You are the newly ascended God-King of Arborea, a vibrant realm nestled within the vast expanse of Skyland in the Sphere of the Gods. Your divine power flows through the marble streets and golden spires of your capital city, where the 12 members of your pantheon oversee the daily affairs of your 250-strong divine court. The air thrums with arcane energy, a testament to your realm's connection to the magical source of all creation.
From your throne atop the Celestial Mount, you gaze out over the lush valleys and floating islands of Arborea. The valley below stretches like a tapestry of emerald and silver, where your pantheon's avatars tend to their respective domains. The Garden Goddess El'goroth's verdant sanctuary pulses with life magic, while the War God Kael'ar's training grounds ring with the clash of practice weapons wielded by lesser deities.
A messenger spirit materializes before your throne—a winged sylph bearing the sigil of your Commerce Deity, Sera'mael. The creature bows as it delivers its message: "Great God-King, mortals from the connected universe Earth-11 have begun to worship at our temple-nexus in their world's Amazonian jungle." The sylph's form shimmers with anxious energy as it continues: "But High Priestess Sera'mael reports troubling signs—their prayers carry unfamiliar magic signatures, suggesting another pantheon seeks to claim these worshippers." You feel the first threads of divine challenge tug at your awareness, a subtle shift in the cosmic balance that demands immediate attention. You rise from your throne, your divine form crackling with celestial energy as you process this development. The marble steps of your dais seem to pulse with your power as you descend, each footfall echoing through the vast chamber of your divine palace. Your 12 pantheon members straighten in their thrones, their eyes fixed on you, sensing the importance of this moment.
"The mortals of Earth-11 pray to us," you declare, your voice carrying the weight of a thousand thunderclaps. "But they do so with magic that does not belong to our realm." A ripple of tension spreads through your divine court. The Commerce Deity Sera'mael steps forward, her form shifting from solid flesh to something more ethereal, her golden eyes narrowing with concern. "Great King, these mortals' prayers carry the taint of shadow-magic—a signature that does not align with our realm's natural resonance." She extends her hand, and a translucent orb appears above her palm, showing the Amazonian jungle temple where your worshippers gather. The image pulses with an unnatural darkness around the prayer circle.
The War God Kael'ar's massive form tenses, his armor shimmering with battle-readiness. "Another pantheon encroaches upon our territory. This requires a military response, my King." You turn to Sera'mael, your divine essence crackling with restrained power. "Show me this shadow-magic. Let me taste its source." The orb above her palm expands, revealing the Amazonian temple in greater detail. Dozens of mortals kneel in a circle, their hands joined as they chant in unison. Their bodies emit faint auras—yours and theirs intertwined in a complex web of devotion.
But something else moves through this connection, threading between your power like a dark river cutting through gold. It carries the signature of another pantheon, its essence cold and familiar in a way that sends warning signals through your divine consciousness. The shadow-magic signature burns against your divine senses like ice against flesh. You recognize it immediately—this is no mere encroachment, but the deliberate work of the Hecatonchiri, a rival pantheon that rules over the dark realms of Stygia. Their influence seeps through the mortal prayers like poison through water, turning what should be pure devotion into something twisted and hungry.
Sera'mael's voice cuts through your analysis, sharp with concern. "Great King, this isn't just infiltration—it's conversion. The mortals' belief-patterns are shifting. They're beginning to worship aspects of Stygia's power alongside our own." Kael'ar slams his fist against his throne's armrest, causing the marble to crack with divine force. "They dare twist our worshippers' faith? This is blasphemy! Let me lead the Host of Arborea to that jungle temple and purge this corruption with holy fire."
The Garden Goddess El'goroth rises, her form shimmering with life-energy that makes the palace flora bloom in sudden, vibrant bursts. "Violence may only deepen the wound, Kael'ar. If these mortals are being influenced, they are victims as much as they are conduits. We must understand how this shadow-magic is bonding to their souls—and to ours."