[Notification]
[The sea greets the Golden Immortal]
The blue notification glowed before his eyes as the rain spattered on Aron's face. He huffed, appreciating the deep sea and everything within it. It had been a while since nature still loved him—that was good, that was enough.
"Khorn," Aron called.
She turned, her hair glowing bright and hot. The rain turned to vapor before it could even reach her. "Yes, my lord."
"You can demolish that parasite, right?" he asked.
Khorn smiled as her palms began churning divinity—not just divinity, but pure, high divinity blessed by Aron and Michael themselves. "If I don't, my lord, you can take my divinity and give it to our youngest," she declared, glancing at Peter.
Peter couldn't help but smile, feeling the recognition from the mighty Khorn. He watched her slowly float above the floating plane. He looked at Aron, whose golden eyes remained unwavering—still clear, still mighty.
Suuu….
But his gaze was interrupted by none other than Ron, landing on the tip of the aircraft and walking toward where they both stood. His yellow eyes glowed bright. "...Aron," he called, teeth gritted hard as he drew a small red ball. It gradually transformed, absorbing his divinity, morphing and expanding into a giant axe.
"You…..you took Everything from me ," he declared, pointing the axe at Aron.
Peter stepped in front of Aron as the golden spear appeared in his hands. Knowing his lord was low on divinity—and utterly low on karma—he prepared to act.
"My lord," he said, spinning the spear at rapid speed, slashing raindrops all around. "Let me handle him."
"Are you su—"
"Please." Peter interrupted. It was a plea, but also something more. He had lost again and again—on his first mission and the one after. There was no need for reasoning. As Lady Khorn had said, he was weak. As his lord had said, he was naive. If he didn't adapt, if he didn't face it, nothing would change.
'I won't be a victim anymore,' he thought, facing Ron.
"Like Lady Khorn said—to reach the king, you must face his herald."
Ron tilted his head, gazing at the blue-eyed, middle-aged man—scrawny in every way, with weak divinity. He finally remembered that forgettable face: the human from the rooftop with the traitor. That single memory made his breathing grow heavy.
"Because of you… because of him… I lost… I lost everything!" he bellowed. His walk turned into a run, the axe shining yellow with pounding divinity. He leaped, body fully arched for maximum impact, as Peter raised his spear horizontally to defend.
TANG!
The axe edge struck the spear's center. Both weapons shuddered, flashing with the vibration of colliding divinity, pushing the combatants back.
On the other hand, Julius spun his trident fast—very fast—dispersing the heaving hot fire heading toward him. His eyes remained fixed on the golden immortal. Khorn noticed, her own eyes twitching.
"Oh, you are indeed brave," she commented, her body flashing with fire as she shot toward him like a meteor. "...Looking away from your enemy." Her fist slammed into his trident. The sheer impact hurled him back into the dark sea.
Julius smiled—oh, he smiled. "Insects, always crawling and bothering until the end," he remarked. He whistled, the echo passing through the water like a wave toward the large lizard beast.
"If you don't attack him, my father won't stay silent," Julius echoed toward the giant beast, which had remained wary because of Aron. The command reached it, and it huffed steam from its nostrils, obeying the bastard prince of the sea.
Finally, it began to move—toward the crashed plane, toward the man whose very presence made its instincts scream not to fight.
It swam beneath the plane, its massive body heaving the sea at its whim, creating waves that rocked the wreckage. Then it rose, slowly. Its head—larger than three trucks combined—emerged, blue eyes glowing as dark green scales became visible.
Aron finally remembered what the monster was. Peter and Khorn noticed too, their eyes widening as they realized.
"...It's… a Goliath."
"Goliath."
"A Goliath," Aron said, meeting the menacing beast's glare—eyes that marked him as prey and nothing more. "...The mighty guardian of the sea," he added as the beast drew near, growling and opening its mouth.
ROOOOAAARRRR!!!!!!!!
The roar was loud and heavy, shuddering everything around it—so much so that even the echoes of lightning, rain, and storm were drowned out. The sheer wind from the vocal force spread Aron's long coat, forcing him to take a step back.
There was a silent pause after the roar, even Ron and Julius staying steady for a couple of seconds.
[Karma indication low. Fight is ill-advised.]
Aron looked directly into those monstrous eyes, his own golden eyes glowing brightly. He didn't know what would happen, with his karma so dangerously low. But something told him—a scent he was familiar with, yet not at the same time—that he should face the beast and find out.
'Don't worry. I will not fight him,' he said, reassuring his system, as if it cared.
"Khorn!" he called, still glaring at the beast. "Peter!" he called again. "I will be back, but be careful. I won't return for a while." He said as he stepped on air, dropping straight toward the dark sea. The giant scaly beast followed, its massive body plunging right where Aron had gone.
Everyone saw it—the gall to remain unfazed before such a beast. Peter was worried, not for himself but for his lord. Facing such a creature with bitter karma was close to suicide. But his attention was swarmed by the axe inching toward his neck. He dodged with only inches to spare.
"Distracted, are we? Forget about your lord—or master, whatever you call him," Ron said, shaking rain off his axe. "That suicidal freak will meet his end soon, and you will too." He swung again.
TANG!
Peter gripped the spear tightly, his hands shaking from the vibrations of the collisions. The pain from his burnt palm still ached, but he gripped the spear even tighter nonetheless, swinging it so that rainwater splashed directly into Ron's eyes, forcing him to step back and blink repeatedly.
'It's not the time for hesitation,' he thought.
Before the half-blood knew it, the man was invisible again. His yellow eyes scanned around. "Same trick, huh? That's all you can do—hide. Hide using your talent, hide behind the immortal, hide behind Khorn's skirt." He looked around, his eyes catching a human-shaped shade where rain didn't fall.
"Theo, that traitor, was right. No need to worry about the pathetic little herald." He swung his hand toward the figure. The sharp edge of his heavy axe sliced right through it. But no blood came. He had felt it—his axe hitting something. When he saw it, the figure became visible: just a chair held by an old man from behind.
"I'm... I'm sorry. I was told to stay hidden," the pilot said, trembling.
"...Wha—" Ron started, but before he could realize, he felt sharp pain in his chest. The familiar spear pierced through him as Peter appeared right behind his back.
"Ha, you clever little—" he gasped, feeling warm blood leaking as the pain gradually settled in. Peter pulled the spear out, deepening the wound.
A breath of relief came to him as he nodded toward the pilot, whom he had made invisible from the very start. Yes, it had taken quite a chunk of divinity to extend his talent to both the pilot and the cushion chair, but it had to be done against an opponent as strong as him.
He gazed at the half-blood of Hermes on his knees, bleeding profusely. He did it. It was done—finished. Finally, he had proven something.
"It's okay now," he told the pilot. "This garbage is done fo—"
"I remember you now," Ron interjected. "I thought I'd seen you before—way, way before," he said as his body slowly gushed with high divinity.
Peter stepped back as he felt it—the half-blood's divinity growing stronger and stronger, far more than during their rooftop encounter.
"...A miracle?" he said, his blue eyes glowing to see the truth. "No, it's not a miracle—a connection?" His gaze turned to the distant fight where fire and water clashed. The divinity linked to the bastard son of Poseidon.
"No, he didn't."
'A pact? Between different half-bloods? That's…' he thought, feeling the link. It was like master and servant—no, worse: master and slave.
The half-blood stood, cracking his neck and flexing his chest as the wound gradually healed. "I remember you, Peter. Husband of… Alicia, was it?"
Peter's eyes widened, his heartbeat rising. That name—the name of his late wife. He knew. How did he know?
Ron smiled, seeing Peter's reaction: that look of trauma, that look of horror. "Oh, it's really you—the husband of the whore my father defiled… haha, and butchered after learning she had birthed his child. It's funny how the world works, ain't it… Peter?"
"Shut… up," Peter uttered with boiling rage.