Mike paused on the stairs.
The Hollow had changed behind him, gone still, cold, and utterly silent. The emerald fire that once clung to every crevice had been snuffed out like breath from a dying god. What remained was only the darkness. A perfect black, broken only by the faint pulse of his essence, radiating from his form like heat off coals.
He hadn't realized how quiet it had become until his steps stopped echoing.
Until everything stopped echoing.
His vision, no longer limited by mortal senses, peeled back the layers of the rock and bone around him. He saw the fracture lines of ancient spells, the spiritual trauma scorched into the very architecture of the Hollow. He saw veins of energy threading between this realm and the surface above and the veil that divided them.
And he saw how thin it had become.
So thin, it was beginning to tear.
He closed his eyes.
"You have consumed divinity from Hecate," Bahamut's voice murmured in the dark, layered and distant but unshaken.
"You are no longer a mortal being. Your presence now weakens the veil."
Mike exhaled, steam curling from his lips. "What happens when the veil breaks?"
"More gods descend. Full presence. Not avatars. Not whispers. Real bodies in mortal vessels. Real wars on your soil."
Mike's jaw clenched. "So what, you expect me to stop them all?"
"You killed one goddess. There are thousands more. Do you think Kur burned one temple and stopped?"
Mike's head throbbed. His vision blurred momentarily, adjusting as the lines of energy around him pulsed.
"Your presence is already being noticed," Bahamut added.
"Your essence cannot be hidden. Every realm that watches the veil now sees the hole you left behind."
He staggered, planting a clawed hand against the wall, his dragon form still radiating from beneath his skin.
"Fucking gods."
"You were forged for this war. You bear my bones, not my fragments. What you carry is not borrowed power, it is inheritance."
Mike straightened. "Are you going to descend if the veil breaks?"
"No. I chose to leave. I sealed my form in bone and gave it to you. I do not return. You are now the last dragon. I am only remnants of what I was in the realm."
Mike said nothing for a moment.
Then nodded.
He began to climb.
Each step carried weight now, his essence rippled in the air.
The walls trembled as he passed. Shadows clung to him. Runes once meant to ward divine intrusion blinked and flickered, failing one after another.
By the time he reached the final staircase that would lead to the gate near the Dusk Palace.
Council Chamber
The war table had changed.
Maps were gone. Screens had been replaced with crude hand-drawn perimeter sketches, refugee intake logs, population density zones, and ancient diagrams of summoning circles.
At the head of the chamber stood Lisa, arms crossed, her jaw tense. She had just finished briefing the Council on Olympus's decision.
"They've declared war."
A ripple of disbelief passed through the chamber.
Nicolas didn't blink. "On us?"
Lisa nodded. "Olympus declared war on the djinn and anyone who continues to support Mike. That includes us."
Pete swore under his breath. "They're just now making that official? They've been sabotaging our networks for months. What do they want, Mike's head delivered in a box?"
Lisa's voice was steady, but cold. "They want control. Olympus believes Mike's consumption of Hecate represents a cosmic threat. The more he grows, the more power he accrues, the weaker the gods become by comparison. Their influence is tied to the veil. He's unraveling it."
Cyra entered the chamber mid-sentence, slamming her glaive onto the floor beside the map table.
"The Watchers have started open combat," she announced. "They're targeting Archangel Chosen across Europe. France and Spain are on fire. The Vatican is gone."
Leo followed her, face grim. "New York City's lost. No communication. No scouting. All scrying fails within the borders. A creature from Tartarus claimed the whole metro. Anyone who goes near it… vanishes."
Jennifer turned to a nearby terminal and activated a map of Asia. "India is holding. Barely. Their Chosen were coordinated early. They're evacuating refugees into secured regions. China and Korea have lost entire regions."
Pete slammed his fist onto the table. "While we argue politics, people are dying by the thousands. Entire cities are burning. Mortals are being turned, enslaved, fed on. We need to stop thinking about gods and start thinking about humanity."
Nicolas nodded once. "You're right. We need to stop reacting."
Everyone turned toward him.
"We build," he said. "A stronghold. Around the temple. Shielded, fortified, protected by divine wards and armed Chosen. A last city. A sanctuary."
"And what of food? Materials? Engineering?" Leo asked.
Nicolas turned to Jennifer. "Nyx has sent one of her artisans. A divine architect with a Chosen vessel. Construction begins immediately."
"And Mike?" Lisa asked. Her voice was cautious now.
"He's not our enemy," Nicolas replied. "We failed to understand him. We feared what he could become. But the gods did worse, they tried to use him."
Lisa stepped forward. "You didn't hear what Hestia said. Mike is no longer just a man. He is the heir of Kur. And Kur is not a hero. He consumed pantheons. He devoured divine order. If he's left unchecked—"
Pete interrupted. "Then what? We kill him? Send Chosen to die trying? We've seen what he is. He's not just a threat. He's the only one who's doing something."
Lisa turned to Cyra. "You have been watching him. You felt what he became."
Cyra nodded. "He scares me. But not because he's Kur. Because he doesn't know where to stop."
Jennifer looked around. "And if he doesn't stop? If he consumes another god?"
Nicolas was quiet for a long moment.
Then said, "Then we'll prepare contingencies. But for now, we focus on the dome. We secure civilians. We expand outward. If the pantheons want war, they'll find mortals aren't prey anymore."
Cyra turned toward the back wall, where a dozen Chosen gathered in silence.
"Then let's move. Build the city. Rally the survivors."
Nicolas looked back once more at the screens flashing red alerts across every continent.
And whispered, "Let's survive the gods."
Back in the Hollow
Mike climbed in silence.
The darkness thickened behind him, but before him, the narrow passage curled upward toward the surface. The torches were gone. The green flame was no more. The Hollow had spent its power.
His claws scraped the walls idly as he walked.
He felt it, how different he was now. Every breath carried with it a flicker of essence. His aura no longer pulsed like a mortal's. It flowed, a constant, unbroken tide of pressure.
He passed the rib-cage tunnel again. The place where he'd first heard Hecate's true voice.
It was dead now. Hollow.
At the next curve, he saw the shimmer of the passage where the Hollow met the Underworld's edge.
The Dusk Palace waited beyond that threshold.
But something in him resisted.
He turned his head and looked back down into the black below.
"You still there?" he asked.
Bahamut's voice rumbled in answer.
"Always. Watching. Listening."
Mike's fists tightened.
"I feel… different."
"Because you are. You've tasted the soul of a god. That growth in power is intoxicating."
Mike stood still a moment longer. "So what now?"
"Now you make that new power your own. Just because you consumed her essence does not mean you control it. Make it your own or it will destroy you." Bahamut echoed.
"The world must decide if it fears you… or follows you."
Mike exhaled once, then turned toward the black stone arch above.
He stepped forward, leaving the Hollow behind.