Cg1
Chains, Gods, and Cheap Bread: The Divine Court of a Dumbass King
Chapter 1: The Summoning of Seven Infinities
The spring rain fell like judgment on Tokyo's forgotten corners. In the narrow alley behind a crumbling konbini with flickering lights, fourteen-year-old Denji huddled beneath a soggy cardboard box, watching his breath cloud in the evening air. His stomach growled loud enough to drown out the distant traffic, a hollow pain that had become his constant companion.
"Shut up already," he muttered to his belly, pressing a hand against it. "I know, I know. We'll find something."
Three days without a proper meal had left him hollow-eyed and weak. The part-time dish-washing job he'd counted on had evaporated when the restaurant owner found someone older, someone who wouldn't need to be paid under the table. Someone not living alone since his father's suicide and the loan sharks had taken everything else.
Denji pulled his thin jacket tighter around his shoulders. It did little to keep out the chill of the spring rain, but it was all he had. His world had collapsed six months ago when he found his father hanging from the ceiling, a crumpled note explaining that the debt collectors would take everything anyway, so what was the point? The memory still came to him in nightmares, along with the faces of the men who'd emptied their apartment the very next day.
At fourteen, Denji had slipped through the cracks of every system designed to catch falling children. Too stubborn to go into foster care, too proud to beg openly, he'd survived on odd jobs, convenience store discards, and the occasional kindness of strangers who didn't look too closely at his age.
Lightning flashed, illuminating the abandoned shrine tucked behind the convenience store—a forgotten wooden structure with peeling paint and a half-collapsed roof. Denji had passed it dozens of times but never ventured inside. Superstition, perhaps, or the rumors among local kids that it was haunted.
But tonight, freezing and soaked to the bone, superstition seemed a small price to pay for shelter.
"Better than drowning," he decided, abandoning his cardboard shelter and sprinting through the downpour.
The shrine door creaked open at his touch, revealing darkness thick as velvet. Denji fumbled for his lighter—the only possession besides his clothes that he still owned—and flicked it to life. The tiny flame revealed dust-heavy air, cobwebs, and an interior untouched for what must have been decades. The altar was bare, any offerings or sacred objects long since removed or stolen. Only faded calligraphy on aged scrolls gave any hint to which deity once received worship here.
"Hello?" he called, voice echoing. "Just staying dry. Don't mind me."
No answer, of course. Just more thunder outside, rattling the ancient walls that leaked in a dozen places, though still drier than the alley.
Denji ventured deeper into the shrine, his stomach cramping violently. He doubled over, waiting for the pain to pass. Three days was pushing it, even for him. Usually he managed to scrounge something at least every other day, but the unusually cold spring had driven even the usual homeless population to seek more competitive shelter spots, leaving him without his normal fallback locations.
"Maybe some monk left emergency rations or something," he mumbled, half-delirious with hunger, moving toward what appeared to be a back room.
The lighter's flame suddenly caught something metallic on the floor—a gleam of gold that shouldn't have been there. Denji crouched down, brushing away decades of dust to reveal an intricate circular pattern etched into the floorboards, inlaid with what looked like real gold. Geometric shapes, ancient writing, and seven distinct points formed a perfect star within the circle.
"Woah," Denji whispered, his pain temporarily forgotten. "Think of all the cup ramen this gold could buy..."
He traced one finger along the nearest line, feeling a strange vibration beneath his touch. The sensation was oddly warm, almost comforting—like the memory of his mother's hand stroking his hair before she died, a memory so faded he sometimes wondered if he'd invented it.
"Wonder if this thing'll gimme food..." he said absently, stomach twisting again with a pain so sharp it made his vision blur.
As if responding to his words, the circle began to glow. Not just reflect the lighter flame, but actually emit golden light, pulsing in rhythm with Denji's racing heartbeat.
"Uh..."
Too late to back away. The floorboards cracked beneath him, sending splinters flying as the golden light intensified, blinding him. Denji felt the world lurch sideways, as if reality itself was bending around him. Gravity seemed to reverse, then twist, then cease entirely.
For one endless moment, he hung suspended in nothingness—no shrine, no Tokyo, no earth beneath him. Just Denji, alone in a golden void that somehow felt like it had always existed, waiting only for him to stumble into it.
Then seven distinct pulses of light, each a different color, shot through the emptiness. They circled him like curious predators, drawing closer with each revolution. Denji felt their attention—their impossible, ancient focus—land on him with suffocating weight.
"I just wanted a sandwich!" Denji screamed into the void, his voice both swallowed by the nothingness and somehow amplified beyond comprehension.
The lights converged, and reality shattered.
When Denji regained consciousness, he was still in the shrine, sprawled on his back. But the roof was gone completely, revealing a night sky impossibly clear, stars gleaming like they never did above Tokyo's light pollution. More unusual still: the rain had stopped, and the air felt different—charged somehow, like the moment before lightning strikes.
His skin tingled with residual energy, and the gnawing hunger that had been his constant companion seemed momentarily suspended, replaced by an odd numbness.
Then he noticed he wasn't alone.
Seven women stood in a perfect circle around him, their feet positioned precisely at the seven points of the star in the summoning circle. The golden inlay now pulsed with gentle light, casting their faces in an otherworldly glow.
"Uh..." Denji scrambled backward, crab-walking until his back hit a wall. "Who...?"
The tallest woman stepped forward, her movements fluid and precise. Her skin literally glowed with inner radiance, her white and gold robes flowing around her as if gravity held only loose suggestions for her. A crown of pure light hovered above her head, and her eyes—a metallic gold that matched the circle—regarded him with a mixture of confusion and imperial authority.
"I am Mitra, Sovereign of Devotion and Light, Ruler of the Divine Court of the Seven Heavens, Keeper of the Eternal Flame, and Guardian of Oaths." Her voice resonated with authority that seemed to vibrate the air itself, each syllable carrying the weight of eons. "Child, explain yourself. By what right have you summoned the Council of Eternals from their appointed realms?"
Denji blinked rapidly, wondering if extreme hunger had finally caused him to hallucinate. "I... touched the circle? I was hungry?"
Another woman stepped forward—this one with a gentle face framed by hair the color of twilight, and flowing blue robes that seemed to ripple like water even when she stood still. Her eyes held impossible compassion, and something about her presence made the shrine feel warmer, safer.
"The boy is starving, Mitra. Can't you sense it?" She knelt beside Denji and touched his forehead with cool fingers. Instantly, the painful hunger pangs vanished, though the emptiness remained. "I am Marie, child. Some call me Goddess of Mercy, though names are merely shadows of truth."
"Titles matter little now," said a third woman, her skin copper-dark and her four arms bedecked with golden bangles that chimed like distant bells when she moved. Unlike the others, whose power seemed contained, hers radiated outward—a barely leashed storm of destruction and creation held in perfect balance. She alone carried visible weapons—a gleaming trident in one hand, a circular blade in another, a bow in the third, and what looked like a small ritual dagger in the fourth. "I sense the binding already taking hold. I am Durga, maintainer of cosmic balance, destroyer of demons, preserver of order. And you, child, have entangled us in something beyond even my comprehension."
"Binding? What binding?" Denji looked between them, increasingly confused. Their clothes, their speech, their entire presence seemed like something from a fantasy movie or anime—but with an undeniable reality to them that no cosplay could ever achieve. "Are you... cosplayers? Is this some weird TV show?"
A fourth woman in medieval plate armor with a sword at her hip knelt down beside Marie. She had short blonde hair and intense eyes the color of summer sky that seemed to search Denji's face for something specific. Her armor gleamed with a light that came from nowhere, and a faint halo—barely perceptible but definitely present—hovered around her head.
"I am Jeanne. Once called d'Arc by mortals." She frowned, her expression troubled as she studied him. "You bear no holy marks, no signs of prophecy. Your soul is ordinary—brave but wounded. Yet the summoning accepted you as worthy. This contradicts all divine law."
Before Denji could respond, he noticed the fifth woman, who hadn't moved or spoken. She wore a simple red leather jacket over a white kimono and stared at him with eyes so intense he felt naked beneath her gaze. Something about her was different from the others—colder, sharper, like a knife's edge personified. While the others radiated power outward, hers seemed turned inward, concentrated to a point of absolute stillness.
"Shiki Ryougi," she said simply, her voice soft but cutting through the air like a blade. "I see the death of all things. But not yours. Why can't I see yours?"
A cheerful voice interrupted from behind him. "Oh, that's probably part of the binding! Fascinating structure it has, don't you think? Seven-point convergence, reality-anchored compulsion threads, metaphysical symbiosis... whoever designed this was a genius! Or completely mad. Possibly both!"
Denji whirled to find two more women he hadn't noticed. One had platinum-blonde hair, crimson eyes, and wore what looked like an expensive white dress, complete with gloves. She was lying on her side, propped up on one elbow, examining a bottle of sake she'd produced from somewhere. Despite her casual posture, something predatory lurked in her gaze, and her smile revealed unnervingly sharp canines.
"Arcueid Brunestud," she introduced herself with a lazy smile. "True Ancestor, Princess of the Crimson Moon, et cetera, et cetera. This dump have any decent alcohol? Interdimensional travel always gives me a thirst."
The final woman—girl?—looked the most normal at first glance. Blue hair tied back, a simple outfit that seemed oddly modern compared to the others. But her eyes held swirling galaxies inside them, and her smile radiated a cheerfulness that seemed utterly incongruous with the situation. She bounced on her toes, vibrating with an energy that made the air around her shimmer slightly.
"I'm Rimuru!" she said brightly, extending a hand to help Denji up. "Technically a slime who stole this form, but who's counting? I can make anything, destroy anything, be anything. Ooh, are you hungry? I could whip something up! What do you like? Sweet? Savory? I can do fusion! Molecular gastronomy! Dishes from worlds humans haven't even discovered yet!"
Denji hesitantly took her hand, letting her pull him to his feet. Despite her slight appearance, her strength was effortless. "I don't understand any of this. Who are you people? Why are you here? What's happening?"
Mitra stepped forward again, her expression troubled. Light pulsed around her in agitated waves. "We are not 'people,' child. We are primordial forces given form, concepts made flesh, divinity walking. And somehow, you have bound us to yourself."
"Bound you? I didn't—"
"It's true," Marie said softly. "Can't you feel it? The connection between us all?"
And suddenly, Denji could. Seven distinct threads of energy, each a different color, stretching from his chest to each of theirs. Not visible exactly, but undeniably present, like having seven new limbs he'd never noticed before. Each connection felt different—Mitra's rigid and formal, Marie's gentle and warm, Durga's tensely balanced, Jeanne's steadfast and dutiful, Shiki's razor-sharp, Arcueid's wild and unpredictable, and Rimuru's buoyant and fluid.
"That's... not possible," he whispered, trying to step backward but finding himself rooted to the spot. "I'm nobody. I'm just a hungry kid."
"Hunger can be the most powerful motivator in any realm," Durga said, her expression grim. "I've already tried breaking it." She raised her trident, which glowed with divine fire, and brought it down against one of the invisible bonds. The weapon bounced off harmlessly, sending vibrations through all seven connections. "The bond is beyond even my power to sever."
"Mine too!" Rimuru added cheerfully. "And I can literally rewrite reality, so that's saying something."
Arcueid took a swig directly from her sake bottle, then wiped her mouth with the back of her gloved hand. "So we're stuck with the kid. Great. At least he's cute in a pathetic, half-starved sort of way."
Denji felt his face heat up. "I'm not a kid! I'm fourteen!"
"He's practically an infant," Jeanne muttered, looking pained. "Not even old enough for conscription."
Shiki hadn't stopped staring at him. Her eyes narrowed slightly as she circled Denji, examining him from every angle. "You don't have a death. Everything has a death. The stars have deaths. Gods have deaths. I can see the lines where anything can be severed from existence. Why don't you have a death?"
Denji shuddered at her clinical assessment. "Is that... bad?"
"It's unprecedented," Mitra said before Shiki could respond. The sovereign raised her hand, commanding silence. The very air stilled at her gesture. "What is your name, child who has bound us?"
"D-Denji. Just Denji."
"No family name?"
Denji shook his head. "Not anymore."
Something flickered across Mitra's face—a fleeting softness quickly replaced by her regal demeanor. "Well, Just Denji," Mitra said, her voice heavy with resignation and a trace of genuine confusion, "it appears you are now our master."
The word 'master' hung in the air like a physical thing, causing all seven women to flinch slightly, as if the concept itself pained them.
"Wait, what? No, no, no," Denji waved his hands frantically. "I don't want to be anyone's master! I just want... I just want..."
His stomach growled loudly, finishing the sentence for him. Despite Marie's touch muting the pain, the fundamental emptiness remained.
Marie smiled gently. "You want food. Let's start there."
Rimuru clapped her hands. "One proper meal coming up!" She spun in place, energy swirling around her hands like sapphire ribbons, and suddenly the entire shrine transformed.
The broken walls repaired themselves, the missing roof materialized, and the dusty interior became a cozy living space with a kitchen, dining table, and comfortable furniture. Delicious smells wafted from pots that appeared on a stove that hadn't existed moments before, and warm light glowed from paper lanterns hanging from the newly-created ceiling.
"There!" Rimuru beamed, looking inordinately pleased with herself. "Much better! Hope you like curry! And tempura! And miso soup! And steamed rice! And I made some Western dishes too, just in case! And dessert! Seven different kinds!"
Denji's jaw dropped. "How did you...?"
"Creation magic," Arcueid yawned, examining her nails as if bored, though her eyes betrayed a flicker of admiration. "Child's play for a primordial slime."
"I could have done that," Mitra muttered, looking irritated. "With more elegance and historical accuracy to the architectural details."
"But you didn't," Durga pointed out, her four arms crossing simultaneously.
"I was addressing the immediate crisis," Mitra sniffed.
"The shrine's spiritual alignment is still off," Jeanne observed, running her gauntleted hand along a wall. "Is this place consecrated properly for habitation by divine beings?"
"I added a blessing matrix to the foundation," Rimuru explained. "Triple-layered divine barriers with extradimensional pocket spaces to accommodate our collective auras without reality fracture!"
"In Japanese, please," Arcueid sighed.
"It won't explode from having us all here," Rimuru clarified with a grin.
Shiki had moved to stand directly behind Denji, still staring at the back of his head with unnerving intensity. "Still no death," she murmured. "Fascinating. Even with time and causality restored around us."
Denji looked between them all, overwhelmed. Seven impossibly beautiful, impossibly powerful beings, apparently bound to him forever—and all he could think about was the curry. The smell was driving him to distraction, reminding him how desperately empty he was.
"Can I... can I eat now?" he asked hesitantly.
Seven pairs of eyes turned to him, expressions ranging from amusement to irritation to analytical curiosity. But all of them felt the tug of the bond, the impossible command in his simple request.
"Of course," Marie said, already moving toward the kitchen. "Let me serve you. You should sit after such an ordeal."
"I'll prepare it properly," Mitra countered, suddenly beside Marie. "Divine sustenance requires proper ritual presentation."
"I know what humans need nutritionally," Rimuru chimed in. "I made the food calibrated exactly for his metabolic requirements!"
"The boy needs protein first," Durga stated firmly, joining the kitchen congregation. "Muscle before luxury."
Jeanne looked torn between guarding Denji and supervising the food preparation. "Is it safe? Has anyone tested it?"
"Oh for—" Arcueid pushed herself to her feet with a dramatic sigh. "It's food, not a battlefield. Let the kid eat before he passes out."
In the end, it was Shiki who silently took a bowl, filled it with rice and curry, added a portion of each side dish, and brought it to Denji with a pair of chopsticks.
"Eat," she said simply. "Death may not touch you, but starvation still can."
Denji didn't need to be told twice. He accepted the bowl with shaking hands and began to devour the meal with a speed born of genuine desperation. It was, without question, the most delicious thing he'd ever tasted—perfectly spiced, expertly prepared, with a depth of flavor that seemed almost supernatural.
For a long moment, the shrine was quiet except for the sounds of Denji eating. The seven divine beings watched him with expressions ranging from satisfaction to curiosity to something like tenderness.
"Slow down," Marie advised gently after Denji nearly choked. "The food isn't going anywhere."
"Sorry," he mumbled around a mouthful of rice. "Habit."
"A habit born of necessity, I think," Durga observed quietly.
Denji paused, suddenly self-conscious about his frantic eating. He looked around at the seven impossible women surrounding him, trying to make sense of what was happening. "So... you're all stuck with me now? Because I touched some gold circle while thinking about food?"
"The mechanics appear more complex than that," Mitra said, folding her hands in her voluminous sleeves. "The circle was dormant for centuries. It required specific activation parameters."
"Like what?"
"That remains unclear," Jeanne admitted. "But the binding is complete. We are... yours." She said the word with difficulty, as if it tasted bitter.
"But I don't want—"
"What you want and what is are often different things," Shiki interrupted flatly. "The reality is that seven conceptual beings are now bound to a human child through metaphysical chains that cannot be broken by any power we possess."
"Way to sugarcoat it, Knife Girl," Arcueid muttered.
Rimuru flopped down beside Denji, chin propped on her hands. "I think it's exciting! I've never been bound to a human before! Or bound to anyone, really. I'm usually the one binding others to me! This is a fun reversal!"
"'Fun' is not the word I would choose," Mitra said dryly.
As they bickered, Denji continued eating, his mind racing. Seven gods—or god-adjacent beings—bound to him. Unable to leave him. Unable to disobey him. The concept was so overwhelming he could barely process it alongside the simple joy of having a full stomach for the first time in days.
"So what happens now?" he asked when he finally slowed down, the edge of his hunger blunted.
"That," Marie said with a gentle smile, "is entirely up to you."
And just like that, the enormity of his situation crashed down on Denji. He set down his bowl and looked around at the seven divine faces, each watching him with varying degrees of curiosity, resentment, amusement, or kindness.
"I have no idea what I'm doing," he admitted quietly.
"That," Arcueid said, refilling her sake cup, "is abundantly clear."
Durga shot her a reproving look. "The child requires guidance, not mockery."
"The 'child' requires sleep," Jeanne observed, noting the way Denji's eyelids had begun to droop now that his stomach was full. "Divine summoning drains mortal energy."
"I've prepared a sleeping area," Rimuru announced cheerfully, pointing to a section of the transformed shrine now containing a comfortable-looking futon with pillows and blankets.
"We should establish a watch rotation," Durga said, all business. "This location may be compromised."
"By whom?" Arcueid scoffed. "We're the seven most dangerous beings in any realm. What exactly are you guarding against?"
"Unknown variables," Durga replied crisply. "The summoning may have attracted attention."
"I've set detection barriers," Rimuru assured them. "Nothing's getting in without us knowing."
"Still," Jeanne insisted, "prudence dictates vigilance."
As the gods debated security protocols, Denji found himself being gently guided toward the futon by Marie.
"Rest," she said softly. "Tomorrow we can begin to make sense of this."
The futon was softer than anything Denji had slept on in months. As he sank into it, his body suddenly felt like it was made of lead, the adrenaline and shock of the evening crashing down on him all at once.
"What if you're gone when I wake up?" he murmured, already half-asleep. "What if this is just a hunger dream?"
"We will be here," Marie promised, drawing a blanket over him. "The bond ensures it."
The last thing Denji saw before sleep claimed him was the seven divine beings arranging themselves around the transformed shrine—Durga taking a position by the door, Jeanne by the window, Mitra seated formally on a cushion, Arcueid sprawled across a newly-created couch, Rimuru bouncing around adjusting details of their shelter, Marie sitting calmly nearby, and Shiki...
Shiki moving to sit cross-legged at the foot of his futon, her unblinking eyes fixed on him with the same intensity as before.
It should have been terrifying, Denji thought as consciousness slipped away. Instead, it felt like the safest he'd been in years.
Chapter 2: Breakfast of Champions (and Gods)
Denji woke to sunlight streaming through windows that hadn't existed the day before. For a moment, he thought it had all been a dream—the summoning circle, the seven divine women, the transformed shrine, the meal that had filled him after days of hunger.
Then he noticed Shiki sitting cross-legged at the foot of his futon, watching him with those penetrating eyes. She hadn't moved. She might not have blinked all night.
"GAH!" He jerked upright, clutching his blanket to his chest. "How long have you been there?!"
"All night," she replied calmly, not a hint of fatigue in her voice or posture. "Your death doesn't appear when you sleep either."
"That's... that's creepy!" Denji's heart raced as he looked around the shrine, confirming that yes, everything else had been real too. The transformed interior gleamed in the morning light, looking even more impressive than it had the night before. Natural wood, paper screens, and modern amenities blended seamlessly, creating a space that felt both ancient and comfortable.
Shiki tilted her head slightly, a barely perceptible movement. "Is it? I find it fascinating. Everything dies, Denji. Even gods have deaths I can see. But not you. Not anymore."
"What does that mean? Am I immortal or something?"
"No. You can still be injured, still age, still suffer. But your ending... it's no longer written in the fabric of existence."
Before Denji could process this disturbing information, the door slid open and Marie entered carrying a tray laden with food. Her blue robes had been exchanged for a simpler outfit—still elegant, but less obviously divine.
"Good morning, Denji. I've prepared breakfast for you." Her gentle smile somehow made the situation feel almost normal, as if having a goddess serve him breakfast was an everyday occurrence.
"Technically, we prepared breakfast," Mitra corrected, appearing behind Marie with her own, more elaborate tray. Her white and gold robes remained, though the crown of light above her head had dimmed to a subtle glow. "I have crafted a meal worthy of your... position."
The two trays were a study in contrasts. Marie's held simple but perfect rice, grilled fish, miso soup, and pickled vegetables—traditional, nourishing, and clearly made with care. Mitra's contained what appeared to be food fit for emperors: gleaming golden rice topped with saffron and edible flowers, rare sashimi arranged in artistic patterns, and dishes Denji couldn't even identify, shimmering with what might have been actual stardust.
His stomach growled loudly at the sight, reminding him that despite last night's feast, his body was still recovering from prolonged undernourishment.
"The boy needs protein and carbohydrates," announced Durga, squeezing into the increasingly crowded bedroom with her own tray. She had reduced her arms to the standard human two, though her bangles still chimed with otherworldly music when she moved. "This will build strength."
Her offering was protein-heavy—eggs prepared three different ways, some kind of game meat in a savory sauce, and vegetables arranged with military precision. Each item was labeled with its protein content in neat calligraphy on the plate's edge.
"You're all overthinking this," came Arcueid's voice from the hallway. She sauntered in with a bottle of what looked like expensive red wine and a single croissant. Her platinum hair was slightly mussed, giving her an appealing tousled look that somehow made her even more beautiful. "Breakfast of champions."
"It's 8 AM," Jeanne said disapprovingly, following Arcueid with a simple bowl of porridge topped with honey and nuts. She had exchanged her armor for more practical clothing, though her posture remained military-straight. "Alcohol is inappropriate for breaking one's fast, especially for a child."
"I'm not a child," Denji protested automatically, though his voice cracked mid-sentence, somewhat undermining his point.
Rimuru popped her head in last, beaming with her usual boundless energy. "I made pancakes shaped like cute animals!" She bounded into the room carrying a tray with a towering stack of pancakes, each meticulously crafted to resemble different creatures—from traditional cats and rabbits to what appeared to be dragons and multi-headed hydras. "Complete with seven different syrups from seven different dimensional planes!"
Denji stared at the parade of divine beings, each intent on feeding him breakfast. The absurdity of the situation hit him full force, and he couldn't help but laugh—a rusty sound that surprised even himself. When was the last time he'd actually laughed?
"Something amuses you?" Mitra asked, one elegant eyebrow raised.
"Just... this." Denji gestured at the collection of breakfast offerings. "Yesterday I was digging through convenience store trash for expired onigiri, and today I have seven... whatever you all are... fighting over who gets to feed me breakfast."
His words cast a momentary pall over the room. The seven exchanged glances, something unspoken passing between them.
"Uh... thanks? I'll just... try a bit of everything?" Denji offered, trying to recover the moment.
The decision seemed to satisfy no one and everyone simultaneously. As the gods arranged the food around his futon, Denji noticed something odd.
"Wait, aren't you all going to eat too?"
The seven exchanged glances again.
"We don't require sustenance as you do," Mitra explained, her voice taking on a lecturing tone. "Divinity sustains itself through cosmic energy and metaphysical resonance."
"Although we can eat for pleasure," Arcueid added, already uncorking her wine bottle with her teeth. "And some of us definitely do."
"I love eating!" Rimuru chimed in. "Even though I don't need to! Food is one of the best things about having a humanoid form!"
"More importantly," Marie said softly, her expression serious, "we feel what you feel now. Your hunger... we all experienced it last night."
Denji paused with a piece of fish halfway to his mouth. "You felt how hungry I was?"
"Every pang," Durga confirmed grimly. "The binding connects us in ways beyond the physical."
Shiki nodded, her eyes still fixed on Denji. "Your physical state echoes in our forms. Last night, when you were starving, I felt an emptiness I have never known, despite millennia of existence."
"It was most disquieting," Mitra agreed, her perfect composure slipping slightly.
"I've been hungry before," Arcueid said with a shrug, "but not like that. Not that... helpless."
"So if I'm full, you feel full too?" Denji asked, trying to wrap his head around the implications.
"Something like that," Rimuru nodded. "It's not exactly the same, but your physical states echo in us. Your emotions too, probably, though that's harder to track."
Denji slowly chewed his fish, processing this information. "So if I'm happy, you feel happy? If I'm sad, you feel sad?"
"It appears so," Jeanne said. "Though our own emotions remain distinct."
"The bond creates resonance, not replacement," Durga elaborated. "We experience an echo of your state while maintaining our own consciousness."
Shiki, who had not moved from her position at the foot of the futon, reached out and poked Denji's arm with one slender finger. "Feel that?"
"Uh, yeah? You poked me."
"I felt it too. Like an echo. Not pain, precisely, but awareness of contact."
Mitra frowned. "This is unprecedented. Even in the ancient binding rituals of my realm, sensation transference was limited to emotional states, not physical feedback."
"Seven-way sensory feedback loop," Rimuru mused, looking intrigued rather than concerned. "I wonder if it works backwards too? If one of us feels something strongly enough, would you feel it?"
"Let's not experiment without proper protocols," Durga said quickly.
The implications were staggering. Denji looked around at the seven faces watching him eat—seven beings of immense power, now tied to his physical and emotional state. Seven gods who would feel every stubbed toe, every moment of teenage awkwardness, every embarrassing thought that crossed his mind.
"This is too weird," he muttered, but continued eating because, gods or no gods, he was still hungry.
As he ate, the divine beings settled around the room, each in their characteristic way. Durga removed herself to the corner of the room, standing guard like a sentinel, her eyes constantly scanning for threats. Jeanne examined the windows and doors, apparently assessing security vulnerabilities and occasionally adjusting the layout of furniture to create clearer sight lines.
Mitra sat formally on a cushion, her posture perfect, watching Denji's every bite with intense scrutiny, as if evaluating his appreciation of the meal she'd prepared. Marie simply sat nearby, her presence somehow comforting without being intrusive, occasionally offering him a different dish when she noticed his interest.
Rimuru kept creating little decorative items around the room—flowers, paper lanterns, tiny sculptures—seemingly just to pass the time, her creative energy too boundless to remain still. Arcueid had sprawled across the foot of the futon, drinking her wine and occasionally stealing bits of food from Denji's trays with quick fingers, smirking when he noticed.
And Shiki... Shiki just kept staring, her eyes cataloging every movement, every expression, as if Denji were a puzzle she was determined to solve.
"So," Denji said between bites, trying to break the strange tension, "what exactly am I supposed to do with seven... um... gods?"
"You don't 'do' anything with us," Mitra said sharply. "The binding exists, but we are not tools to be used at your convenience."
"But you said I'm your... your master." The word felt wrong in his mouth, uncomfortable and ill-fitting.
"The bond compels
"The bond compels obedience," Durga explained, her voice as steady and inflexible as iron. "But wisdom would suggest you exercise this power sparingly."
"Think of it as a loaded gun," Arcueid added, swirling her wine. "Just because you can give orders doesn't mean you should."
"I don't want to order anyone around," Denji protested, setting down his chopsticks. "I just want..." He trailed off, unsure how to finish.
"A normal life?" Marie suggested gently, her eyes too perceptive.
Denji laughed without humor. "I haven't had a normal life since my dad died. I just want... I don't know. Food. Shelter. To not be alone, I guess."
Something softened in Marie's eyes. "Then perhaps this arrangement, strange as it is, might benefit both sides."
"Speak for yourself," Arcueid muttered, though without real venom. "I had plans for the century."
"Plans involving sleeping in your castle and occasionally hunting rogue vampires?" Rimuru teased, creating a tiny ice sculpture of what appeared to be Arcueid lounging dramatically on a throne.
Arcueid flicked the sculpture, shattering it. "It was a good plan! Simple. Elegant. Minimal effort."
"The ultimate expression of sloth," Mitra remarked with disdain.
"Says the goddess who spends millennia watching mortals bow and scrape." Arcueid smirked. "At least I'm honest about enjoying my leisure."
Mitra's eyes flashed dangerously. "The devotions of my followers sustain the celestial harmony of—"
"Ladies," Durga interrupted, her voice cutting through the tension like a blade. "This bickering solves nothing."
Denji finished the last of his breakfast—he'd managed to try something from each tray—and set down his chopsticks. "Thank you for the food. It was all amazing."
Seven distinct expressions of satisfaction flickered across seven divine faces. Apparently, pleasing their "master" triggered something in the binding.
Jeanne noticed Denji's observation. "The compulsion runs both ways," she explained, looking uncomfortable with the admission. "Our purpose, whether we wish it or not, has become aligned with your well-being."
"So what now?" he asked, suddenly aware that he was still wearing yesterday's clothes, hadn't brushed his teeth, and was surrounded by the most beautiful, powerful women in existence. "I mean... practically speaking."
"Now," Jeanne said firmly, straightening as if addressing troops, "we establish order. You need education, training, proper housing—"
"I made this place pretty nice!" Rimuru protested, gesturing to the transformed shrine.
"—legal documentation, income source, and structure," Jeanne finished. "If we are bound to serve, we should serve properly."
"I don't want servants," Denji said, increasingly uncomfortable with the power dynamic. "Can't we just... I don't know... be friends or something?"
The word 'friends' seemed to confuse several of them.
"Friends... with a mortal?" Mitra's tone suggested she was trying to translate a foreign concept.
"I've had human friends," Arcueid offered, refilling her wine glass. "They tend to die quickly. No offense, kid."
"I've never had friends," Shiki said matter-of-factly, her expression unchanged. "Everyone fears me. With good reason."
"I'll be your friend!" Rimuru declared brightly, materializing beside Denji and throwing an arm around his shoulders. "I love making friends! I made thousands in my last world! Nothing bonds people like shared near-death experiences, right?"
"That's... not really how friendship usually works," Denji said carefully.
Marie smiled softly. "Friendship has its merits. Though the bond we share goes deeper than friendship could."
"And yet lacks the foundation of choice that true friendship requires," Durga observed, her expression thoughtful. "Perhaps 'companions' is a better term. Bound by fate rather than choice."
"Does it matter what we call it?" Denji asked, suddenly feeling very tired despite having just woken up. "I didn't ask for this. You didn't ask for this. But we're stuck together, so can't we try to make the best of it?"
A moment of silence followed his words. Then, surprisingly, Mitra stepped forward and bowed her head slightly.
"Your wisdom exceeds your years, Denji. Very well. We shall be... companions."
"Great," Denji nodded, relieved. "So, uh, can someone show me where the bathroom is in this place? And maybe I could get some new clothes?"
Rimuru bounced up excitedly. "I can make you anything you want! What's your style? Casual? Elegant? How about something that matches us?"
"Just... normal clothes. Jeans. T-shirts. Whatever."
"So boring," Arcueid sighed dramatically. "At least let me pick the colors."
"The boy's attire should be practical," Durga argued.
"And modest," Jeanne added firmly.
"Perhaps," Marie suggested as the divine beings began debating appropriate fashion for their new master, "Denji would like a moment of privacy first?"
Denji shot her a grateful look. "Yes. Please."
"The bathroom is this way," Marie said, seeming to sense his discomfort. "I'll show you."
As she led him through the transformed shrine—now an improbably spacious house with traditional Japanese architecture but modern amenities—Denji tried to wrap his head around his new reality.
"So, um, that rule about you all feeling what I feel... does that mean you have to use the bathroom when I do?"
Marie laughed softly, the sound like distant wind chimes. "No, Denji. We feel echoes of your physical state, but we remain separate beings. Your mortal functions are yours alone."
"Oh. Good." He paused at the bathroom door. "And you can't... you know... read my thoughts or anything, right?"
"No," Marie assured him. "Your mind remains your own."
"What about that 'can't be more than 100 meters away' thing?"
"That appears to be a limitation of the binding, yes. We cannot stray far from you."
Denji frowned. "So how am I supposed to go to school? Or get a job? Or... anything?"
Marie's expression turned thoughtful. "Those are practical concerns we will need to address. But first, perhaps a bath and fresh clothes would help you think more clearly."
She was right, of course. As Denji locked the bathroom door (though he had a feeling locks meant little to beings who could alter reality), he caught sight of himself in the mirror—thin, pale, with dark circles under his eyes. A street kid who somehow became the master of seven gods.
"What have I gotten myself into?" he whispered to his reflection, which offered no answers.
When Denji emerged from the bathroom, freshly bathed and wearing a clean yukata that had been left for him, he found the divine beings engaged in what appeared to be a full-blown summit meeting. They had arranged themselves around the main room of the shrine, with Mitra at the head of a low table, clearly presiding.
"—jurisdictional disputes are inevitable," Durga was saying as Denji entered. "Seven divine entities within one mortal dwelling violates countless metaphysical treaties."
"Treaties that no longer apply given our current circumstances," Mitra countered. "The binding supersedes previous obligations."
"Does it, though?" Arcueid challenged, now nursing a different bottle—amber liquid in crystal. "My bloodline obligations remain. I can feel them."
"As do my sacred duties," Jeanne added, her expression troubled. "The binding constrains my movement, not my purpose."
"I've never been big on rules anyway," Rimuru said cheerfully. "Being bound to Denji doesn't change that!"
"The Death of All Things answers to no authority," Shiki stated, her flat tone making the grandiose declaration sound almost mundane. "I perceive endings. I manifest them when necessary. The binding merely... redirects my focus."
Marie, who had been silent, noticed Denji hovering uncertainly in the doorway. "Ah, you look refreshed. Come, join us. We are discussing... arrangements."
All seven divine gazes turned to him, making Denji acutely aware of his bare feet and still-damp hair.
"Arrangements?" he asked, cautiously approaching the table.
"Practical matters," Mitra clarified. "Cohabitation protocols. Authority hierarchies. Metaphysical territory delineation."
"Basically, who gets to boss who around while we're all stuck together," Arcueid translated, raising her glass in a mock toast.
"Oh." Denji hesitantly knelt at the empty spot they had left for him—opposite Mitra, he noticed. A position of equal status. "And what did you decide?"
"Nothing yet," Durga replied. "Such matters require your input, given your... position."
Denji shifted uncomfortably. "I don't know anything about god politics."
"Then perhaps simpler matters first," Marie suggested. "Living arrangements. Daily routines. Your mortal needs."
"Right. Practical stuff." Denji nodded, grateful for the redirection. "Well, I need to figure out school, I guess. And money. And... just, you know, normal life stuff."
"School seems unnecessary given your new circumstances," Mitra observed. "We collectively possess all knowledge worth having."
"That's not the point," Jeanne argued. "The boy needs structure, socialization, documentation. Human societies have requirements."
"Which can be circumvented easily enough," Arcueid pointed out. "Mind manipulation, reality alteration—"
"No," Denji interrupted, surprising himself with his firmness. "No mind control or reality-warping on innocent people. If I'm going to have a life, I want it to be... real."
His declaration was met with various reactions—approval from Marie and Jeanne, skepticism from Arcueid and Mitra, indifference from Shiki, thoughtfulness from Durga, and cheerful acceptance from Rimuru.
"A commendable stance," Durga said finally. "Honor in the face of convenience."
"But impractical," Mitra countered. "How do you propose seven divine beings accompany a child to a mortal school without disruption?"
It was a good question. Denji frowned, considering.
"What about online school?" he suggested. "I could study from here, get an actual diploma eventually."
"A reasonable compromise," Jeanne nodded approvingly.
"And money?" Arcueid prompted. "Even online education costs something, not to mention food, clothing, utilities..."
"I can create anything we need!" Rimuru reminded them.
"Creating currency risks detection," Durga warned. "Financial systems have guardians."
"What, like money gods?" Denji asked skeptically.
"Precisely," Mitra confirmed, looking surprised at his insight. "Mammon and his ilk monitor artificial wealth introduction."
"Great, more gods," Denji muttered. "Just what we need."
"I have accumulated substantial wealth over the centuries," Shiki said unexpectedly. "Dead men's fortunes, primarily. Usually deserved deaths."
A moment of silence followed this casual revelation.
"That's... convenient," Denji said finally. "But I don't feel right just taking money, even from, uh, deserved deaths."
"I also have resources," Arcueid offered with a languid wave. "Being immortal has its perks. Compound interest works wonders when you can sleep through centuries."
"So does periodically waking up to correct investment strategies," Marie added with a small smile. "Divine foresight has its practical applications."
Denji looked between them, oddly touched. "You'd all help me like that?"
"We are bound to you," Durga stated, as if that explained everything.
"Not just because of the bond," Marie clarified gently. "Because it is right."
"Speak for yourself," Arcueid muttered, though her expression lacked real malice. "I'm just bored and rich."
"Actually," Rimuru said, tapping her chin thoughtfully, "we could start a business! Something that uses our unique skills without revealing our true nature."
"Like what?" Denji asked cautiously.
"Conflict resolution," Durga suggested immediately.
"Religious counseling," offered Jeanne.
"Metaphysical consulting," said Mitra.
"Wine tasting," Arcueid proposed.
"Death prediction," Shiki said flatly.
"Creative art and design!" Rimuru exclaimed.
"Compassionate listening," Marie suggested quietly.
Denji stared at them. "Those are... really different ideas."
"We are really different beings," Arcueid pointed out. "Comes with the whole 'embodiments of metaphysical concepts' territory."
"Maybe we could combine some of those?" Denji suggested tentatively. "Like, a consulting firm that helps people with... life problems?"
"Intriguing," Mitra said, looking thoughtful. "A multidisciplinary approach utilizing our collective expertise."
"Without revealing our true nature," Durga added, a warning in her tone.
"I still think wine tasting would be more fun," Arcueid sighed.
As they debated business models and ethical constraints, Denji's stomach growled again—quieter than before, but still audible in the momentary lull in conversation.
"You're still hungry," Marie observed. "Growing boys need frequent nourishment."
"Just a little, maybe," Denji admitted. "I'm not used to regular meals. My stomach's probably shrunk."
Seven distinct expressions of concern crossed seven divine faces.
"That will change," Durga declared firmly. "Proper nutrition is non-negotiable."
"A feeding schedule," Jeanne nodded. "Six small meals daily to rebuild his digestive capacity."
"With carefully balanced nutrients," Mitra added.
"And treats," Rimuru insisted. "Food should be joyful too!"
"Plus sake," Arcueid smirked. "For cultural education."
"He is fourteen," Marie reminded her.
"I was drinking wine at twelve during my mortal life," Jeanne shrugged. "Different times."
"Focus," Durga commanded. "The immediate issue is establishing structure. Denji requires clothing, education plans, and legal documentation before we can proceed with any business venture."
"I can handle the documentation," Arcueid volunteered. "I have... contacts in government offices."
"Mind control contacts?" Denji asked suspiciously.
"More like 'paid off with centuries of accumulated wealth' contacts," she clarified. "Money talks, kid, even to bureaucrats."
"I can design an educational curriculum," Mitra offered. "One that balances mortal requirements with higher knowledge."
"I'll assist with that," Marie nodded. "To ensure it remains accessible."
"Security protocols are my domain," Durga stated. "This dwelling requires proper warding beyond Rimuru's initial protections."
"Hey! My protections are top-notch!" Rimuru protested.
"They lack depth integration and soul-signature recognition," Durga explained. "Effective, but incomplete."
"Fine, we can upgrade together," Rimuru conceded.
"I will monitor for approaching threats," Shiki said. "Death precedes most dangers. I will see them coming."
"And I shall ensure tactical readiness," Jeanne added. "The boy should learn basic self-defense, at minimum."
Denji looked between them, overwhelmed by their planning. "Don't I get any say in this?"
Seven divine gazes turned to him again, this time with varying degrees of surprise.
"Of course you do," Marie assured him. "You are, after all, the center of this arrangement."
"Then maybe we could slow down a bit?" Denji suggested. "I mean, yesterday I was homeless and starving. Today I have a house and seven... companions. That's a lot to process."
Understanding dawned on divine faces.
"The mortal requires adjustment time," Mitra observed, almost to herself.
"Psychological adaptation periods are necessary," Durga agreed.
"He's overwhelmed," Marie translated for the others. "We should proceed more gradually."
"What would help you feel more comfortable, Denji?" Jeanne asked directly.
Denji considered the question. "Maybe... maybe we could just get to know each other first? Before planning my entire life? I don't even know what most of you actually... do. Or where you come from. Or anything."
Rimuru clapped her hands. "A bonding activity! That's perfect!"
"What sort of 'bonding activity' did you have in mind?" Arcueid asked, sounding simultaneously skeptical and amused.
"Something simple," Marie suggested. "Perhaps a shared meal where each of us shares our story?"
"I'd like that," Denji nodded. "I mean, if I'm going to be stuck with you all forever, I should at least know who you are."
"Forever is a significant overstatement," Mitra said sharply. "Surely there must be a way to dissolve the binding eventually."
Denji tried not to let his face show how much that statement stung. Of course they wouldn't want to be bound to him forever. Why would divine beings want to be tied to a homeless teenager?
Marie, perceptive as always, noticed his reaction. "What Mitra means is that constraints rarely lack exceptions. But that is a question for another day. For now, let us focus on your suggestion—getting to know one another."
"I'll prepare lunch while you all get changed," Rimuru volunteered brightly. "I created wardrobes for everyone!"
Denji glanced down at his yukata. "Changed into what?"
"Comfortable modern clothing," Rimuru explained. "Nothing fancy, just casual wear for a relaxed meal. Each room has options suited to its occupant's preferences."
"I have a room?" Denji asked, surprised.
"You all do," Rimuru confirmed. "I expanded the interior dimensions while maintaining exterior spatial continuity!"
"She made the inside bigger than the outside," Arcueid translated. "Standard pocket dimension trick."
"Is that... safe?" Denji asked cautiously.
"Perfectly," Durga assured him. "Rimuru's spatial manipulations are sound, if flashy."
"I'll show you to your room," Marie offered, rising gracefully. "It's this way."
As Denji followed her through the transformed shrine, he couldn't help asking, "Is this really going to work? Seven gods and one human living together?"
Marie's smile was gentle but held a hint of sadness. "Divinity adapts, Denji. As do humans. We will find our equilibrium."
"And if we don't?"
Marie paused outside a door that presumably led to his room. "Then we will create a new equilibrium. That is the nature of divine power—and human resilience."
With those cryptic words, she slid the door open, revealing a spacious bedroom that somehow combined traditional Japanese elements with modern comforts—and looked exactly like the room Denji had always wished for but never dared imagine having.
"How did she know?" he whispered, taking in the details: the desk by the window, the bookshelf filled with manga he'd glimpsed but never been able to afford, the comfortable futon with blue bedding, the small shrine in the corner that reminded him of the one his mother had kept.
"Rimuru sees desires," Marie explained quietly. "It's part of her nature—to perceive and then manifest what hearts truly want."
"That's... kind of invasive," Denji said, though without real complaint.
"Divine beings rarely understand human concepts of privacy," Marie admitted. "We are trying, though."
As if to prove her point, she remained in the doorway rather than entering. "I'll leave you to change. Join us in the main room when you're ready."
Left alone, Denji explored his new room, feeling both grateful and disoriented. The closet contained simple but high-quality clothing in exactly his size—jeans, t-shirts, hoodies, even proper pajamas. All the things he would have chosen for himself if he'd ever had the chance.
As he changed into clean clothes—a satisfaction so simple yet so profound after months of wearing the same few garments until they fell apart—Denji wondered what stories he would hear from his divine companions. What ancient histories, what cosmic conflicts, what immortal perspectives would they share?
And what could he possibly offer in return? His fourteen years of mostly unremarkable human existence, capped by tragedy and poverty, seemed laughably insignificant compared to beings who had likely witnessed the birth and death of stars.
Yet as he left his room and headed toward the sound of divine voices—arguing over proper meal presentation, from the sounds of it—Denji felt something he hadn't experienced in a very long time: curiosity about the future, and the faint glimmer of what might have been hope.
Chapter 3: Seven Stories and a Convenience Store
"Absolutely not," Mitra declared, her voice carrying the authority of eons. "We cannot present ourselves in such a mundane setting."
"It's called a 'picnic,' and it's perfectly charming," Marie countered, arranging food in simple but elegant boxes.
"It lacks decorum," Mitra insisted. "Divine narratives should be shared in proper ceremonial contexts."
"We're not doing a twelve-hour ritual with incense and chanting just to tell the kid where we come from," Arcueid drawled from her position sprawled across three cushions. She had changed into modern clothes—designer jeans and a cashmere sweater that probably cost more than most cars.
"I think picnics are fun!" Rimuru chimed in, materializing yet more food from thin air. "We can sit under that big cherry tree I created in the garden!"
"What garden?" Denji asked as he entered the room. All the divine beings were indeed wearing modern clothing now, though each with their distinct aesthetic—Mitra's crisp white and gold ensemble resembled a high-fashion take on business attire; Durga wore what appeared to be tactical clothing in deep reds and oranges; Jeanne had opted for practical jeans and a simple button-up; Marie's flowing blue dress maintained her serene presence; Shiki remained in her red leather jacket but over more casual clothes; and Rimuru bounced around in colorful leggings and an oversized sweatshirt.
"The garden I made while you were changing!" Rimuru explained excitedly. "This shrine needed outdoor space. Come see!"
She grabbed Denji's hand and pulled him toward what had previously been a solid wall. Now, a paper screen door slid open to reveal an impossible garden—at least an acre of perfectly maintained landscape with stone paths, a small stream, flowering trees, and a central cherry tree in full bloom despite the season.
"How...?" Denji gasped, stepping outside. The garden was bounded by traditional walls, but the sky above was open—real Tokyo sky, though somehow cleaner, bluer than he remembered.
"Dimensional pocket anchored to reality's edge," Rimuru explained, as if that clarified anything. "The walls mark where our reality interfaces with the broader world. Anyone looking from outside just sees the original shrine footprint."
"It's beautiful," Denji said sincerely.
"See?" Rimuru turned to the others triumphantly. "Perfect picnic spot!"
In the end, even Mitra couldn't argue with the setting's beauty. They arranged themselves beneath the cherry tree, sakura petals occasionally drifting down around them as if choreographed for maximum aesthetic effect (which, Denji suspected, they probably were). The meal Rimuru and Marie had prepared was a blend of Japanese and Western dishes, simple but perfect—onigiri, sandwiches, fruits, vegetables, and small sweets.
"Now," Marie said once they were settled, "shall we begin our stories?"
"Who goes first?" Denji asked, accepting a rice ball from the platter.
"Age before beauty," Arcueid suggested with a smirk, nodding toward Mitra.
The Sovereign of Devotion narrowed her golden eyes. "Temporal measurement is meaningless among divine beings. We have always existed."
"Some more 'always' than others," Arcueid muttered.
"Perhaps I should begin," Durga suggested, intervening before the tension could escalate. "As maintainer of balance, my perspective may provide useful context."
The others nodded in agreement, and Durga straightened, her expression becoming even more formal.
"I am Durga, called by many names across many realms—Destroyer of Evil, Bearer of Ten Weapons, Preserver of Cosmic Order. I exist at the fulcrum point between creation and destruction, preserving the balance that allows reality to function."
"So you're, like, a cosmic police officer?" Denji asked before he could stop himself.
Unexpectedly, Durga's lips quirked upward. "An oversimplification, but not entirely inaccurate. I maintain boundaries between realms, enforce divine treaties, and eliminate threats to universal stability."
"She's being modest," Mitra interjected. "Durga has singlehandedly defeated demon armies that threatened to consume entire dimensions."
"The Buffalo Demon siege lasted three thousand years," Jeanne added, a note of genuine respect in her voice. "Durga never rested, never retreated."
Durga shook her head. "That was merely duty. More relevant to our current situation is my role as Treaty-Keeper. I oversee agreements between divine entities—which makes our current binding particularly... problematic."
"Because you're supposed to enforce the rules, but now you're breaking them?" Denji guessed.
"Precisely." Durga nodded approvingly. "The binding circumvents numerous cosmic laws and divine treaties—many of which I helped establish."
"Is that going to cause problems?" Denji asked, suddenly worried.
"It already has," Durga replied grimly. "My absence will be noted. Questions will arise. Investigations will follow."
"Great," Arcueid sighed. "Divine bureaucracy. Just what we need."
"Will other gods come looking for you?" Denji asked, the implications dawning on him.
"Eventually," Durga confirmed. "Though time flows differently across realms. We may have weeks or months before direct intervention."
"Which is why," Mitra interjected, "we must establish proper protocols immediately."
"Let's finish the stories first," Marie suggested gently. "Context before action."
Mitra inclined her head in agreement, then spoke. "I am Mitra, Sovereign of Devotion, Light-Bringer, Oath-Keeper, and Ruler of the Divine Court. In my realm, I oversee the cosmic order of worship—the sacred exchange between mortal devotion and divine blessing."
"So people pray to you, and you help them?" Denji asked.
"An inadequate description, but fundamentally correct," Mitra replied. "Devotion creates energy—metaphysical power that sustains realms beyond the physical. My court channels and distributes this energy, maintaining the hierarchies that preserve universal order."
"She means she's basically cosmic royalty," Arcueid translated. "Very high and mighty, lots of worshippers, big golden palace, that sort of thing."
Mitra's expression tightened. "Crude, but not entirely inaccurate. My position does require maintaining certain... standards."
"Which explains why being bound to a mortal teenager is particularly galling for her," Arcueid added with a smirk.
"I did not say that," Mitra snapped.
"You didn't have to," Shiki observed quietly. "Your death shows your true feelings."
A tense silence followed this cryptic statement.
"What does that mean?" Denji asked. "Her death shows her feelings?"
Shiki's unnervingly steady gaze shifted to him. "I see how things will end—the points where existence can be severed. These points change with emotion, with intention. Mitra's death currently manifests as a crown shattering into dust. Pride breaking."
Mitra's face paled slightly, but she maintained her composure. "My concerns are for cosmic order, not personal pride."
"That's not—" Denji began, distressed at the implication he was somehow beneath Mitra.
"Perhaps my story next," Marie interrupted smoothly. "To balance perspectives."
She placed a gentle hand on Denji's arm, her touch instantly calming the hurt that had flared at Shiki's revelation.
"I am Marie, called Goddess of Mercy by some. My essence is compassion—the force that heals wounds, bridges differences, and transforms suffering into understanding."
"So you're like... the nice one?" Denji suggested.
Marie's laugh was like silver bells. "Compassion is not merely 'niceness,' Denji. True mercy requires strength. The courage to witness pain without turning away. The wisdom to know when kindness means gentle words and when it means difficult truths."
"Marie has stood in the center of dying stars to ease their passing," Durga said quietly. "She has absorbed the pain of entire civilizations during their collapse."
"Only to transform it into wisdom for those who followed," Jeanne added.
Marie shook her head modestly. "We each serve in our own way. My purpose is to ensure that suffering is never meaningless—that even in darkness, the potential for light remains."
"Is that why you're not more upset about being stuck with me?" Denji asked. "You see some greater purpose in it?"
"I see a boy who has suffered greatly yet retained his humanity," Marie replied simply. "That alone makes our binding worthy of my attention."
Denji looked down, unsure how to respond to such direct kindness.
"My turn, I guess," Arcueid said, breaking the emotional moment. She took a long drink from a crystal flask that definitely didn't contain water. "I'm Arcueid Brunestud, True Ancestor, Princess of the Crimson Moon, et cetera, et cetera. I drink blood sometimes, sleep for centuries when I'm bored, and occasionally keep vampires from overrunning your world."
"You're a vampire?" Denji asked, eyes widening.
"Not exactly," Arcueid corrected. "True Ancestors are primordial spirits given form—we were around long before what you'd call vampires. Those are mostly degraded copies of beings like me."
"Arcueid represents primal hunger," Marie explained. "The necessary consumption that keeps reality cycling."
"That sounds better than 'I get cranky when I don't eat people,'" Arcueid smirked. "But sure, let's go with cosmic metaphor."
"Do you actually... eat people?" Denji asked cautiously.
Arcueid rolled her eyes. "Not for centuries. Too messy, too many consequences. I mostly subsist on ambient life energy now. And alcohol." She raised her flask in a mock toast.
"Arcueid has saved humanity numerous times," Jeanne said unexpectedly. "Despite her cavalier attitude."
"Don't go spreading that around," Arcueid grumbled. "Bad for my reputation."
"The White Princess once stood against the Dead Apostle Ancestors when they sought to drain an entire continent of life," Durga elaborated. "Alone, against eighteen near-divine entities."
"They were annoying me," Arcueid shrugged. "Noisy neighbors."
Denji found himself smiling at her determined nonchalance. "So you're secretly a hero who pretends not to care?"
"I'm secretly someone who wants another drink," Arcueid countered, though her lips twitched with what might have been amusement. "Next storyteller, please."
"I shall speak," Jeanne said, sitting straighter. Unlike the others, who reclined comfortably, she maintained a vigilant posture even during the picnic. "I am Jeanne d'Arc, once mortal, elevated through sacrifice and faith. I serve as bridge between human potential and divine purpose."
"Wait, you're actually the Joan of Arc?" Denji asked, stunned. "The one who got burned at the stake?"
"Historical records are imperfect," Jeanne said diplomatically. "But yes, I was once a human girl who heard divine voices and led armies for France's true king. My mortal death transformed my essence into something beyond human—a symbol given consciousness, a martyr given purpose."
"Jeanne represents righteous struggle," Marie explained. "The divine spark within mortal form that allows humans to transcend their limitations."
"My current role involves guiding worthy souls through their own transformative journeys," Jeanne continued. "Appearing to those who stand at crossroads of faith and action."
"So you're like... a motivational coach for heroes?" Denji suggested.
Jeanne actually smiled at that. "A quaint description, but not entirely incorrect. I provide clarity of purpose to those who would serve greater causes."
"Which makes this binding particularly frustrating for her," Arcueid observed. "Stuck with one kid instead of inspiring armies."
"I do not view it that way," Jeanne countered with surprising firmness. "Divine will manifests in unexpected ways. Perhaps there is purpose in guiding one soul deeply rather than many briefly."
Denji wasn't sure how to feel about being someone's divine assignment, but before he could dwell on it, Rimuru bounced forward eagerly.
"My turn! I'm Rimuru Tempest, former human reincarnated as a slime who evolved into a Demon Lord who ascended to godhood who decided to explore other dimensions who got pulled into this binding! Phew, that's a mouthful!"
Her chipper delivery made the others blink in varying degrees of surprise or amusement.
"You were human once?" Denji asked, fascinated.
"Yep! Died in my original world, got reincarnated as a slime monster in a fantasy world, made friends, built a nation, became super powerful, ascended to divinity, got bored, started dimension-hopping, and here we are!"
"That's... a lot," Denji said, trying to process the rapid-fire biography.
"Rimuru represents possibility," Marie explained. "The potential for transformation and creation inherent in all existence."
"