Holy ****

As soon as the potion touched Era's lips and the taste of strawberry milkshake flooded her mouth, she almost cried.

Whoever settled on that flavoring deserved a kiss. A fleeting moment of joy in what could very well be her last moments—how thoughtful.

Then, she realised.

It was probably designed as a last meal.

They could have done better.

Era gulped it down in one go and waited. A strange sensation unfurled in her gut, spreading like ink through water. A tickle in her throat rose into a pressure, then—

BURP.

Well, that was anticlimactic.

The longer nothing happened, the more ridiculous this all seemed. What if she had been tricked? It wasn't completely out of the realm of possibility. A cult group called the Illuminati run by shadowy figures who employed nuns to drain life force and deal drugs at the same time? A rival organization called H.V.N, which she was definitely not supposed to confuse with the well-known afterlife destination? And the cherry on top?

She had accidentally killed the messiah and triggered an apocalypse.

It sounded like the plot of a bad novel written by an overenthusiastic amateur with way too much time on their hands.

Then, the world shattered.

The sterile white room melted into a vortex of color, stretching and warping like liquid light. Her body lurched forward, weightless and untethered, as if reality itself had let go of her.

A silent scream clawed at her throat.

She was falling—no, being pulled—dragged between unseen forces, neither here nor there. Space twisted, unmade itself, and then—

It stopped.

Era dropped to her knees on an endless plain. The ground beneath her shimmered, smooth yet shifting, as if liquid glass was trying to decide whether to stay solid. The sky stretched forever, a yawning void, too vast, too empty. There was no sun, no stars, yet everything was bathed in an otherworldly glow. The air hummed—not with sound, but with a presence, as if the space itself was watching.

She felt different. Lighter, unbound. As if something had peeled away her flesh and left only a thread of existence behind. Power thrummed beneath her feet, intoxicating and terrifying all at once.

Now this is more like it, she thought, dazed. Much more like the classic description of heaven.

She took an uneasy step forward.

Instantly, the ground moved beneath her, propelling her forward like a living thing. The invisible force carried her effortlessly across the shimmering expanse until—

She stopped.

Before her, massive gilded gates loomed, impossibly tall, curling with intricate vines of gold and pearls, their flowers shimmering in shades she had no name for. The sight stole the breath from her lungs.

Woah.

"You took the leap, then, mortal."

The voice was a low, throaty grumble, like stone grinding against stone.

Era flinched and tore her gaze from the gates. To her right, a cloaked figure loomed, their form draped in tattered black robes that bled into the air itself. Shadows clung to them unnaturally, obscuring their face, their limbs—everything. Yet she could feel their gaze, burning, unseen.

"The gods have been watching and waiting for your arrival. I'm sure many will be pleased by your decision."

The presence was unnerving, the voice unearthly. Yet, strangely, there was no hostility. Era knew better than to judge by appearances.

"That's a relief," she replied breezily. "I assume that means I won't be immediately pulverised on sight ?"

Silence. How reassuring.

The longer the figure said nothing, the more Era regretted opening her mouth.

She cleared her throat. "So, are you a deity too?"

"No." The response came instantly.

" I am the Cailleach, gatekeeper to the realm of gods."

The words felt old, heavy. They clung to the air like forgotten history. Era eyed them carefully. "It feels weird to just call you Gatekeeper. Guess that makes me, Era, Forced Participant."

More silence. Hook, line… nothing.

She sighed. "Do you at least have a name?"

A pause.

"I am Beira."

That surprised her. Era hadn't expected a reply.

"Beira," she echoed, testing the name on her tongue. "That's a beautiful name." No reaction. Tough crowd.

Still, something about Beira intrigued her. She had the presence of someone who had stood at the crossroads of history, watching eras rise and fall. Not a god, yet powerful enough to command this place. Who was she really? Where there other… creatures like her here? How did she get here?

Pushing those thought aside, Era decided it was best to focus on herself presently and gestured at the gates.

"So, how do I get in?"

Beira extended her hand, palm outstretched.

Era stared at it. "Oh, um. High-five?"

No response.

Damn. The women just had to leave out the part of the explanation which mentioned Era needed to bring some form of payment.

Era searched her pockets uselessly, but she had nothing to offer. Was this a test? Did she need to pay some kind of toll?

She had nothing physical, but maybe…

A secret?

Gatekeeping the realm of gods had to be lonely. Maybe Beira would appreciate some entertainment. A little gossip to keep the day spicy.

"I killed Vicar Peter by accident," Era confessed. "I was aiming for Mother Superior, Sister Maria."

Beira's hand twitched, then lowered.

The gates groaned as they began to open.

Era couldn't believe her luck- it worked.

Beira stepped forward, pressing her hands to the massive doors. They resisted, ancient and heavy, but with a deep, echoing creak, they yielded.

Era hesitated.

This was happening too fast. She had barely processed any of it—barely had time to think about what meeting the gods meant. What if they took one look at her and decided she was a mistake? Was she walking to her demise?

As if sensing her unease, Beira raised her right hand, palm down this time.

Another test? Or an offering?

"You said the gods were pleased I came," Era said carefully. "Does that mean they'll offer me a blessing?"

Beira was silent for a long moment. Then she spoke:

The gods, they bless with careless hands,

To whom they choose, in distant lands.

No reason why, no rhyme nor cause,

Their gifts bestowed without a pause.

A fool may rise, a rogue may soar,

While others stand outside the door.

What is this gift, that falls like rain,

For those who stumble, fall, and strain?

The gods, they laugh, they love to see,

Who will rise from this gift, and who will flee. For to them, it's sport, it's joy, it's play,

To watch the chosen stumble or sway.

The blessings fall, not on the pure,

But on the ones they find obscure.

Their favour's fickle, their love untold,

But never doubt—they watch the bold.

So tell me, mortal, what is this game,

Where some are chosen, yet none are the same?

A jester's crown, a warrior's sword,

A king's command, a beggar's word.

In your path trials await,

The god of Greed will test your fate.

The god of Speed will twist your mind,

The god of War will leave scars behind.

The god of Chaos will make the clock rewind, And through it all, a mystery calls,

A hidden hand behind it all.

In the end, when all seems lost,

A choice will come, and you will be tossed. To sign a pact with one unknown,

A sixth god's will, never shown.

Or fail, and let your future fall,

The choice you make will shape it all.

So heed this warning, weak but true,

The gods will watch and laugh at you.

But choose your path with heart and mind, For what's ahead, you can never unwind."

Before Era could respond, Beira vanished.

Era stood frozen, her mind reeling.

What the hell was that supposed to mean?

She had been expecting a quick yes or no, cheeky wink, not this.

Despite that, her gut reaction was…. Appreciative? Era was sure the riddle would come in handy, besides-

A riddle that long?

There was no way she was getting pulverised—

Not immediately, at least.

——————-

Era's next step carried her into the heart of a vast, circular hall whose splendour surpassed mortal understanding. The marble floor stretched like a still, liquid expanse, its surface so polished that it mirrored her every hesitant movement. Each step echoed faintly, a reminder of her solitude amidst a space clearly meant for

beings far greater than herself. Towering alabaster columns loomed like giants,

their surfaces etched with intricate runes that shimmered faintly, whispering

forgotten secrets in a language long lost.

The walls were unlike anything Era had seen before: a living tapestry of molten gold and

glass, flowing yet solid, as though reality itself had bent to create them. Tributaries of gold veined upwards, merging into the ceiling, which unfolded above her like a canvas of constellations. Stars glimmered and swirled in arcs, their light cold and distant, yet strangely alive.

Thrones—magnificent in their uniqueness—lined the perimeter of the space. Each seemed an artifact from a world beyond comprehension. One was wrought of smooth, unyielding stone, its surface dark and ancient, as though carved by the weight of eternity. Another gleamed with gold and darkened wood, its design austere yet commanding. Yet another seemed crafted of starlight itself, its crystalline form trapping

glimmers of a distant cosmos. There were others, each beyond words, so intricate and alien that Era's gaze faltered, unable to fully take them in. Their architecture could have held her in awe for an age, but her attention was stolen away.

Four thrones were occupied.

Her heart clenched.

The inhabitants of these thrones, though human in form, radiated an otherworldly presence that defied comprehension. Their existence was a gravitational force, pulling her into an orbit.

This was them. The gods. There was no doubt.

Even lifting her head to meet their gazes felt like an act of defiance, as if the weight of the

sky pressed down upon her neck. Her heart trembled. Suddenly, it no longer seemed disheartening that most of the thrones remained empty—she would have

melted before them all. The thought of showing her back to some while engaging

with others was unthinkable.

One of them stirred, breaking the oppressive silence.

"Mortal," he rumbled, his voice resonant as the tolling of a great bell. "You have

arrived at last. I had begun to lose interest in your fate."

Era flinched.

The speaker's form was broad and commanding, his skin burnished bronze as though the sun itself had kissed him into existence. His hair, a living cascade of flames, shifted and crackled faintly, framing features sharp and uncompromising. Eyes like black opals glinted in the firelight, reflecting nothing but her trembling

form.

He lounged upon a throne of darkened wood, its charred surface carved with patterns that pulsed faintly, as though alive with hidden energy. One boot draped lazily over the arm of his seat, his posture exuding a confidence that bordered on insolence.

He regarded her with an expression of boredom.

Era had no doubt—this was Kaelith.

His words weren't just sound; they were a physical force, pressing down on her like an invisible foot, threatening to crush her against the mirrored marble floor like a bug.

Concentrating, she redistributed her weight, bracing herself against the invisible assault. But it wasn't just the weight of his voice that struck her—it was the meaning behind his words.

He was losing interest?

That cut deeper than any blade, each syllable stripping away her resolve. Hadn't she done enough? Hadn't she, quite literally, brought about the end of the world? What else could possibly do to earn his attention? How long did she have left before he grew bored, or worse angry?

But just as the shadows of futility threatened to consume her, a familiar ember flared to life

within her. A whisper of defiance, a fragment of her own voice that refused to

be silenced. It was the part of her that had weathered the worst storms, that

met every failure with a wry grin, a raised eyebrow and a copying mechanism her

therapist would have labelled as unhealthy.

'He should really work on that attention span,' she thought, the corners of her lips twitching despite herself. 'A few sessions with a decent doctor might do wonders.'

"Do try to compose yourself, mortal," said a woman seated on a throne of white stone,

cracked with veins of silver. Her face was a mask of elegance and severity, her

features as flawless as sculpted ivory. Her hair, long and golden, fell in waves

that seemed to glimmer faintly, though no light touched them. Her eyes, pale as

a winter's sky, regarded Era as a stain on an otherwise pristine floor.

"We do not grant audiences lightly," the goddess continued, her voice as cold and cutting as artic winds. "Do not squander this moment with foolish thoughts."

Era froze. Could they read her thoughts?

"Not exactly," Kaelith drawled, his smirk widening to a devilish grin. "But when you wear them so plainly, mortal, it hardly matters."

 Era had no time to decipher his words when a deep, guttural snore echoed through the air. Era's gaze flittered to the culprit, the third figure. This one was slumped in his

crystaline throne, his immense form hunched and grotesque. His head lolled to

the side, drool glistening on his chin—or perhaps his neck, in truth there

wasn't much distinction between the two. His snoring continued to boom through

the chamber like distant thunder.

So even gods could be ugly. Her thoughts slipped unbidden from her subconcious.

Oh no! Shit!

She winced in anticipation, expecting their fury.

Instead, Kaelith roared with laughter, the sound reverberating through the hall. He slammed his hand against the arm of his throne, sending a cascade of sparks into the air.

"Did you hear that, Astraea? The mortal thinks him ugly!" He gestured

toward the slumbering god with a grin that spoke of nothing but mischief.

"I must say, little one, you are not wrong."

Astraea frowned, her lips thinning.

"Careful, mortal," she said, her tone like shards of glass. "The forms you see

before you are but fragments of what we are. Do not presume to judge us by the

shapes we choose to wear."

"I—I meant no offense," Era stammered.

Kaelith leaned forward, his fiery gaze twinkling in delight "Offense? Of course you did. Offense is the spice of life, little one. Say what you will—if you dare." His smile grew wider, his teeth glinting like molten steel.

In a panic, Era opened her mouth to ramble a concoction of apologises, requests and praise. Anything to get them to deem her worthy. Anything to spare her and bestow a

blessing no matter how small.

The fourth figure interjected: "One sentence," the goddess purred. "Speak one

sentence, mortal, and bare to us your soul."

She sat at the very edge of her thrown, which was the simplest of all her peers, made from tiny twigs and reeds like the nest of a bird, clad in plain black leathers. Her long

midnight hair, streaked with violet, danced in the air, twisting and turning, as

her eyes, large and whirling with all the colours of a storm bore their

intensity down at Era. Her mouth curled into a gleeful smile at her proposition.

"Marvelous, Zyra. Your cruelty creates the best fun" Kaelith roared, his amusement

bursting from his skin.

Era blinked. One sentence? How?

She hoped the right silky combination of words would just weave before her to form the sentence. Even her quickwitted brain remained unhelpful- bare her soul? What did that even mean?

Must they all speak in riddles Era wanted to scream. The thought took her back to Beira, the helpful gate keeper. Maybe something she said held the clue?

Nothing. The most important moment in her life, and Era was drawing a blank.

She looked at all of them, to their delighted or expecting expressions. Perhaps she was overthinking this? Even if she wasn't, even if they granted her a lifetime, Era knew she

wouldn't find the words they sought. They were impossible to read, and all so

different. The thought tickled her brain, and suddenly without restriction, she laughed. The chuckles slipping through her lips, vibrated through the hall. For the first damn time since Era had been thrust into all this mess, she felt suddenly, completely at ease.

Perhaps this was acceptance of her fate? Or maybe she had gone mad. But she could only come up with one idea.

Era swallowed hard as the words fell from her lips, unbidden and strong. "Make me among your blessed." It had been meant as a cheeky proposition, a half-joke to diffuse the weight crushing her chest. But instead, it rang out like an order—sharp, direct, and unmistakably defiant.

The silence that followed wasn't still—it was electric, pulsing with the charged fury of

thunderclouds on the verge of eruption .And then it shattered.

Kaelith threw back his head and laughed, a sound that exploded through the hall like a wildfire, crackling and devouring the silence with feral glee. His flames surged, licking

at the air around his charred throne. "Make me among your blessed?" he repeated, his grin splitting into a feral snarl. "That's your answer? That's your soul? Oh, little mortal, you amuse me more than I expected."

Astraea, however, was far less entertained. Her frosted gaze narrowed to slits, her perfect composure fracturing into visible disdain. "You dare presume to order the

divine?" she hissed, her voice sharp and biting as an arctic wind.

"You, a fragile creature who stumbled into this hall by accident, borne

here on the back of your failures? Arrogance alone does not earn our favor—it

earns only destruction."

Even Zyra's amusement dimmed, her storm-colored eyes darkening as her smile became a razor-thin slash. "Such boldness for something so easily broken," she

murmured, her tone as smooth as silk and as dangerous as a knife's edge.

"I wonder... will that sharp tongue hold when we grind your soul to dust?"

Era felt their words like hammer blows, resonating deep within her. They echoed Beira's warning, her cryptic caution: "On your path, trials await." What could she have

meant?

A sound like distant avalanches rumbled through the hall, low and guttural, as the grotesque god finally stirred. His massive form shifted on his throne, his bulk heaving likethe earth itself moving. "Speak, human," he rumbled, his voice like stone grinding against stone. "Speak long and clear, and explain yourself."

Era inhaled sharply. Her pulse thundered in her ears, but her resolve hardened. She would take the leap. Commit. Her voice, when it came, was steady.

"Would you like to find out?" she said. "I offer you a contract—all of you, even those among you not present."

The air in the hall thickened, humming with raw power as her words took form. There was no tremor of fear in her tone, no plea for mercy. It carried instead the strength of

someone who had stared into the abyss and decided not to blink.

Astraea's glacial composure cracked further, her gaze hardening into something colder and sharper than ice. "You overreach, mortal," she snapped, each word weighted

with millennia of disdain. "We are not your pawns. This is your second offense,

and I will not tolerate a third."

Zyra tilted her head, her swirling midnight hair dancing on an invisible wind. Her

storm-touched eyes gleamed with dangerous delight. "And yet," she

purred, her voice soft and menacing, "it's rare to find one so bold as to forgo groveling. Perhaps we should let her speak. I, for one, am entertained."

Kaelith's grin widened, his flames flaring with renewed fervour. His throne could hardly

contain his emotion.

"A mortal who seeks to challenge the divine? Tell me, little one, do you intend to rewrite

the rules of our own game? To shatter tradition and revel in chaos? Is this

your soul? Then show it to me, let it bleed out"

The grotesque god leaned forward, drool glinting as it dripped from his slackened jaw.

"Finish your offer," he growled. "Waste no more of our time."

Era's breath steadied.

"I offer you all four trials," she said. "Challenges of your choosing, entirely in

your control, which I will fulfil without opposition. In return, for your participation you must offer me your blessing if I succeed. I ask for fairness and the chance to prove myself worthy"

The hall seemed to hold its breath, as if the very air itself awaited their response. Even the gods appeared momentarily stilled, their colossal presence focused solely on

her.

Zyra's grin returned, wider and sharper. "Oh, I like this game," she said.

"I'll craft a trial that twists her mortal mind into knots. Let's see if she dares to laugh when I paint these halls in her screams."

Astraea's lips pressed into a thin line, but her gaze lingered on Era with something

resembling reluctant interest. "This is folly," she said coldly. "But... I see merit in her terms. For now, I will reserve my

judgment."

The grotesque god rumbled, his laughter low and menacing. "Four trials," he repeated slowly. "But fail even one, mortal,

and you will regret offering yourself so freely."

Kaelith clapped his hands, his fire roaring higher until its tips reached the ceiling. His sheer delight was palpable, like a child bestowed their dream gift. "It's

settled. Four trials, each crafted by a God willing to risk bestowing a blessing upon you. Succeed and we will consider your worth. Fail, even one, and you will reap a fate worse then death" His sadistic cackles rang true and clear.

With his binding words the hall trembled fiercely, the floor cracking beneath her. Era felt her body being tugged backwards. "Your trials will come soon, mortal," Astraea intoned, as the chamber crumbled around them.

Just as she was lifted, Era saw a flash of shadow. Ten bodies, all drowned in black, now sat upon the empty thrones and then Era's soul was wretched out of the realm of Gods.