The death of a god was never so simple.
In the divine realm, one of the statues of the Twelve Main Gods—eternal figures worshipped and admired by mortals—suddenly dimmed. At the same time, within the minds of the gods, an eternal point of connection flickered out.
Zeus awoke at once from his meditative rest. The loss of Perseus had been tolerable; he was but a demigod. But this—this was the fall of a true god. Even if Hermes had been the weakest among them, it was nothing less than a direct provocation against the gods themselves.
And worse: the existence capable of killing a god was now proven real.
Of course, not all gods were thinking in the same direction. For some, Hermes's death meant opportunity. His Mecha God body had vanished with him. Since they had all crossed the stars together, built from the same batch, his remains could be remade and used as precious materials to repair their own bodies.
Several gods quickly dispatched messengers to the location of Hermes's last signal.
But they arrived too late.
Aslan had already taken Hermes's body, leaving behind only a scattering of useless fragments. It was bait—if the gods wanted to quarrel over scraps, let them. With luck, they might even turn on each other.
Still, Aslan knew better than to hope for much. Zeus's authority remained strong enough to suppress conflict. Should he claim the fragments first, he would absorb them into his own stockpile. If the others found them instead, they would likely compromise before allowing infighting so soon after a god's death.
Aslan longed to dissect Hermes on the spot, but this battlefield was far too exposed. Instead, he set his sights on a more suitable location: the holy city built by mortals who called themselves the "Children of God." Hidden deep in the wilderness, the site could become a perfect base once properly fortified.
It was remote enough that no one would stumble upon it by chance. Once, it had been barren, without even water to sustain life. Only Aslan's adjustments to the underground veins using fae script had created a habitable land. In his own world, the region had grown fertile thanks to fragments of the God of Agriculture's body. But in this world, that god still lived among the Twelve. No such miracle could exist here.
Fortunately, Hermes's massive body fit neatly into a spatial containment box. The storage imposed no crushing gravitational burden. Without such a device, moving a Mecha God carcass would have been impossible.
Aslan withdrew a peculiar vehicle from the box—something like a motorcycle, fitted with an additional passenger seat. He glanced at Estee Lauder, who had never seen such a machine.
"Think of it as a horse," he explained.
The words calmed her excitement and curiosity just enough. For now, escape was the priority.
Meanwhile, though the gods had not announced Hermes's death, his absence could not be concealed. The statues in the divine realm were cleaned daily. Servants would inevitably notice that Hermes's effigy no longer shone. Though none dared discuss it openly, rumors would spread in silence.
And in that silence, a spark of hope stirred in long-deadened eyes. If even a god could fall, then perhaps the age of their oppression was not eternal.
The gods' investigation, however, yielded little. But elsewhere, Hermes's absence was noticed for another reason. The magical conch guiding Hercules's actions relayed the same truth. Though Zeus had sent no word, the unnatural silence itself was confirmation: something had gone terribly wrong.
Hermes's messengers, once ever-present in the skies, had vanished as well. Even if wounded, they should have continued their task of gathering servants. Their sudden disappearance could mean only one thing—their master was gone.
Helen allowed herself a fleeting smile before quickly masking it. She turned to glance at Hercules, walking silently behind her. Soon, she thought, it would be time to deliver a gift to those who resisted the gods. Hercules—the greatest of heroes, who had never bowed to Olympus—would be that gift.
The only question was whether those mortals would recognize the truth before it was too late.
Helen had never strayed far from Aslan's path. Now, as she gazed upon a secluded valley, she was certain: the one who had slain Hermes was within.
She patted Hercules lightly on the shoulder, pointing forward.
"Go, Hercules. May you find the ending you desire."
With a roar, the hero charged straight into the valley.
Inside, Aslan had just released Hermes's body. The immense corpse of the Mecha God filled half the ravine. Drawing the Holy Sword, Aslan infused it with mana until it blazed with dazzling light, then brought it down in a single decisive stroke.
With a deafening crash, Hermes's thrusters were cleaved free.
Aslan did not intend to use them all for Justice, his own masterpiece. He would reserve some for Estee Lauder.
Curiosity stirred within him. With her own talent and imagination, what kind of machine could she forge, given the raw materials of a god?
Unlike him, she was no soul from another world. Her ideas and methods had been shaped by the limits of this age. But his arrival had opened a window—and through that window, Estee Lauder might yet glimpse a new horizon.
-End Chapter-
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