The rift hummed like a living thing, its edges shimmering with broken pieces of worlds that should never have touched. Adams stood at the threshold, the cool wind tugging at his clothes, carrying whispers that sounded almost like old friends and enemies speaking at once. Behind him, the small group waited — Anderson with his steady presence, Mira gripping her star-forged arm, Elara clutching a worn tablet of divine runes, and Soren leaning on his dragon-bone cane like it was an extension of his stubborn will.
No grand speeches. No dramatic declarations. Just five people staring into the unknown because someone had to.
"Feels wrong," Soren muttered, spitting to the side. "Like the time we crossed the Blood Mire during the Oblivion mess. Air tasted of copper and regret."
Adams nodded. "That’s because it is wrong. The Hollow is stitching realities together that were never meant to meet. The old gods are caught in the middle — some tempted, some terrified. We’re going to remind them who holds the throne now."
Mira flexed her prosthetic fingers, the metal catching the fractured light. "I’ll take point with the scouts. If there’s divine trickery ahead, I can smell it a mile away."
Elara adjusted her glasses, eyes scanning the swirling colors inside the rift. "The runes suggest this nexus is a wound. Old power leaking through. Odin’s ravens might be watching. Loki’s probably already planning how to turn it to his advantage."
Anderson rested a hand on the hilt of his blade, the one Adams had personally reinforced years ago. "Adams, we follow your lead. But if the gods test us..."
"Then we show them why they chose harmony," Adams said simply. He stepped forward first, the others falling in behind without hesitation.
The transition was disorienting. One moment they stood on solid rock, the next they walked across floating fragments of different worlds. A piece of marble temple floor from some ancient Greek ruin floated beside a stretch of Norse longhouse timber. Lightning crackled in the distance without thunder. Shadows moved where there should have been none.
They hadn’t gone far when the first challenge appeared.
A towering figure materialized on a larger island ahead — broad-shouldered, red-bearded, hammer resting on his shoulder. Thor. The God of Thunder looked diminished, his armor scarred from old battles, but the power in his stance was unmistakable. Ravens circled overhead — Odin’s eyes and ears.
"King of Gods," Thor rumbled, voice like distant thunder. "You walk where even we tread carefully. The Hollow sings of restoration. Of thrones returned. Why do you interfere?"
Adams stopped a respectful distance away, hands loose at his sides. "Because restoration for you means chaos for everyone else. I ended Oblivion so your kind could have a place. Don’t make me regret that mercy."
Thor’s grip tightened on Mjolnir. For a moment the air crackled with potential violence. Then the god sighed, shoulders slumping slightly. "Loki laughs at your arrogance. Hades whispers of shadows rising. Zeus... he watches. We are not all united in this."
Mira stepped up beside Adams, her prosthetic arm humming with stored energy. "Then choose better. The pantheon doesn’t break its own."
Elara spoke up, voice steady despite the divine pressure. "The old myths are clear. The King bound you for a reason. The Hollow offers nothing but pretty lies and eventual consumption."
Soren simply readied his cane, eyes hard. No words needed.
Thor regarded them all for a long moment. Then, slowly, he lowered his hammer. "For now... we stand aside. But if the Hollow grows too strong, even the King of Gods may need allies."
The thunder god faded, leaving only the faint scent of ozone and the circling ravens. One raven dropped a single black feather at Adams’ feet — a message, perhaps, or a warning.
Adams picked it up, turning it over in his fingers. "They’re scared. Good. Fear keeps people honest longer than loyalty sometimes."
They pressed on. The nexus grew stranger. Fragments of Egyptian tombs floated beside Celtic stone circles. A river of liquid starlight cut through the middle, whispering secrets in languages long dead. At its center stood a ruined temple that felt older than any myth — the true heart of the wound.
Here, the air grew thick. A presence waited.
Hades emerged from the shadows first, dark robes blending with the gloom, his helm of invisibility tucked under one arm. Beside him stood a sly figure with mismatched eyes and a grin that could cut glass — Loki. And behind them both, a towering one-eyed form wrapped in a cloak of ravens — Odin himself.
"Adams," Odin said, voice carrying the weight of countless winters. "You come at last. The Hollow reaches for all of us. Even kings."
Loki chuckled. "Especially kings. How does it feel, playing god to gods?"
Hades remained silent, eyes like bottomless pits, but his presence pressed down like the weight of every grave ever dug.
Adams met their gazes one by one. "It feels like responsibility. Something you three understood once, before Oblivion broke you. I gave you harmony under my rule. The Hollow offers chains disguised as freedom. Don’t be fools."
The conversation stretched, tense but not yet violent. Odin spoke of balance lost. Loki danced around offers of alliance and betrayal in the same breath. Hades simply watched, judging. Adams answered with calm truth — he had no interest in their thrones, only in protecting what he had built. The pantheon, the sect, the people who had chosen to stand with him.
Mira and Elara added their voices at key moments, grounding the divine egos with mortal perspective. Soren stood ready, a quiet reminder that even gods could bleed.
In the end, no blows were struck. Odin inclined his head — not submission, but acknowledgment. "We will not aid the Hollow. For now. But the wound grows. Even we feel its pull."
Loki winked. "Try not to die, King. It would be terribly boring."
Hades simply faded back into shadow without a word.
The group stood in the temple ruins as the gods departed. The air felt lighter, but the nexus still pulsed with hunger.
Anderson wiped sweat from his brow. "That could have gone worse."
Adams smiled faintly. "It’s a start. The old gods are divided. Some will resist the Hollow. Others... we’ll deal with when they choose poorly."
They pressed deeper, following the clearest resonance trail. The nexus revealed more — shattered memories of lost civilizations, fragments of power waiting to be claimed. At the heart of it all, Adams sensed the true source. Not the Hollow itself, but a doorway to it.
He stopped at the edge of a glowing chasm. "This is as far as we go today. We’ve learned enough. The pantheon needs to know. The old gods are waking, and the board is changing."
Mira grinned. "About time we reminded everyone why you’re the King."
As they turned back toward the exit rift, a final whisper followed them — the Hollow’s voice, ancient and patient.
*Soon.*
Adams didn’t flinch. He simply kept walking, the others at his side. The sect waited. The pantheon waited. His people waited.
And for the first time in ages, he felt truly ready for whatever came next.
The King of Gods was coming home.