The first thing I noticed was the smell. It hit me like a divine insult—wet dog, rotting cabbage, and something far worse. Despair, maybe. If misery had a scent, this would be it.“Disgusting,” I muttered, lifting a hand to wave it away. My arm felt heavy. Sluggish. Like it had been filled with sand instead of light.That was wrong.I opened my eyes.Instead of the polished gold tiles of the Celestial Palace, I was staring at a cracked concrete ceiling stained with mold and regret. A rusty pipe ran along it, leaking steadily. Cold water dripped directly onto my forehead, each drop echoing in the silence like a slow, mocking countdown.I sat up with a groan. My back popped. Loudly.A mortal sound.A mortal sensation.“Seraphim?” I called, my voice echoing weakly through the space. “If this is a joke, it’s lacking taste.”No answer.No choir of angels. No soft glow of divinity. No attendants hovering nearby with trays of peeled grapes and existential praise. Just the distant wail of sir

The scream didn't stop. Usually, when you hear a scream in a dark alley, it tapers off. It hits a peak of terror and then fades into a gurgle or silence. That’s the natural order of things. But this scream was sustaining itself. It was joined by another. Then a chorus. Then a cacophony that sounded less like a street fight and more like a religious schism. I stopped walking. I was about twenty paces away from the skewer stall, still chewing on the piece of charred rat meat. It tasted like burnt rubber and regret, but it was calories, and my divine vessel needed fuel to keep from collapsing. I turned around, annoyed. "What now?" I grumbled, wiping a streak of grease from my lip. "Did the meat come back to life?" The scene behind me was chaos. The crowd, which had been a shuffling, grey mass of depressed mortals just moments ago had transformed into a violent, writhing ocean. They were pressing in on Old Jenk’s stall, climbing over each other, clawing at the pavement, their eyes

The walk to the bunker was an exercise in absurdity. We formed a strange parade through the guts of Sector Z. In the lead were the three remaining members of the Iron Skulls—bruised, terrified, and bowing every few steps like I was going to smite them if they stopped smiling. Behind them walked me, the God of Excess, currently smelling like rain and rat meat. And trailing in my shadow was Anya, who looked like she was waiting for a bomb to go off. She kept checking the rooftops, her hand hovering over the knife at her belt. "You're twitchy," I said, glancing down at her. "I'm alive," she corrected, her eyes darting to a flickering streetlamp. "There's a difference. You just publicly humiliated a Warlord. The power vacuum you created five minutes ago? It’s already sucking in every opportunist in the district." "Let them come," I yawned. "I need the exercise." "You need a brain scan," she muttered. The thugs stopped in front of a collapsed laundromat. The windows were boarded up

The black drone hovered above us like a mechanical vulture. Its single red eye swiveled back and forth, emitting a low, menacing thrum that vibrated in my teeth."Don't look up," Anya whispered, walking so close to me she was practically inside my hoodie. "If you make eye contact, it triggers a facial recognition scan. If it matches your face to the pixelated image on that billboard, we're going to be vaporized.""It's rude to stare," I muttered, keeping my gaze level. "And it's even ruder to hover. In the Celestial Realm, hovering without an invitation is grounds for smiting.""Russ, shut up about the Celestial Realm," she hissed. "We are in Sector Z. The only thing that gets smited here is the poor."We were walking straight toward the crowd gathered around Old Jenk’s food stall. It was the only way forward. To our left was a wall of condemned buildings; to our right was a river of toxic sludge. The path to the Golden Zone ran right through the middle of the circus I had accidentall

The elevator doors slid open with a soft, melodic chime that sounded suspiciously like a harp."Penthouse," a computerized voice announced. "Please try not to stain the carpet."I stepped out.If the lobby was impressive, the Penthouse was ridiculous. It was a sprawling expanse of white marble, gold leaf, and floor-to-ceiling windows that offered a panoramic view of the Golden Zone. The furniture looked like it was carved from clouds. A crystal chandelier the size of a small car hung from the ceiling."Whoa," Twitch whispered. He took one step out of the elevator and immediately fell to his knees. He reached out and touched the carpet with a trembling finger. "It’s... it’s soft. Master, the floor is made of fur!""It's wool, you idiot," Anya said, stepping over him. But even she looked uneasy. She kept her hand near her knife, scanning the corners of the room as if she expected a tiger to jump out from behind the silk curtains."Relax," I said, walking to the center of the room. I flo