Gemini 8th
Von and Lucifer arrived just in time at Windrise. The sky was already stained red, not with sunset, but with divine light drawn down from the heavens. The Ceremony of Egotheon had begun.
They stood at the edge of the plaza, breath caught in their chests. A vast crowd of followers filled the space ahead—chanting, praising, swaying in rhythmic ecstasy beneath the towering statue of Egotheon. It stood like a god wrought in stone, arms stretched wide, eyes closed, as if waiting to awaken.
Von clenched his fists.
"We're late," he muttered.
"No. We're exactly on time," Lucifer said, eyes focused, reading deeper into the ritual's design.
On the stage at the heart of the plaza stood Gable, Grisha, and Stella. Gable was holding a small, ornate obsidian box—its weight and aura unmistakable. Inside it was the Dead Artifact, which could become annoyance for the Seven.
The crowd's song turned into a roar as the statue stirred. Slowly, impossibly, Egotheon descended, not as a statue, but as a being of overwhelming presence, tearing down reality like a curtain. His form drifted downward from the stone effigy, dark wind swirling behind him like a divine cloak.
He landed on the stage, his feet not touching the wood, merely hovering above it. As he approached, Gable stepped forward and offered the box with bowed head and trembling hands.
The god raised a hand—not to strike, not yet—but to bless.
A golden light ignited around Gable's palm, beginning to swirl and form—Roman numerals slowly etching onto the skin, signifying his ascension to become one of Egotheon's Blessed Followers.
But then—a sudden motion.
Grisha shoved Gable aside, knocking him off the stage. The divine marking, mid-formation, swerved unnaturally in the light—and latched onto Grisha's hand instead.
There was a blinding flash.
When it faded, Grisha held up his hand—eight glowing numerals burned across his fingers.
Gasps rippled through the crowd.
"The Eight-Fingered Blessed..." someone whispered.
Egotheon paused but did not seem displeased.
That's when Elias struck.
In a flash, she dashed forward, snatched the Dead Artifact box from the still-hovering Egotheon's hands, and landed beside Grisha. Stella and Joseph joined her, weapons drawn, eyes defiant.
They were ready.
"Run, Wendy!" Elias barked.
Grisha nodded, gripping the box tightly—because they believed he was Wendy in disguise. The plan was set: stall Egotheon, let 'Wendy' escape with the box and meet Von.
But then Grisha walked right past them.
He strode back to Egotheon without hesitation and handed him the box.
The god accepted it with calm satisfaction, closing his fingers around the artifact as the golden wind gathered again. Then, just as he had appeared—Egotheon vanished.
The light collapsed. Silence fell.
Elias turned to Grisha, eyes wide. "What did you just do!?"
"Why did you give it back!?" Stella shouted.
Grisha turned slowly. His expression was cold, unapologetic.
"Because I'm not Wendy."He gestured, and his guards dragged someone forward.
The group froze.
It was Wendy—barely conscious, bruised, bloodied, her clothes torn, her eyes swollen shut. She could hardly stand.
Joseph ran to her, catching her before she collapsed.
"Wendy..." Elias's voice cracked. "We thought—You were supposed to be the one to stop him..."
Grisha smiled thinly. "She tried. She was brave. But she's just a girl. And I'm... not someone easily fooled."
The crowd, once joyful and chanting, now stood in stunned silence. No one moved.
Then Gable staggered back onto the stage, dazed but furious, face bruised from his fall. He looked at Grisha with disbelief.
"You, Son of Bitch. That blessing—wasn't meant for you!"
Grisha's glowing fingers curled into a fist.
"Then maybe the gods should be more careful who they choose."