"Code white"
"Code white"
Even before Era opened her eyes, she knew something was wrong. The alarms were a dead giveaway.
"End-of-world sequence initiated," an automated voice announced, unbothered by the gravity of its own words.
Era frowned, still lying on the ground. You'd think an omnipotent afterlife system would run smoother. A clatter of footsteps echoed around her. Wait… did angels even have feet?
Peeling her eyes open, Era braced herself for celestial glory: clouds, harps, and maybe a complementary buffet of guilt-free desserts. Instead, she was greeted by a dim, cavernous space filled with hissing pipes, leaking steam, and the relentless clang of machinery. The air smelled faintly of sulfur, like someone had tried to microwave eggs and forgotten about them. Before she could close her eyes and hope for a proper reboot, a sharp kick to her shin shattered her plans.
"Get up," a voice barked, sharp and impatient.
She sat up and squinted at her assailant. Her "angel" looked like a washed-up substitute teacher, complete with a polyester suit, a receding hairline, and the permanent scowl of someone who hated their job. He had no halo, no wings—just a clipboard and the demeanour of a man ready to argue over expired coupons.
Maybe he was from the HR department, Era reasoned.
As Era clambered to her feet, she muttered, "Not exactly what I pictured."
"Yeah, well, join the club," he snapped, gesturing for her to follow him.
The two of them wound their way through a labyrinth of industrial equipment, dodging bursts of steam that hissed like angry snakes. The oppressive heat made Era's skin slick with sweat. Heaven, it seemed, had more in common with a boiler room than a paradise. This was a serious downgrade from the brochures.
"So," she tried, desperate for answers, "are we on the way to, you know, the boss?"
"Yes," the angel muttered darkly.
They stopped at a steel door. Without ceremony, he punched in a code—1111, because apparently even heaven didn't believe in cybersecurity—and ushered her inside. The room beyond was sleek and sterile, lined with monitors that displayed streams of incomprehensible data each manned by similar looking "angels" in shabby formal wear.
At the centre, a balding man in a threadbare sweater scrutinised the screens like they owed him money.
This was God? The big guy? The creator of the universe?
He looked like he'd be more at home grading papers than presiding over the cosmos. Before Era could process this revelation, the room turned at once and erupted into chaos.
"WORLD ENDER!"
"DEVIL!"
"CURSE BRINGER!"
The accusations flew at her like daggers, each one sharper than the last. Era raised her hands in defence, her mind reeling.
What the hell was going on?
"You've ruined everything!" the sweater-clad God bellowed, his face turning an alarming shade of purple. "You've condemned us all!"
And then, as if to punctuate his dramatic declaration, he collapsed to the floor in a heap.
"What the hell is going on?" Era muttered.
Chaos erupted. Medics swarmed in, wheeling God away on a stretcher while Era stood frozen, hands raised.
"You!" someone hissed, pointing a shaking finger at me. "You killed him!"
"Oh, come on," Era shot back. "I didn't even touch him! And, uh, isn't he, you know, immortal?"
"Not him you fool. You killed the prophet!"
"Ten years," someone whispered, their voice shaking. "Ten years of planning...gone."
What on earth was happening? Who was this Prophet? Why had God just flatlined before her?
"She thinks she's dead and this is heaven," a women explained, her voice raising above the crowd.
Era blinked. Wasn't it?
"You're not dead. You're at H.V.N. Headquarters. And you just triggered the apocalypse." she explained.
Era's mouth opened, then closed again.
Cool. Cool. Cool.
"Someone just play her the movie," the woman sighed.
----------------
The monitors flickered to life, and a cheerful automated voice filled the room.
"Welcome to H.V.N., the world's largest investigative agency for the magical underworld. If you are listening to this, you are an ordinary and have been given the great honour of learning about our world. Buckle up. Let's begin from the start!"
Era's thoughts scattered like startled birds when the platform suddenly stopped and flung her into the air. Arms flailing, legs windmilling, she let out an undignified yelp as gravity yanked her toward the ground.
Just as she braced for what she was certain would be a bone-crushing impact, an invisible force caught her midair. The sudden halt left her hovering like a bug pinned to a display case. She caught her breath-
And then—WOOSH!
Like a bogey flicked from your fingers, she was launched skyward again.
"Please remain calm," the automated voice chirped, far too pleased with itself. "The tour is now beginning. Hold on tight."
Hold on to what? Era wanted to scream, her panic rising as she flailed in the empty air.
The world around her blurring into a kaleidoscope of stars and nebulae. Era was tossed through the cosmos, hurtling past planets and galaxies, until she finally landed—with a bone-jarring thud—in the centre of a holographic Earth. The stars dimmed.
"Since the dawn of humanity, there have been those among us with extraordinary abilities. Strength. Durability. Magic. These individuals have been known throughout history as demi-gods, prophets, and heroes. Some were even worshipped as deities."
As it spoke, the walls lit up with scenes of legendary figures: Hercules, Kintaro, Merlin.
"But with all things, there are two sides to the coin. With great good comes immense evil. A group, most commonly known as the Illuminati, believes they should rule humanity. Their key to achieving this? Immortality."
Images flashed of desperate searches: the Fountain of Youth, the Philosopher's Stone, the Peaches of Immortality. "For centuries, they sought the key. Many died. Many were sacrificed. And then, they found it: Ichor. A substance extracted from humans that could grant eternal health—so long as they continued taking it."
Era stiffened as the scene shifted to a séance. She recognised it immediately. The glowing blue substance dripping from the sacrifice was unmistakable.
"That's what I saw," she murmured.
"The Illuminati succeeded," the voice continued. "Using Ichor, they infiltrated every industry: entertainment, banking, infrastructure. Hope seemed lost. But then, the scales tipped once more. A prophet emerged. A human with powers equal to the ancient greats. Our salvation. Our only chance."
The hologram shifted again, revealing a face.
Era's stomach dropped.
She knew that face.
It was Vicar Peter.
The man she had killed.
"Shit," she whispered.
---------
Era was not the best person, if that wasn't already obvious.
A therapist had once described her as "uniquely selfish and self-absorbed"—words that cut her to the bone with their impeccable accuracy.
And yet, despite her flaws, guilt hung over her like an iron shroud. She had single-handedly condemned the human race, sealed its fate, and delivered the victory to the enemy.
To make matters worse? It had all been a complete accident.
But that was one truth Era would take to her grave.
Killing the messiah was bad enough. Admitting it was a mistake? She would never let that slip.
"Peter was undercover. His target was Sister Maria, a high-ranking member responsible for over half of the ichor supply to the Illuminati," the hologram continued, its voice mechanical, repeating the words of the now-deceased Vicar Peter.
Another nail in the coffin. She had killed him just as he was about to secure a critical victory.
"The failure of this mission has cost H.V.N. years of planning. Of course, that's nothing compared to the impact of losing our prophet," it added, still taking the form of Peter's hologram.
Of course. Even the damn hologram knew what she had done.
"But the karmic scales must eventually balance out, right?" Era asked, grasping at anything to ease the weight in her chest. "You said yourself—evil always has an opposition."
"Perhaps," it replied coldly. "But the karmic scales take time to adjust. Humanity may be lost by then. At the very least, everyone here will be dead."
Fantastic. Just what she needed to hear.
"Okay, fine. I'll be your prophet or I'll volunteer my services," Era muttered, the words tasting bitter on her tongue.
Surprisingly, there were no fireworks or triumphant fanfare at her noble declaration. Instead, the hologram laughed.
An AI, a supposedly emotionless construct, belly-cackled until pixels seeped from its artificial eyes.
"You?" it scoffed. "You're not even blessed, never mind a saviour. You are an ordinary. An ant. You couldn't even prevent your own death. How are you going to save humanity?"
Harsh.
Era wouldn't pretend that didn't sting, unearthing some long-buried insecurities. It took her back to her last mission, in fact—the one that had sent her running for the hills in an attempt to bury her head in the earth. And we all knew where that had gotten her.
"Really?" Era snapped back, venom lacing her voice. "It was pretty easy to kill your so-called prophet. One swipe. From an ordinary, no less. Hell, I killed your director even quicker"
The hologram's projection flickered.
That shut it up.
"Well, if you're so eager to die, I certainly won't stop you," a voice purred from behind her. Cold. Calculating.
Era whipped around, eyes locking onto the woman who had appeared from the shadows. She was the one who spoke from before. A short, dark-skinned figure with pale, almost unnatural eyes.
"Also, the man on the stretcher wasn't in charge of this place. I'm the one here who has direct communication with our leaders. And I'll be deciding your fate, curse-bringer," she continued. "I happen to agree with you. You've doomed us all, but the least you can do is commit yourself to our service for the rest of your life, which I predict won't be very long."
"Killing is my specialty," Era answered, smiling sweetly.
The woman scoffed, snapping her fingers. The world around them changed instantly, the sterile white tiles and harsh lighting swallowing them whole. A clinical, empty room.
"H.V.N. is a detective agency. We hunt the Illuminati and punish their affiliates," the woman said, her voice unwavering. "To join us, you must attend our academy. But only the blessed can enter. You're an ordinary." (As they loved reminding her, Era thought bitterly.) "Fortunately for you, all humans possess the gates of divinity. They just need to be opened. And we've come up with a way to force them open. For people like you."
Era's heart skipped a beat. Was she saying what she thought she was? Thirteen-year-old her would've been thrilled to hear this news after they didn't receive their invitation to Hogwarts. But there must be a catch, Era reasoned.
"Wait, what? Are you telling me I could have powers?" She felt her mind whirl.
The woman's laugh was cruel. "Powers, yes. But don't get too excited. The process isn't what you think. I'll tell you what, I'll answer any questions you may have. All of them, even the ones you don't know you need to ask. It's only fair"
Her hand waved, and a golden egg timer materialised in front of them. The sand began to flow, each grain dropping like a ticking clock, and the woman began to speak, her words slow and deliberate.
"The divine resonance relies on the gates of divinity and the contract of souls. Simply put, an individual is chosen by the gods, bound by a contract that grants them ichor, the divine essence and become blessed. With it, they gain access to the abilities tied to their god's domain."
Interesting, so technically they were borrowing their powers? The mention of Gods was also surprising, was Era truly to believe the myths were real? To be honest, she was only half convinced by the whole " Christ " ordeal, and now she was expected to accept there were more? Gods which cherry-picked humans to grant power to? Why? What was in it for them? Why not give everyone abilities?
The women continued without pause, and Era pushed her thoughts to aside- this wasn't the time to consider ethics.
"The more ichor you have, the more power you wield. There are two ways to gain ichor. First, you can open more gates of divinity. Think of them as levels. The more gates you unlock, the more powerful you become. To our knowledge, there are eight gates. Let me elaborate."
Era leaned forward.
"Common gifters are the gods who bless many people at once. The Four are the most well-known. They grant their blessings quickly, but only open one gate at a time for each person. The contract is weaker, and the abilities are limited. The price, however, is less severe. But the more gates you open, the more restrictions you incur. To put it bluntly: the stronger you become, the less you can discuss your contract, and the less freedom you have. This is called divine restrictions, and they are unique to each God. It's also the reason beyond the second gate, knowledge becomes scarce." She finally paused, letting the words settle in. Her timer stopped.
Era's head spun. This was more complex than she'd ever imagined. But she needed to focus. There was still one unanswered question that trumped all the others.
"How do I become blessed?" Era asked, cutting straight to the heart of the matter. "Why hasn't H.V.N. recruited ordinaries before?"
The woman's smirk grew. The timer's sand had nearly emptied. "We realised that while all humans have the gates within them. But only the blessed can open them, with a God's help. So we developed a potion, one that forces ordinaries like you into a divine trance. In that state, you can beg the gods for their favour. But it's not a guarantee. So far, no one has survived the process."
Era's stomach dropped. She could beg for divine power—but there was no promise she'd survive?
Fan-fucking-tastic.
"Why should I risk it?" Era's voice came out flat, her mind reeling. Honestly, even if she was to believe all this, what the women had described was suicide.
Era felt bad, but not that bad.
"You don't get it do you? You won't leave H.V.N. headquarters alive as you are right now. The people are angry, I'm sure some of the Gods are too. They will come for you. This is your only option, as a blessed you have a layer of protection and the backing of your God. It gives you your only fighting chance. Become someone valuable, and you won't lose you life."
So this was it. These were her options :certain death or the luck of the draw.
Era didn't have time to ponder. She didn't have time to process all that had occurred.
The timer was almost empty. One last question.
"Any advice?" Era asked, her voice shaking.
"Take the potion. Look for one of the Four. Preferably Kaelith, the God of Chaos and Flames. After the stunt you just pulled, he's your best chance at becoming blessed—he loves troublemakers. Avoid Thalos, God of War and Valour. He's not a common gifter, and Peter was his first blessed in over a millennium."
Was this really happening? The timer ran out and then vanished.
That was it, that was all she was getting Era realised.
The woman gave her one last look before setting down a flask carrying a swirling silver liquid. It must have been pity that fuelled the women to speak up once more.
"One last thing, free of charge: never sign without reading," her final words hung in the air, heavy and final.
And then she walked away, and Era was alone.
Era stared at the flask. One choice. One drink.
It was time to roll the dice.