[Updates applied:
Karma +300
Karma +350
Karma +400
Total change: +1,050 Karma (previous -23,567 → current -22,517)
Profile updated.]
It looked like he had only made a dent in his fractured karma, but it was okay—a small step, yet a step nonetheless. He looked around, admiring the view from the roof: the stunning quiet night sky above and the bustling city below.
He fixed his hair, tousled by the wind, as Khorn walked to his side. "...It's done, my lord. The one named Theo—he's healed," she said, gazing at the view alongside him.
"Good…" he answered. "It's quite nice up here," he muttered, drawing a deep, steadying breath. The calm, the peace—he had missed it sorely. "So I think now's the time for you to answer me… why are you alone, Khorn?" he asked.
He had given strict orders to his heralds: never divide, always remain united. United, they were strong—perhaps even stronger than he was. But seeing her look down without answering, he knew something must have happened among them.
He let it be. He didn't want to push her too hard. He allowed the quiet to settle over the windy, calming balcony.
"…My lord," she said at last.
"…Hmm?"
"If you don't mind me asking—it's okay if you don't want to answer, but…" She paused.
Aron nodded. "It's all right. Ask what you want. You deserve at least that much."
She fell silent for several seconds, gathering courage. She was terrified of saying the wrong thing, of driving him away again—leaving them, leaving her. Yet this question had burned inside her for years and years and years.
"What happened? Why did you leave us?" she asked plainly.
Aron kept gazing at the horizon. "I think you, of all people, might have guessed what I was going through," he murmured with a quiet sigh.
She couldn't help looking down. Yes, she had known. She had watched him grow emptier and more somber every century. The more glory they won, the hollower his golden eyes became.
"I'm sorry, lord. I just… couldn't fill the void when you left," she replied all the same.
Aron gave a small smile and placed his palm on her crimson head, gently ruffling her wavy hair. "You did well, Khorn. And you've grown stronger—much stronger. I'd wager you've surpassed most of the others by now."
She smiled—truly smiled—warmth flooding her at his touch. Pleasant memories resurfaced: the days when she was still a broken human child, ready to die, until those same kind, warm hands had patted her head and saved her.
"No, I'm actually the strongest now. I've already surpassed most of them, for your information."
Aron lifted his hand with a broader smile. "Oh, really? So you can originate miracles at will now?" he asked.
"I… I can. I really can. I unleashed a miracle when I confronted a bastard son of Hades," she defended.
"Hades—one of the three cunts? They're having children again? I forbade them from producing any offspring."
Khorn bit her lip. Yes, that should have been the case. "Lord, I told you—after you were gone, the balance began to crumble. They grew bolder, far more active in their despicable debauchery." She waved a hand. One of her men approached—an older man with a tablet.
Aron studied him: bald head, slim and weathered frame. Yet he sensed it—a vast aura of divinity. And rare talent.
*He's already too old; awakening him now would be pointless,* Aron thought, turning his attention to the screen.
Khorn displayed a worldwide map. The modern world was divided into five great unions—not mere countries, but powerful coalitions banded together. Red dots pulsed across the globe, concentrated heaviest in the Western Union where they now stood.
"These red dots… don't tell me," Aron said.
"Yes, my lord. It's exactly what you fear. These mark the areas where the pagans have spread—their numbers still growing," she confirmed, guilt threading her tone.
"They're simply producing more children—mingling with humans, mingling among themselves…" Aron's voice roughened. It all made sense now: the skyrocketing Olympian karma, the staged heroic dramas. He couldn't help clench his hand into a fist.
"They never learn," he said, tone laced with rising heat. "They never do..."
Those burning golden eyes—that gaze alone told Khorn everything. Things were going to change, and change for good. The world would once again know his glory, just as she had known it from the very beginning.
"...My lord," she called eagerly. "What will we do then?"
Aron huffed. Yes—what would he do now? He knew what was happening, why it was happening, what was going to happen. The end was nigh. Bleak, even. And he had returned to change it.
This imbalance was the start of it all—the root cause he had ignored in his past timeline. So he would begin there, rebuilding the world from its foundation. For that to happen, the Olympians needed to be stopped. Put back in their place.
"...There are many of them," he said. "We are few…"
He knew his limits. He was strong, yes, but karma weighed him down heavily. Most dangerously, he lacked manpower. For that, he needed his heralds back—all of them.
"...Khorn," he called.
"Yes, my lord."
"We need to find them."
"All of them?" she asked, knowing full well what he meant.
"Indeed," he said. "You already know where they are, I'm sure of that."
Silence fell suddenly. Yes—of course she knew. She had kept tabs on them even after they disbanded, disbanded for good.
"My lord, you and I—we can still—"
"Khorn…" he growled.
The spike of roughness struck her like a blow. She knelt at once. "Yes, my lord. I will do as you command," she said, gaze lowered.
Knock knock.
Peter stood at the door, trying not to interrupt—yet he had to. "...My lord," he called.
"Oh, Peter—come in. What is it?" Aron said, waving him forward. Khorn watched the newcomer with narrowed eyes. She knew exactly who he was: a herald, yes—but a herald of Eve. Herald of a betrayer who had fled.
Peter felt that gaze and avoided her eyes as he approached Aron. He pulled out his phone. "...My lord, I received a message from the angels—Uriel."
The name seized Aron's attention instantly. His golden eyes flashed. "What did she say?"
"They asked if I had found you… and they sent a video. To show you, if I did." Peter handed over the phone.
Aron took it, seeing the glowing screen, the message, the attached video.
Khorn glared at Peter. Her hand shot to his collar, lifting him effortlessly. "So you were with that bitch all along. I should have guessed—and thrown you off," she growled.
Peter dangled, heart pounding, utterly confused by her fury. But Aron knew—oh, he knew. Uriel and Khorn had never gotten along. He had long since given up understanding why.
"Calm down, Khorn. He'll be your brother soon," Aron said, gently pushing her hand down.
"...What? Him?" she asked, stunned. "You said there would only be twelve of us…"
"I changed my mind. Now behave and take care of your junior."
Khorn studied Peter: dark hair, middle-aged, blue eyes, dressed like some boomer in a blue shirt and white pants. "But my lord… he's—"
"Young. He's young, not weak. He has potential. And don't make me repeat myself—you know I hate it." Aron turned to the phone and opened the video.
Khorn grabbed Peter by the shoulder and pulled him aside, leaving their lord in peace.
Aron saw her—Uriel.
His heartbeat quickened, just slightly above normal. His thumb hovered over the play button. Her silk-like white hair, those pure white eyes, delicate shoulders. Beauty incarnate. The fiery beauty he had eventually fallen for.
*Play it, goddammit,* he told himself.
He pressed play.
"…Ahem, is this working? One, two, three… okay, it's working," she said, pulling out a paper. She prepared to read the scripted words, but after a few seconds… she threw it aside and looked straight into the camera.
She leaned closer, a small, tentative smile touching her lips.
"Aron…" Her voice was soft, almost a whisper, carrying that familiar warmth that always cut straight through him. "Our Golden Slayer… how are you? It's been a while. A very… very long while."
She paused, as if waiting for an answer she knew wouldn't come. The smile lingered, but it didn't reach her eyes.
"I'm… fine," she continued, the words measured, careful. "We're holding. The remaining angels are strong. We always have been… so are the heralds."
Another pause. Longer this time. Her gaze dropped, and she folded her hands in her lap, fingers tightening until her knuckles paled.
"Actually…" Her voice cracked, just slightly. She looked up again, and Aron felt his chest tighten. "Actually, I'm not fine."
A breath trembled out of her. She closed her eyes for a moment, composing herself—or trying to.
"Adam and Eve… they've left us, Aron. Gone. Truly gone this time. No messages, no signs. Just… silence." Her words grew quieter, heavier. "And the mess they left behind… it's getting harder to manage. Every day, it grows a little heavier. A little darker."
Tears welled now, glistening at the corners of her white eyes, but she didn't let them fall. Not yet.
"The war—the one we've fought in the shadows all these centuries—it was manageable once. We held the line. We kept the balance." Her voice began to shake, emotion seeping through the cracks. "But the offspring of the three… Zeus, Poseidon, Hades… their children have turned the tide. They're bolder now. Crueler. Spreading faster than we can contain."
She leaned forward, desperation creeping in.
"It's getting worse, Aron. Worse and worse. We lose ground every week. Good people—mortals, angels, even some of the old heralds—they fall, and we can't bring them back. Not all of them." A single tear escaped, tracing down her cheek. "We need you. We need the Golden Slayer. The one who stood with us from the beginning. The one who made the gods fear the light."
Her composure fractured then. Shoulders trembling, she pressed a hand to her mouth, stifling a quiet sob.
"Please… if you're watching this… answer me. Answer us." Her voice broke completely now, raw and pleading. "If this keeps going… if you don't come back… the world will be doomed. Everything we fought for… everything you built… it'll all fall."
She stared into the camera, eyes shining with unshed tears, hope and heartache warring in her gaze.
"I miss you, Aron," she whispered. "We all do. Please… come back."
The video ended abruptly, freezing on her face—those white eyes fixed on him, waiting.
The phone trembled slightly in Aron's grip. His heartbeat thundered in his ears. For the first time in a very long while, the Golden Slayer felt something crack inside his ancient resolve.
"...Peter," he called, as both Khorn and he turned to Aron. Khorn gave a pat on Peter's back, mumbling something. Aron heard what she said but ignored it; Peter needed to grow through this, to learn, to understand what he had wished for.
"Yes, my lord," Peter said, his eyes falling a little deeper.
"...Where are Uriel and the others now?" Aron asked, handing back the phone.
"They are in the Northern Union, at the border of the Western clutches—to the land once called the UK, I think," Peter said, taking his phone back.
"Then we will go there. Pack up your stuff," Aron said, walking out at once—but he stopped as Khorn stepped in front of him.
"...Khorn… what are you doing? Step asi—?" he began, but halted, seeing the heaviness in her eyes. Like she feared losing him again.
"I knew you would try to go there right away—because of that bitch," she snarled. "My lord, I know you can help them and turn the tides easily, but please think for a second. We—us, your heralds—need you more right now," she said, her amber eyes deep.
She stepped closer, grasping his arm. "Please, my lord… don't walk away from me again," she pleaded.
Aron held his step, jaw tightening. She was right. Even he had told himself at the beginning that he needed to find them first. "Haaaa…" He let out a heavy sigh, looking up at the starry sky.
He had lost his cool for a moment. He didn't know why Uriel always had that effect on him, but yes—Khorn was right. He could turn the tides, but not win the war. One doesn't win this alone. He needed his generals back. The situation was serious, but he knew the future. And that meant he still had time.
"...Peter," he called.
"Yes, my lord."
"Tell Uriel and everyone to hold their ground a little longer. Tell them I am back, and I will return to the northern side after… I handle the west. So tell her that…"
Peter nodded and took out his phone, already typing. Aron placed a hand over Peter's. "And tell her… I missed her as well."
Peter nodded, eyes back on his phone. Khorn grunted, hearing her lord say those words to a bitch like her.
*…You never said that to me… why always her?* she thought, keeping it only a thought.
Then one of her men arrived—the same older man, holding a tablet.
"Madam," he called.
"Yes, Alfred… what happened?" she asked.
"It seems one of your satellites found… one of your brothers," he said simply.
Peter's ears pricked. "Brothers? Do you mean another herald?" he asked the old man, who only nodded.
Khorn took the tablet. An image of a map appeared—the north of the Western Union, a blinking spot right in the state of Greenland.
"It's James… he's so far away. What is he doing there?" Khorn said, zooming in on the city and marking the location. "My lord, we have him. What are your orders?" she asked, looking into his golden eyes.
"...Greenland…" Aron murmured, a memory pulsing through him. He knew James—he hated the cold, and it was bitterly cold there. James was also extremely lazy.
Then a sudden memory struck him. One that belonged to the future.
"He is targeting Hermes…" Aron said.