Zeus arrived on Mount Olympus, the weight of the Skyfather meeting still heavy on his shoulders. He expected a quiet, serene return to his palace. Instead, he walked into a divine shouting match.
In the center of the grand hall, his children were at each other's throats. On one side stood a furious Ares and a stern, disapproving Athena. Opposite them were a defensive Apollo, a sharp-tongued Artemis, and a whimpering Dionysus. Trying, and failing, to mediate between them were a gentle Hestia and a weary Persephone.
From the side, watching the chaos with a detached, regal air, was his wife, Hera.
"What is happening here?" Zeus's voice was a low rumble, a storm gathering on the horizon.
Hera sighed, a sound of long-suffering patience. "I can't even say where to begin."
Ares saw his father and immediately strode forward. "Father! Look what Hermes has brought with him! A mortal stain upon our sacred home!"
"This wouldn't have happened if you didn't antagonize him in the first place!" Artemis shouted from the side, her silver eyes flashing.
Dionysus, who had been quietly sobbing in a corner, let out a weak wail. "What about my wine…?"
"Shut up," Apollo and Athena said in unison.
Artemis then turned to Dionysus. "You're lucky Aunt Hestia is sharing her territory with yours. At least someone in this family has a sense of hospitality."
Athena snorted, turning her cold, intelligent gaze on Artemis. "Did you hear yourself, sister? Hermes has brought a chaotic nature upon our sacred land. It is a matter of principle, not hospitality."
"Whoa, whoa, can we be honest with ourselves for a second?" Apollo interjected, stepping forward. "Ares is just mad because he lost to Wukong several millennia ago. Now that he's somehow appeared once more, he can't even hold himself back from acting like a petulant child."
The moment the name was spoken, the atmosphere on Olympus changed.
"Wukong?!"
Zeus's aura flared, a raw, untamed power that made the very air crackle. The sky outside the palace instantly turned black, thunder clapping with every furious beat of his heart. "Has Jack Hou stepped foot on my land?!"
Just as his divine rage was about to boil over, a new voice, as cold and sharp as the winter wind, cut through the tension.
"Calm yourself."
Demeter stood in the doorway, her gaze so cold it seemed to mirror the frost on a winter morning. She walked into the hall, her presence a wave of absolute, chilling authority that doused the fiery tempers of the other gods.
"It is what it is," she said, her voice flat and final. "You cannot go to Earth now. Hermes had your permission. None of us did. Stop this and go back to your territories."
One by one, the bickering gods fell silent. The argument was over. They began to disperse, returning to their own domains, leaving behind Demeter, Hera, Zeus, a still-sniffling Dionysus, and a quiet Hestia.
Hera, never one to let a moment of power go unchallenged, gave a small, condescending smile. "My, my. Giving orders as if you're the queen of this pantheon."
Demeter simply turned, ignoring Hera's barb. "I am here to have a holiday with my daughter," she remarked to the empty air. "Just leave us alone."
She then walked away, her cold presence lingering long after she was gone.
Zeus let out a long, weary sigh, his divine rage spent. He turned and walked toward his private chambers, needing to rest after the disastrous meeting. Hera followed suit.
This left only Dionysus, who was now openly crying. "But what about my wine…?" he whimpered.
Hestia came to his side, her presence a warm, comforting glow. She gently took his arm. "Now, now," she said softly. "Come with me. I can give you some of mine."
Dionysus looked at her, his tear-streaked face full of a childlike gratitude. He threw his arms around her in a hug. "Aunt Hestia!!"
…
Meanwhile, in another pantheon, the silence was of a different kind. In the serene, sun-drenched chambers of Amaterasu, the Sun Goddess sat alone, her gaze fixed on a small, hand-held mirror made of polished silver and captured starlight. The surface did not reflect her own perfect image, but the chaotic, festive scene at the North Pole. She watched Jack Hou, his face split into a wide, unhinged grin as he joked with the children, his tail swaying with a life of its own.
"He doesn't even regret it," she muttered to herself, a note of disbelief in her voice. "Stealing from other pantheons like that, causing such a disruption…"
She then saw him kneel down to talk to one of the younger X-Men, his usual manic energy softening into something surprisingly gentle.
"I guess…" she whispered to the empty room, "he does have a genuine smile."
BOOM!
The elegant, sliding paper door of her chamber was thrown open with the force of a storm, a gust of wind scattering the carefully arranged petals in a nearby vase. It was her brother, Susanoo.
"Sister!" he roared, his voice a joyous, booming thing. "Do you want to come hunting for the remnants of Amatsu's trail?"
Amaterasu, startled, hurriedly hid the mirror in the folds of her silken robes. She straightened her posture, pretending to be busy arranging the scattered petals. "How many times do I have to tell you to knock, brother?" she said, her voice sharp with a regal indignation that didn't quite hide her fluster.
Susanoo scratched his head, confused. "Why? Didn't you sense I was coming? Were you doing something that required so much focus that you couldn't even sense me?"
A faint blush touched Amaterasu's cheeks. "Just get out! I will come after I am ready."
"Okay, okay," Susanoo said, holding up his hands in surrender. "I'll wait for you then. Don't forget to bring the seals. We'll need those, just in case we encounter any of Amatsu's scattered fragments."
"I get it!" she shouted, her composure completely gone. "Now, get out!"
Susanoo, thoroughly chased out, slid the door shut behind him. He stood in the hallway, completely bewildered. "Did I do something wrong?" he muttered to himself. He then shook his head, his confusion instantly replaced by a wild, excited grin. "No matter! I need to catch Amatsu! I've been bored for so long. Seeing Jack Hou be so free… it makes me jealous!"
He threw his head back, and his laughter, a glorious, thunderous thing, echoed through the serene halls of Takamagahara.
"Akhkakahkkahakhaka! Just you wait! I will become even stronger! No amount of fragments Jack Hou absorbs can make me lose to him! Akkahkahakhkakaka!"
…
The long, chaotic, and wonderful day was finally coming to an end. The last of the Alfar cookies had been eaten, the final drops of hot cocoa consumed. The younger X-Men were laid out on sleeping bags and makeshift beds around the crackling fire, their eyelids heavy, their bodies full of a happy, festive exhaustion.
"Alright, X-kids and X-teens," Jack's voice, now a soft, gentle thing, filled the quiet cabin. "Go to sleep. Tomorrow, all of you need to wake up early if you want to help with the real preparations for Christmas."
He walked to the middle of the group, settling down cross-legged on the floor, a strange, serene figure in the warm firelight. "Alright," he said. "Since you guys keep calling me uncle, I have a duty to tell you a tale to help you sleep."
Alex, who was trying to look cool and unaffected, let out a scoff. "Who needs your stories? And you don't even look older than us."
But a chorus of "Shuuushhh!" from the younger kids, and even a few of the teens, instantly silenced him. Alex looked around, a look of profound betrayal on his face as he saw even his own brother, Scott, giving him a pointed glare.
Jack just laughed, a soft, gentle cackle that was a world away from his usual manic roar. "Kekekeke, well, like it or not, I will tell you this story." He leaned forward, his golden eyes dancing in the firelight. "Thousands upon thousands of years ago, there was a single, giant stone that lay on top of a mountain."
Kurt, ever hyperactive, teleported from his sleeping bag to Jack's lap in a puff of blue smoke. "Is this rock the main character?" he asked, his yellow eyes wide with curiosity. "Why not a heroic figure?"
"Kekekeke, this is the good part," Jack said, ruffling Kurt's blue hair. "This rock was not an ordinary rock. On a fateful day, it split open, and from it came a monkey. A stone monkey."
Jamie, Sean, Gabriel, and several of the other kids giggled. "A monkey came out of a stone?" Gabriel asked. "Is that how the first monkey appeared?"
Jack continued, his voice taking on the mythic quality of an ancient storyteller. "Because he was not a rude creature, he bowed to the four cardinal directions. But he sensed the heavens did not acknowledge his bow, so he shot a laser beam out of his eyes."
The kids erupted in laughter. "Hahaha! It's like Scott's eyes!" Kurt cheered.
From the side, where he was trying to look serious and mature, Scott couldn't help but mutter, "Hey, I'm not a monkey."
…
Meanwhile, on the other side of the world, under the relentless, sun-bleached sky of the Sahara, two figures stood alone amidst an endless sea of sand.
One of Jack's clones sighed, a sound of pure, gritty frustration. He kicked at a dune, sending a spray of fine, golden sand into the hot air. "At this point," he grumbled to his companion, "it seems like the other fragments aren't even on Earth."
His companion, another identical clone, was lying on his back, happily waving his arms and legs to make a sand angel. "Kekekeke," the second clone laughed, his voice a cheerful, unconcerned thing. "Just treat this as a holiday."
"A holiday?" the first clone shot back, his voice incredulous. "How can you say that? We're in the literal fucking sand dunes! There's nothing here but sand, heat, and more sand!" He shuddered dramatically. "I finally get what Anakin was talking about. It's coarse and rough and irritating and it gets everywhere!"
The second clone sat up, brushing sand from his black hanbok. "Come on," he said, a familiar, mischievous glint in his eyes. "I see something up ahead."
The first clone squinted, his golden gaze piercing through the heat haze. "Huh? Really?"
"Really," the second clone confirmed. "Now, follow me."
They ran, their feet surprisingly light on the shifting sands. They crested a massive dune and came across a strange, impossible sight. A man, dressed in a simple, black robe, was walking calmly across the desert, a gnarled wooden stick in his hand. But behind him, the sand was pristine, untouched. He left no footprints.
"Weird," the first clone said.
The second clone nodded. "Hmm. It's definitely weird."
"A sound and rational person," the first clone continued, a slow, wicked grin spreading across his face, "should walk the other way."
"Buuuutttt…" the second clone prompted, his own grin matching his brother's.
"But we are not sound and rational," the first clone finished. "Kekekeke."
"Let's go."
They began to follow the mysterious figure, their movements silent and unseen. As they drew closer, they saw something else up ahead. A man, his clothes torn, one of his legs bent at an unnatural angle, was crawling desperately up the face of a dune, his fingers digging into the sand, trying to pull his broken body forward.
The second clone's cheerful demeanor faded for a moment. "What is that robed guy doing to that man?"
The first clone watched, his gaze sharp and analytical. "I don't think that's his doing," he said, his voice a low, thoughtful murmur. "I think… I think he's being tested."
The mysterious robed man moved with a silent, effortless grace, his feet leaving no trace on the shifting sands. He came to a stop and knelt beside the crawling, broken man.
"Help… help me," the crawling man, Mr. Qadir, gasped, his voice a dry, desperate rasp. "My foot is broken. Please."
The mysterious man's voice was deep, calming, and held the weight of an eternity. "You are mistaken," he said gently. "You are to come with me, Mr. Qadir."
Mr. Qadir looked up, his face a mask of confusion. "You… what do you mean by that?" He tried to crawl again, to pull his body forward, but then he felt it. The searing pain in his foot was gone. He pushed himself up, first to his knees, then, tentatively, to his feet. He stood, his weight steady, his leg whole.
"Amazing," he breathed, tears of pure, unadulterated relief streaming down his face. "I can stand again! I don't know who you are, but you are truly my savior! Thank you! I can see my daughter again!"
The mysterious man held Mr. Qadir's hand, his touch gentle but firm. "You have died, Mr. Qadir," he said, his voice soft but absolute. "And it is time for you to come with me."
The joy on Mr. Qadir's face shattered, replaced by a profound, chilling shock. "W-w-what? What are you talking about?"
The mysterious man gently held Mr. Qadir's shoulders and turned him toward the spot where he had just been crawling. And there he was. His own body, lying still in the sand, his leg bent at an unnatural, broken angle, his face a mask of final, desperate exhaustion.
"But… it's not my time yet," Mr. Qadir stammered, his voice trembling as he stared at his own corpse. "No, I… I keep myself healthy. I run every morning. Even in the midst of my archaeological exploration, I maintain my health." He knelt, his spiritual form a mirror of his physical one, looking down at the body he had just left behind. "It was an accident. It broke my foot. But I fought. I fought to the post."
"You did, indeed," the mysterious man confirmed. "But you were lost in the dunes for a week. You were almost at the post."
Sure enough, in the far distance, the faint, shimmering outline of an archaeologist's camp could be seen.
"I was… almost there," Mr. Qadir whispered, the finality of his fate crashing down on him.
The mysterious man nodded. "Your body will be found in a couple of hours." He then paused, his gaze shifting, looking toward the distant dune where the two Jack clones were watching. With a simple, almost casual swipe of his hand, a shimmering barrier of heat haze and distorted light cloaked them, rendering them invisible.
Mr. Qadir finally looked up, his eyes full of a dawning, fearful recognition. "Why are you here?" he asked, his voice a hoarse whisper. "I'm an agnostic. I never once believed in you. So why… why has Anubis come for me at my death?"
The mysterious man, Anubis, smiled, a sad, ancient expression. "Your knowledge, the stories that were passed to you, all the tales you heard as a child. You were once a boy with a fussy father, a man who told you the stories of Egypt of old. From the jackal god who weighed the heart, to the children of Bast."
A small, sad chuckle escaped Mr. Qadir's lips. He remembered. He indeed did. "What… what will happen to my daughter?"
Anubis's gaze was kind, but his words were absolute. "I cannot see the future, for I am not the holder of destiny," he said, his voice a soft, final note. "I am just a guide for you to your scale."
The shimmering barrier of heat and light shattered as two figures in black hanboks suddenly popped into existence, their feet landing softly on the sand.
"Hey! Why aren't you helping him?" the first clone demanded, pointing an accusatory finger at Anubis.
The jackal-headed god took a single, deliberate step, shielding Mr. Qadir's soul behind his own divine form. His voice, once calm, now held the cold, unyielding authority of the underworld. "Get out of here, monkey. My duty is not for you to meddle with."
"What are you shielding?" the second clone asked, his eyes narrowing. Even with their divine senses, they couldn't see the soul Anubis was protecting. But…
Both clones' eyes ignited with a brilliant, golden light. They activated their Fiery Gaze, and suddenly, they could see him—the faint, shimmering outline of Mr. Qadir's soul, standing beside the robed god. They still couldn't hear the conversation, but they saw the spirit.
"Does he have to die?" the first clone asked, his usual manic energy replaced by a genuine, problem-solving focus. "Ah, I know! I have a spare peach." He reached into his sleeve, about to pull out the life-giving fruit.
"Enough."
Anubis's voice was a final, absolute command. The simple wooden stick in his hand transformed, its top blooming into the unmistakable, looped cross of an Ankh staff. He struck the butt of the staff into the sand, and a wave of pure, ancient, and utterly overwhelming divine energy erupted from it. The two clones, caught completely off guard by the sheer, absolute authority of the aura, were blasted backward, their forms tumbling through the air before they landed in a heap on a distant dune.
Anubis then turned back to the soul beside him.
"Can I see my daughter for one last time?" Mr. Qadir asked, his voice a quiet, pleading whisper. "She's up ahead, in that post."
Anubis let out a gentle, sad smile. "I am sorry, Mr. Qadir," he said, his voice full of a profound, ancient empathy. "For the deeds of the living are not your concern anymore."
He then walked ahead, his form a dark, steady silhouette against the endless desert. He stopped, turned, and held out a hand.
"Come."
Mr. Qadir looked at his own body one last time, then at the distant camp where his daughter slept, unaware. He took a deep, final breath he no longer needed, and he took Anubis's hand.
**A/N**
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**A/N**