While Q and Vergo were cheerfully packing for their journey, something unimaginable was unfolding on the other side of the world. Divine entities known as the Titans had gathered for the first time in years to discuss one particularly strange—no, downright bizarre—event.

  Amid the clouds stood a floating fortress made entirely of gold. Its massive walls glittered under the sun and could blind you if you stared too long.

  Around it, as if caught in some slow dance, giant creatures that looked like stingrays swirled.

  In the main hall, on the throne, lounged a young, dark-skinned man. His curls—white as bleach—half-hid his crimson eyes and lashes too perfect to be real. Lazily running his thumb over his lips, he wiped off lipstick left by his concubines. The man wore light, nearly see-through robes in white and gold, and was draped head to toe in expensive costume jewelry. Bracelets, necklaces, earrings, a gold ring on every finger.

  At that moment, he was sipping red wine from a golden goblet while naked servants worked on his pedicure.

  His name was Midas, the Titan of Fortune.

  Suddenly, a deafening boom shook the fortress. The golden palace trembled, cracks running along the marble floors and pillars.

  Midas only clicked his tongue and swirled his wine. Amazingly, not a single drop spilled on his flashy outfit.

  With a thunderous kick, someone blasted open the massive doors and strode into the throne room. A spear materialized in her hand, and without a second's hesitation, she hurled it at Midas. Thanks to his luck, it lodged in the back of the throne, just centimeters from his ear. This, despite being thrown by none other than the Titan of Heroism—arguably the strongest being on the planet. It was obvious she was holding back—otherwise, nothing would have remained of the fortress. Would Midas' luck have saved him in this situation? We'll never know.

  "Nice to see you too, Victoria," Midas sighed and slumped sideways, resting his cheek on his fist with a look of mild annoyance.

  Tucking four radiant white angel wings back beneath her shoulder blades, the woman tossed a pale green serpent onto the round table.

  "Look who I found along the way."

  It was the Titan of Justice, the World Judge. Or rather, one of his incarnations.

  “Is the main body coming too?” Midas smirked, sarcasm creeping into his voice.

  “One of his eyes is bigger than your tacky little fortress,” Victoria shot back, dropping into a seat and throwing her legs up onto the table.

  She wore armor of silvery metal with crimson accents. Her breastplate bore a sun in raised relief. A corset hugged her torso, flowing into a short leather skirt studded with metal. Broad pauldrons covered her shoulders, bracers protected her forearms. Her face and hair were hidden beneath a gladiator's helmet. Rumor had it she wore it to hide her numerous scars.

  "I heard you’ve taken to living among mortals like I have. Don’t tell me they failed to teach you the concept of humor?" Midas asked.

  “If that pathetic excuse was meant to be a joke, you need a new circle—one that doesn’t laugh just because they’re licking your balls. The world’s full of interesting people, and not all of them want to polish your ego,” Victoria replied.

  Midas just grinned and downed his wine in one swig.

  The last to arrive was the one who’d called them all there—Cicicrium, the Titan of Crimson Flame.

  His true form was that of a crimson phoenix. He could shift his size at will. That day, he chose something eagle-sized, small enough not to incinerate the room just by being there.

  With a wave from Midas, the servants fled the hall, eyes shut tight.

  "Greetings," the bird said, landing in the center. "Thank you for answering my call."

  The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

  “Like I had a fucking choice,” Midas muttered, turning his golden goblet into a coin and flipping it as he stepped off the throne. “Next time, either don’t invite this savage or pick somewhere else,” he added, glancing pointedly at the cracks in the floor.

  “Apologies,” said the phoenix, while the serpent slithered closer to bask in his warmth.

  “Forget it.” Midas dropped into a seat at the round table. “So? Why’d you drag us here? Or are we waiting on more?”

  “Xiu, Luft, and Metamor won’t be coming.”

  Titan of Nature, Xiu, was caught up with a catastrophe in the forests of Saveruze. Titan of Pleasure, Luft, had an orgy scheduled and politely declined. As for Metamor... the Titan of Evolution wanted nothing to do with the others, as usual.

  “What about the Titan of Reality?” Victoria asked.

  “You know how they are. Maybe they’re here already. Maybe they’re not. I wouldn’t know.”

  Even their fellow Titans didn’t know the true name of the Titan of Reality. It was a being without form, existing everywhere and nowhere at once.

  “Ha-ha-ha! If there’s so few of us, I could dig up the stake from Heimengar’s head—maybe he’d join in,” Midas sneered.

  “You think after what we did, he’d help us?” the serpent hissed for the first time.

  “None of you appreciate irony...” Midas sighed and rubbed his face.

  Heimengar, the Titan of Creation. Executed by the others for reasons unknown, and though Titans are immortal, his head remained pinned to the earth by a golden spike, forever blocking his regeneration.

  Clearing his throat, the phoenix waddled awkwardly to the center of the table.

  "I'll keep this brief. My Hero is dead."

  The hall froze.

  Though many followed the Path of the Titans, only nine had earned a special place—each chosen by a Titan and gifted with unimaginable power.

  Midas rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "I think his name was Joji? I met him once. He was pretty strong, but honestly, he seemed like a complete idiot."

  “Of course he was strong. He never lost a single fight—not once in his life,” said Cicicrium, his feathers starting to glow with heat, though his voice stayed calm.

  “What happened?” the serpent asked.

  “He took his own life. I watched him often. Yes, he was na?ve. But he was never suicidal.”

  “Could someone have tricked him into a cursed contract?” Victoria turned to the serpent.

  “Impossible. My mana would’ve shielded him,” said the phoenix.

  “If you gathered us here, you must have a theory,” Midas said.

  “You all remember, two years ago, an unknown plague emerged on Shaya. I burned it down to stop it from spreading.”

  “Hard to forget that mess...” Midas muttered, flipping his coin.

  “I didn’t get the chance to explain myself back then. So I’ll do it now. I believe the plague was caused by a leak of Dark Discord.”

  “I thought we destroyed It?” Midas looked around the room, confused.

  “Do you have the memory of a trout?” Victoria snapped. “We’ve destroyed It hundreds of times. It keeps coming back.”

  “I know. But last time the leak was so massive, I was sure we’d finally wiped out Its core.”

  “Then you were thinking with the wrong head,” she shot back.

  “Enough. It’s still just a theory. Either way, I sent Joji to scour the wasteland, make sure nothing was left behind.”

  The serpent grew a second head, which spoke in a woman’s voice. “We see where this is going. You think your Hero was corrupted by Dark Discord?”

  “Exactly.”

  “What about the others? Didn’t Joji command an entire order devoted to you?” Victoria asked.

  “They’re all dead. Same cause.”

  “This is madness...” Midas looked genuinely shaken.

  “That’s why I need your help. We have to search the desert again. If we don’t stop the spread of Dark Discord, the world ends. We can’t fail them.”

  “Sorry, but my Heroine’s in the middle of a card tournament she’s trained five years for,” said Midas.

  “No more Heroes,” the phoenix said firmly. “This time, we go ourselves.”

  “…Oh,” the Titan of Fortune muttered, disappointed.

  Still, he spun his finger, and the fortress changed course.

  “I can handle it in a few hours,” Victoria said. “Where’s the desert? South Shaya?”

  “Take us with you,” the snake coiled around her arm.

  “I must go too,” said the phoenix, flapping onto her shoulder.

  And with that, Victoria blasted out of the fortress at supersonic speed.

  “See you in a couple days, guys,” Midas waved lazily into the empty hall.

  He reformed the coin into a goblet and shouted, “Bring me wine!”

  And so, the brief council of Titans came to an end.

  …

  But something still gnawed at me.

  Tell me, are any of you paying close attention? Just like me, are you wondering why divine entities, worshipped by millions—look so human?

  Is there a reason? Or is that simply their nature?