Have you ever felt like the entire universe just flipped a spotlight onto you? That's what it felt like when I broke through the glitch at the finish line.
The crowd had gone silent. It wasn't the "respectful silence" of awe or admiration. No, this was the kind of quiet you get when someone suddenly stops the music at a party and everyone turns to stare. And staring they were—the athletes, the judges, and… the sky?
The air buzzed, heavy with something I couldn't describe. I looked up, and sure enough, there they were.
The gods.
Now, I don't mean abstract figures in clouds. These were the real deal. Immense forms peered down from above, lounging on golden thrones perched atop swirling columns of mist. Zeus himself sat at the center—his beard so majestic it deserved its own fan club—his thunderbolt crackling faintly as if it could strike at any moment. Beside him, Athena watched me with cold, calculating eyes. Apollo, lounging lazily, twirled his bow, while Ares smirked like he was ready to toss me into the nearest pit.
"The mortal disrupts the flow," Zeus rumbled, his voice like rolling thunder.
"He broke the interference," Athena replied, her gaze locked onto me as though I were a particularly interesting bug under a magnifying glass.
Ratatoskr, still perched invisibly on my shoulder, whispered, "Ooooh boy. The Olympian council is awake. Big yikes."
"Thanks, Rat. Super comforting," I muttered, trying not to look like I was actively dying from anxiety.
"The source of the disturbance remains," Zeus continued, his eyes narrowing. "A mortal among mortals… and yet not."
Suddenly, the air shifted. A new presence appeared on the field—a figure that stepped out of the glitch I'd burst through.
The culprit.
He didn't look like a god or even a monster. He looked human—and somehow that made him worse. He was tall and broad-shouldered, wearing an ornate bronze cuirass that shimmered unnaturally, like the light bent around it. His face was hidden beneath a golden helmet, and when he turned his head toward me, I swear the temperature dropped ten degrees.
"Finally," he said, his voice distorted, like it was layered with echoes of itself. "The meddler appears."
"Meddler?" I scoffed, stepping forward even though every instinct screamed at me to run. "That's rich coming from you, glitch-face. You're the one breaking the timeline!"
The gods above murmured amongst themselves, their interest piqued. Zeus raised his hand, silencing them.
"Reveal your purpose, mortal," Zeus thundered, though it was clear he wasn't addressing me.
The culprit tilted his helmet upward, staring directly at the gods.
"Purpose?" he said. "To correct the weak threads of fate. Your precious timeline is flawed. These games forge future heroes—kings, warriors, scholars—but none of them matter. None of them are strong enough. So I will forge a newfuture. A future where only the strong survive."
"Oh no," Ratatoskr whispered into my ear. "It's one of those guys."
The owl's calm voice followed. "He has been slaying the competitors. If he wins these games, the timeline fractures further. The heroes of tomorrow will never rise."
I froze. Slaying the competitors? I looked at the bloodstained edge of the culprit's spear, and my stomach dropped.
"You… you killed them?" I said, horror leaking into my voice.
The culprit turned back to me, his distorted voice chilling. "Weak threads must be cut."
The gods began to murmur louder now, and Zeus's thunderbolt crackled ominously. "This cannot stand," Zeus boomed. "The games must decide the champions, not death."
Athena stood. "Let the disruptor face the meddler. One contest. One chance to restore balance."
"Excuse me, what?" I blurted out, my voice way too high-pitched for someone supposedly about to save history.
"You have been chosen," Athena said, her gaze piercing. "As the mortal who stands against the disturbance, you will face him. Prove your strength—or the timeline collapses."
Ratatoskr let out a nervous laugh. "Oof. They just made you the main event, buddy."
"Lucky me," I muttered, staring at the culprit. He stood perfectly still, like he already knew the outcome. I clenched my fists.
"Fine," I said through gritted teeth. "What's the event?"
The culprit's helmet turned toward the gods, and then back to me.
"The pankration," Zeus declared.
Ratatoskr squeaked. "Pankration? You mean the ancient Greek death match? No weapons. No rules. Just punching, grappling, and… well, pain?"
"You've got to be kidding me," I groaned.
The field cleared, and the crowd roared in anticipation. I stood at one end of the arena, the culprit at the other, his spear gone but his presence no less terrifying.
Ratatoskr and the owl perched invisibly on my shoulders.
"Alright, guys," I said, bouncing on my heels like a boxer who was completely not ready for this fight. "You're my backup. If you can amplify me like last time, now's the moment."
"Focus," the owl said calmly. "Draw from the World Tree. Let its strength become yours."
"And hit him hard," Ratatoskr added. "Preferably in the face."
I took a deep breath as the horn sounded.
The culprit charged, his massive form cutting through the dust like an unstoppable force.
"Here we go," I muttered, my heart pounding as I clenched my fists.
And then, as his fist hurtled toward me, I felt it again—the warmth of the World Tree's energy, surging up through my core. My body moved on instinct, faster and stronger than it had any right to.
I ducked, his strike grazing past me with enough force to send a shockwave through the ground. The crowd gasped.
"That's it!" Ratatoskr cheered.
The culprit growled, spinning toward me with terrifying speed. I grinned through the adrenaline, planting my feet.
"Alright, buddy," I said, energy humming through my veins. "Let's debug this timeline."
And I charged.
Note to self: Ancient Greek death matches are NOT the same as modern sparring. Next time, request a less punchy timeline fix—like solving puzzles or herding sheep.