Sir Auldric was settling into his new position as well as could be expected. It wasn't easy running the city guard when you were compelled to only speak the truth.

“We followed up on your suggestion and found nine probable fronts,” the Paladin of Truth said, “Six of them changed their prices and the other three switched to local beer.”

Francis’ massive forehead wrinkled. “That seems kinda high. There are only two dozen pubs in the whole city.”

“Yes. Now add in the ones that we missed, or who didn't make any changes, and the number gets considerably higher.”

The Marine stopped to process this new information. “Are you saying that all the bars and beer houses in my city are fronts for foreign nations?”

“Probably,” replied Sir Auldric with a noncommittal shrug, “I’m more worried about saboteurs right now. My men have stopped two dozen attempts to access the under-city in the last week alone. One group was carrying a Thunderbird egg.”

Francis’ eyes narrowed. He remembered those things from the Green Cloak attack. “Did you find out what they were after?”

The Paladin shook his perfectly groomed golden locks. “No, unfortunately. We didn’t have the opportunity to question them before the egg exploded, and I have yet to find a suitable candidate capable of communicating with the dead.”

“Maybe Wilbur knows someone?” Francis mused, “I’ll ask him next time I see him.”

“Thank you,” said the Paladin as he rose from his desk and gave a short bow, “Hopefully nothing too horrible will happen in the meantime.”

“Here’s hoping,” replied the Marine as a familiar sense of dread settled over him. Francis didn’t think for a second that the recent uptick in attempted sabotage was a coincidence. It lined up too neatly with the attacks on refugees and pilgrims headed towards Brexis.

Big Mary had also let him know that nobles from Grumble were trying to convince some of the more hot blooded orcs to attack Brexis. That was trouble he definitely didn’t need, or want.

Once he was out of the main guard station, Francis took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. “What a fucking mess,” he said.

***

In a stone cell, hidden deep in the underworld, a hound sat and stared blankly at the walls of his prison. Spot didn’t know how long it had been since Hades put him there, but it felt like an eternity.

As the god of death’s first Champion, Spot had a certain level of disillusionment with the whole divinity thing. Hounds had a reputation for biting the hand that fed them, which was at least partially his fault. The black and white spotted hound wasn’t always on his best behavior, hence his imprisonment.

“No gods, no masters, no chains,” Spot repeated as he tossed a rubber ball against the wall and caught it. The problem with being locked up in the underworld was that even death wouldn’t free him. He was here, forever.

Hades opened the door and poked his head inside. “Hey Spot. Are you still mad, or are you ready to talk?”

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Spot responded by throwing the ball at Hades’ forehead. The god of death raised a single black eyebrow as he caught it. “Really? You’re that pissed at me?”

“Yes,” rasped Spot, “After all, you locked me up in this prison for all eternity.”

“It’s been like, three days.” Hades looked at the tally marks covering the walls and frowned. He knew that hounds got a little weird when isolated, but this was a bit much. Then again, Spot had never been particularly stable.

“Come on,” the god of death said, “Let’s go for a walk.”

***

Hades had not been around from the beginning. He wasn’t even the first one to hold his current office. But Hades had been around longer than most, and learned a few important things in that time.

The god of death attributed his longevity to something he called the “secret game”. Everyone was always playing it. But to bring it up, or let others know about it, was to risk losing everything.

On the surface, Vahnis operated in a fairly straightforward manner. Everyone was doing their best to get stronger and climb to the top of the trash heap. But that wasn't all that was going on.

Rules were rules, and everything was supposed to be fair. But System would try to knock someone down a peg if they were doing too well. Hades had seen them do it.

The god of death’s theory was that System was like a man tending a pond. If a fish threatened the ecosystem, or got too big, it would be culled. Hades didn't want to be killed, so he did his best to stay on the right side of that invisible line.

Eris, however, had no such concerns, which brought Hades to the golden apple on his workbench. He knew that sometimes it was possible to combine magical effects to create new ones. But this was something else entirely.

There were layers of enchantments, seemingly chosen at random. The golden apple was packed with everything from arcane barriers to a spell that summoned an entire roast chicken. And they were all set to go off at once.

Hades suspected that the Fae had been involved in the device’s creation. That was the only thing that made sense, though it brought him into dangerous territory. Hephaestus had been messing with similar magics before he disappeared.

The god of the forge had talked about “magic beyond magic” and a “system with the System”. Hephaestus had also warned about Legacies, which Hades had learned were powerful beings from the before times. Though, where exactly they had come from, or how they had gotten here, was a mystery.

Hades forced himself to lock the golden apple away instead of continuing to obsess over it. He knew, in a strange way, that it was something that couldn't be understood. Only by using the thing could he find out exactly what it did.

He had intended to give the apple to Spot, but thought better of it. The Champion was just as likely to set it off then and there, rather than waiting to use it on Francis.

The god of death’s face darkened as he thought about the Marine. That was another concerning development. Usually new Champions were fairly low level. But Francis had come through guns blazing and speedrun the path to godhood.

Hades suspected that System had thumbed the scales in Francis’ favor. Either that, or Vahnis was about to experience another Cataclysmic Age. Things usually got a little weird before one of those happened.

He made a note to keep an eye out for anything that might cause widespread devastation and kick things off. Then the god of death remembered the golden apple in his vault. He would have to figure out what do with that thing before it randomly blew up half the underworld. Or made a thousand roast chickens.

Knowing Eris, anything was possible. The magical device could be a powerful weapon, a trap, or even a practical joke. But he didn't think that the timing of her visit was a coincidence.

War was brewing between the gods again, and Strife would be looking to cause as much trouble as possible. Hades would have admired the goddess for her ability to manipulate people, except for the fact that things rarely ended up playing out in her favor.

He went back to his vault to take another crack at deciphering the apple’s purpose. Instead, he found a note from Spot. It was an IOU, written in crayon, on the back of a paper bag that had once held dog treats.

“I'm going to kill that hound,” Hades said as he crumpled up the paper in his fist.