The King of Gods had returned to his throne, the sound of his decree still vibrating across the cosmic expanse. The Divine Assembly, its judgment concluded and its parameters set, began to dissipate. Gods of every race—those supporting the Dragons, the Giants, the Myrmidons, and the crystalline Lumina—filed out, their focus shifting from judgment to the practicalities of war. They carried cold contempt for Gaia's gamble and a chilling certainty of humanity's impending second failure.
Gaia stood for a moment, letting the wave of hostility pass over her. Then, she turned to the three beings who had defied the Pantheon's consensus and shouldered the burden of her hope: The Buddha, Jesus, and Loki.
She approached Loki first, the Trickster's form shimmering with an expectant, chaotic energy. "Loki," Gaia began, her voice a low harmony of gratitude and weary suspicion. "I am thankful for your support, though I confess I cannot grasp what you stand to gain from this chaos. I know not what mischief you are planning."
Loki gave her a wide, disarming grin that held a dozen untold betrayals. He brushed off her thanks with a casual flick of his wrist. "Mischief? Gaia, darling, I simply abhor predictability. The rest of the Assembly was settling into a nice, boring routine of omnipotence. Annihilation is dull. A rescue by a teary-eyed Mother Earth, followed by a rigged battle royale where the weakest race wins against the favorites? That, my dear, is high art. I did it for the fun of it."
The Buddha chuckled softly, his presence a calm eye in the eye of the storm. "You speak with the honesty of a human, Trickster. Self-interest, yet driven by the need to feel—to experience the drama." He turned to Gaia. "Do not be misled, Mother Earth. The essence of the human spirit is not just the potential for enlightenment, but the inexhaustible capacity for striving. They are creatures of constant effort, ceaselessly trying to fill the void, often by hurting one another, but sometimes, by reaching for the sublime."
Jesus nodded in agreement with the Buddha, his gaze fixed on the void where Earth had perished. "You focus on their striving, Lord, but I focus on their heart. They are capable of true, selfless grace. They have a boundless capacity for love, compassion, and forgiveness—not just for others, but for themselves. That ability to redeem the moment after the mistake... that is a resource greater than any physical might. It is the ability to change, fundamentally and instantly, which makes them unpredictable, even to us."
Gaia felt the weight lift once more. She was not fighting for ambition or brute force; she was fighting for the possibility of Grace and Evolution—the two opposing forces that defined humanity.
"I see it now," Gaia murmured, her eyes clearing. "My thanks to you all. I will not squander this chance."
The four divine beings exchanged final nods, the brief alliance sealed. It was time to join the others.
The great Pantheon—all those who would send a race to participate in the trial—gathered in the ultimate void, where the remnants of a dozen dead timelines coalesced. It was a place of raw, unformed potential.
The gods arranged themselves in a vast, shimmering circle, each one representing a core pillar of cosmic law or a patron to a powerful, favored race. Their collective power was staggering; the simple act of their concentration caused the void to ripple and twist.
The King of Gods, having concluded the judgment, now assumed the role of the Architect. He stood in the center, his form growing until he towered over the Assembly, his presence now less twilight and more the infinite, structured dark of space itself.
"The time for deliberation is past," the King announced, his voice reverberating through time itself. "The terms are set: a single dimension, a neutral ground, a place where the rules of magic and physics will be stable but untested by our hands. A true crucible."
He looked at Gaia, his expression devoid of emotion. "You claimed the humans' potential lies in their unity and their ambition for a singular state. They shall have that stage."
The King of Gods raised his hands, drawing upon the concentrated will of every deity present. The raw energy of the void began to compress into a churning, nascent sphere.
"We shall create a world devoid of established boundaries," he commanded. "A singular, massive landmass where territorial struggle is not an option, but an inevitability. Where every race will find their domain immediately contested by their neighbors."
"Let it be known," the King of Gods proclaimed, his voice the sound of celestial hammers. "We shall forge Pangea."
The name Pangea—the single, unified continent of Earth's deep past—was fitting. It represented a world where every civilization began in immediate proximity, guaranteeing global conflict from day one.
The gods began to work. Aethel, the Dragon God, funneled the energy of volcanic fire and magma to forge the immense mountain ranges where his kin would roost, creating walls of impossible height and heat. Stone-Heart, the Giant God, poured his essence into the crust, giving the landmass an agonizing density and resilience, ensuring that the ground itself would be a grueling obstacle for Gaia's fragile humans.
Gods of the sea and sky created endless oceans and chaotic atmospheres, ensuring that no safe borders could be established. They were not merely designing a stage; they were designing a trap, a world hostile to the very concept of peace.
Gaia, too, contributed. She fed the essence of her former domain—the memories of every forest, every river, every life lost—into the central plains. Her effort was not one of defense, but of resilience. She ensured Pangea would have fertile ground to feed her starving kingdom, and enough raw, untamed nature to hide her vanguard until they could gather strength.
As the final, cosmic dust settled, a titanic, unified continent hung ready in the void—a dark, rugged jewel surrounded by storm-tossed seas. The King of Gods surveyed the creation, which thrummed with the raw magic and volatile energy needed to sustain the greatest war of the ages.