For a few seconds, Hephaestus and Lina couldn't even comprehend what had just happened.

Lina's lips parted, but no words escaped. Her entire body trembled, her golden eyes locked on Alex as if seeing a monster in human skin.

Hephaestus staggered back, muttering, his voice breaking with disbelief. "A mortal… a mortal just destroyed my greatest work… how could it be?"

The once-glorious hall, filled with divine weapons forged over millennia, now lay in ruins. The ground was cracked, the walls burned, and nothing but broken fragments of weapons remained.

And amidst the wreckage, Alex stood.

His left arm was gone, ripped away in the explosion. His entire body was bloodied, his clothes torn and singed. He leaned slightly, his breathing rough, but his eyes—his eyes were calm, almost mocking.

Inside his mind, his voice echoed bitterly. 'Hey, useless system, why didn't you warn me that something like this would happen?'

The reply came immediately, cold and annoyed.

[ You're the one stupid enough to play with death energy like that. Why are you blaming me for it? ]

A vein popped on Alex's forehead. 'You could've at least warned me about the explosion!'

[ What did you think would happen when you killed both swords' wills using death energy? ] the system replied lazily.

[ Their wills were what kept the immense power inside them balanced. The moment you destroyed their will, the collapse was inevitable. ]

Alex gritted his teeth. 'You should've said something!'

[ I thought you were a genius and knew what you were doing, but I now know you're an idiot, ] the system said bluntly. [ At least you got off with just losing one arm. It'll regenerate with time, so be happy and deal with it. ]

Alex's mouth twitched, speechless at the insult.

Then a voice erupted like wrath incarnate.

"You… you bastard!" Hephaestus roared, his eyes blazing like molten suns. "Why the hell did you do that?! You destroyed everything I created! Give me one good reason why I shouldn't kill you right here and now!"

Alex turned, meeting his burning gaze without flinching. "Because I proved my worth by wielding it… but it wasn't worthy of being wielded by me."

Hephaestus froze.

Alex continued, his tone sharp and mocking. "Besides, those swords were using killing intent on me. So I wanted to see if they could withstand one full-power strike from me. If your greatest creation couldn't even survive that, then you should stop calling yourself the God of Blacksmiths."

Those words struck Hephaestus like a hammer to the chest. His jaw clenched, his teeth grinding audibly, but no retort came.

Alex smirked, turning away. "My work here is done. I thought you were the greatest weapon maker alive… but I guess I was wrong."

He started walking toward the shattered gates, his bloodied figure calm despite his injuries.

Hephaestus and Lina could only watch, stunned into silence.

Then realization dawned on the god, his mind reeling. *Hold on… did this mortal just insult me? Me? And my life's work?*

His lips curled into a bitter smirk. "This… this bastard."

"Hold on," he said aloud.

Alex stopped in his tracks.

Hephaestus narrowed his eyes, his voice sharp. "Boy… did you just insult me by saying I'm not the greatest weapon maker there is?"

A wide grin spread across Alex's bloodied face. He turned slightly, his sharp eyes meeting the god's. "Yeah. I did say that. So what?"

For a moment, silence reigned. Then, unexpectedly, Hephaestus burst into manic laughter. His voice echoed throughout the ruined hall, shaking the broken walls.

Even Lina was stunned—never before had she seen him laugh like this. But it wasn't just the laugh that shocked her—it was the fire burning in his eyes. A fire she had never seen before.

"This infuriating mortal…" Hephaestus muttered under his breath, a twisted grin on his lips.

Step by step, he walked toward Alex, the ground trembling under his feet. He stopped just before him, staring directly into his eyes.

"You destroyed my life's work with a single strike," Hephaestus said slowly. "Who the hell are you, kid? You're no ordinary mortal. Those swords weren't ordinary either. They had their own souls, their own wills—extremely powerful ones. And you destroyed them as if they were nothing."

Hephaestus's voice dropped, his tone filled with suspicion and awe. "And I also saw you wield death energy. How… how could that be possible? In this entire multiverse, there's only one god who can wield death elementals—the ruler of the Underworld himself, Hades. One of the most powerful of the Old Gods, who never fell in battle."

His molten eyes bore into Alex, as though demanding an answer.

"Are you… related to him somehow?" Haphataetus asks, voice like old stone grinding against itself.

Alex is half-turned, measuring the god with a lazy, indifferent look. Before a word forms on his lips, a voice whispers inside his head, low and urgent.

[ Don't show him that you can also use life energy or he will go mad from disbelief. ]

Alex allows the whisper to settle like dust. 'Yeah — better to keep some things wrapped up for now,' he thinks, and the smirk that appears is small and perfectly controlled.

He turns fully toward Haphataetus, eyes level. "Tell me one good reason why I should answer you," he says. "And one more thing — threatening me doesn't work."

A bluish vein throbs at Haphataetus' temple. The god glances away, surprised irritation flaring like a candle in wind. "Why is that?" he snaps.

Alex smiles, faint and unhurried. "Because I'm the only one who can help you, aren't I?"

The effect on Haphataetus is immediate. Surprise, then a dawning, cold comprehension.

'This boy is not merely strong, he is clever. Dangerous, because power braided with wit is a hard thing to contain. '

The god's shoulders sag a fraction as if a weight of an old, private sorrow presses down.

He sighs — not the theatrical, booming sigh of a deity but something grieving and weary. "So you already have an idea of what's going on, don't you?" he says, resignation in every syllable.

Alex's smile widens, not unkindly. "Of course I do."

Haphataetus' eyes glitter with a strange, bitter satisfaction that makes the air tremble. "After the last of your followers die, you will disappear," Alex says quietly. "There is no need for a god whom no one remembers. The cosmos erases what no one calls by name."

The god gives a sad, almost fond smile. "You are exactly right,"

he says. "The world you just saw being ruined was the last of the worlds that still remembers me — the last place where people pray and keep my rites.

Once those people are gone, there will be no one in the cosmos to remember Haphataetus. The cosmos doesn't hold ghosts that serve no purpose. It will erase me."

'His voice is small for someone who's suppose to be a god ,' Alex thinks. A flicker of something — pity? amusement? — crosses him, then fades. "Well, well, well," he says aloud. "Your situation is even worse than I thought."

"Exactly," Haphataetus replies, the words brittle. "As long as I'm trapped here I cannot unleash the full of what I am. The soldiers I've been sending — the scraps of power I have left to shield them — they are no match for those monsters. I am dying; not in the glorious godly way you read of in myths, but slowly, like a candle blown out a little at a time."

Alex lounges against a fractured column, hands in pockets. He lets the silence hang, comfortable and deliberate. "What a sad story," he says, voice dripping mock sympathy. "I almost feel bad for you. Very, very bad. How could there be so many evil people in this world?"

Haphataetus' jaw tightens. "Perhaps you should say that without that infuriating smirk on your face."

Alex feigns contrition with a teasing bow of the head. "Oh please forgive me — am I smiling?" His tone is play-acting, but the question is real enough to make the god's mouth twitch.

"Alright, alright," Haphataetus grumbles. "Let's get to the point. You said you would help me."

Alex lifts a hand, cutting the word off. "I didn't say I would help you. I said I could help you. Whether I will? That's a different matter entirely."

The god's color drains from his face until even his godlike skin seems pale. The smugness on Alex's face is a knife. Haphataetus draws in a breath as if to protest, but something heavier than pride pulls at him; he kneels.

It is a small, terrible thing to see a being of worship brought to his knees, to watch reverence and humiliation braided together. Haphataetus bows his head and rests his hands on the cold stone.

"Please," he says, and the single syllable is not the roar of a deity but the cracked plea of a father begging for his children. "Help those people. They are the last of my followers, and I am not asking it to save myself selfishly. I can't bear to see them slaughtered like animals."

He swallows hard. "Those bastards don't even spare children. They defile every woman they find before killing them. I don't care what becomes of me — do what you must, but save them."

For a moment Alex is genuinely taken aback. A question flickers through his mind. 'Would you really go that far for followers?'

The image of the god on his knees, voice raw and stripped, answers it. This is not theater.

This is the last, bitter sincerity of someone who has watched everything that mattered to him be burned away.

'This confirms it,' Alex thinks. 'If Haphataetus would humble himself like that, he's worth trusting — or worth using, but trust will have to come first.'

He crouches down so their faces are nearly level — god and human, equal in that dim shaft of light. "Alright, Alright" Alex says, exasperation and amusement braided together. "Stand up, you're embarrassing me. You're a literal god, for fuck's sake."

Haphataetus lifts his head slowly, dignity peeling back on like old armor. "I offered everything," he says, voice hollow but earnest.

"My life — my soul. I will forge for you a weapon that the cosmos has never seen. I will even sacrifice myself to make it if I have to . So Please—"

Alex bites the inside of his cheek, thinking. A weapon forged from a god's sacrifice — the thought sends a thrill under his ribs. 'A tool like that would change the rules,' he muses inwardly. 'And he is saying he'll die to make it.'

He exhales, and the smile he gives is sharp as a newly-whetted blade. "I like the sound of that," he says, but the words are not purely mercenary. There is a sliver of something that could be honor, could be curiosity, could be the small delight of a player given a rare card.

"Very well," Alex tells the kneeling god. "I'll help. But make no mistake — you owe me. And when this is over, you'd better keep your end of the bargain."

Haphataetus' gaze is wet, but proud. "I will," he whispers. "Anything."

'Let's get to work,' Alex thinks, and the thought is not soft. It is a command, and where he leads, other things — terrible, magnificent, necessary — will follow.

-----

A/N:

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