In a distant galaxy.
Revolving around its orbit as if predetermined eons ago, this reddish-yellow planet adheres to a natural course. To an observer, particularly from a distant viewpoint reminiscent of the bygone era when ancient folks glimpsed Mars, the immediate declaration would be that the red hue mirrors that of Mars.
In fact, they would unequivocally identify it as Mars itself. However, the resemblance is not the entirety of it. While the majority—eighty percent—of the planet shares this likeness, the remaining twenty percent is distinctly divergent.
Golden dunes dance in rhythmic unison, giving rise to families of devils. Hues of saffron barrens playfully chase one another, as if seeking to clasp hands and form miniature dust devils.
Amazement, fascination, captivation, and awe radiate from the eyes that trace the shades of the parting grains, delicately swaying toward their inevitable demise.
Humongous and gigantic was the realm where the sovereign of all resided. As if underscoring the significance of golden sand, it cloaked the entire castle.
The grains of this precious treasure walked in harmony, seemingly intent on crafting a protective layer. With a collective roar, they manifested sentience, acting as vigilant beings safeguarding the mighty one who slumbered within.
The water enveloping the golden sand castle possessed a clarity akin to fresh drops of clouds, embodying the true treasure of the planet as perceived by all living beings. However, a hint of fear lingered in the eyes of some onlookers. Beautiful yet evoking dread for more than one reason to fear.
This was the mighty castle of a God, a God that hailed as the king
The occupant of this grand abode was the God King, exercising control over all and sundry. He stood as the greatest of the greatest under the Brightest One, a being so majestic that his mighty presence was sparingly bestowed, withholding from none.
Mundane life and its trifles were not the concern of the mightiest—the one and only God of Gods. Such commonplace matters were left in the capable hands of his great-grandchild, deemed more than sufficient for handling such affairs.
A single glance at the being seated on the colossal throne, hewn from the purest golds that exist in the entire cosmos, is enough to induce a sense of powerlessness, prompting an instinctive act of kneeling down.
Gracefully lowering himself onto the throne is the five-meter giant. To the right of the throne lies the symbol of power—the Was-Scepter. On the left resides the embodiment of life itself—an Ankh.
Atop him, bare-chested, his abs and veins protruding with raw strength. Adorning his naked feet were two distinctive items. A half-pleated kilt wrapped around his waist, with an additional yellow layer atop, veiling the back. The scenery of his formidable lower half was adorned in pure white cloth.
His head bore the likeness of an animal, featuring a downward-curving snout. Ears, a blend of both long and short, pointed towards the heavens. The nose-to-mouth structure resembled that of a giant anteater, creating a distinctive visage.
The animal from which this being's head originated was the aardvark. Perhaps aardvarks found their roots in him—such mysteries eluded the realm of knowledge.
With eyes and a countenance emanating pure chaos, as though unleashing his might and dread upon the entire universe. Seated there, it was as though he embodied the very incarnation of destruction.
Ruling over tens of billions of beings encompassing a myriad of races, he wielded dominion with avarice. Tirelessly searching every corner of his part of the universe, this insatiable king sought new races to bring under his rule.
Thud, thud, thud.
A man of great stature slowly revealed himself.
Neither the man's eyes nor his body bore any trace of fear. The absence of fear was the very reason his mighty self stood atop many others of his kin. He stood unwavering, without a bow. His head held high, gaze unyielding, staring deep into the eyes of fear, undeterred.
The planet's temperature surpassed that of Earth by significant margins. Exceeding even the hottest places on Earth, it would swiftly scorch ordinary humans to death within a minute.
Fortunately, ordinary humans were a relic of the past, at least until people reached the age of fourteen. Yet, those below Level 3 faced a perilous fate, as they could easily meet their demise. Survival in this environment was reserved not for those at Level 3, but for those above it.
Such was the scorching atmosphere in this place. However, the man, adorned with long crimson hair reminiscent of the battlefield and a corresponding beard, stood unperturbed while clad in the attire of the north.
His attire, a stark contrast to the surroundings, seemed to declare his origin from a place diametrically opposite to this scorching environment. Moreover, it hinted that any degree of heat held no significance in the face of his imposing presence.
Fear found no place on his countenance, even as he looked up at the king of this domain, with a noticeable height difference of 3 meters. Devoid of any weapon and lacking a retinue of guards, he stood there in solitude until the master of this realm gradually opened his mouth.
His words carried an undeniable force, prompting the servants and guards to swiftly vacate the premises without daring to exchange a glance.
"Thor, I greet thee with mine utmost congratulations."
"I, eke, do offer mine congratulations unto thee."
"Hahaha," laughter of pure joy reverberated, shaking the entire castle, "I give gratitude for thy kind words, my equal God-King."
"I thanketh thee," slowed his words down for a tiny second, "God King."
Narrowing his eyes for that slight delay, "Thou art mine guest here. So," rose from his seat, "Fancy some scorpion meat?"
"Thank thee, but—"
"Chefs, bringeth scorpions upon our presence," uttered to the empty room.
In a mere five seconds, five people stormed into the room—two hailing from Tayirian descent, the remaining three bearing the unmistakable mark of Aqrabian lineage. Yet, their arrival was not unaccompanied.
Alongside them, two colossal scorpions, their hue mirroring that of the regal throne, entered the space. These magnificent beasts gleamed with a lustrous sheen, captivating the onlookers' gaze.
"Let us take a seat," declared, gracefully lowering himself onto an invisible perch in the air.
They weren't soaring through the skies but rather occupying an ethereal seat within the thin air. Seth positioned his right foot above his left, maintaining his gaze fixedly on Thor.
It took no more than a minute for the heavenly taste to delight the palates of the two mightiest in their respective factions. The scorpions not only boasted an impressive appearance but also delivered a delectable flavor.
Left entirely alone, no one dared to intrude on their conversation, even if those interlopers happened to be Demigods. Their almighty power held no sway in the presence of these men. Despite being almighty Demigods, they were nothing more than foot soldiers in service of their celestial armies.
"Seems like this doth suit thy palate well."
"It hath an exquisite taste indeed."
"Glad thou dost find pleasure in it."
Cutlery proved unnecessary, as if invisible knives were gracefully slicing through the meat. The pieces separated with finesse, soaring effortlessly toward their mouths.
Clutching glasses filled with the beer of Gods—diamond in color—those hands found their way into their magmatic stomach acid, slowly savoring the celestial concoction.
"How didst thou find mine home, Iunu?"
"A great planet. Suited to thyself."
"Suited..."
"The reason I cameth to take thine infinite time is—"
"Rumor hath it Ymir wast a stout one."
Thor didn't flinch at Seth's unexpected words. His face remained neutral from the moment he arrived. This reaction was evident, as starting a war with a faction equally formidable to theirs was not advisable.
The reasons were shared on both sides, but the severity tilted more heavily in Asgard's favor, the rationale concealed within Seth's uttered words.
"He was a stout one indeed."
"Just like thy brother, thou sayest? The one thou hast killed along with Ymir."
An unwelcome flavor manifested on his lips.
"Indeed. Both were equally stout."
"I have heard thou hadst a fiery personality. But, seemeth like taking the throne of Asgard hath changed thee."
"I have heard one or two things about thyself, either."
"Does thy all-mighty father do well?"
Uttered through clenched teeth, "No one doth hurt him. He is the mightiest, one and only."
"My great grandfather hath called the same as thee acknown. And he wouldn't dainty about showing his unlimited might during the hardest times. Unlike thy father, who hath chosen to do nothing during Ragnarok."
Brows knitted together, he released a portion of his aura. The brightest of stars manifested and thrived within that aura, ascending until it reached the room's zenith, casting a radiant glow across the entire space in its white brilliance.
A gradual transformation occurred in color as well, shifting from white to red. Red then harmonized into a blend of crimson and the brilliance of white.
"My mighty father hath chosen to test me. Test me to see if I am worthy of the throne of Gods. If I have the ability to rule over one and every living under Asgard," intensified his aura for a bit more, "And thou knowest that I very well am did prove myself! Unlike thee, thou usu—"
Then, abruptly cutting his words short, as it wasn't his place to utter that—at least not now, especially when their armies were in a weakened state.
"Thou usurper. Is that what thou were going to sayeth?"
Confronting the mighty was not something the God King of these lands, Seth, would be hesitant about, especially when seated upon his majestic throne. The same vibrant color ascended to the very apex of the roof, illuminating the surroundings just as Thor's did.
Darkening and darkening its hue until it embraced the blackness of outer space, bestowing its encompassing grace like a pitch-black, terrifying aura. The final phase manifested in a blend of darkness and light.
"I cameth hither to inquire something."
"Go ahead."
"Are Loki and Ymir under thy feathers?"