from the Corrupted One war. Why do you ask?”

Worldly Magic bit his lip some more. “I… I might go… go talk to him a bit. Maybe, it- It might be important. Might be nothing. Might be important.”

“Be careful Karl, we don’t want to get too involved and divert things from their natural course,” Seto warned. 

The god nodded back. “I know, I’ll- I’ll be careful. Back soon.” He swiftly walked off, coat tails flicking around his legs.

Chapter Text

Chaos reigned, and not the good kind of chaos either. The air was thick with the scent of fresh blood and pungent sweat and the strange acidic tang of magic and the aura of gods. There were other things too, things that only Life and Death could hear and feel; the cries of souls killed before their time, of those who were caught in internal turmoil with the world rending itself apart under the weight of a magic that was never supposed to exist. The very fabric of matter that formed the rolls and swirls of the land was becoming undone despite Life and Death’s best efforts to hold it together. This war had to end today , or else there may never be a tomorrow.

“Life!”

The tall god turned his head, his helmet fashioned of pure light glinting and sending ripples down his flowing hair. Earth was running up to him, looking as exhausted as Life felt. They were all tired. This war was taxing and the mortals who had been dragged into this godly battle weren’t making it any easier.

Earth came to a stop at Life’s feet, bent over his knees and panting, then stood and adjusted the lapels of his navy suit jacket, pushing up his glasses a little bit more. “Bad news. The east coasts are falling away, I can’t keep them together any longer. Water’s trying to hold back but the oceans are crashing in. Some villages have already fallen into the ocean and soon, entire cities will be destroyed and then it’ll be civilisations. We can’t hold it back.”

“The number of lives being lost could throw out the balance forever,” Death murmured from beside Life, fidgeting with his huge scythe in a nervous fashion.

Life was resisting the urge to bite his lip as he tried to think through the stress and headache of constant magic use. He was still so new to this god thing! A century wasn’t enough, he didn’t feel confident in what he was doing, but he did know. He was the god of Life now; his existence revolved around keeping the balance, keeping the world safe on the dangerous edge between two extremes of chaos. When something threatened that balance, it was his task to permanently remove it. Even if that threat was his own family.

“Ssundee, let part of the cost go but form a stronger line a bit in. Preserve as many of the larger cities as you can, we can repair the damage later. Tell Water to create tidepools near the coasts, that will help to hold the oceans back,” he instructed. Earth nodded and left, the dirt and rock underneath him carrying him swifter than any being could run. Life’s heart was heavy but he turned to the young man who hovered in the air beside him, a fresh scar in the shape of an ‘X’ crossing his face; the young god of Wind who had hardly seen half a century. “Dream. Carry my orders. Call all the gods to a full withdrawal, retreat back to the Southern Isles. Rest and prepare for the next attack, if there is one.”

Dream nodded and without question, flew away towards the shimmering air and the cries of the dead and injured, both mortals and gods alike.

“Sky, what are you planning? Why are you ordering the retreat?” Death asked, worry clear in his voice.

Sky faced the chaos as if he could stare directly into the white eyes of the Corrupted One, Death at his back as he spoke. “Stay with them, Halo. You will be their first line of defence and perhaps their last. All our energies are running low and should I fail, the fate of the world will rest on you to defeat him and appoint a new god of Life.”

“What- Sky, you’re not going to fight him alone , are you?”

A hand touched his shoulder, partially turning him as Death - his friend, his trusted confidant, and his equal and opposite - faced him with fear etched on his face. “Sky, he’s powerful, and I know you’re powerful too but- but this isn’t just a battle about power. He’s your father , Sky.”

“He was my father, Halo,” Sky said quietly, his eyes dropping to the ground. “But I’ve known it for a while now; the god who was my father is long gone, consumed by this… this hate. My father would never do the things he’s done. He would never rip the world apart like this, that was never his soul’s desire. He’s corrupted, completely different to how he used to be. I need to do this.”

“And will you succeed?” Halo paused for a moment, holding his breath. “Sky, if you die, I can’t hold the world together on my own. This universe and all its realms will die with you.”

Life raised his golden eyes, a smile on his face as his armour of light flared brighter, its glimmer only emphasising the total blackness of Death’s armour, complimenting it in perfect harmony. “I will not fail, Death.”

The two locked eyes for a moment, the weight of this moment, the deciding moment of their world, enveloping them. Then they hugged, tight and warm, drawing comfort and strength from the other for what might have been the final time. They broke apart and Death retreated, and Life walked forward with long, smooth steps as the other gods of the Pantheon sprinted and galloped and flew and teleported around him, retreating under his order.

The next few moments were a blur. His weapon was in hand; a huge, double bladed longsword that he spun like a balsa staff, giving off a light so bright and pure that no mortal could behold it. There was a fight, of familiar white eyes flashing in his vision filled with a coldness that struck Life to his heart. There was magic clashing against magic, there was blood drawn on both sides, tainting the grass of the great city that had been laid to waste by the terror of a godly battle.

Then there was the sky, and Life looking down upon the man who rushed up to meet him, teeth bared, and it was time to end it here. His hearing blurred in the memory, as did his sight, but despite the ringing of the world around him, he clearly remembered speaking a word; a single name that none could hear save for himself and the man below. He remembered the fear in those white eyes, the way the man stilled, and then the flicker of deep relief as the sword of Life was pierced through his chest and for a moment, Sky saw his father staring at him, smiling with tears in his eyes, proud of his son before his soul was pierced-

Sky drew a sharp breath, eyes flashing open and the world stilling, holding its breath with him then relaxing as the air trapped in his lungs was slowly released. Gods weren’t like mortals; their sleep wasn’t plagued with dreams that could be recalled in the mornings but on occasion, gods could recall memories in a dream-like state. The more vivid, painful, or potent the memory was, the more likely it was that it would be relieved and of the few dreams Sky had, that battle was most of them.

He sighed, slowly lifting his legs from the bed and standing. His hands swept through his long hair and pulled it up into its usual ponytail before he reached for his coat and pulled it on, smoothing down its front. He forwent his shoes in favour of going barefoot and left his house, treading the quiet streets of La’Orien. Stars were out in a vivid array, brighter than any mortal stars and so clear that it appeared you could reach out and touch them in all their glory. The thick brushes of blue and purple dust that entwined the sky was carefully layered into dozens and dozens of thin sheets. If one looked up long enough, it would feel as if you were falling into a black ocean of diamond coral with how deep and lush the sky was. But even the sweetness of La’Orien wasn’t quite enough to calm Sky tonight.

Between one step and the other, his feet went from perfectly cut square stones to rough and uneven grass full of rocks and sticks but Sky didn’t mind the coarseness on his feet. A breeze of night air carried with it the chill hint of autumn with no woodfire smoke to taint it. Life sucked in a deep breath, feeling the air rush through his lungs and then out through his mouth as his shoulders dropped. Each step he took, the world responded; not in visible ways but the fabric of it rippled before and behind him, acknowledging and bowing to his power and submitting wholeheartedly to his care and affection. He smiled at it, his soul pulsing with the song of the universe that whispered to him without end but out here, in the total silence, he could appreciate it all the more.

He found a small hill and lay down at its base, his back leaning against the slope. His bare feet stretched before him and his arms above him, letting his head rest back and let out a sigh. The stars of the mortal realm were pale pinpricks in comparison to the constellations of La’Orien but Sky could appreciate them all the same, being a citizen of the mortal realm in his demigod days. They were just as achingly familiar to him as La’Orien’s stars and he sometimes regretted being unable to spend all his days in this realm, but his very being sustained it so he supposed that he never really left it. It was calm. Tranquil.

“Out for some late-night star gazing, huh?”

The voice was familiar, so familiar, but Sky didn’t so much as flinch as his father came around the edge of the hill, the man knowing Life was there. There was a soft smile on his face, a kind one as he sat down beside the god, leaning back too and looking up. “They’re beautiful, aren’t they? Do you remember their names that I taught you?”

“I am not in the mood for your games, Finn,” Sky said calmly and evenly. The appearance and the voice would be enough to fool any mortal and most gods too, but Sky could hear the very soul of a being, and no magic could change that. He knew the person who sat beside him.

The grin of his father split even wider and those white eyes changed to vibrant green ones and the brown hair grew darker and lusher as it fell in thick curls over the petite shoulders. Freckles dusted the lightly blushed cheeks and a knee-high boot was hooked over the other leg. “Sorry Sky but it's a habit, you know?” the now feminine voice apologised but there was a sneaky lilt to it.

“I know, Finn.” Life glanced over at the new appearance before quickly looking away. Of course Finn struck him as beautiful; indeed, there was no one in any realm who could not consider the god of beauty as beautiful . His very existence was to strike desire into every creature; the desire for love, the desire for a family, the desire for a home.

His averted gaze did not go unnoticed. “What? Don’t like this form? A little birdy told me that you quite like brunettes with striking eyes as green as the grass.” The god struck a pose that could hardly be considered modest.

“As much as I enjoy exchanging witty banter with you, Finn, I am looking for some peace tonight.”

“Got something big on your mind?” The voice changed as it spoke, shifting from a young woman into a boy’s, and Finn - now appearing as a young child with blond hair and warm brown eyes - crossed his legs and stared up at Sky as the perfect form of innocence. “It helps to share things, you know.”

Life sighed, looking back up at the stars. “Just memories. Dreams. The usual.”

“The battle against the Corrupted One, then?” Beauty guessed.

A smile flickered across Life’s face. “Yes. It is always that battle. Always that fight.”

Beauty kicked back his legs to lie beside the much taller god. “At least it’s an easy one; you know how it turned out and it turned out well so out of all the memories to have, that’s not an awful one to plague you.” 

“I suppose it is not.”

Finn didn’t elaborate any further but Sky could hear his soul murmuring in silent words, communicating that perhaps the god of Beauty was familiar with restless sleep and unwanted dreams. Life nestled back into the grass, breathing in the fabric of the universe and gently sighing it out, urging the world around him into rest. His aura reached out gently to the god beside him, calming the soul and cradling it with care, murmuring sweet nothings and brushing away its unease. Finn smiled softly and let out his own breath. He didn’t know what Life was doing but his soul did, and Sky did, and the world did, and that was enough.

Chapter Text

The workshop in the realm of the gods was alive with clatters and deep rumbles as huge machines clanked and rattled and a nimble satyr boy danced around huge cogs and springs and conveyor belts that threatened to rip his hooves out from underneath him. The large belt around his waist probably weighed a rather hefty amount but the boy ran like it was made of feathers, tossing up a mallet to the green centaur above who immediately got to work securing bolts and rubbers.

“Mind that arm there Tubbo, secure it!” Sam warned, voice loud to carry over the noises of the workshop.

“On it!” Tubbo called back, hopping up and immediately twisting gears here and there, grabbing this and grabbing that and twisting them together while avoiding the moving parts of the machine threatening to crush his fingers. His hands and arms and face were covered in oil and grease and the air stank of the chemicals but he didn’t care. In fact, he loved it. This was what he was born to do; As a demigod of Tinkering, machinery was in his blood (metaphorically speaking. Tubbo hadn’t yet put wires and gears into his bloodstream. Yet ).

As he worked, Tubbo couldn’t help but hum a happy little tune to himself, one that was more of the lullaby sort and hardly appropriate when working with loud clanking brass that was hot from kinetic energy and the burning air. He could hear Sam’s hammering and the grunts as metal was moved with brute force, as well as feel the simmering magic that always came from machinery that the God of Tinkering touched.

The near-tranquility of the moment was broken by the groaning of metal ripping from itself, the whole contraption clunking as something sagged. Tubbo flicked his head up, gulping and eyes widening. The huge cog on which this whole machine relied on was breaking free of the brackets securing it to the roof, the screws popping out and the whole thing sagging to the side, slowly sliding off its axle.

“Sam!” Tubbo yelped, seeing the impending doom.

“Let it go, get clear!” Sam ordered, leaping away from the machine and across the workbenches, his huge hooves thumping on the thick, scored wood.

Tubbo did the same, jumping from his platform and scuttering away on his goat legs, bent at the knees and ready to jump. Metal groaned again and tore with an ugly sound. The gear slipped free of its axle, still turning at a blistering speed and immediately rolled towards the huge reinforced door of the workshop (it was extra big to allow the movement of giant machines in and out). Tubbo desperately prayed that there was no one on the other side, hand over his floppy ears and waiting for the horrible sound of a wall ripping apart when the gear suddenly stopped like it had been halted by a giant finger. Someone grunted and magic like redstone dust spun around the cog, stabilising it in place. 

A head poked around the side, black hair cut short and swept up and away from the face, eyes covered by red sunglasses with lens tinted black. “Anyone order a 1:25 ratio 180 inch Tylernian metal gear?”

“Dad!” Tubbo cheered, galloping over and throwing himself into the arms of the man who eagerly greeted him, laughing with a deep voice that boomed around the workshop.

“Hey kid, how are you?” The satyr’s father rubbed the younger’s back, hugging tight and head bumping him just how Tubbo liked it. “Evening Sam!”

“Sparklez,” Sam greeted, bowing at his human waist and the front hooves of his horse form. “You have unusually perfect timing, I wasn’t looking forward to repairing that wall.”

Sparklez patted the huge teeth of the gear, releasing the hold on his son who released him in turn. “Well I gotta be on time once every few centuries at least. How’d this come loose, Sam? It was going at a pretty high speed, I was a bit worried I wouldn’t be able to hold it.”

“It came loose off the ceiling brackets,” Sam explained, gesturing to the huge brass hinges dangling from the roof. “It must have been putting more load on the joints than I had calculated but the adjustments we were doing had to be done while the machine was running.”

“What’re the brackets made out of?” Sparklez asked, stepping further into the workshop to get a better look, pushing up his sunglasses and perching his leather gloved hands on his hips.

Sam stepped off the workbenches and joined him as he spoke. “Sulphur-treated Yibidium.”

Sparklez hissed. “Ouch. You might need to upgrade to Dulstin.”

“That’s what I was worried about, I’m running low.”

“Oh don’t worry about that, I brought some with me,” Sparklez assured him. “Jerry’s watching Earth and Magic unload the ship now so once it’s all sorted out, I’ll bring you guys all the bits and bobs I’ve collected for you guys- What happened to my wall?!”

The sudden nearly pained exclamation came when Sparklez’ eyes alighted on a wall of the workshop that had clearly been ripped down to make another workshop room behind it. Tubbo poked his head in between the tall man and the tall centaur. “Oh! I did that.”

Sparklez’s face turned to him with an expression of horror. “Tubbo!? Why’d you rip down my wall?!”

“I needed the space!” Tubbo argued with a wide grin, bright eyes dancing.

Sparklez spluttered. “But-But my wall!”

“It’s not your wall anymore, you retired from being a god! It’s Sam’s wall now and I asked and he said yes.”

“I didn’t know what I was agreeing too, I was distracted,” Sam mumbled like he didn’t want to admit it.

Broken hinges and walls aside, Sparklez’ visits always introduced a certain level of chaoticness to the godly realm, and the man seemed to know it. His orange-brown leather coat, white button-up shirt and wide toolbelt fixed over black pants didn’t make him appear to be much more than an oddly prepared mortal, until you realised that the things he was pulling out of the toolbelt were really a bit too big to fit in the mostly-empty pockets and that he didn’t seem to mind their weight. He’d stripped off his heavy leather gloves after leaving the workshops and tucked them into the back of his belt, choosing to wear thinner black gloves on his hands as he walked, taller than Tubbo but still in his mortal form. As a retired god, Sparklez no longer possessed his god form.

Still, that didn’t stop people from recognising him. Nearly as soon as he and Tubbo started walking around, the god of War Bajan ran over with boyish gleefulness, wringing Sparklez’ hand with extreme enthusiasm. The two immediately launched into a very passionate discussion about weapons and various machines of war, which Tubbo joined in on until he brought up nukes, to which War blinked at him in confusion and his dad gave him a concerned expression. After that, Tubbo decided to keep that little passion to himself and just listen for now.

Other gods were rather pleased to see Sparklez too, mostly those who were of the older generation: the sky god Tru, god of medicine Husky, and Atlantic the god of ice to name a few, but also Dan, Stampy, Seto, and Sky, who refused to call him anything but ‘The Captain’. Even the grumpy god of Hybrids Lox, who did little more than bare his teeth at most humans, grew a little less reserved at seeing the retired god.

At the end of the day though, Sparkelz always made sure he had time for Tubbo and the two lay on one of the hills of La’Orien to watch the sunset paint the sky pink and orange. Tubbo had his head resting on Sparklez’ upper chest and shoulder, his little horns too short to poke the retired god’s face while Jerry, in the form of a little slime-hybrid child, curled up on Sparklez’ chest, sound asleep. Tubbo’s half-open eyes were watching the small gears strung on a cord that went around Sparklez’ neck rise and fall with each of the taller’s breaths. The four gears were uniquely decorated, one for each of his four children; Tubbo, his adopted son Jerry, his adopted daughter Crumb, and a fourth gear for Tubbo’s older half-sister who had died at only two years old.

“Having fun there?” Sparklez chuckled, feeling Tubbo’s limp body resting on him.

Tubbo smiled softly. “Yeah. I like it here but I don’t get to see you much. Are you going to stay?”

“Yeah, I’ll stay for a few weeks at least,” Sparklez promised, pressing a kiss to Tubbo’s curling hair. “Spend a lot of time with you, help out with your projects, maybe give Sam a hand here and there, tell all my stories. I got you a few special gifts too, but they can wait until tomorrow.”

Tubbo hummed with a smile, snuggling a little closer and closing his eyes. “Sounds fun, Dad.” His eyes suddenly flashed open. “You did drop off that thing at that place I told you, right?”

“Yes, I dropped the thing off at the place,” Sparklez chuckled. “Even if I have no clue what it was or why you wanted me to but I did.”

“Good.” The satyr nodded his head, satisfied, and cuddled back up, feeling a warm strong hand running gently through his hair.

“Go to sleep, Tubs. You’ve had a big day.”

Chapter Text

An ancient and forgotten forest had its own kind of song full of shaking leaves and a whispering breeze and constant but near-silent creaking of old branches and swaying trees. It was a song it had been singing for millenia without end, the harmony of birds and deer adding a welcome variation to the song. But every now and then, the forest was joined by a different sort of music. A single note at first, strong and sweet but so quiet that it was nearly lost in the forest. Over time, it swelled and grew, stronger and stronger with another three notes joining it in beautiful symphony. The birds would go silent to hear it and the trees would pause to contemplate it.

The song would grow and grow until the whole world was humming with it, vibrating in the sheer magic that was echoing through the wind and then the singer himself would appear, perched at the curving tip of an ancient ruin’s crumbling archway, mouth wide open as his song swelled in all its brilliance. His voice was rich and clear and sweet, as young as the dawn’s dewdrops and yet as wise as the age-old mountains. His eyes were fixed on the far horizon, their irides shifting in colour with his song - cold old blue mixed with grey blending into a deep mysterious green which peeled away to a warm amber that only the autumn leaves could bring.

As he looked, the god of Music remembered. He remembered this forest, with sprouts standing proud and tiny beside huge ancient oaks with roots far thicker than a man’s arm. Those sprouts had become old oaks themselves now, fed by the rotting remains of their predecessors. It was the life of the forest, the circle that sustained them all, and it was the subject of Music’s song as he once again trod this forgotten and wild land.

It was an old and beloved tranquil place of his, this ruined temple. Eons ago, probably before Life’s time even, creatures of all kinds who were talented in the arts had come here, reciting songs and poems and sonnets aloud for the world to hear, all dedicated to a forgotten god who had long since passed. Honestly, Music wasn’t all that surprised that he was drawn here. Even now, the memories of those works of art were etched into the very stones he sat upon, a magic all of their own binding the crumbling masonry together.

His fingers smoothed along the moss and leafy vines that covered the ruins in a light blanket. The wooden roof frames and awnings had long-since decayed and the temple was left open to the air and rain, the forest slowly reclaiming it. At his request, Nature had somewhat held back the persistence of the earth, allowing flowers to decorate every surface as if a memorial to those whose voices could no longer grace its presence. Yet Music’s voice seemed to be an echo of all those voices combined, bringing this place back to life once more as his soft shoed feet swung out of the abyss below him and onto cracked masonry, a hand steadying the guitar at his back. The coat he wore swung through the air behind him, shimmering with a thousand songs that were yet to be sung and of harmonies that hadn’t yet been imagined. He swung between pillars, mouth never ceasing its song until he stood between leaf-covered ground and tilted his face up to the sky, arms thrown wide and pouring out his soul into his song. It didn’t matter if he didn’t know who this temple had been dedicated to. The spirit of the ancients sustained him.

Sunlight poured in as his own personal spotlight, the forest around his audience as birds perched on top of half-height walls to listen to his voice, sweeter than the most heart wrenching nightingale’s voice. The central room seemed huge even to his tall godly being but Music never once cared, the edges of his lips tilted upwards in a smile as he spun in place, around and around, never once needing to take a breath that would break his song. His eyes opened, pastel pink like a sunset changing to orange as his song became vibrant and full of life and yearning and joy for the years to come. His curling brown hair flicked over his face as he slowly tilted his head down, half-opened eyes taking in the world around him.

And alighting on the crumpled form of something lying on the top of the front stairs.

Music’s song died off slowly into confusion as his feet stopped spinning him around, his arms lowering. His head tilted, trying to take in the creature as his feet slowly carried him over. A few steps closer, a quarter of the room’s length from the half-destroyed doorway, and he could see that only the top half of the creature lay on the top stair, the rest splayed across the stairs below. It had the orange furred ears of a fox perched on equally orange hair, thin human arms angled around its head and the remains of a ripped blue shirt hanging in threads from the shoulders. Poor thing. Some hybrids may have been able to live in the wild like their animal cousins, but few would be able to survive this far from civilization. Even making it to this temple was a feat Music wouldn’t have thought possible, but clearly it had been this hybrid’s last act.

Another few steps, nearly to the doorway now, and Music saw one of those ears give a small flick and the thin body stir with a feeble breath.

The god jumped, eyes widening as he realised the implications and without another wasted moment, he rushed over, shrinking into his much more simple human form and knelt beside the boy, gentle hands touching the bare shoulder. The boy’s face, young and hardly mature, marking him as barely in his mid teens, was scrunched up in agony and anguish, lungs vainly trying to draw breath. Music shushed him gently, vocalising a simple lullaby tune and brushing the hair out of the boy’s face, watching the expression slowly relax into sound sleep. Dull purple eyes ran over the thin body with ribs showing through threads, knobbly knees feeding into bloodied and ripped skin and bones for legs.

Music summoned a hand-woven blanket stitched with all manner of music and laid it carefully over the hybrid, tucking him in. He couldn’t heal the hybrid boy, not with wounds like this. His magic could help the healing of wounds of the soul and yes, he could accelerate the healing of some surface skin wounds, but not to the level that this mortal needed. The boy was starving and surely in his last few hours if left alone, clearly abandoned and forlorn, but why? Music bit his lip, looking around. He could always take the boy to the nearest settlement but there was no guarantee that the hybrid’s life would be saved. And anyway, what if they were the ones the boy was running from? 

The hybrid needed the help of a god. Some very specific gods, but Music needed permission to bring a mortal into La’Orien.

“Life, Hybrid. I need you both.” He spoke to the still air as if to himself but he knew his voice would be heard, carried with the harmonies of a thousand others.

For several long seconds, the world was still. Then a shift happened: subtle, gentle, a shiver running though all of creation including the god and the boy and Life stood there, tall and humming with power with his tunic hanging above his long boots but he shifted into a medium-height male in a black attire immediately upon seeing the god and the boy and knelt beside them.

“Who is this?” he asked, resting a gentle hand on the blanketed shoulder and looking up at Music.

“I don’t know,” came the honest answer. “Is Hybrid coming?”

“In a moment.” Life looked to the side and a second later, the air rippled and clawed feet struck stone, sending sparks in the air. A dragon’s tail lashed the vine-ridden rubble, scarred and ripped wings folding stiffly against the back and clawed scaled arms crossing over a strong chest. The god of Hybrids looked down at them with slitted eyes, refusing to shrink his height as he peeled back dark lips to bare his fangs.

“What is this about, Music?”

“It’s about him,” the god explained, gesturing to the boy and knowing, as everyone did, that Hybrid did not like to be kept waiting. “A mortal fox hybrid. He was lying here on the stairs when I arrived. He looks like he’s starving and close to death.”

Life bent down a little closer, gently brushing the mortal’s forehead. “He’s weak too. The blanket was a good idea Wilbur, it might have been too late otherwise.”

Hybrid’s tail flicked at his clawed feet and rose as if about to attack, the slitted purple eyes pinned on the musician. “Why did you summon me , Music?” he spat.

“As god of Hybrids, I know you have a preference for that of your own kind,” Wilbur said carefully, returning the god’s near-angry gaze. “You put on an aggressive face, Lox, but I know that you wouldn’t want to see this fox hybrid die, just like I wouldn’t. I need Sky’s permission to bring him to La’Orien but I need your permission to help him.” He didn’t really , but it was wise to stay on Hybrid’s good side. And besides, he didn’t want the god to rip apart this fox the moment they arrived in La’Orien.

Life was already getting to work, brown eyes glowing solid yellow as his hands gently hovered over the boy. Hybrid huffed but the tension in his body dropped a little and he approached, his form shrinking and many of the hybrid features falling away, clawed feet becoming shoes as he sat at the boy’s head, human fingers reaching out to hover above the furred ears.

The quiet seconds stretched into silent minutes. “How did he get here, Sky?” Wilbur asked, starting to feel a little anxious.

“It is not my place to tell his story, Music,” Life chastised ever so slightly, pulling back his hands and resting them in his lap. “I have steadied his soul for the current time, however he will require further care. I will be willing to bring him to La’Orien and ask Medicine to heal him.”

“Can you at least tell us a name?”

Sky rolled his eyes but complied. “Fundy. Fifteen years old, born mortal and fox-human hybrid.”

“Someone tried to cut these off,” Lox mumbled to himself, completely ignoring the conversation of the other two. His fingers were drifting over little scars that decorated the base of the ears, stopping at a slit that ran a little deeper than the others. His gaze rose, grazing the body. “He should have a tail but it’s gone… Who took them from him?” His voice dropped to a growl, his hybrid features beginning to surface again but Life put a gentle hand on his arm.

“Now is not the time to seek revenge. He must be taken care of quickly if we wish for his survival. Music.” The god’s gaze turned to the younger god. “Mortals are rarely allowed in La’Orien, and those who visit or stay must be vouched for by a god who will swear to watch over them while in the godly realm. Will you vouch for this mortal, this Fundy?”

“Yes,” Music said without a heartbeat of hesitation. “I vouch for him and I will watch over him.”

Life nodded once. “He is likely to get quite a shock when he wakes up there, but he is young so he should adjust quickly. At the very least, we will be able to heal him and return him to a safe place if he wishes to return fully to the mortal realm.”

“I know several hybrid-friendly places,” Lox murmured. “He will be safe there, but he will be safer in La’Orien.”

“We cannot force mortals to abide with us,” Life reminded. “Even the demigods can find our presence unsettling. Come, we will take him now while he is sleeping. And if he wishes to tell us his story when he wakes up, then you can be there to comfort him, Lox.”

Lox nodded and stood, allowing Wilbur to ever-so-gently scoop up the mortal Fundy in his arms, singing a gentle song to lull the boy into an even deeper sleep. There was no sense in risking him waking up at an inopportune time, and the extra rest would do him well. The three shifted in their tall god forms, Life’s long hair and Music’s cloak flicking in the warm breeze and at once, the three gods and the mortal vanished.

Chapter Text

The hills of La’Orien rolled and curled and dipped across the expanse of the realm, their tips dusted with snow and their valleys home to winding rivers and thick forests. These hills became mountains that ran all the way to the edges of the realm where they dropped off sharply, letting streams of water burst from their trapping confines and flood endlessly into the deep voids of the universe. It was on one of these outer mountains, far from the centre pavilions and streets of La’Orien, that a quaint house of stone and marble and quartz sat nestled halfway up one of the peaks, looking out across the whole of La’Orien and accessible only by a staircase that ran in zig-zags to the depths of the valley far below.

Well, accessible only by that staircase and by a simple teleport, as was demonstrated by the plume of fire bursting into existence on the front porch of the house and disappearing a split second later to reveal the seven foot tall god dusting off his white shirt emblazoned with a flame. Smoke still drifted from his feet as he walked to the door and opened it, leaving behind a pair of scorched footprints in his wake (hence the lack of any wood in this house).

“Karl! I’m home!” the god called out, taking off his orange-yellow half-cape and hanging it up on the hat rack that also held a purple tailcoat and a navy beanie. There was no answer to the god’s cry and Sapnap frowned, taking off his tall boots and putting them away as well prior to venturing further into the house. 

The home was a crowded mess but it was organised, mostly. Books were scattered on bookshelves but papers were confined to messy piles on desks, scrawled with words in a hundred different languages surrounded by symbols and diagrams Sapnap couldn’t hope to understand. Cushions were strewn across every surface but none strayed out of the lounge room, save for one that lay in the doorway that was picked up by the fire god and tossed back in. Past the hallway lined with paintings and tapestries that he was careful not to touch and into the kitchen was where Fire found Magic, standing in front of the heated oven and staring, making no sign that he’d heard the footfalls of the other.

Sapnap sighed quietly and walked forward around the kitchen island and to Karl’s side, wrapping his arms around the man’s waist and nuzzling his nose into the brown locks. The god of Worldly Magic jumped in surprise, jolted out of his daze with fear locking his joints, swiftly fading when he smelt the vague charcoal smell that always followed Sapnap around. He chuckled, putting his hands on top of the tanned warm ones.

“Hello there, I didn’t hear you come in,” Karl grinned.

“I could tell, you were staring again,” Sapnap told him gently, plopping his head on the man’s shoulder. “What are you baking?”

Karl winced and looked at the oven which was starting to pour black smoke, the smell of something burning drifting through the air. “Um… Can’t remember.” 

Sapnap opened his eyes and saw the state of the oven and sighed, with an edge of fondness to the puff of air. “What would you do without me, Karl?” he asked, releasing the hug to open up the oven and reach in, pulling out the burning hot metal tray with his bare hands. The tray held a dozen or so flat-ish blackened discs that were probably meant to be cookies, though they were quite literally burning now.

“Probably burn the house down,” Magic responded, watching as Fire calmly put the tray on top of the stove and waved his hand above it, sucking the flames from the ruined treats. The flames died to nothing when he made a fist with his hand, leaving only the burning scent and the blackened cookies.

Sapnap chuckled, leaving the tray be and wiping his hands on a tea towel, looking at Karl over his shoulder. “I thought we built the house out of stone so I couldn’t burn it down, not you.”

“Yeah…” Karl offered him a small twitch of his lips as a smile, but dropped his gaze before long. This made his husband frown in concern, coming back over and hugging him again, nice and warm.

“Did you have something on your mind?” Sapnap murmured, running a hand through Karl’s hair.

The brunette god hesitated for a moment. “Not… Not really…”

“Karl, you know you can tell me anything. Just say the word and I’ll never tell another soul, not anyone,” Sapnap promised quietly. “Did you travel through time again? Is that on your mind?”

Karl hesitated still. “It’s.. It’s nothing really important, Sap. It’s fine, I-I can handle it myself-”

“Jacobs.”

The legends say that hearing your soul name spoken is the single most terrifying and wonderous thing a creature could ever experience. If Karl had to liken it to anything, he would compare it to that single cool breeze that breaks through a humid, muggy, burning summer day, bringing a breath of air that you inhaled and suddenly felt alive and free . But he would also liken it to the deep dread that grips the soul and the fear that floods and freezes every limb, taking over the mind until it is reduced to the barest bones of humanity. When he heard the name, his true, soul name, there was the terror of knowing that if an order was given to him, he would be unable to disobey. But that terror was well overshadowed by the overwhelming love and trust he felt and he saw when he looked into Sapnap’s eyes, and knew that he would not be taken advantage of.

Sapnap brushed his cheek one a hand, kissing the other cheek gently. “You can tell me anything. I want to hear everything that worries you, everything you’re willing to share, because I want to care for you. I want to make our home a safe place for you, because whatever’s burdening you, we carry that burden together. You and me. Jacobs and Nick. Both of us. And you know I would never betray something you’ve told me.”

Karl’s heart melted a little because he did know, they both did. They trusted each other not only with their lives, but with their souls, with the very being of their souls. They’d whispered their soul names to each other, trusting the other to hold onto a sacred part of their physical soul while protecting the soul piece that was given to them in return.

That was the nature of a Soul Bond. That was why it was so sacred.

Karl nodded, swallowing. “Okay. I… You’re right, I saw the future. Our future, the future of the gods. I… I didn’t mean to, but I saw too much, and… now I can’t stop thinking about it.”

“Have you told Life about it?” Sapnap asked, gently guiding Karl into the living room and setting them both down amidst piles of cushions and blankets, one of which he pulled over to wrap them both in.

“Yes…” Karl hesitated. “I couldn’t tell him much because of… Well, because of how the future works. But he took it seriously and everything, he believed me. It’s just… I can’t get it out of my head. Which is strange because I didn’t even see things clearly, a lot of it was just a blur.”

“Can you tell me a bit about it?” Sapnap asked. He’d started rubbing a hand over Karl’s knuckles to calm him and it appeared to be working, the brunette god resting his head on Sapnap’s shoulder.

Worldly Magic took a few slow breaths, gathering his thoughts. “There was red, a lot of it. It appeared to be… like string in a way, but with thorns and moving like it had a life of its own. I saw the face of Death, I saw Life lying motionless on a table, I saw Determination standing in a cave overshadowed by the figure of some other larger being. I saw other gods too but their faces were blurred and they looked… wrong , somehow. Like, in the moment, I knew who they were but as soon as they left, I completely forgot their identity. I remember seeing mortals at war, two cities crumbling in on themselves. And I saw…” He took a deep breath. “A presence. A titan of some kind. Rising up again but his face was masked.”

Sapnap hummed, feeling Karl’s brown strands tickle his cheek. “It’s happened before. And if it’s a titan rising, Life and Death will sense it. So will you and the other Magic gods. We’ll get enough warning.”

“Yeah…” Karl let out a slow breath, trying to calm himself. “Yeah, we will.”

“Oh are these cookies? Nice!” echoed a voice from the kitchen and a moment later came the rather awful-sounding crunch of a burnt cookie. A few seconds of silence followed in which Karl covered his mouth and Sapnap rolled his eyes before the voice spoke again. “On second thoughts, not hungry.”

“Hey Quackity!” Sapnap shouted.

“Oh, flame boy’s back!” Socked feet ran quickly and a moment later, a mortal man came sliding into the doorway, finger gunning the fire god and winking. “Heya hot stuff. Hey Karl, cutie, how ya going?” He leaned on the doorway with one arm up and the other perched on his waist.

Quackity was shorter than the mortal form of both gods but when they stood in their 7ft tall god form, they absolultey towered over him with a height difference that bordered on comical. Still, he never once seemed to mind, using his tiny height to slide up under their elbows and behind their back, winking and saying some sort of smart line bordering on flirty, flicking a long black fringe out of his eyes with blue beanie perched on the rest of his head. How he’d come to be constantly in the presence of the two gods was a mystery, but both of them had grown to accept and even adore his company.

“You gonna come sit with us or are you just gonna stand there?” Sapnap asked, to which Quackity scoffed and bounded over, grabbing his own blanket and slouching on the couch beside the fire god, his back against the sleeved arm.

“Didn’t realise it was prescribed hug time but alright, you walking oven,” he mumbled as a way of putting on a show, but he couldn’t fool anyone with the way he snuggled down next to them, content in sharing the body heat with eyes drifting closed. From their taller views, Sapnap and Karl could both see the jagged scar that ran from the mortal’s forehead to his chin, cutting straight through an eye that had been turned partially blind.

A Soul Bond took many years to create but it could be broken in a heartbeat. A bond as strong and intimate as that breaking literally tore the soul, and that sometimes left a physical scar on the being’s body. Quackity didn’t like looking in the mirror for a reason: the same reason that he never ventured down into La’Orien proper. He didn’t want to be reminded of what he’d lost.

The three curled up on the couch for a good length of time, all of them falling into a doze as their combined body heats lulled them deeper into the thickness of the couch cushions. It was Sapnap who groggily jerked himself awake after far too long, raising his head and retracting his arms. “‘Ight, I’m gonna cook some dinner.”

“Charcoal chicken, yaaay,” Quackity yawned, snuggling up next to Karl instead as Sapnap got up and started fixing a meal, trusting that the smell of flame-grilled chicken would rouse the two.

Chapter Text

Metal clanged harshly on metal, the scraping of steel grating against the ears for the moment it existed, followed by the swish of air being sliced and then another clash, this time followed by the more uncontrolled clattering of a blade dropping to the ground.

“Stop holding onto your sword so tight Ranboo, you need a looser grip,” the god of War huffed through long tusks, lowering the large deep purple broadsword as if it were as light as a feather in his hands.

“But I can’t!” Ranboo whined, having long-since given up on whether he sounded like a needy child or not, and not even caring if the muscled god struck him down because of his complaints. “You’re too strong! If I hold it any looser, you’ll just hit it straight out of my hand!”

“That’s why you keep your wrist flexible, to roll with my strikes instead of trying to stand against them like a wall. Again, take your stance.”

The Sunrise Hall was a rather nice building of La’Orien, even if it was built in an old style of long wooden logs and reed walls, like some sort of cross between a mud hut and an ancient dojo. The flat reed floors and open space made it a wonderful place to train while letting fresh air drift through, though the other gods who enjoyed sparring tended to gravitate towards the larger and more elaborate halls, leaving this one free for the god of Vengeful War to haunt.

“Sword up more, Ranboo, defend yourself,” said god huffed in his usual state of permanent annoyance. “When you hold it like that, I can easily slice you from your shoulder to your navel.”

“That’s your belly button!” the god of the Celestials piped up from the side of the room. Low benches had been set up and pushed against walls and the winged god sat there in his mortal form of a green kimono and bucket hat, legs crisscrossed as he observed the two train like a sensei watching his two students. Ranboo had never seen Philza in his god form but he’d heard it was an impressive sight. Maybe one day he’d ask why the god stayed in his mortal form, but now was not the time as he struggled to correct his stance.

The god of Vengeful War watched him unsympathetically as the sword came up, held by arms that were too thin and too long with a tail that hung limp between the two clawed legs. “Show more strength Ranboo. You must match the strength of your opponent if not outstrip it. At the very least, you must pretend to have the strength so you won’t be seen as weak.”

“I’m trying !” Ranboo insisted, feeling frustrated tears prick at the corners of his mismatched eyes but his arms were jelly after what felt like hours of practice. This wasn’t the first time he’d taken up Philza’s offer to ‘hang out’ with himself and Techno after the demigod had spent far too long wandering La’Orien aimlessly, but this time he was just far too hopeless to try. No matter how hard he focused and how much he listened, he was no better than he’d been on his first day.

Techno watched with little expression as Ranboo had his internal crisis, no doubt noting the liquid at the corners of the eyes that were starting to steam at the contact. With little warning, the god relaxed his stance and lowered his sword, his head taking on a tilt that Ranboo could nearly have described as thoughtfulness. “You’re not good at this.”

“Be nice Techno, he’s still learning,” Philza reasoned.

Ranboo’s deep sigh nearly cut his words short and his own sword dropped to the ground, clattering out of his hand. “No, he’s right. I’m not made for fighting. I’m just not good at it. My arms are too long, I’m not strong enough, I… I can’t do it. I’m just wasting your time. I’m sorry, Lord Techno.”

The god hummed for a bit before grunting “Not your fault.” But it didn’t ease the sick churning in the demigod’s stomach. He was too fragile to go to the mortal realm, too weak to travel from the godly realm by himself, he could hardly use any of his demigod abilities (assuming he even had any), and was all-round a mess waiting to break down. 

Philza was watching him, noting the slouch of his shoulders, the slight shifts on his clawed feet, the scythe-like tail curling around his ankles, and the god got an idea. “Say, Techno? Why don’t you and I have a duel? Maybe it could help Ranboo a bit with his own training if he saw different fighting styles in action.”

The War god shrugged but Ranboo could see the slight curve of his lips around his tusks and the gleeful glint in his eye as he turned away. “Suit yourself, Philza.”

Ranboo took the bench vacated by the winged god who rose and straightened out his kimono, reaching into the air and pulling a black and green sheathed katana out of nothing as if plucking it out of a cupboard. “Here, would you mind holding onto this for me, Ranboo?” he asked, baring the blade and handing the now-empty sheath to the demigod with a small bow.

“Of course, Lord Philza. Would you want me to look after your hat too?” Ranboo asked, bowing in return from his cross-legged position which felt strange but it seemed to be required.

The god’s swirling blue eyes winked, a sly smile on his face. “No need, but thank you for the offer.”

If there was tension in the air as the two gods took up stances on opposite sides of the reed mats lining the floor of the hall, only Ranboo felt it, his two-toned scythe tail flicking and settling curled around his legs, both hands dutifully holding the sheath across his knees. His breath caught in his throat as the two gods settled in their place, eyes locked on the other.

“After you, God of War,” Philza said calmly.

“You first, bird-man,” Techno taunted.

The challenge flashed in the avian’s eyes and he leapt forward, light flashing across his wings and he vanished in an instant. Techno wasn’t surprised, turning to his left with sword raised to intercept the strike that came out of nowhere as the god rematerialised with blazing bright eyes. War’s feet shifted to brace as his sword spat back but only sliced air as the first teleported again, the lithe blade darting out like a snake’s tongue and yet not even drawing blood. Even without seeing him, War knew where he was and swayed out of the way, reversing his grip on his weapon to stab it backwards.

The movement caught Celestial off-guard, making him leap backwards and his wings clamp to his back as he was forced onto the defensive, retreating under an onslaught of blows and strikes delivered with the perfect balance of strength and control. Ranboo was fearful for a moment that Celestial’s blade would simply shatter with the contact but to his surprise, Celestial wasn’t blocking the strikes. Instead, the god was dodging and swaying and occasionally using the strength of the strike itself to flick it out of the way. The eyes of the two gods bored into each other, seeing what strike was about to come and the movement about to be made. The eyes are the windows to the soul after all, and it was in them that the first hint of a mistake was seen. And when such a mistake was made, Celestial took full advantage of it.

It was such a tiny thing, the barest imbalance as one of War’s strikes took him a shade too far to the left than he had anticipated, but it was all Celestial needed. He darted to the other side, kimono hem swinging as he spun to evade. One of his large grey wings flashed out and slammed War right in the face, the weight sending him reeling a step and just like that, Celestial was out of range and across the other side of the hall, smirking and waiting for War’s next attack.

War huffed through long tusks, red eyes flashing and he charged, waiting until the last moment to deliver a blow that would have easily cleaved Celestial from his head to his knees if it had ever made contact. With feet faster than the wind, Celestial simply ducked to the side and lept up to deliver a sharp kick to War’s face, drawing out a grunt. His feet touched the ground and he was immediately moving again, katana darting in and out in tiny strikes that War could hardly keep up with, constantly having to sacrifice his strength in favour of simply keeping up with the tiny bird pecking annoyingly around his feet. And when he was growling with anger and his strikes took on a wild edge, Celestial struck .

He jumped up and kicked, his foot making harsh contact with War’s sword hand. The weapon went flying out of the god’s grip, the feathered tip of wings brushing against his upper chest and face as the avian flipped in the air and used the momentum to let his wings carry him several steps away, his free hand catching his opponent’s weapon midair. He landed in a crouch, his katana held behind him and War’s sword held before him, wings half raised and opened and a small smirk on his face. Throughout it all, his hat had stayed in perfect position.

War stayed where he was, breathing out hard puffs through long tusks. He raised a hand to his face to feel the few drops of golden blood shed from where the razor-sharp wings had struck him and let his shoulders drop, head tilting.

Ranboo’s jaw had dropped halfway to the floor (in a metaphorical sense, though he did fear that one day his jaw may literally detach from his skull), tail hanging over the edge of the bench in awe. It had hardly been a handful of minutes and he’d just seen the god of War be disarmed by a god in the short form of a mortal. If it had been anyone else, the demigod was sure that War would have blasted them to ashes on the spot.

Philza rose from his crouch now that he knew Techno had surrendered and tossed back the longer weapon, turning to Ranboo with a smile. “There are many ways to fight, Ranboo: Strength, speed, agility, magic, deception - far too many to number. You can’t be good at them all, but you can be brilliant at one. Why don’t we try again and find one that works for you?”

Ranboo gulped and nodded, carefully setting aside the sheath to stand and join the two gods on the reed flooring. Despite his earlier exhaustion, the next hour proved to be slightly exhilarating as he tried to learn under the tutelage of two teachers rather than one. Their different styles somehow complimented each other in strange ways as Philza tried to help Ranboo find a style of fighting that worked for him while Techno pushed him to new limits and taught him by physical practice rather than miming strikes against invisible foes.

To say it helped would be pushing the boundaries, but it at least was giving Ranboo some hope that maybe he wasn’t completely hope less . Or had been, until he suddenly felt like he lost all strength in his arm, sword dropping just before it could block Techno’s strike. War’s blade sliced across his chest, only shallow as they were sparring but it was deep enough for red and lime green blood to immediately well and stain the white shirt worn by the demigod. 

Techno flinched and froze with eyes slightly wide as the demigod gasped and flinched at the cut, hands flying to clutch his shirt and sword clattering to the ground yet again. Philza didn’t panic at all. He was calm and collected as a soft noise of surprise escaped him and he was at Ranboo’s side in a moment, a hand on his shoulder and the other on his back.

“It’s okay, it’s okay Ranboo, it’s not a bad cut. Take a seat on the bench and I can have a look at it for you.”

The demigod nodded, blood burning with an adrenaline rush but he followed the soft pressure of Celestial’s hands, sitting on the bench and fumbling with the top few buttons of his shirt. Philza’s patient hands helped and in seconds, a cloth of some kind was being pressed to the cut, soaking up the coloured blood. 

“There, it’s okay, it’s just the shock getting to you,” Philza assured him again, pressing the cloth to the cut and taking it away to spot the wound underneath a moment before blood welled again. It was long yes, but not much deeper than a surface wound, and certainly not in need of stitches or the like. “It’s just because it’s on your chest that it’s bleeding a lot, it’ll stop in a few minutes.”

Ranboo nodded, reeling from the suddenness of it all to properly form words. Techno had shuffled in place for a while, picking up his sword and cleaning the blade before sheathing it. To say the god was guilty would be pushing it, but anyone who knew him well (which currently was only Philza but perhaps Ranboo too, slowly) could say that he was bashful after the incident, and perhaps apologetic too as he approached and held out his hand, summoning a glass bottle to it filled with glowing pink liquid.

“Here. To help,” he gruffed, holding out the bottle to the demigod.

The demigod went to take it but paused with sudden hesitation, not sure how to articulate his, uh… condition . Philza rightly spotted his hesitation but was only partially correct on the reason, quickly plucking the bottle out of War’s hand.

“He’s a demigod of Death, remember? Health potions would be like poison to him,” he reminded the god, watching the potion turn to a sickly, shifting green in his grip that he then held out to Ranboo. “Techno’s right though, this’ll help.”

“Um- Th-Thanks,” Ranboo said, swallowing thickly before taking the offered potion. Well, there was really no way he could try to get out of it now , so he just had to forge ahead and swallow down the liquid, shivering at the rather awful taste. It did work though; half of his body felt warmed and he felt the cut across his chest start to stitch itself together, but the other side burned like it was being eaten away from the inside. He couldn’t stay long.

“It’s getting late, I should probably be going now anyway,” he tried to excuse, reaching over to grab his jacket and holding the cloth to his chest when Philza pulled back. “Um- Thanks for letting me hang out with you guys um- I gotta meet Tubbo, he… wanted to show me something.”

He withered inside at his own lame excuse, but Philza and Techno seemed to eat it up, looking surprised at his sudden exit but not trying to stop him. “Well, if you’re sure mate. Just take it easy, the cut will still be tender even after that potion,” the avian reminded him.

Ranboo nodded quickly, straining to hold his expression steady with the burning pains stabbing at half of his body. “I promise, I’ll be careful. See uh, see you guys next time!”

He rushed from the building, not staying long enough to see the two gods glance at each other behind his back. He was hardly in the state of mind to know where exactly he was going, panic making him reach out with his senses to search for his father’s magic. But the god of Death wasn’t in La’Orien, having to deal with some demon shenanigans in the Underworld, and so all Ranboo could do was run to the one other person he knew he could trust.

“ Life !” he yelled out as soon as he’d entered the correct hallway of the large building, the pain in his body so bad that he could hardly walk, tears burning his face as they leaked from his eyes.

The god of Life, who had been walking down said hallway, immediately turned mid-stride, attentive eyes latching and widening at seeing the state of the demigod. “Ranboo!” He was by the mortal’s side in an instant, cool hands touching the skin and Ranboo let out a sob of relief as the pain started to subside. “Oh, you are hurt. It is okay Ranboo, take deep breaths for me, I will heal you.”

A few minutes later saw Ranboo sitting in what was a sort of strange mix between an office, a bedroom, and a doctor’s waiting room, his back against a wall and his legs hung over the side of the bed. The room was the closest thing Life had to an office - the place where he did his work but also where he cared for creatures, gods, and demigods who needed his help or simply wanted a place to rest and sleep without fear (an offer which Ranboo himself had taken up a few times). Ranboo’s shirt was off to let Life heal the burning half his body, golden magic gently probing underneath the white skin as the god worked with practised hands.

“I’m sorry,” the demigod mumbled, tears dried and red-green eyes only half opened. “I should have just told Celestial that I didn’t need the poison potion.”

“It is not your fault, Ranboo,” Life told him patiently, watching the deteriorating skin heal under his ministrations and taking care not to touch the black side of the body. “These things happen.”

“I should be better than this…”

One of the hands stopped. Ranboo felt a gentle pressure on his cheek as the hand gently urged him to raise his head and look in Sky’s golden glowing eyes.

“You are perfect the way you are, Ranboo. It is difficult, yes, but you are managing it very well. You are the way you are for a reason and one day, it will be vitally important. Do not think you need to change yourself simply because you are not like everyone else.”

“Because everyone else is boring?” Ranboo mumbled with a small smile on his face.

Sky chuckled. “Well, Techno sure seems to think so. But you are certainly unique, Ranboo. And that is not a bad thing.”

The demigod looked down and after a few moments, nodded. “I understand. Thank you… Life.”

Chapter Text

The last thing he remembered was the blurred sight of a ruined stone building partially overtaken by beautiful nature. He wasn’t entirely convinced that it hadn’t been a fever dream but he was at least certain when he woke up that he wasn’t in the same place. He remembered the sun and the breeze and grass beneath his bare feet and hearing birdsong and the rustling of leaves that made his fox ears twitch. Where he woke up was a place of wooden beamed walls and a white canvas roof that let in light and rippled with a soft breeze that never touched his face. He remembered wearing the shreds of his clothes but now, he could feel something like silk loosely resting against his chest and legs. The pads of his fingers ran lightly over the fabric and rubbed it between his fingers as he slowly rose to consciousness then woke up fully with a jerk, sitting straight up in the bed. His hands fumbled with the soft but warm white sheets and threw them back, partially swinging out his legs and stopping, staring with mouth wide open.

Fundy (for he was the fox hybrid Music had found at the ruined temple) remembered his legs being scratched and torn from the stones that had been thrown at him and running through rocks and thorns and vines. But now, they were whole and clean with no scratches, no blood, not even any bruising. His arms were the same; not perfect, for they still bore a few of the scars he’d earned when he was younger, but free of any signs of his flight.

“... Whelp that’s it then, I’m dead,” Fundy remarked aloud, drawing a very understandable conclusion from all the evidence he had. 

But a small chuckle behind him disagreed. “No, but you gave it a good shot. How are you feeling, Fundy?”

The fox hybrid whirled around in surprise and saw a human man with bright orange hair cut close to his skull walking up to him with a small smile. His eyes were deep blue like a lake nestled under an overcast sky and when he came close, Fundy could see the collar of an orange shirt poking out from under his white doctor’s coat. Despite never meeting the man, Fundy had heard of him - he was a world-famous doctor after all.

“Doctor Juneau! I- Am I in your hospital? Why ?” And how ? Fundy had been miles away from any city, much less big ones (Much less ones that would care for hybrids).

The doctor smiled slightly at his obvious confusion. “You’re in my hospital, yes, but not the hospital you’re thinking of. But first, give me your arm- no not that one, your right arm. I’ll check your pulse and reflexes and then make sure you’re healing well.”

The check-up was rather strange for Fundy who’d only ever been to the local doctor down the street who felt your temperature, shrugged, and gave you chicken soup to eat while being paid with a drink. Doctor Junaeu couldn’t have been more different. He methodically checked Fundy’s heartbeat, felt the glands on the sides of his neck, listened to his breathing, tapped his knees and elbows with a funny little hammer, checked that he could move all his fingers and toes properly, and also made sure his ears flicked in response to sounds and his eyes dilated properly to light. He was someone who very clearly knew how to care for a hybrid. 

As he did that, Fundy couldn’t help but to notice an… absence of things in this hospital. First was the absence of other patients and other doctors. There were no noises except for the gentle wind and their voices, no sounds of cars or crowds or cows, but also a lack of machines and doctor tools. Doctor Juneau didn’t need any machine to be able to perfectly know Fundy’s pulse or his reaction time or to hear his breathing. He just… did it. And that unnerved Fundy.

“Can I go?” he asked as soon as the doctor seemed to be finished his work.

“In a moment,” Doctor Juneau promised. “There’s a few people who want to see you first.”

“... Who?” Fundy didn’t exactly have people who wanted to see him (In fact, he had no one but he tried not to dwell too heavily on that).

The doctor turned to the door and called “You can come in now!” and those who entered were not who Fundy could have ever expected. The first man who entered was tall , probably not quite double Fundy’s height but definitely tall enough to make the fox feel small. His face was boyish and brown curls threatened to fall out of their side sweep and hang in his face. A long cloak of a shimmering weave flapped at his feet with soft musical chimes that the sensitive fox ears could pick up and Fundy was suddenly struck with the feeling that this… being was familiar. Then the second man entered, even taller than the first and with eyes shining a brighter gold than the sun and with a tunic caught at the waist with a wide amethyst belt, long brown hair curling past it, and Fundy quaked .

Generally, humans knew about the gods but it was just that - knowledge. Many nodded their head in respect to the gods’ influence or sent up a prayer once in a while but not many could be considered… religious . Hybrids, however, had a tendency to be a little more invested in the knowledge of the gods as their own existence was proof of some sort of magic or higher power. And so Fundy knew enough to realise he was in the presence of powerful, immortal beings.

The hybrid teen immediately lept out of the bed and dropped to his knees, bowing low with his face to the ground. He internally cursed himself that he didn’t immediately recognise the God of Music while fretting what the God of Life wanted with him. His attentive fox ears caught someone murmuring “Told you so” then felt himself being picked up not by hands but by glowing golden magic and set back on his feet.

“It is okay, Fundy, there is no need to bow,” the god of Life assured him with a kind smile, successfully hiding the embarrassment at having a mortal bow before him (Sky was used to it after so many centuries but the action still made him flush).

“Thank you for looking after him, god of Medicine,” the god of Music said, bowing to Doctor Juneau who bowed back.

“It’s not a problem Wilbur, I’m glad to help. I’ll be outside if you have need of me.”

“Thank you Fish!” Life called over his shoulder with a wide smile that only went wider when he heard the Doctor protesting against his fish status (even though his appearance was… human?).

Meanwhile, Fundy was taking a moment to process. “Wait- Wait, Doctor Juneau is- What are you guys doing on earth?”

“Sit down on the bed, Fundy, we need to do a bit of explaining,” the god of Music said, sitting down beside Fundy on the hospital bed once the mortal had sat. When Life asked the hybrid what the last thing he remembered was, Fundy answered truthfully: He remembered a ruined temple in the middle of a forest, though he didn’t see how that connected with his current situation given that he was, well, clearly no longer there.

“That temple was one of my frequent haunts,” the god of Music explained, which barely helped clear up Fundy’s situation until the immortal continued, recounting the story of Fundy being found and the decision of the gods to bring him to…

“La’Orien? The godly realm?” Fundy looked between them. “I… Didn’t realise there was a godly realm.”

“Not many people know,” Life agreed. Looking up at the tall god made Fundy want to melt into a pile of goop and Life must have known because his form suddenly shrank and changed colours until standing before Fundy was a remarkably human man not much taller than he, clad in blacks and greys and holding out a hand to shake. “My name is Sky, by the way. You may call me that if you wish, instead of calling me Life.”

Fundy blinked and, against the fear that he may be blown to smithereens, cautiously shook the hand. “I’m Fundy,” he said without thinking.

Life- Sky, didn’t seem to mind the obvious repeat of knowledge and smiled instead, waving a hand to the god of Music. “This is Wilbur. He will be watching over you to make sure you stay safe and are cared for, especially while you are in La’Orien. If you have any questions, he may answer them or will assist you in getting answers. Otherwise, you may return to the mortal realm whenever you wish, but you are also free to stay and explore La’Orien if you would like. And of course, you can be taught to cross between this realm and the mortal one.”

Fundy didn’t know what to do other than to nod, struggling to deal with the sheer download of information he’d been given. Again, Sky seemed to see right through him and waved a hand to the door. “Perhaps you’d like to go for a walk first? It may help with all this, I understand it is a lot. The god of Nature has quite a nice garden that you can find directions to on the signs. Your clothes are in the dresser over there.”

“Y-Yeah, uh, good idea.” Fundy quickly lept up from the bed, fumbling with his hands before he bowed to the gods again. “Uh… Thank you.” He pulled out his clothes as quickly as possible and scurried away as fast as his fox feet could take him.

‘His’ clothes weren’t the ones he’d been wearing before but they were simple enough for now; a white shirt, loose black pants, grey shoes, and a funny little black and orange hat with specialised holes for his ears. Once dressed, Fundy struck out with an intention to get out of here and maybe find something worth pilfering on the way. Instead, his feet, his betraying padded feed, took him in a different direction and he found himself walking slowly along a paved gravelled path through overflowing flower beds and underneath large overhanging trees laden with symmetrical pointed leaves and flat leaves as big as his hand and sweet-smelling flowers and huge brightly coloured fruit. Fundy expected the mixing aromas to be far overwhelming but to his surprise, it smelt rather pleasant even to his sensitive fox nose.

He walked on, over a wood-and-stone bridge spanning a swiftly-moving stream containing little silver-scaled fish he couldn’t catch, and through a section where the pavers turned into perfectly circular white stones which became black and then faded entirely at a vine-covered archway. As he walked underneath, Fundy was so caught up staring at the ruby-red flowers that looked so similar to jewels that he initially missed the creature lying down under the shade of a black-barked tree bearing black leaves and softly glowing purple flowers. But the creature didn’t miss him and it shifted as Fundy came closer, leathery skin grating on leathery skin, making the fox jump and spin around in a crouch, ready to run.

The creature shifted huge black wings, flicking out a long spiked black tail that sliced at the grass. Clawed hands dug into the earth as the body shifted and rose on its two legs, vertically slitted purple eyes blinking open and fixing on the small fox hybrid who had so unknowingly interrupted its peace. Black scaled arms matched the black scaled wings that spread wide in a stretch then settled on the white v-neck t-shirt that covered the hybrid’s torso, hanging over long black pants with ripped hems. His eyes did not stray from the fox’s as the dragon approached.

Fundy should have felt terrified but instead, he felt strangely calm. He was probably experiencing the same emotions of a deer caught in headlights but something in the back of his mind told him that he had no reason to fear this dragon. The hybridic god kept coming closer and closer until he came to a stop just in front of the fox, looking down at him. His sharp fangs glinted in the light as he opened his mouth to speak.

“You’re awake.”

“... Yes.” That was pretty obvious, right?

The god gave a small smirk. His eyes seemed to soften the longer he looked at this mortal before him. “I’m Lox, the God of Hybrids. My job is to look after hybrids like us, people like you and me-”

“So you let us suffer and be chased out of our homes and villages, treated like animals by our own families?”

The god baulked at Fundy’s brave words and Fundy himself was a little shocked too. Sure, they were things that he’d thought , many hybrids had thought them, but he never quite picked himself as someone brave enough to speak up like that. After a long few quiet moments between them, Lox spoke again in his low growl.

“There was a time many years ago when hybrids and humans lived in peace. Where creatures of all kinds were accepted as equals, not one above the other. One day, I hope that will be the case again but until that time, I do what I can. I guide lost hybrids to places of shelter, where hybrids of all breeds can be safe and grow strong. I can’t control the humans, but I can control what happens to my own. And Life has promised me vengeance on those who have harmed my own.”

There was a hard tone of rebuke in his voice that made Fundy drop his gaze and press his ears flat to his head. “I’m sorry.”

Lox let a moment of silence pass, letting the mortal reconsider his words. “It’s alright. You’re not the only one who’s suffered as a result of a human’s words.”

Fundy looked up as Lox spread one of his huge black wings and his orange eyes widened. The entire wing, all those hardened black scales, were deeply scarred in long slashes running down the wing’s width. Some of the scars only showed up as a deep grey while others were a far lighter grey, a permanent dent worn into the thick protective discs. Fundy numbly raised one hand to his own scarred ears, eyes rising to meet those purple slits as the wing closed again. The god stepped around him and began walking off, speaking over his shoulder.

“My den is south of here, halfway up the mountain face. If you ever want to visit, ring the bell at the base and I’ll come get you. I have some nice resting spots.”

While the offer was nice and appreciated to some degree, Fundy didn’t think he’d be visiting that dragon’s den often as the god left the fox alone in a garden of black and purple.

Chapter Text

As the god of tinkering, Sam was in charge of a lot . He and Dan collaborated daily, both two sides of the same coin. Dan focused on the development of technology and new inventions and large feats of ingenuity that pushed humanity further into the world of progress, constantly eager to come up with new ideas and theories. Meanwhile, Sam was in charge of tinkering ; the experiments that led to those breakthroughs, the people who worked on already existing technology to make it more functional until something new was made, the everyday workers who fixed things and changed things, and those who merely dabbled in the tools as a hobby. All these, Sam watched over and took pride in and even though he and Dan got on quite well as they discussed various topics for hours at a time, Sam’s heart would always be for the common child who used pipe cleaners and rubber bands and cardboard and sticky tape to make a wind-up plane.

 It was why Tubbo was his apprentice. As the demigod son of the previous god of tinkering, the satyr couldn’t keep his hands off his tools. He was always fiddling with something or thinking of something or fixing something, and so making him Sam’s apprentice had been a no-brainer for the centaur. Quite honestly, Sam felt for the satyr’s friend Tommy sometimes, who met Tubbo in terms of eagerness and was utterly left behind in the technical knowledge. Still, his confidence on Tubbo’s behalf was certainly admirable.

So when Sam clopped into his workshop and heard Tubbo’s excited shouts from behind closed doors, he smiled at the thought of Tommy finding a way to help with his friend’s projects. He winced at the sound of a very loud blast that no doubt did some damage to his already-battered walls and grew minorly worried at the few seconds of silence which followed. Tubbo’s muffled “Do that again!” relieved him slightly, and then came a low rumble that was far too natural to be machinery, sounding far more similar to a deep, deep voice that Sam had never heard before. His hesitation made him alert and that meant when the blast came a second time, he sensed something that he’d missed with the first: Demonic magic.

In two clops he was at the door and flung it open fast enough for it to slam against a nearby workbench. He was tall enough to easily fill the entire doorway with his body, blocking out the light from behind and imposing enough to freeze those inside for a split second as his bright green eyes took in the scene: Tubbo in some sort of metal-leather suit, eyes wide and guilty as he stared at the god, and a demon who had been lounging casually on the top rack of a shelf, half of his expression difficult to make out due to the tough demon skin covering it.

In the second it had taken for Sam to take this all in, Tubbo jumped into action and lurched for the chalk circle drawn on the ground. He hardly got close before dozens of bolts and screws from all around the workshop surged forward and melted together to form a copper dome around the chalk, cutting Tubbo off from it. “That demon is not being released,” Sam said in a low voice, walking with slow hooves into the workshop. A flick of his hand assembled a small bronze bird that flapped to life and flew out the door. 

“It isn’t Corpse’s fault, he didn’t do anything wrong!” Tubbo tried to protest.

Corpse? The demon ? Sam held up his hand and the satyr immediately fell silent. “ You , Tubbo Sparklez, summoned a demon into the godly realm without permission and without informing anyone? And using mortal spells of all things?”

The demigod looked incredibly guilty and chastised under the steady accusation but before he could open his mouth to protest some more, another god zoomed in through the door and hovered upside down, gold chains swinging.

“Heya centaur boy, you called?” Dream smirked, wiggling his eyebrows at Sam before he read the room. Upon spotting the demon, he suddenly grew far more interested and flipped to instead lie on his stomach in the air, chin propping up his hands. “Well well, if it isn’t a sight for sore eyes. I nearly didn’t recognise you without your fancy suit, Elder Demon.”

“God of Wind,” Corpse greeted cooly in return. “I could say the same for you and your zulu.”

“Wind,” the god of Tinkering ordered. “Go inform the gods of Life and Death that there is a demon who has illegal access to La’Orien. I’ll imagine they’ll want to hold council to decide this demon’s fate.”

Dream gave a half-bow. “I’ll also inform Nature and Studious Magic so they can help you transport the demon safely.” He was gone immediately, carried on the winds.

“Sam, please don’t do this, Corpse doesn’t mean any harm!” Tubbo begged, nearly on the verge of tears.

Sam’s eyes softened slightly, but his stance didn’t. “Take off your suit, Tubbo. You will need to attend the council too.”

A council was indeed called and it was held in the same glass-domed room that the centennial meetings were held in, with the wide curved bench holding 28 seats, the raised podium carrying the rose pink quartz seat of Life and the black onyx seat of Death, with the centre of the ring holding the large golden twisting symbol of La’Orien’s Pantheon. It was on this symbol that Corpse stood, standing tall and dressed in his formal suited attire before the gods. Tubbo was in as formal an attire as he had, standing next to the double doors of the room and waiting in trembling silence until he was called upon.

Not every god had been called, for not every god was needed and not all could attend at such short notice. While the god of Hybrids and the god of Righteous War guarded the chalk circle in Tinkering’s workshop, Life and Death sat on their respective thrones in the grand room, the kind gaze and the cheerful one absent from the eyes of both gods. Around the bench sat the other gods who had been summoned; the god of Tinkering, the god of Nature, the three gods of Magic, the Wind god, and the goddess of Justice. Even the sunlight shining through the dome couldn’t warm the frigid room. A demon who had access to the realm of the gods was a serious thing; demons were a pest to realms, a sickness that had to be culled and tamed and kept in order. They were not to exist in La’Orien, especially not the high-level demons who could bring in hundreds of their followers.

“Speak your name, demon,” Death ordered. It is true that a demon hardly answers to the gods, often finding ways to exploit loopholes in a god’s words but none can resist a direct order from the god of Death.

“Corpse, my lord,” the demon responded, bowing at the waist and keeping his eyes fixed on the ground.

“What is your status among the demon hierarchy, Corpse?”

“I am an Elder Demon, my lord,” came the obedient reply. “I lead the Vahguin clan, filled with over thirty thousand demons who are under my command. I sit on the Demon Council. Many clans heed my words.”

A soft murmur rustled the gathered gods, stilled as Life swept his golden gaze over them before returning it to the demon. “Why do you come to La’Orien, Elder Demon Corpse?” the long-haired god asked.

“I was summoned here, my lord. I do not come into your realm of my own free will. Even now, I am trapped in this realm by the same chalk circle that summoned me.”

“That rule applies to common and low-level demons, yes,” Studious Magic spoke. “But Elder Demons such as yourself are able to break out of their summoning circles with little difficulty.”

The demon did not turn around to address him, keeping his bowed head towards Death and Life. “That is true, my lord. However to break out of the circle of a being as powerful as myself requires a lot of energy. Truth be told, I have little wish to break out.”

Tinkering glanced back at his apprentice who gulped. A ‘being as powerful as myself’ seemed to translate to a ‘demigod’. There went Tubbo’s meagre chances of protesting that he didn’t do it.

“And why would that be?” Justice asked suspiciously.

Corpse hesitated, clearly reluctant to speak until Death growled. “Answer the question, demon ,” he hissed, a chilled aura hissing over the room that even made a few of the gods shiver.

The demon hardly hesitated for a second longer. “I… Don’t enjoy the company of the other demons,” he answered haltingly with a touch of shame in his deep voice. “They disturb me with their single-minded and cruel nature. My demon side is far too obvious for me to roam the mortal realm uninhabited so I often retreat to my own home in the Underworld with Bingus to keep me company. I… I enjoy the positive change of scenery when I come here, and the enjoyable company as well.”

“And Bingus is…?” Natural magic questioned, white eyes narrowing on the demon’s back.

The demon side of Corpse’s face couldn’t blush, however the human side did. “He is my… ahem , my cat. He’s a hairless sphinx breed. He started following me around while I was in the mortal realm and refused to stop so I took him to the Underworld with me.”

“ Huh ,” Death said curiously, his usual lighthearted tone coming back into his voice. “I never would have guessed. What do you feed him-”

Life made a noise in the back of his throat and Death went silent, allowing Life to speak. This time, he did not speak to the demon and instead addressed the trembling demigod at the door.

“Tubbo Sparklez. I think you have something you want to say.”

The demigod nodded and before he could even blink, he was teleported into the centre symbol beside Corpse. The satyr took a moment to reorientate himself before bursting out into rapid speech. “Please don’t be mad at Corpse, it wasn’t his fault! I needed help to test one of my machines and I didn’t want to ask a god because I didn’t want to risk hurting them! But I’d heard somewhere that demons couldn’t feel pain so I summoned one that was high enough of a level to actually understand me and I took all of the precautions I promise, but Corpse doesn’t mean any harm! He’s never asked me any questions, he doesn’t press into things around La’Orien, he just sits on the shelf and helps me test things! I promise he’s not a danger to us!”

“Do not make promises you have no way of keeping, Tubbo,” Life reminded quietly, a soft edge to his voice to ease the stern words. Tubbo lowered his head, looking even smaller than his short stature made him in this room of tall demons and tall gods. “How long ago and how often do you summon Corpse, Tubbo?”

The satyr shuffled on his hooves. “I think it’s been about 200 years since I first summoned him, your godliness. And um… initially it was maybe once a decade but recently… maybe once a month?”

“Life? If I may?” Worldy Magic spoke up, waiting until the head god had waved his hand before continuing. “I have met this Elder Demon before, both in the present, the past, and in glimpses in the future. We have had a handful of conversations about the relative consistency of Time and I have found him to be rather intelligent and observational, as well as having a strangely understanding nature for a demon. Despite his demonic heritage and natural urges, I have experienced nothing that would cause me to believe he means ill will towards the gods. I am willing to agree with the demigod that this Elder Demon Corpse means no harm to La’Orien.”

Death hummed, sharing a glance with Life who was pondering this new information. “Justice,” Life spoke finally. “What is your opinion?”

The goddess tapped her fingers on the table, pointed elf ears flicking and seeming to dislike what she was about to say. “To punish someone for a crime they may commit in the future is unacceptable, especially when there is only speculation to base it on and little individualistic evidence,” she decreed finally. “But the knowledge of one’s inherent nature should cause steps to be taken to prevent the possibility of a crime being committed.”

“And Tinkering? Have you had any knowledge of this demon’s presence in your workshop prior to today?”

The centaur god shook his head. “No, god of Life. I have not heard or sensed anything that would suggest a demon’s presence. Nothing has been missing, nothing has been suspicious, and no traces of magic have been left in my workshop.”

Death murmured something to Life and the two began to discuss in low murmurs far too quiet for anyone to hear. Even Wind who sat at the seat second closest to Life couldn’t hear, his foot tapping silently on the floor as he waited for an order to be given to him. Tubbo swallowed, growing steadily more nervous as the tense minutes ticked by until finally, the two gods leaned away from each other as they seemed to come to a decision.

“The decision is made,” Death said. “The Elder Demon Corpse will be allowed to visit La’Orien only when summoned by the demigod Tubbo Sparklez. He must remain inside Tinkering’s workshop at all times and must leave the moment the summoning circle is broken. He must leave no traces of magic or demon influence on this place, must tell no soul living or dead of this realm or his experiences here, and must always come alone and unarmed. Do you understand the conditions, Elder Demon Corpse?”

Corpse bowed low. “I understand, my lords.”

“Tubbo Sparklez,” Life continued, “you must not summon any other creature to La’Orien without first speaking to myself, Death, or one of the three gods of Magic. You are banned from looking through any spell rituals held within The Vault without supervision and guidance from Studious Magic and Studious Magic alone. And finally, before you summon Corpse, you must inform the god of Tinkering. Do you understand?”

Tubbo nodded and bowed slightly. “Yes, I understand.”

“Very good.” Life glanced to his side. “Wind, inform Hybrids and War that Tubbo and Corpse will be returning to the workshop and that they are not to murder the two on sight.”

Wind winked, saluted, and was gone. Life dismissed the council and evaporated in a flash of light, Death doing the same in black smoke. The three gods of Magic teleported away in unison (it was creepy how they did that sometimes), Tinkering rose from his chair and walked out after saying “I’ll meet you back at the workshop, Tubbo” and that left Justice who kicked back her chair and glared at the two in the centre.

“I hope you both know that I stuck up for you. Don’t make me regret it,” she threatened, pointing a finger at them and then stomping out.

Tubbo let out a massive sigh of relief and impulsively hugged Corpse who jolted at the action but chuckled deeply, awkwardly patting his head. “ Man , I was nervous,” the demigod chuckled, letting go to stand back and ruffle the hair around his small horns.

“I was a little nervous too,” Corpse admitted. He looked around. “Um, Tubbo? How do we get out? The bench runs in a full circle around us.”

Tubbo’s grin was far too wicked. “We climb over it!” he said gleefully, running over and clambering onto the bench.

“Tubbo! That’s a god’s seat , don’t put your foot- Oh, Tubbo.”