Inside the manor carved into the side of one of Menystria's mountains, things were… quiet.
Not peaceful—just quiet enough to lull the god of chaos into temporary stupidity.
Evodil lay sideways across one of the monster-sized bookshelves Noah forced him to get. His legs dangled off the edge, swinging slightly, while he cracked jokes to absolutely no one.
"Mmm yes, very structurally sound up here," he said to himself, eyeing the absurdly ancient texts stacked under his ribs. "Clearly what these shelves were meant for—divine weight testing."
Another minute passed. No reason to move. He was comfortable. Sort of. Maybe.
Then—crack.
The wood beneath him gave out with a sound like betrayal.
The shelf snapped.
Evodil dropped like a sack of bricks, face-first into the soft, warm plush of the rug… and the very un-soft, very un-warm hardwood floor beneath it.
He didn't move for a moment.
Just laid there, face in the carpet, soul in the void.
"…Great."
Still face-down, Evodil summoned a shadow tendril from the floor beneath him—coiled and lazy like a bored snake. It wrapped around his torso, lifted him up like a sad trophy, and began swinging him through the air.
He drifted down the stairs in slow, wide arcs, nearly slamming into two walls and the top of a light fixture. Graceful as ever.
He made his way through the dining room—barely glanced at the long table—and drifted into the kitchen.
Why he even bothered building this room, he had no idea.
He didn't need to eat. None of them really did. But his brothers insisted on "stocking" the place, which really meant dumping food in his house without asking.
He opened the cabinet, still hovering lazily in the air, and looked through the mess they'd left.
Pork. Beans. Steak. Who even cooked steak anymore? Some kind of brown… thing. Unlabeled. Suspicious.
He squinted.
Coffee.
He stared at it for a few seconds.
He hadn't tried coffee yet.
But he was about to.
And the world was not ready.
He turned the coffee box over and squinted at the tiny letters on the back.
Something about boiling water, pouring carefully, letting it sit.
He stopped reading halfway through.
Too many words. Too little interest.
He boiled the water. Grabbed a mug. Dumped the brown powder in without measuring a thing.
Did he wait?
Absolutely not.
He might have all the time in the world—literally—but patience was never part of the divine package.
The second the water hit the powder, he picked up the mug and downed it in one go. No hesitation. No flinching.
No reaction.
He stood there for a few minutes, expression blank, eyes on the floor.
Nothing happened.
No divine awakening. No taste revelation. No existential shift.
So, he shrugged.
And walked out of the kitchen like nothing happened at all.
He wandered the halls aimlessly, arms crossed behind his head, staring at the ceiling like it held the answers.
Where was Noah?
Still underground, probably cataloging moss like it was sacred scripture.
Was James still mad at him?
...Probably.
Actually—definitely. That man could hold a grudge like it was a divine relic.
Evodil snorted.
He thought about how much time had passed since they built this place. Since he clawed his way out of that stupid lab, barely remembering who or what he was at the time.
One hundred and thirty years, give or take.
Maybe less.
Maybe more.
He wasn't exactly marking calendars.
He turned the corner, about to return to the library to claim a different bookshelf as his throne—
And then the caffeine hit.
Hard.
Oh this?
He liked thisssssss.
Evodil turned on his heel like he just discovered his purpose in life and marched right back into the kitchen like it was the sacred birthplace of all things that mattered.
The coffee box? Already open.
The cabinets? Ransacked.
He grabbed one mug.
Then another.
Then ten.
Then a thousand—or close enough, considering he'd started summoning extra cups from shadows just to keep the momentum going.
He tore through every stash of coffee his brothers had hidden around the manor—bags in drawers, tins behind canned beans, one sealed inside a wall like some cursed relic. He didn't care. It was his now.
The kettle? Boiling nonstop.
The stove? Covered in pots filled to the brim.
Every surface in the kitchen steamed and hissed like a forge.
One cup. Then another. Then another. Back-to-back.
He downed them with zero pause, eyes starting to twitch with every swallow.
This… this was it.
This was the day the god of chaos learned what addiction meant.
A couple hours later, he was laid out flat on the kitchen floor.
Just pants on.
His coat and shirt? Gone. Who knew where. One sleeve might've been sacrificed as a filter at some point.
His blindfold was barely hanging on by a thread, half-slid up over one eye like it lost the will to do its job.
A paper towel was wrapped around his head like a makeshift crown, smudged with coffee stains and divine regret.
Cups surrounded him like worshippers. Some empty. Some… probably still had liquid inside. One was upside down and humming.
He didn't move.
Didn't need to.
He just laid there, staring at the ceiling, voice echoing off the walls.
"Hey. Hey ceiling. Why are you so high up? Come down here, coward."
A pause. Then a wheeze of laughter.
"Ceiling… high. Get it? 'Cause I'm—ha—caffeinated. That's a synonym for godhood, right?"
Another pause.
"You ever wonder if beans are just nature's way of jump-starting divine stupidity?"
He pointed at one of the mugs.
"You get it."
He laid there, talking at lights, furniture, and maybe a hallucinated toaster.
This was divine chaos.
Fueled entirely by coffee.
But all fun comes to an end.
A knock echoed through the manor.
Sharp. Controlled. Judgmental.
If he didn't move right now, whoever was behind that door—Noah or James—would never let him live this down. Ever.
And so, for the first time since waking up in that cursed lab, Evodil tapped into everything he had.
Not power. Not magic.
Authority.
Reality bent.
Cups? Gone. Flung into their cabinets with precision that would make Noah weep. Each one cleaned, stacked, and somehow alphabetized by mug shape.
Empty coffee boxes? Vanished—probably launched into the upper atmosphere, currently colliding with a bird mid-flight.
Stains? What stains? The room gleamed. Sparkled. Smelled faintly of shadow and fake citrus.
His black suit snapped back onto him in an instant. Wrinkle-free. Collar perfect. White hair slicked back and shimmering with impossible volume.
He might've overdone it.
He looked in the toaster's reflection and nodded.
"Flawless."
Time resumed—or maybe he just let it catch up.
The door creaked open.
And behind it stood Noah.
Freshly back from the underground.
Dust on his coat.
Eyes tired.
And the barest hint of suspicion already forming on his face.
Evodil waved at him casually from the kitchen doorway, trying his absolute best to look innocent.
Which… was hard, considering he had horns and the smug aura of someone who definitely did something wrong.
Noah stepped inside, eyeing him immediately. Too clean. Too calm. Too Evodil.
But Noah was tired. Dust clung to his coat like a second layer of disappointment. He gave the pristine room a once-over, squinted, but said nothing.
Evodil grinned. "So… what happened to our favorite archer?"
Noah blinked. "Who?"
Evodil tilted his head. "You. You're the archer."
Noah stared. "…What did you do?"
Neither answered.
Because neither of them would ever miss a chance to dodge a question just to throw shade instead.
Noah leaned on the counter, side-eyeing the too-shiny coffee pot. "You summon a black hole again?"
Evodil smirked. "No, but you walk in here looking like the suit you died in."
Noah gestured vaguely. "I just came back from crawling through rocks and shadow serpents."
Evodil shrugged. "And I just cleaned the room with the force of a dying star. We all have our hobbies."
Noah gave him a long look. "You smell like burnt caffeine and regret."
"And you smell like crushed ego and dirt," Evodil shot back, already plopping into a chair. "So. We trading insults or stories?"
A pause.
Then Noah sighed, rubbing his temple. "Both. Probably both."
Noah poured himself a glass of water like it was the most necessary act in existence, leaned against the counter, and stared off into nothing.
Evodil, sprawled in the chair like he owned not just the manor but gravity itself, tilted his head and broke the silence again.
"So. Did the grass girl confess her love to you, or just cry?"
Noah didn't flinch. "She cried because you exist."
Evodil grinned. "Flattering."
They sat like that for a bit—quiet, but not tense. Just… the usual calm before the next idiotic storm.
Then Noah spoke up, voice dry as ever.
"Wanna go annoy James?"
Evodil's grin widened instantly, almost predatory. "Say less."
Noah finished the last of his water, tossed the empty glass into the sink without looking, and pushed off the counter.
Evodil stood, dusted absolutely nothing off his flawless suit, and cracked his neck with unnecessary flair.
Without another word, both walked toward the front of the manor.
The door creaked open, and the two gods stepped out into the cold Menystrian air.
Ready to ruin someone else's perfectly structured day.
Noah walked calmly across the stone bridge that connected the manor to the outer path—boots tapping lightly with each step, the mountain wind tugging at his coat.
Evodil?
He flung himself off the balcony.
A tendril of black shadow whipped out, latching onto the next floating island ahead, yanking him through the air like some caffeine-powered pendulum. He landed with a loud thud, arms outstretched.
"I am Klein Moretti!" he shouted triumphantly.
Noah paused mid-step, looking up with dead eyes.
"…How do you even know that name?"
Evodil was already swinging again. "Stole your book! Read it four times! Top-tier chaos! Also—" he spun through the air, landing upside down on another platform, "—Klein. Uses tendrils. Just like me. Coincidence? I think NOT!"
Another leap. Another tendril. This time he struck a dramatic pose mid-air, then landed with the grace of a falling brick.
Noah just stared at him.
"You are—without question—a maniac."
"Thank you," Evodil said, completely sincere, brushing his shoulders off. "Took you long enough to notice."
They kept going, the floating path narrowing the closer they got to the Citadel.
Noah walked.
Evodil swung, flailed, bounced, and occasionally cackled like a creature who slept in irony and bathed in espresso.
Far ahead, within the cold halls of the Citadel, James felt a sudden spike in blood pressure.
And sighed.
Somewhere in the distance… a migraine began.