[Updating 72%...]
The words blinked in front of him, stale blue light flickering across his sweat-drenched face.
"Fuck.... this system…" Atlas belted out, hurling the stool across the room with a guttural snarl.
Wood cracked against stone. Splinters danced like fleeing thoughts. The stool landed crooked, one leg bending in like it, too, had given up.
"Haaa… so slow."
But the frustration wasn't about the lagging system. Not the crash loops, the codes, the irritating error pings. No. That was the surface tension—easy to blame. What boiled beneath was different. Thicker. Older. It was 'him'.
The one who came when he prayed.
And he hadn't even meant to.
He knew the mythos. The chronology. The pantheons. The names that were meant to be whispered, the ones carved into stone and souls. Ouserous. That was who he'd planned to call. The God of Higher Law. The one the northen lands once swore by.
