WebNovels

Chapter 7 - Divine Unemployment

Chapter 7 — Divine Unemployment

If I had a dollar for every time I blew something up accidentally, I'd have enough to pay for all the things I've accidentally blown up.

The city was quieter now. "Quieter" meaning "still on fire, but fewer screaming civilians." I needed cash. Guns, ammo, breakfast — all the essentials. And since hero work doesn't exactly come with a paycheck, I went back to what I do best: half-assed mercenary jobs.

That's how I ended up walking into The Rusty Halo.

It's one of those bars where every stool has bloodstains and everyone's pretending they're not wanted by at least three governments. My kind of place.

I stepped in, sword slung over my shoulder, clothes torn, eyes probably still glowing like a bad LED bulb.

Perfectly normal Tuesday.

"Name?" the bouncer grunted.

"Ass," I said.

He blinked.

"Ass… what?"

"Ass Assin."

He frowned. "That's not a real name."

I shrugged. "It's a family curse."

Inside, the air smelled like smoke, booze, and bad decisions. A few mercs glanced at me — some nodded, some just stared like they were trying to figure out if I was glowing or radioactive. Probably both.

I found a seat and waved at the bartender. "One coffee. Black. Like my soul."

He stared at me.

"Or, you know, like… the darkest roast you have."

As I sipped, a recruiter slid into the chair across from me — tall, trench coat, face like he hadn't slept since the last apocalypse.

"You Aza?" he asked.

"Depends. You hiring or suing?"

"Hiring."

"Then yes, absolutely. Big fan of capitalism."

He dropped a folder on the table. "Simple job. Courier work. Need someone discreet."

I smirked. "My middle name is discreet."

Sol's voice echoed in my skull. "Your middle name is literally 'Ass.'"

I froze. The recruiter frowned. "What?"

"Uh. Nothing. Just… ringtone."

"Sounded like a man."

"Yeah! Yeah, it's that new AI assistant. Sirius. Like Siri, but judgemental."

Sol: "You are a disgrace."

"See? He's very realistic."

The recruiter stared. "…You okay, pal?"

"Oh, I'm great! Totally mentally stable. You can tell by the twitch."

I grinned. Wrong move. My eyes flashed gold again.

The recruiter blinked. "Your eyes just—"

"Contacts!" I said quickly. "Helps me see… better… at night. For hunting."

"Hunting what?"

I opened my mouth, realized I had no answer, and said the first thing that popped into my brain.

"…Coupons."

The recruiter leaned back slowly, picking up the folder. "You know what, I think we're full."

Panic. "Wait—no! I can do flips! Want to see a flip?"

Before he could say no, I did a perfect backflip right off the chair. Everyone in the bar stopped and clapped. Even Sol paused.

"Ha!" I shouted, landing perfectly. "See? Professional!"

Then the chair behind me caught fire.

Like, full-on biblical fire.

Flames shaped like angel wings.

I turned slowly. "Okay… that's new."

Sol groaned. "That was not me."

"You sure? Because that looks like your whole aesthetic."

"My power does not ignite bar furniture."

"Well, it does now!"

The bartender screamed. "GET OUT!"

"Alright, alright! I'll pay for the chair!"

"You can't afford it!"

"True!"

I sprinted for the door as the sprinklers kicked in. Everyone was shouting, water spraying everywhere, fire alarm blaring. I slipped, crashed into the exit, and tumbled out into the street — soaking wet, smelling like burnt whiskey and divine regret.

"Okay," I said, panting. "So maybe not the best job interview."

"You humiliate yourself in every situation."

"Hey, consistency is important."

I sat on the curb, water dripping off my hair. Across the street, a kid was selling street food. My stomach growled.

"Sol, do gods eat?"

"We do not require sustenance."

"Cool. I do. Hold my divine essence for a sec."

I jogged across and ordered two sticks of mystery meat. Took a bite. Chewed.

"Is this… supposed to taste like lightning?"

The kid shrugged. "It's angel meat."

I froze mid-bite. "Wait, what?"

He pointed at a sign: 'Fried Fallen Angel Wings — Now Half Price!'

Sol was silent. Then: "Blasphemy."

"Technically, it's lunch."

The kid looked confused as I stared at the glowing wing on my stick. Sol started muttering ancient curses in my head, which sounded suspiciously like Latin for "idiot."

"Relax," I said, munching. "You're the god of light or whatever. Consider it… recycling."

And that's when the sky rumbled. Thunder cracked. A blinding beam of light hit the street right next to me, leaving a smoking crater where my food stand used to be.

I blinked. "Okay, that was excessive."

"I warned you."

"For eating?"

"For everything."

The kid ran off screaming. I sighed and tossed the half-burnt wing aside.

"Well," I said, brushing ash off my jacket, "I guess that's what I get for eating celestial poultry."

Sol didn't respond for a while. Then, softly: "You cannot keep living like this."

"Sure I can. I've been winging it so far."

"…You made that pun intentionally."

"Yup."

Silence. Then — the faintest sound of divine laughter.

Victory.

I stood, looked at the smoking hole in the street, and grinned.

"Alright, Sol. Next plan: find a new job, avoid smiting, and maybe a snack that doesn't cause divine wrath."

"A rare combination."

"Exactly. High difficulty, maximum fun."

I stretched, cracked my neck, and started walking again, whistling like a man who definitely hadn't just been almost vaporized by heaven's version of a lightning bolt.

And in my head, Sol sighed — the sound of a god who was really starting to wonder what mistake he made picking me.

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