When a leader has a good day, their followers feel safe to also have a good day. Some of them may even go so far as to have fun. But when a leader has a bad day, everybody else has a bad day too, and woe betide any fun-having fool.

 

The [Grand Chancellor], supreme leader of the Aesir Church is having a very bad day.

 

“THIS IS UNACCEPTABLE!” The [Chancellor] roars with the full might of his aura. “FIX THIS NOW!” he orders. The [Tacticians] in the chambers avoid the [Chancellor’s] aggrieved gaze, and instead focus on the three dimensional map in the center of the room. Currently, the map is zoomed in from its usual display of Orbis to show Camelot and its immediate surroundings.

 

The object of the [Chancellors] ire rises into the sky just outside of Camelot’s walls. The blackened metal tower looms over the beleaguered city. The projection of its vicinity blurs and flickers. The [Chancellor] glares at the blurry image that updates in fits and starts.

 

“You’re Eminence, my sincerest apologies, but the augury does not function well within the domain of a dungeon.” the [Head Tactician] quickly explains. “It seems that the ambient mana has decor-”

 

“I DON'T CARE.” the chancellor interrupts. “You will fix the augury, or I will ma-” he stops as the image flickers and updates. Clouds roll over the tower and light up from below with a violet glow.

 

Before anyone can utter a word, the augury updates again. Undead narwhals drop from the clouds and across the battlefield, mayhem ensues as thousands of elementals are swallowed up by micro black holes.

 

Enraptured, the [Chancellor] stares at the unfolding chaos.

 

Then the image flickers again.

 

“NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO,” he screams as every remaining Titan is instantly annihilated. In their place, wide swaths of destruction stretch away from the tower in four directions.

 

After several angry breaths and more augury updates, the [Chancellor] finds the culprit of the destruction. In the blurry image, a man sits atop the tower with his legs dangling off the edge.

 

“Umbra should be in the area. Order him to end whoever that is.” he orders.

 

The quickest of the [Tacticans] yells, “Yes, your eminence,” and rushes to exit the room.

 

The tactician doesn't make it halfway before all the magic alarms go off. In the room, mana fluctuates violently and reality bends. A portal forms into existence, and a massive black knight floats out of it.

 

At the sight of the armored goliath, the [Tacticians] begin yelling for the [Guards].

 

The [Chancellor] ignores the yells, instead, his complete and utter focus is on the knight.

 

The knight turns towards the [Chancellor] and raises an open palm.

 

On the knight's palm is Umbra’s severed head.

 

The head's eyes dart and immediately focus on the chancellor.

 

The mouth opens.

 

“Heeellllpppp meeeeee.”

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I feel the vibrations under me as the tower changes. The metal of Babel morphs as though it was liquid. The alloy expands outward like an inflating balloon then separates into a cage exposing the massive, gleaming dungeon core. The land turns scarlet under its baleful ruddy glow.

 

I feel the dungeon’s domain grow larger and stronger as everywhere its light touches is assimilated under its control.

Around the base of the tower, thousands of metallic tentacles burrow into the ground. They delve ever deeper, seeking out the planet’s hidden veins of mana.

 

All at once, the dark metal tentacles of the tower burst into light as they suction mana into the core. The core brightens again, too brilliant now to look at, and its domain grows.

 

 

As the dungeon does its thing, I walk to the edge of the tower and take a seat. With my legs dangling off the edge, I open [Pandora’s Shadow] and retrieve Mimir’s diary.

 

Well, not really a diary per se, but more of an exaggerated autobiography by a narcissistic god.

 

The diary talks about his disappointment in the other gods, and his anger towards the system. Mimir didn’t choose to become a demi-god, but was forced to for the sake of survival.

 

Hundreds of thousands of years ago, Mimir was given a choice. Cease to exist as his believers were rapidly dying off, or give up godhood and become a [Demi-god]. In essence, the process of becoming a [Demi-god] required a complete reconstruction of his soul; the system fully and truly removed everything that had made him a divine being.

 

In essence, Mimir accepted mortality and blamed the system for his own choice.

 

 

 

 

 

_______________________________________________

 

I flip to a page in the diary that had been dog-eared by Mimir.

 

“The system is not a living entity like the [Admins], but actually an extraordinarily complicated, self sufficient spell built into the ambient mana of Orbis. The spell is self replicating and is powered by the entirety of the planet. So long as there is an adequate quantity of ambient mana present, the system will function ad-infinitum.”

 

I flip through to a second marked page.

 

“In my studies on the system, I have found that Dungeons, specifically the ambient mana in the dungeon, is not fully utilized by the system. Approximately 3.14159% of ambient mana within a dungeon is used for system functions. The rest is delegated to the dungeon.”

 

I flip to the third marked page near the end of the diary.

 

“After extended research and constant monitoring of the systems usage, I can conclude that the system requires a minimum of 6.02214076% ambient mana to function.”

 

I flip to the fourth marked page of the diary.

 

“The system, though immensely capable, is fraught with many flaws that it alone cannot mend. Thus, when said flaws arise, the system requests the aid of an administrator.”

 

Finally, I arrive at the final marked page.

 

“Further research has revealed that administrators are not above the system's laws as I’d expected. They are given power to manipulate the system, but with restrictions. One of these restrictions revolves around the subsystem integrated into the [Hero] class.”[Hero] class. More specifically, the integrated system connected to the class.”

 

I close the book when I finish reading and set it to my side. I refocus my attention on the next influx of messages.

 

___________________________________________________

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

_________________________________________________________

“Stop your sulking, Thor. You can always make another [Champion].” Odin chastises from upon his throne.

 

“I am not upset about his death,” Thor growls, “I am upset about how he died.”

 

He glares back at Odin, and then glares at all the other gods present. Most find it curious, for the god of thunder is rarely so unnerved.

 

“[Champions] should die in glorious battle against a foe as strong or stronger than them. No [Champion] should die for such a stupid, mundane reason!”

 

The gods grimace at Thor. They’d all seen Rymr Bolt atop the Titan of Lightning, prepared for glorious battle, only to be completely eviscerated by a ship's horn. It was a very quick, painless, and utterly pathetic death.

 

“A lost [Champion] is a small price to pay in comparison to the death of two titans.” Balder states confidently and with a slight grin. The god's formerly bombastic bravado has softened considerably as the war rages.

 

“All the titans,” Tyr kibitzes, “The four of them that still exist won’t for long.” he glances at Odin who sits upon his throne overlooking all the gods, “as you’ve explained, the resurrected titans are no longer able to regenerate damage to their cores. In time, the remaining four will eventually die.

 

Odin slowly nods. “The titans were never intended to survive the war.” he says, to noone’s surprise. “They were intended to be thrown into a city, get damaged, and then overwhelm the city with limitless elementals.”

 

“Two armies, a horde of demons, two domain capable elves and,” Tyr quibbles, “not to mention Mimir’s stupid tower. You must admit, Father, this is not going to plan.”

 

“Your dismay is understandable,” Frigg interjects, “But my husband cannot foresee everything.”

 

Just as everyone stares at the All-Father, his single eye widens and Odin screams. The god clutches his chest as he falls from his throne and rolls down the steps. When he reaches the bottom, the pain finally subsides. Frigg practically teleports next to Odin and lifts him off the ground.

 

“Stand,” she whispers only to him, “What has happened?” she asks aloud.

 

Odin takes a deep breath.

 

“Mimir's tower slaughtered all of the titans and elementals… and my [Chancellor] was just slain.”

 

Frigg grimaces, “I knew we should have ended Mimir while we had the chance. Has he joined the Olympians now? Why go against us now?”

 

“Mimir is dead,” Odin stands back up, “and has been for fifty thousand years. No, this is not the work of that hermit.”

 

His single eye glows vibrantly as he stares into the distance.

 

“This war.” he says after a moment, “Everything is preordained. This Chaos was manufactured. The lost artifacts getting found, the resurgence of the Egyption gods, the migration of the ancient races, the reappearance of Mimir’s tower, every little bit was planned.”

 

The gods glance at one another in apprehension.

 

Just then, the sound of slow claps echoes throughout the hall. Every pair, and one solitary divine eye swerve to the origin of the noise. Up the stairs, upon where Odin’s throne used to be, is a comfy lounge chair wherein a man in a red suit lounges. His white gloved hands slap each other in a relaxed rhythm as he stares down at the assembled gods with a mocking grin and a crazed glint in his eyes.

 

Once everyone's attention is on him, the man stops clapping.

 

“Truly,” he says, “it took you long enough to figure it out. But really, I can’t take all the credit for this one. I had some most excellent assistance. Verily, you get what you pay for.”

 

They frown at him.

 

“Who are you?” Thor is the first to speak. The god of thunder steps forward, ready for battle, not that there's much he can do against another god with the system's restrictions.

 

The suited man touched his chest in mock pain, “Oh, nephew, you pain me! Have you truly forgotten me, your bridesmaid?”

 

Thor glares. In consternation, he glances at the other Aesir, but no one else seems to recognize the intruder, except for one-

 

Odin glares at the interloper.

 

“Loki, it seems you escaped your confinement.”

 

At the mention of his name, the other gods gasp. They focus upon the man in a crimson tuxedo, but their memory of Loki differs completely from the one present.

 

“It's nice that you remember me, All-Father. So, very nice.”

 

Loki’s eyes roam across the other gods with disdain. As he does, the others stare at him warily.

 

Eventually, Tyr steps forward.

 

“I commend you, Loki, for escaping your banishment.” He waves his hands apart, “but this chaos, it is your doing, is it not? Why go against us? We fight a virtuous war against the Olympians. Should you not be our ally? Your actions have caused us much distress.”

 

Loki bursts into laughter. Uncontrollable, insane laughter that puts everyone on edge.

 

“Escaped? No, I survived my banishment. I was fated to die, with with only tenacity, I survived. Now- now it is time for my vengeance, and I deem you all guilty.”

 

Loki shows his perfectly made teeth as he directly stares at Odin, ”Especially you, All-Father. You are the most guilty of them all.”

 

In the heat of the moment, Bragi plucks a note on his lyre. “Ahhh, so much pain and pleasure. So much chaos. Such a story of survival and vengeance.” He dances in a circle with glee, “I will sing! I will sing the tales of this feud. I will sing of rising [Champions], of violent war, of the Chaos to manifest by divine will!”

 

“Bragi is right,” Heimdall announces, “we will fight back. We will bind you again beneath the serpent. Now that you’ve revealed yourself, your plans will no longer go unnoticed.”

 

Loki laughs again. Delighted, he covers his face with his hand and finally laughs into his fist till he can calm down.

 

“You all don't understand. You don't comprehend. This war is already over. The only thing left is to slowly execute the leaders.”

 

The gods look at each other, confused, then, abruptly, they all receive a message.

 

They feel their connections to the system end. The ever present flow of power and faith disappears and they collapse to their knees at the mercy of one monstrous soul.

 

The soul in question stands up from the luxurious chair.

 

Loki extends a hand and materializes a baseball bat. He walks slowly down the stairs with the bat resting on his shoulder.

 

“I could have ended this far sooner by eliminating all of Orbis, but that would be so very boring and impersonal.”

 

He reaches the bottom of the stares and stops directly in front of Odin's bowed and aged figure.

 

Odin glares at Loki “The administrators-,”

 

“Are asleep,” Loki interrupts with a smile, “and they won't be awakening until the system reboots- more than enough time for me to have a bit of fun.”

 

Loki takes a stance with the bat and swings. And swings. And swings. And swings…