Malik stepped deeper into the Nexus, each footfall echoing softly against the polished white stone. The corridor ahead curved slightly, but not in any natural arc, but as if the structure bent around gravity. Every inch of the surface glowed faintly beneath his armored boots, as though the stone remembered light from some ancient source.
He caught his breath, as he didn't realize how quiet everything had become. There were no crowds or screaming, just the distant toll of celestial bells and the soft murmurs of others like him; champions, wide-eyed and newly dressed in ceremonial armor, drifting forward like sleepwalkers toward an unknown fate.
His armor, black with gold inlays, fit better than anything he'd ever worn. Light, seamless, and flexible. A burgundy cape brushed the back of his legs with each stride. He couldn't tell if a mortal had stitched it or if it was conjured into existence by divine will. Nothing about this place followed the rules he knew.
Above him, the ceiling stretched into infinity, shifting with threads of blue and gold like a sky painted in motion. Hanging gardens drifted along levitating stone columns far overhead. He couldn't tell whether they were real or illusions meant to unsettle the unworthy. Although he wanted to ask questions or speak to the other champion, it felt best just to stay quiet. He was still trying to understand what he was even standing inside of.
So this is where the gods hid while humanity suffered.
The corridor widened, and suddenly he stood before something magnificent. What began as a cathedral-like passage opened into a vast inner plaza. It resembled a spiral garden merged with an amphitheater. The dozens of champions had begun gathering here, scattered across circular platforms just above the marble floor. Each platform orbited a glowing central disk like planets around a star.
Malik stepped closer to the edge and peered down. There it was, the Celestial Coliseum resting at the heart of the Axis Nexus. It didn't sit on land but instead hovered midair. The structure was tethered by shifting bridges of starlight and divine energy. Its walls curved in impossible directions, layered with gold and onyx. Above it all hung a ring of thrones, radiant and terrible.
Each throne bore a different design; as some were carved from volcanic obsidian, others from pearls, sunstone, crystal, or petrified wood. Everyone pulsed with the power of a distinct pantheon, waiting for its god to claim it. Malik didn't recognize most of the gods seated there, but didn't need to. Their presence pressed against his spine like a grinding stone. Some watched the champions with mild curiosity. Others already looked bored. A few didn't bother looking at all.
All of this for just them to be entertained?
He scanned the plaza again. The other champions had begun forming clusters, drawn together by instinct, recognition, or raw caution. Some carried themselves like seasoned soldiers, while others looked barely older than street kids. One wore ceremonial robes that shimmered like living flame, while another bore scaled armor steamed with ghostly mist. None of them approached him, and he wasn't trying to meet them either, at least not yet.
Malik kept his distance from the larger groups. Observation came naturally due to his time fighting in the pit. Crowds were unpredictable, and here, every face could belong to a killer, a zealot, or something far worse. But even in this sea of strangers, three figures commanded his attention. They watched him from across a low bridge of polished stone.
The woman in the center wore regal dark armor shaped like a ceremonial plate, trimmed with emerald and bronze. A tall black cape was draped over one shoulder. Her poise radiated royalty, but her eyes cut sharper than any blade. She leaned slightly on a staff carved from lacquered blackwood, topped with an emerald scarab.
Beside her, a second woman stood half a step back. Younger and restless, she wore layered Egyptian robes cut for movement and battle. She gripped a circular spell-seal bracer in one hand, the rings within shifting gently like orbiting stars. Her gaze swept the plaza constantly, never settling on any one point.
The third was impossible to ignore. A broad-shouldered man stood statue-still, wearing scale armor patterned with crocodile motifs. His dark skin was marked with old ritual scarring. Heavy gauntlets hung at his sides. His posture looked relaxed, but Malik had seen enough fighters to recognize the calculated ease of a predator.
These three weren't looking at the gods like the others. They were studying him; however, this didn't intimidate Malik, who didn't step back. Instead, he met their stares with steady eyes, letting them take their measure while he took his. The younger woman finally broke the silence. Her voice carried smoothly and low across the distance between them.
"You're not what I expected."
He raised a brow. "What do you mean?"
The younger woman tilted her head. "You're the one who bears the mark of a god before any other champion."
That made Malik pause. He glanced down, his gloved hand unconsciously brushing over the spot where Anhur's sigil had been burned into his chest.
The woman stepped closer. "We're of the same house, then. The Ennead. Egyptian-born."
"Not sure I'm of any house," Malik said. "I didn't sign up for this."
The larger man finally grunted. "None of us did."
The woman nodded slightly. "But the gods chose you anyway. Whether you understand it or not," replied the woman.
"You guys are being rude; neither of you even introduced yourselves," said the taller woman.
"Right, sorry about that. It's just that you're an enigma to the rest of us who've been here a bit longer," replied the younger woman.
"Anyhow, I'm Dalia, the overly serious woman in the back is Zahra, and this mountain of a man is Kamen. Three others have yet to arrive, but we will meet them later."
Malik looked past them toward the floating coliseum. Its gates remained sealed, waiting.
Chosen, Malik thought to himself.
He wasn't ready to say it aloud. But the word clung to him like sand grinding in an open wound. A low hum began to vibrate through the air. Malik turned his head, and so did everyone else. Above the floating coliseum, the thrones started to shift. One by one, their occupants stirred—the gods, each seated in radiant, architecturally distinct thrones that towered above the arena like monuments. No pantheon shared a single throne—each central deity claimed their own, carved in the image of their domain.
The Egyptian gods sat atop structures shaped like obelisks and temple columns wrapped in hieroglyphic flame.The Olympians reclined in marble thrones adorned with laurel, lightning, and war banners.The Norse gods occupied thrones of bone and frozen metal, wrapped in chains of runes.The Chinese Celestials shimmered above shifting pagoda spires of jade and starlight.The Aztecs sat on thrones that burned in obsidian fire.The Shinto gods drifted silently in thrones of living paper and wind.
At the highest point, towering above them all, the Anunnaki. Their thrones were carved from black stone flecked with stardust, spinning slowly in cosmic alignment. Ancient judgment radiated from their presence like heat from a forge.
Malik's breath was caught in his throat. He didn't know their names but felt their weight pressing down on him, primordial and absolute. The pressure settled in his chest like a limestone sinking to the bottom of the ocean. This wasn't a dream, nor was it some symbolic trial. The gods had finally gathered, every single one of them. A few champions dropped to one knee, overwhelmed by their divine presence. Most stayed standing, whether from pride, fear, or sheer confusion. Malik didn't move at all. Zahra watched him from the corner of her eye.
"Have you been in the presence of gods before?" she said softly.
"Kind of. I met the god Anhur in a vision," Malik replied.
"It's just you seem unnaturally calm for someone who just arrived here," said Zahra
"Who said I was calm?" Malik replied. "I just know better than to let them seem panicked."
Her expression twitched to not quite a smile, but close to one.
The air shimmered as three thrones drifted forward from the rest, larger than the others and crowned with symbols that pulsed with primordial force.
The first was shaped like an inverted ziggurat, layered with interlocking stone and flame, and upon it sat a god with obsidian skin laced with constellations: Anu, King of the Anunnaki.The second throne blazed with golden sunlight, constructed from living hieroglyphs and solar beams that spun slowly in concentric rings. Seated within was Ra, or perhaps Atum, the Ennead's oldest flame, his form shifting between moments like heat waves.The third thundered with unseen storms, its structure carved from marble, cloud, and lightning. There sat Zeus, king of the Olympians, gripping a scepter that was shaped like a broken lightning bolt.
These three gods were the Tribunal.
When Anu rose, the entire Axis Nexus seemed to bow. This was not due to anyone's movement, but from the weight of his divine presence. His voice rolled deep and cold, like gravity echoing through eternity.
"Champions, welcome. You stand at the edge of divinity, drawn from your dying world, ruined kingdoms, and forgotten times. Each of you has been chosen to represent a god. Your fate is no longer your own. You fight for glory. For honor. For judgment. This is the Divine Tournament known as Heaven's Arena."
The words settled deep in Malik's bones like ice. A few murmurs rippled among the champions. One shouted something about fairness. Another cursed the gods under their breath. Anu raised his hand, and silence fell like a slammed door.
"You may reject your purpose. You may resist. But you are now bound to your sponsor god."
He settled back into his throne. Ra rose next, his voice carrying warmth and smoothness; it was almost theatrical in its richness.
"Fight well," he said. "Entertain us."
"The eyes of the divine are upon you."
He gestured across the floating tiers, where the major gods now leaned forward with casual interest, settling in to watch a drama crafted solely for their amusement.
Zeus rose last. He said nothing at first. Then:
"Fight to the best of your ability, and try your hardest not to bore me."
The moment Zeus sat, the space around the Tribunal pulsed with raw power. The gates of the Celestial Coliseum began to shift and move in an unforeseen way. Gates and doors on Earth usually swing open, but this gate unfolded like a radiant flower made of divine energy. The doors unfurled, revealing a portal of glowing golden light. The light felt endless, as if it could go on for eternity. The bridges began to form out of thin air and connect the Coliseum to the floating sanctums that were scattered across the lower planes of the Nexus. They emerged from the void beneath the champions' feet. These were glowing threads that wove themselves into solid light paths.
The floor beneath Malik shifted. A symbol appeared at his feet: the eye of Horus, encircled by falcon wings. It pulsed once, and the path before him blazed with gold and green fire. Across the plaza, other symbols flared to life. There are dragons, eagles, hammers, and fire wheels; each representing a different pantheon and guiding their champions toward their assigned sanctums. Zahra, Dalia, and Kamen moved together, already walking toward their glowing path. Zahra glanced back. "You're coming, aren't you?"
Malik hesitated for only a heartbeat.
How can people just go along with this?
The mark burned across his chest and began to pulse once more, almost like rejection was not even an option.
There's no point in thinking about it now; I am not the only one whose freedom of choice was taken.
As the champions went into their assigned sanctums, the gods above settled back into their celestial thrones. The divine tournament, known as Heaven's Arena, was about to begin, and no one knew what to expect in this cycle. However, one thing's for sure: nothing will be the same for both mortals and gods.