My God Is a Clumsy Disaster

Chapter 3: A Tactical Misunderstanding

The heavy steel door of the supply room groaned as Kenji threw his shoulder against it, slamming the deadbolt home just as a searing white light sheared through the wooden frame of the doorframe outside. He collapsed against the cold, gray metal, his lungs heaving like a bellows.

"Lock it! Please tell me you locked it, kid!" Ares-Minus was pacing in a frantic, three-foot circle, his toga currently snagged on a mop bucket.

"I locked it! But for how long?" Kenji gasped, his hands shaking so violently he had to shove them into his pockets to keep them still. "That guy has a literal glow-stick of death. My towel isn't going to stop him this time."

"Hey, don't sell the towel short. That was a high-absorbency moment! A masterclass in friction-based defense," the god countered, though his voice lacked any real conviction. He plucked at his sash, his expression shifting from panic to mild irritation. "Besides, I’m feeling a tingle. A tiny, microscopic tingle of divine energy. We might be able to work with this."

"A tingle? You mean like a sneeze? Because if that’s your secret weapon, I’m going to personally throw you to that guy," Kenji snapped, scanning the small, cramped storage room. It was a windowless box filled with dusty boxes of cleaning supplies, broken displays, and the abandoned inventory of a dead shopping mall.

"It’s not a sneeze! It’s a low-level manifestation of potential," Ares-Minus insisted, standing on his tiptoes to peer at a stack of cardboard boxes. "See? I’m sensing something. Something... sweet. Something caloric. Destiny provides!"

"Destiny provides a janitor’s closet," Kenji muttered, kicking aside a bag of industrial-sized cotton mops. "I need a weapon. I need a crowbar, a fire axe, a heavy-duty stapler, literally anything. Why is there nothing in here but expired soap?"

Outside, the heavy, rhythmic thud of combat boots hammered against the hallway floor. The silver light of the rival’s sword flickered through the gap under the door, turning the darkness of the room into a strobe light of impending doom.

"You're not going to find a sword in the bleach aisle, Kenji," the god sighed, reaching up to a high shelf and pulling down a dented, dust-covered box. "But look. Fate has a sense of humor."

Kenji looked at the box. It was a box of luxury Swiss chocolates, the kind that cost as much as a monthly transit pass in pre-apocalypse Tokyo. The expiration date was printed in bold, mocking black ink from three years ago.

"Chocolates? You’re kidding. You want me to give him a snack so he doesn't kill us?" Kenji stared at the box, his voice rising in hysterical pitch. "He’s a scavenger! He’s a tactical psychopath! He’s not going to stop for a sugar rush!"

"It’s not just chocolate," Ares-Minus said, his mustard-colored aura flickering to life, coating his fingertips in a faint, greasy sheen. "It’s a 'minor inconvenience' in a box. Think about it. Everyone hates finding old candy. It’s either rock-hard, or it’s melted into a terrifying, unidentifiable sludge. That is a psychological barrier, my friend!"

"You're insane," Kenji hissed, his eyes darting to the door. The metal was starting to glow orange. The rival was cutting through. "We are going to die because you think a box of stale truffles is a tactical advantage."

"Trust the process! I’m the god of this stuff!"

"You’re the god of socks getting wet and remote controls being just out of reach!" Kenji grabbed the box anyway, his fingers cramping around the cardboard. "Fine. If this is it, I’m at least going to throw them at his head."

The metal door suddenly bulged inward. A jagged, brilliant sliver of light tore through the lock, and the door swung open with a screech of tortured hinges.

The rival stood there, his tactical gear splattered with drywall dust, his sword humming with a violent, electric vibration. His eyes were cold, fixed on them with the predatory hunger of a wolf.

"End of the line," the man sneered, stepping over the threshold. "I’m going to enjoy carving that divinity out of your little pet god."

"Wait!" Kenji shouted, thrusting the box of chocolates forward. "Do you want a snack? It’s limited edition!"

The rival paused, his brow furrowing in genuine confusion. "Are you serious? You’re trying to bribe me with... candy?"

"It’s really good chocolate!" Ares-Minus chirped from behind Kenji’s shoulder, his eyes wide and innocent.

The rival scoffed, a dark, dangerous laugh bubbling in his throat. He lunged forward, the sword raised for a killing blow.

"That's it!" Kenji slammed the box open and flung the contents at the man’s face.

It wasn't a precision strike. It was a desperate, panicked toss. But as the chocolates flew through the air, Ares-Minus let out a sharp, concentrated gasp, his palms glowing a frantic, sickly yellow.

"Inconvenience activation: Low-Quality Surface Tension!"

The floorboards beneath the rival’s combat boots—already slick with the leakage from the overhead sprinklers—suddenly transformed. The thin film of water didn't just become wet; it became a layer of frictionless, industrial-grade lubricant that defied physics.

The rival’s front foot hit the spot where a stray, melted truffle had landed. Instead of gripping the floor, his boot shot forward as if he were stepping on a patch of black ice. His sword arm flailed, the brilliant blade carving a meaningless arc through the air, slicing into the ceiling tiles.

"Whoa!" The man’s legs went horizontal in a move that would have been impressive if it weren't so pathetic.

He didn't just trip; he went airborne, sliding across the linoleum like a professional hockey player on a breakaway. He skidded past Kenji and Ares-Minus, his momentum unchecked, until he slammed head-first into a storage rack of canned industrial peaches and heavy crates of floor wax.

CLANG-THUD-CRASH.

The sound of three hundred cans of peaches falling onto a man in full tactical armor was a beautiful, chaotic symphony. The rival groaned, his sword clattering away into the dark, the light on the blade flickering and dying as he slumped into the pile of heavy metal tins.

Kenji stood frozen, his arm still outstretched from the throw. "Did... did that actually just work?"

Ares-Minus slumped against the wall, panting. "I told you. High-level stuff. Domestic obstruction, my friend. It’s never the sword that gets you; it’s the floor you’re standing on."

Kenji looked at the pile of debris, then at the man who was currently struggling to untangle his legs from a heavy crate. "We have to move. Now. He’s going to get back up."

"Good point," the god said, stumbling toward the exit. "Although, I think that last maneuver tapped me out for the next hour. I’m strictly a 'cheerleader' from this point on."

Kenji grabbed a loose heavy-duty flashlight from a shelf—a real, solid object—and stepped over the moaning rival. "I’ll take it. Just keep your aura to yourself."

They pushed out into the corridor, heart-pounding and breathless. The mall was silent, save for the dripping of the sprinklers. But as they turned the corner toward the main atrium, Kenji stopped.

The sound of clicking boots and low, guttural chatter filled the air. A group of four men, all wearing makeshift scrap-metal armor and carrying scavenged weapons, were standing in the atrium. They were looking at the flickering fire alarm lights, their eyes scanning the area with professional, cold calculation.

"Company," Kenji whispered, grabbing Ares-Minus by the toga and pulling him into the shadows of a boutique entrance.

"Are those... friends of the guy in the pile?" the god whispered, his face pale.

"No," Kenji said, watching as one of the newcomers kicked open a door to the food court, his weapon raised. "These guys look like they’re actually organized. They’re not looking for snacks. They’re looking for survivors."

The lead scavenger paused, his head tilting as he caught a scent on the air—perhaps the metallic tang of the activated divine power, or the faint, residual scent of the chocolates. He turned his head, his gaze sweeping directly toward the hallway where Kenji and Ares-Minus were hiding.

"There's something in this wing," the lead scavenger said, his voice hard and devoid of emotion. "Keep moving. We harvest everything that glows."

Kenji tightened his grip on the flashlight. He looked at the god, who was trying to look as small as possible behind a rack of overpriced winter coats.

"Hey, Ares-Minus," Kenji whispered, his jaw set in a grim line.

"Yeah, kid?"

"I hope you’ve got one m

ore inconvenience left in you. Because I think we’re about to have a very busy afternoon."