"This is the game of the gods."
The moment the words were spoken, Roosevelt's gaze rose to meet Ricky's.
Behind him, the clouds churned and cracked open with fierce lightning, the sky itself seeming to respond to the weight of his words.
"Oooooo, sparkly lights~"
Ricky laughed right in his face, twirling his fingers mockingly as if the furious lightning behind Roosevelt were nothing more than cheap firecrackers.
"Alright, I'll play along, let's see what you got!" Ricky said deliberately, his tone dripping with challenge as he gestured toward the storm outside.
Although there was no malice in his gesture, Ricky's grip remained firm on Roosevelt's collar, for a single reason.
"....."
A sudden dead silence settled over the room.
Lucky, Morgan, Alexander, and Roosevelt all fixed their gazes on Ricky, who glanced around with a casual, almost amused look.
"Nothing?" Ricky asked, his voice carrying an almost playful edge.
He knew full well there was no danger since not a single alarm bell rang in his mind, only the calm certainty that whatever power Roosevelt claimed, it wasn't aimed at him.
At least, not yet.
"Well, what's a game without its rules, am I right?" Ricky laughed, the sound echoing faintly through the still air as he noticed the first bead of sweat slide down Roosevelt's temple.
"It's always something with someone nowadays," Ricky sighed, finally loosening his grip on Roosevelt's neck as he straightened the man's suit with casual ease.
"I mean, be honest with yourself, did you think I just came here thinking you had nothing up your sleeve?" Ricky asked, slowly resting his hands on the president's shoulders before lightly squeezing.
"I could crush your head like a watermelon and not even blink, but you actually thought I was clueless?" Ricky asked, his grin widening as his hand tightened on Roosevelt's shoulder until he winced.
In truth he was bluffing; he had no idea what was actually happening, but he carried it off like a man holding a royal straight flush should.
"I'm not gonna kill you, Mr. President, god no." Ricky laughed, patting hsi cheek slightly as Roosvelt's eyes slowly turned hateful.
"Instead I'm just gonna make your life miserable." Ricky announced, spreading his arms wide as if framing the sentence like a contract.
"I'll slowly steal everything you own, take it piece by piece, until there's nothing left but the shape of you." Ricky paused, letting the words sink in as Roosevelt's face drained of color.
"And when you have nothing but your own soul, I'll end your miserable life," Ricky whispered, leaning in until his breath ghosted across Roosevelt's ear, then lowering his voice to a tone meant only for him.
"Then I'll take that too."
"But let's not get ahead of ourselves since as they say, 'the enemy of my enemy is my friend' and Mr. President, you definitely wanna be my friend." Ricky revealed, his toothy smile catching a glint from the crackling lighting above.
"Your demand is entirely impossible-" Roosevelt plainly said, knowing it was impossible for him to actually approve something that would give Ricky more power over this country.
"This merger is the only way I'm going to take part in the games you so desperately need me for." Ricky said, shrugging, knowing full well that one way or another he would end up in those games.
"Why would I ever let you drape our country's flag over that despicable body of yours?" Roosevelt huffed, rubbing his throat as he used the wall to prop himself up on his two feet.
"Because the moment I say the word, not a single mutant in this country would set foot near you." Ricky chuckled, slowly backing up until he stood beside Lucky and Morgan.
"You might have the masses, but I have the mutants." Ricky said, folding his arms and letting the smile crawl across his face.
"And right now, my investment is paying motherf*cking dividends."
The moment Ricky dropped that line, Roosevelt's face soured into a hard scowl.
It was the look of a man facing a reality the White House had been grappling with since the mutant migration went public.
"I bet you're just scrambling to find a couple, because you know I won't let you have anyone in New York," Ricky hinted, letting the words hang in the air as Roosevelt's eyes slowly widened, the subtle implication sinking in like a cold weight.
"Let's go." Ricky gestured, turning his back on the president.
Lucky and Morgan trailed behind, blank-faced, having been nothing more than spectators to the display of power and control Ricky had just unveiled.
"Why do you really want to participate in these games?" Roosevelt asked, finally managing to reach his feet as his blue eyes stared dagger at Ricky's back.
"For our nation's pride, duh." Ricky said, smiling widely at the obvious lie before kicking the double doors open.
"I'll be seeing you soon, Mr. President." Ricky said, mocking his title as Roosvelt's rage reached its peak.
BAM
The door clicked shut behind him, leaving the president to wrestle with the familiar, infuriating sense of powerlessness that Ricky always seemed to inspire.
"DAMMIT!" Roosevelt roared, sweeping his hands across the desk and sending everything crashing to the floor as his ragged, hateful breath filled the room.
Meanwhile, a portal quietly began to shimmer open in a stash house owned by the Luciano family through a holding company.
Lucky and Morgan followed Ricky through the portal, watching him rub at his features as he strode down the hallway with that same confident, unbothered air.
The outcome had thrown them both for a loop, nothing about it matching what they had expected.
But before they could even voice their questions out of their blank expressions, Ricky opened another portal, cutting off any chance for discussion.
"What the f*ck was that?" Lucky finally muttered, turning to Morgan, who shrugged helplessly, clearly just as lost as he barely understood the plan, let alone the chaos that had just unfolded.
Arriving in a familiar alleyway, Ricky pressed a hand to his forehead, his mind firing on all cylinders.
All while Alexander was perched silently on his shoulder, eyes completely fixed on him.
"That was very foolish-"
"It was worth it, alright?" Ricky scoffed, rifling through his suit pockets to pull out a cigarette and lighting it with a flick of his finger.
Honestly, normal nicotine and alcohol didn't even affect Ricky at this point.
But the chain-smoking and near-constant drinking habit wasn't about the high; it was about the ritual, the taste, and most of all, the little crackling comfort it gave him.
It was a kind of snake-oil effect.
Lighting a cigarette, drawing the smoke in slowly, letting it curl through his lungs was as much of a signal to himself than a chemical reaction.
Same with alcohol: a swig wasn't about drunkenness, it was about the deliberate pause it forced, the way it let him settle into a rhythm in the chaos of his thoughts.
Using these substances this way wasn't about dependence; it was about control, about carving out a small corner of calm in a mind that never stopped running at full speed.
SIGH
"I mean, all I seem to do is just walk right into traps, but I should be better now-I am better now, yet it happened again." Ricky sighed, exhaling a thin stream of smoke as he leaned against the alleyway wall, eyes fixed on the night sky.
"But I'm done letting sh*t happen until it blows up in my face. I needed to see exactly what I'm up against," Ricky said, pinching the bridge of his nose as Alexander gave a slow nod.
"Now I know that it's, of course, more bullsh*t." Ricky sighed again, drawing in another deep inhale of smoke.
"But I'm smart as f*ck now, so it's fine," Ricky added with a chuckle, making a joke out of the whole situation.
"Yeah, you're a real genius," Alexander mumbled, rolling his eyes at his disciples' words.
"And what about you, huh?" Ricky suddenly said, shifting his accusatory gaze to Alexander as the small figure immediately coughed, recoiling slightly.
"Isn't gods supposed to be your whole shtick-"
"I know nothing of this 'game' the gods play, I merely assumed Gaea used those words figuratively, not literally." Alexander replied smoothly, dodging and weaving away from Ricky's sharp, accusatory gaze.
"Whatever. Now that we know about the games, let's just fake it till we make it while going through door number two." Ricky said with a sigh, flicking the cigarette away and adjusting his suit.
As Alexander suddenly realized that Ricky hadn't opened a portal to the Stork Club, but to Italiano's instead.
"This isn't-"
"I'm not about to walk into Selene's clutches like a stupid idiot." Ricky scoffed, watching Alexander visibly flinch since that was exactly what he had expected, and probably what anyone who had ever dealt with Ricky would.
"Oh f*ck off, I'm just going to the one person I know who probably knows everything and won't lie to me." Ricky spat, flicking his sight away from Alexander's spectacle gaze.
But when he opened the door to summon his favorite slave to torment, he was met with a surreal scene.
What had once been his favorite pizza joint was now transformed into what could only be described as a Wall Street trading floor, buzzing with energy and chaos instead of the familiar smells of dough and sauce.
"I have the transportation papers-" Imp Merlin hurriedly said, darting to the center of the former restaurant, Merlyn hovering above stacks upon stacks of documents.
SLAP
"No, you fool! These are for ports!" Merlyn screamed, slapping the alternate imp version of himself and sending the papers flying back into his face.
"That Netherdeal Juan hasn't even developed his operations for planes, let alone ports! And after knowing all he uses are trucks, YOU BRING ME THIS NONSENSE?!" Merlyn screeched, disbelief twisting his features at the literal alternate version of himself.
"I-I apologize, I'll do better-"
"Then get me what I've asked for!" Merlyn yelled, watching as Imp Merlin scurried to the sides, and the room erupted into motion as everyone began working frantically.
It was no secret that being Ricky's paper slave was demeaning, and Merlyn truly hated every second of it.
Yet, there was this strange, almost torturous satisfaction in orgnaizing through the messy bookkeeping.
As mentioned before, mobsters' records were never neat or organized, a fact that drove Merlyn's OCD nearly mad.
Eventually, he decided that if he was going to be stuck with all this work, he might as well take pride in it.
Every ledger, every spreadsheet, and every mountainous stack of papers, slowly bore the mark of Merlyn's meticulous genius.
It was as if his mere undead touch transformed the disgusting system into something precise, something clever, and something that would make future accountants weep with pure satisfaction.
Even if Ricky never noticed.
For a narcissist like Merlyn, who believed himself the smartest person in the room, applying his genius to these menial tasks drew his focus away from his monstrous form.
Until, finally, it evolved into a strange situation where Merlyn hated, loved, and resented it all at once.
Because if he was going to be a tool, he would be the best one, quietly showcasing his brilliance in every line he touched.
"I've already made contact with the mutant connections Elias still has in D.C. I've been working to sway them-"
"Blackmail, slander, stop trying to appease those beneath you!" Merlyn snapped, briefly scanning the documents before promptly throwing them back into Incubus Merlin's face.
"And-" Merlyn started, raising his hand to smack Incubus Merlin, but froze mid-motion when he noticed Ricky standing in the entrance, staring at him with that usual, unreadable expression.
"Oh, it's you." Merlyn said, his deadpan expression barely covering the anger flickering beneath as Ricky nodded at the reaction.
"Slam your head into that beam-"
BAM
The sound ricocheted off the rafters, and Ricky smiled.
"Good times~" Ricky said, feeling a rush of refreshment as he watched Merlyn duck his head, fully aware that the undead would be forced to continue until he finally gave in.
"If this is about your expo, then Chester has already come by and apprehended my control over it-"
"What is the game of the gods?" Ricky asked, leaning in with curiosity as he closed the doors behind him.
Merlyn frowned but, instead of using all his strength to restrain his reaction, he simply scoffed.
"It's a waste of meaningless time and energy." Merlyn said, turning away and hovering back toward the endless swirl of papers the Luciano family always dumped on him.
"Do you not know-"
"Of course I know what it is." Merlyn interrupted immediately, a flicker of irritation crossing his features at Ricky even daring to voice something so obvious.
"But?" Ricky laughed, strolling across his makeshift office.
"But I do not know the specifics of the games, since only those within the Council of Godheads are allowed to partake in its so-called 'benefits.'" Merlyn sighed, taking out and slowly adjusting his reading glasses as his rotting eyes began scanning the nearby papers.
"I'm sure you'd be interested since their so-called 'meetings' are merely orgies and-"
"Just tell me what you know and stop being an asshat about it." Ricky ordered, watching as Merlyn was literally forced to turn around, a frown darkening his face.
"Fine." Merlyn scoffed, tossing the papers aside, his brows twitching as Ricky silently made him disrupt his perfectly neat stacks.
"Although I know nothing of the games since Gaea always kept them away from my eyes, I do know of the-"
Merlyn Narration:
Council Of Godheads.
It is nothing more than a loose committee of the leaders of Earth's pantheons, supposedly designed to gather information and offer counsel on threats no single pantheon could handle alone.
But that description is pure nonsense for those looking up from below.
In truth, it's nothing more than a truce.
A mere peace treaty dressed up as philosophy for the benefit of those who still pray.
They say it was made to share counsel, to unite the pantheons against cosmic threats.
Only fools think that.
The council exists because even gods learned, too late, that endless war brings only silence.
The fall of Atlantis didn't merely mark the end of the greatest civilization known to man, it marked the end of an age.
Then, came the Dark Ages.
A time when atrocities were not only those of gods and men but of other worlds as well.
By the gods, I still remember the sight.
Colors, every one you could ever imagine, and several you couldn't, clashing in a display so divine it bordered on madness.
It was as if the skies tore open under the weight of itself.
For centuries, divinity warred against itself, until the oceans ran red with the blood of immortals.
And then came the silence.
It was a day I would never forget, my eyes turning toward the vast horizon.
Lands, mountains, and oceans all draped in that heavy stillness.
It felt as if every god ever imagined, every divine name whispered into existence by mortal tongues, had died for this moment to exist.
Until only the laws remained.
Because that, not prayers, is what divinity truly is.
Divinity, in essence, is drawn from the realities of the universe that govern themselves through immutable laws.
Laws that even gods must bow to.
These laws are not moral, nor are they just; they simply are.
Gravity, entropy, causality, they're each a thread in the great weave of what we call existence.
From these threads, divinity emerges, not as a rebellion against nature but as an embodiment of its purest principles.
To hold divinity, then, is not to stand above the universe but to become one with its rhythm and to grasp the hidden codes that shape matter, time, and consciousness.
Those who ascend to it do not defy reality; they understand it so completely that their will becomes indistinguishable from the universe's own.
And as the gods devoured the essence of reality to fuel their endless conflict, the world began to decay.
The earth was dying.
Reality itself was bleeding out.
Then, if more could not happen, the Celestials came.
To the trembling remnants of the gods, they appeared as saviors, as judges descended from the stars.
But they were neither.
They were scientists.
Their pursuits were not of faith or conquest, but of understanding.
To them, this world, our world, was little more than a variable within a grander equation.
Another experiment in a universe littered with abandoned trials and failed designs.
They studied our chaos with a kind of fascination, not horror.
Every collapse, every divine death, every warping of space and soul, they catalogued it all as data.
To them, the fall of gods was merely a result or a fascinating outcome, nothing more.
I respected that about them.
And though I know much, even I cannot say what provoked that war between the gods and the Celestials.
Perhaps the gods resented being observed since few creatures enjoy being reminded they are specimens.
Or perhaps the Celestials simply saw something, maybe they became curious in divine power and sought to dissect it.
Whatever the truth, the result was the same.
Pantheons burned, heavens cracked, and three gods found themselves pointing not their divine artifacts at one another, but their own hands.
Odin, Zeus, and the Hindu god Vishnu, acted towards what was called by the celestials: The Third Host.
Acting for Earth's gods, they agreed to its terms and slew the entity.
There was no celebration, however, for almost immediately Odin began planning the Fourth and final Host, set to arrive nearly a millennium later.
He forged a suit of nearly invincible armor, known as the Destroyer, and asked his fellow Sky-Lords to infuse it with a fragment of their power.
They were successful, and with the remaining gods settled, the sovereigns of the pantheons formed what we now know as the Council of Godheads.
This council would bring about the first human kingdom to rise from the age of ruin, Hyperborea, and ushering in the Hyborian Age-
"But it is forbidden to discuss anything outside the bounds of the council, including its game," Merlyn finished, explaining why this was all he knew since, after all, he had never ascended to godhood.
"Just give me something, c'mon." Ricky said, greedily gesturing toward himself as he absorbed the information like a sponge, drinking it in with insatiable curiosity.
This new intelligence didn't merely provide him with processing power he had never known; it ignited an insatiable need to connect the neurons firing across his relentlessly active brain.
Everyone of his synapses seemed to spark with urgency, each thought demanding to be linked, analyzed, and understood.
But it wasn't just the knowledge.
It was a rush, a hunger to map, a need to predict, and the relentless ambition to master every fragment of information flowing into him.
"All I know are two things: the 'Divine Rules' and the board's 'pieces,'" Merlyn sighed, attempting to tidy the papers, only for Ricky to knock them over with his foot.
"Will you-........I was never interested in their game with their weak pieces-" Merlyn huffed, angrily turning his gaze back up to Ricky, who only smiled.
"So, the president is a piece, right?" Ricky said, nodding along as Merlyn scowled at being forced to reciprocate the gesture.
"I'd assume so," Merlyn muttered, shrugging his rotted shoulder as the motion sparked a sudden thought in Ricky's mind.
"Didn't you control Britain-"
"Yes, but I only controlled it in favor of Camelot. If it was prospering, I never intervened unless I was forced to." Merlyn interrupted, dismissing the thought before Ricky could fully grasp the idea of understanding the pieces of the world.
"But?" Ricky once again said, raising an eyebrow as he gestured Merlyn to continue from the very thing he was leaving out.
SIGH
"But it is said that the elder of the High Table made a deal with the Council of Godheads, granting them access to information about the games, specifically, the pieces." Merlyn finally said, fueling Ricky's growing curiosity.
"Now, onto the most important matter," Merlyn said, his voice grave as he raised his gaze to Ricky, emphasizing the weight of his next point.
"It's about the cities you chose for this expansion. I mean, why aren't all of these port cities?" Merlyn asked, frowning at what he considered his stupidest idea yet, smacking the papers in frustration.
"It seems rather idiotic to not start with the coasts and trickle in-"
"Slam your head into the beam again-"
BAM
"Wait, that was actually a way better idea than mine." Ricky frowned, the realization dawning on him just as Merlyn's head tilted back up, dazed, the faintest shimmer of ghostly stars circling above his skull.
"Whatever, let's just go with my plan."
"Your plan stinks worse than my rotted flesh." Merlyn muttered, rubbing the fresh dent in his forehead.
"Yet, it still smells better than your epic failure at my hands." Ricky shot back with a smug shrug.
Watching Merlyn open his mouth to retort, then stopped, exhaled sharply through his nose, and scoffed at the sheer uselessness of arguing with him.
"But what about the Divine Rules?" Ricky pressed, pushing Merlyn's irritable demeanor aside to focus on the bigger picture.
"All I know is that as long as you do not interfere with the pieces, you can play the board however you like." Merlyn muttered, his skeletal fingers rubbing at his forehead and picking at a fragment of his rotted flesh before flicking it aside.
"Was that so hard?" Ricky asked, only to watch Merlyn spin around in a huff, hurriedly cleaning up the stacks of papers he had just kicked over.
"C'mon, you know you wanna say-"
"IT ALWAYS IS WITH YOU, THERE, HAPPY!?" Merlyn screamed, glaring as Ricky casually placed a hand over his heart.
It was as if Ricky could feel the pulse of his own small victory, the satisfaction of seeing how easily he could get under Merlyn's rotted skin lingering just a moment longer, sweet and refreshing.
Before he opened another portal.
"Later, dickwad!" Ricky laughed heartily, Alexander joining in as they marched through what appeared to be door number three, arriving in front of a set of double doors.
Adjusting his suit, Ricky took a steadying breath, and Alexander mirrored him, both bracing themselves for the challenge beyond.
These doors weren't just guarding a prize, they were the threshold to the showcase itself.
Ricky had to perfectly gauge the stakes, the constants slowly settling into place as he steeled himself, though not for the board.
But for the seductive challenge of the woman before him, who he wished craved his cock as much as his power.
BAM
As the doors swung open, they revealed Selene, sitting in the same booth, leaning back with an elegance that contrasted the tension in the room.
Yet instead of a hateful sneer or a sour expression, she greeted him with a warm, inviting smile.
And as if Ricky couldn't feel more unnerved, her voice carried a warmth that was entirely foreign to someone as heartlessly cold as she was, sending an unexpected shiver down his spine.
"Ricky, I want to apologize for our earlier grievances."
The words slipped from Selene's pressed, black-lipsticked lips, carrying a kindness that felt almost too genuine to be real.
Almost immediately, Ricky's eyes darted across the room, tracing shadows and angles, searching for the trap he was certain would follow from this moment.
Even Alexander mirrored him, joining in the performance as he theatrically scanned the Stork Club, as if the entire place could detonate at any second.
This went on for several minutes, the conversation that should have unfolded constantly interrupted by Ricky's reflexive habit, extending his hand toward the doorway, then snatching it back just as quickly.
Desperately trying to bait whatever trap he imagined at the doorway, Ricky kept extending his hand only to pull it back instantly.
All while Selene's warm smile began to twitch, a subtle but aggressive annoyance creeping into her expression.
"I'm serious-"
"Uh huh." Ricky muttered, pushing his hand forward again, only to yank it back just as quickly.
"It's not a trap-"
"That's exactly what someone who set up a trap would say." Ricky replied, tilting his head toward the ceiling, eyes scanning for any sign of danger, as if expecting the very rafters to collapse on him.
SIGH
While Ricky surveyed his own club, his sharp green eyes scanning for traps that didn't even exist, Selene massaged her temples, her expression caught between exhaustion and irritation.
While he had been busy messing with the President, she had been wrestling with her own thoughts.
From the start, her approach to Ricky was like a single blade of grass standing apart in a field, ordinary.
To the world, Ricky Luciano was an anomaly, a force that had no right to rise so fast.
He tore through ceilings meant to cage others, shattering expectations as if they were nothing more than paper walls.
And yet, he did it.
But there was something unnaturally precise, almost predatory, about the speed of his ascent.
It unsettled those who witnessed it, leaving them disoriented and uncomfortable each time they saw him surpass yet another ceiling, always climbing, always moving beyond what they thought possible.
To put it simply, watching him rise wasn't just unsettling, it was infuriating.
Selene had watched countless mutants rise, fall, and fade into irrelevance.
But Ricky was different, and that truth burned her pride more than she cared to admit.
For someone like her, someone who sat on the High Table, commanded respect, and had lived for centuries to build her power to the heights it rested at.
Watching a once-insignificant thug climb so close to her level wasn't inspiring.
It was infuriating.
Yet, there was an undeniable allure to it.
The more Ricky defied her, the more he pressed against the walls of her pride, the more she found herself unable to look away.
His arrogance, his unpredictability, the way he looked at her as though he could see right through her.
A part of her wanted to crush it.
And another part wanted to keep him close.
Because deep down, beneath her rage and sense of superiority, Selene realized that the approach she had long dismissed as beneath her was exactly what she needed to reach Ricky Luciano.
"Come, sit." Selene smiled warmly, patting the seat beside her.
Ricky raised an eyebrow, but his gaze couldn't help drifting to her cleavage, which seemed more pronounced than before.
Despite Alexander's constant mutterings to restrain himself, Ricky eventually found himself sliding into the seat beside her, his gaze lingering on the beauty mark gracing her left breast.
"I was wrong~" Selene admitted, her voice almost cracking over the three hardest words in her vocabulary.
Ricky, however, didn't flinch, simply raising an eyebrow at the clear lie ringing in his mind.
"Oh yeah?" Ricky chuckled, deciding to play along, especially as she slowly rested her hand on his thigh.
"Oh boy-" Alexander muttered, scrunching his furry brows as he leaned onto the table, bracing himself for what was about to unfold.
"Yes, I was wrong, and I truly want to sit down with you, on equal terms~" Selene interrupted in a sensual tone, dipping just enough to let her cleavage catch Ricky's gaze, blatant in its invitation.
"What can I do to make it up to you? Name it-" Selene asked, her voice soft, yet laced with a dangerous allure.
"What are you doing right now-" Ricky muttered, eyes narrowing as he felt her touch inch up along his leg.
"Tell us about this game of gods," Alexander urged, stepping forward to cut off any diversion before it could start, while Ricky's gaze stubbornly stayed locked on Selene's hand, slowly tracing its deliberate path up his pant leg.
"Nah, who cares about that." Ricky said lazily, leaning his head back against the booth as Selene raised an eyebrow.
"Ricky-"
"Tell me all you know about FDR." Ricky interrupted, pivoting Alexander's question into something that caught his interest.
"The defect?" Selene scoffed, her expression flickering toward a sneer before she quickly masked it with a controlled smile.
"But what about the game of the gods? I'd be happy-"
"I already know about that, after getting mixed up with Gaea." Ricky bluffed, lying through his teeth, which only made Alexander glance sideways in confusion.
"It's not my concern right now since, as you know, they can't touch me."
The words were deliberate, almost thrown like bait.
But this time, Ricky wasn't just speaking like a child who constantly had to ask questions and bluntly reveal his ignorance, right now, he was testing something.
That thought had been gnawing at him since his encounter in the Oval Office, a sudden, chilling hypothesis that crept into his mind like a revelation: as long as he didn't hurt the president, whatever was behind him couldn't act.
And he intended to use that single revelation to bait Selene into revealing her cards first.
"Gaea, the Gaea?" Selene repeated, her smile vanishing as she emphasized the name, testing whether he was lying, but Ricky only shrugged.
"I did her a favor when I kicked Merlyn's ass, and she let me in on some things, in exchange for other things." Ricky continued this lie, his gaze flicking to the side as his fingers tapped against the booth.
"Like-"
"C'mon Selene, y'know that's not how it works with me~" Ricky smiled, turning back to Selene and winking at her.
"How about now?" Selene murmured, her hand slowly sliding up his pant leg, edging closer to his crotch.
"You're getting close." Ricky muttered, watching her fingernails hover over the outline of his now-erect cock.
"Just a little more-"
"What do you know of the Divine Rules?" Selene cut in abruptly, greedily halting her hand just above his cock, breaking the tension.
SIGH
"Enough to know that Gaea stiffed me about this whole defect thing." Ricky sighed, Raven's skills fully taking over as he wearily massaged his features.
"I mean, she showed me the board but left out the pieces, like, are you f*cking kidding me?" Ricky said, stringing together jargon and hoping Selene would take the bait.
Even if Selene suspected he was lying, one name immediately came to mind.
It was already well known what Ricky did to his victims, and she had already assumed that Merlyn, Gaea's former favorite disciple, was privy to knowledge of the games that no other eyes could see.
"How about this: you tell me about these pieces, and I'll tell you everything I know about the Divine Rules." Ricky proposed, flashing a toothy, salesman-like grin as Selene paused for a moment, processing the offer.
"Ha~" Selene let out a small, reluctant chuckle, lifting her other hand to partially cover her wrinkling features that betrayed a trace of amusement.
Then, without warning, her laughter erupted, filling the room.
"HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!" Selene bellowed, clutching her stomach as genuine laughter shook her shoulders.
A sound so vividly alive it felt almost alien, cutting through her centuries-hardened composure, a laugh she hadn't allowed herself to have in ages.
"You really do know how to make a girl laugh." Selene chuckled, wiping away a tear as her long, black nails grazed the smooth ridges beneath her eyes.
"The only beings on this earth who know of this game are the elder and the high table, is it-"
"C'mon~" Ricky teased, nudging her lightly as he slyly grabbed her hand and guided it against his crotch, a smirk spreading across his face as the audacity made Selene laugh even harder.
"I'll show you mine if you show me yours~"
Honestly speaking, this was Selene's perfect chance to ensnare Ricky in the entire fiasco with the Berlin Continental.
Every day, the adjudicator checked in on her project, pressuring her on the progress, until she learned that the Harbinger would arrive in two weeks if no results were produced.
But Selene was never one for mediocrity.
She wanted mastery.
Be it over men, over events, and even over the whims of the gods themselves.
Like many of her kind, she hungered for more than what she already possessed.
So, while she could have taken the safe, calculated route, ensuring moderate returns.
She made a choice.
Selene decided to gamble everything on this infuriatingly known nitwit before her: the investment that was Ricky Luciano.
"Do you know what this is?" Selene asked, her fingers seeming to manipulate an object out of thin-air, until it materialized perfectly into her other palm.
"A golden stick?" Ricky guessed, squinting at the object in her hand.
"It is a stick from the River styx-'
SIGH
"Yeah, yeah~" Ricky groaned, already familiar with the ridiculousness of the Greek myth, as he took hold of the other end.
"I swear by the River Styx to tell all I know about the pieces-."
"You mean the pieces the gods use in their so-called game of gods," Ricky interrupted, chuckling at the predictable wordplay he had grown accustomed to by now.
"I swear by the River Styx to tell all I know about the pieces the gods use in their game of gods." Selene said, rolling her eyes and just playing along.
"I swear by the River Styx to all I know-"
"And Merlyn." Selene quickly interrupted, mirroring Ricky's own words as the latter only smirked.
"I swear by the Riverstux to tell you everything I know and everything that Merlyn knows about the divine rules of the game of gods." Ricky purposely said, emphasizing each word, knowing that specificity tightened and loosened the restrictions around the oath.
"That we will keep what we say between us." Ricky and Selene said in unison, their eyes locking as the golden stick glowed, light spiraling around them.
"Where you like to-"
"At the beginning."
Author's Note: Ik it's a short chap and I wanted to just finish it off it write the good stuff.