For a single heartbeat, every single god that was present in the square went dead silent.
"!!!"
They all saw it.
A sea of blood, endless and boiling, stretching beyond the horizon. A sky darker than black, a void that swallowed even divine light, and above it hung a bright crimson moon, fat and dripping like a bleeding wound.
And there—high above the ocean of impaled corpses—stood a throne of bones. Not carved, not forged, but grown from the piled skeletons of gods and monsters alike, twisted together into a grotesque monument of conquest.
Upon that throne sat a goddess.
A being beyond beauty, beyond desire, beyond fear. Skin pale as moonlight, eyes twin infernos of crimson, hair flowing like silver liquid. Her body was perfection carved in sin, her curves both a promise and a threat. She radiated hunger, lust, creation, destruction—every divine concept twisted into one unbearable truth.
The vision lasted only a heartbeat, and then it vanished; some even thought that it was just a daydream. But its imprint lingered in every soul that witnessed it.
The gods saw it.
It was a warning.
A single warning: Don't fuck with me.
The Nexus Square breathed again, but the air had changed. Every divine presence, every aura, every spark of power dimmed instinctively—like lesser fires guttering in the presence of a raging sun. Gods who had once strutted proudly in their splendor now avoided my gaze, their voices hushed, their confidence cracked.
Some tried to laugh it off, nervous and hollow. Others swallowed hard, their hands trembling as they lifted cups or weapons. But all of them felt it. The weight of what they'd seen pressed against their souls, a splinter wedged so deep they would never forget it.
Katerina's chalice shook in her hand, wine spilling onto her thighs as her blue eyes widened in awe and something close to respect or interest.
Lora clutched at her dress like a drowning child, her tiny body trembling, though her gaze never left me. Awe, terror, worship—all tangled in one adorable package.
Eir… Eir alone stood calm. But her calm was not dismissal—it was loyalty. Her black wings flexed, her grip on her spear absolute.
And Odin?
The All-Father's one good eye smoldered, the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth betraying the storm within. He had lived long enough to see visions, omens, prophecies—but this was no prophecy. This was inevitable.
Mess with me and I'll fuck you up was the clear message.
"How dare you disrespect my daughter?" I said, the words burning like fire on my tongue, my power seething through the air.
"You old fart!" I took a step closer, my aura bleeding into the air, dark and deadly. "How dare you treat my daughter as an object to be bought?!"
"Daughter?" Odin frowned, his single eye narrowing into a slit of suspicion. The air around him pulsed, a subtle ripple of divinity pressing back against my aura. His voice was gravelly, rough, and sharp. "A Valkyrie of divine blood… Now I want her more."
"You will not have me," Eir snapped, her tone a whip-crack of authority. She did not raise her voice. She did not need to. She was the daughter of Morgana, the daughter of battle, and she commanded respect.
"HAHAHAHAHA," I laughed. Loud. Sharp. Unhinged. The kind of laugh that made weaker gods shiver and back away, like the two that were behind Odin.
"Want her more?" I repeated, taking another step forward, my presence pressing against his like a storm front slamming into a mountain. "You wrinkled, raven-plucking corpse, she's not for sale. Not for trade. Not for you. Ever."
I raised my left hand, ready to summon The Claw of the Unmaking. I didn't care about the penalty of using it; I was ready to go to war if this old man wanted to start a fight.
But then, suddenly.
"Stop!"
The puppet number seven appeared on my right. His voice was low and calm, but the single word was a command that froze the two of us in place. He snapped his finger, and my aura was cut off, as was Odin's.
"The Gathering is a neutral zone," Number Seven said, his glassy eyes moving between us. "No conflict allowed."
"And what will you do, puppet? Are you going to punish me?" Odin said, his voice filled with contempt. "I am the god-king of the Norse pantheon."
"You are," Number Seven said. "But the rules are the rules; you are forbidden to fight."
Odin's one good eye glowed faintly beneath his hood, the power behind it burning like a dying star ready to collapse into fury. But he did not move. He did not speak. He merely clenched his jaw and turned his gaze back to me.
"I challenge you, All-Mother," Odin said, pointing a finger at me.
"Hah? A challenge?" I tilted my head. "To what, old fart? If you want to die, you only need to keep provoking me."
"I challenge you," he continued, ignoring my comment. "For the right to have the Valkyrie in your service."
"!!!"
I opened my mouth to reject his stupid idea, but before I could say anything, Number Seven's voice interrupted me.
"Your challenge is denied, All-Father."
"What?!" the old man turned to the puppet, clearly surprised by his decision.
"Your rank is higher than Goddess Morgana; the rules do not allow a higher-ranked god to issue a challenge against a lower-ranked god," Number Seven explained, his voice perfectly calm. "Only from lower rank to higher rank."
Before coming to the Nexus City, I did a little bit of research about ranking, and it turned out that gods cannot freely challenge each other. I mean, they can, but what I'm talking about is forced challenges, the kind of challenge that you cannot refuse.
All gods must answer challenges of similar rank, and you can refuse three times in a month, but you must pay a penalty in faith points. A lower rank can force a one-rank higher to accept a challenge. For example, I, a Bronze-rank goddess, could force an Iron-rank god to accept my challenge, but for the opposite, it's optional.
I could accept or refuse a challenge from an Iron-rank god.
Odin's jaw tightened, the veins along his temple throbbing as the truth of Number Seven's words settled in the square. His spear—that suddenly appeared out of nowhere—pulsed with restrained fury, the runes along its shaft whispering for blood, for war, for the old days when gods settled disputes with slaughter.
But this was the Nexus.
And here, even the All-Father had to play by the rules.
"Hmm?" His single eye glowed a slightly green color. "A Bronze-rank?... Interesting."
Then he turned to one of the gods that was standing behind him, the one with a red beard and a massive axe strapped across his back. The man was built like a mountain of steel and fury, his aura reeking of war and mead. Ironically, he almost pissed his pants the moment I activated my aura.
"Vili, you're a Bronze-rank too. Challenge her in my place."
"Understood, All-Father." Vili bowed to his god-king and then turned to face me.
"I challenge you, Goddess Morgana," he declared.
Ding!
Instantly, a green interface materialized before me.
...
[Vili, the God of War, has issued a Challenge!]
[Rank: Bronze.]
[Accept the challenger: Yes/No]
...
"A challenge from the Norse Pantheon has been issued," Number Seven said, turning to me. "Goddess Morgana, do you accept?"
"I..." I was about to refuse; I had no need for a challenge where my daughter was the prize, but before I could do that, a soft and gentle voice reached my ears.
"Mother, please accept the challenge," Eir said, placing her hand on my shoulder. The look in her eyes was steady, sharp as her spear, but beneath that glimmer of steel was something else—something fierce and personal.
I turned to her, my lips parting, ready to tell her this was Odin's trap, that this wasn't worth our time. But her gaze stopped me cold. She wasn't asking. She was demanding.
Her white eyes burned with resolve, her black wings trembling ever so slightly as though barely able to contain the force of her will.
"I will not stand by and let that… old crow treat me as a trophy."
"You may accept, or refuse," Number Seven tilted his head, unblinking, his glassy eyes fixed on me. "Though refusal will cost you faith points. What say you, All-Mother?"
For a single heartbeat, the square was silent, every eye fixed on me, waiting.
I had already decided what I was going to do.
"Very well," I grinned, accepting the challenge.
"Hah! You're going to regret accepting," Odin said, his smile widening. "I will get the Valkyrie. Even if I have to kill you."
"We'll see about that."
Clap! Clap!
Number Seven clapped his hand twice, drawing everyone's attention.
"Now then, the challenge will be held at the Arena. You have one hour to prepare; after that, the challenge will begin."
"Good luck, both of you," Number Seven said, then he vanished, his body turning into light.
"Let's go, Vili," Odin turned to the bearded god, who nodded and followed his god-king. Then he stopped, his eye turning to me, filled with coldness.
"Oh, and," he said, a wicked smirk forming on his face. "I'll give you a fair warning, Morgana."
"???"
"Don't hold back," Odin warned. "If you do, it will cost you."
"Hah," I laughed. "You're not my type, old man. I'm not planning to hold back. If your buddy here dies, that's your own fault."
"Bwahaha," Odin laughed. "Good, let's see how much blood you can spill, little girl."
With those final words, the Norse god-king left the square, leaving me, Eir, Lora, and Katerina alone.
"You're… insane," Katerina was the first to speak, her cheeks flushed, blue eyes locked on me with something between horror and fascination. "You actually accepted. Against Odin. The All-Father. The Norse King. Are you trying to commit suicide?"
"M-Morgana," Lora clung to my side, her small hand shaking, her eyes wide and wet, her voice thick with worry. "Y-you're going to fight, right?"
"Of course I will," I flashed her a reassuring smile and ruffled her hair. "And don't worry, I'll make sure to fuck his ass in front of all the gods here."
"Hehe... Still a hentai!"