As she re-read the piece of parchment for the fourth time in a row, Momo’s hands began to tremble. Goosebumps ran up her arms.

It had happened, just as planned. Kezko’s machinations had actually worked.

And yet—everything felt way too soon.

“Kezko,” she said, a quiet whisper at first, but then snapped her head towards the lazy mage, who was busy feeding the undead horses apples. “Kezko!”

“What? Are you dying?”

“No, it’s—”

“Then it can wait. Barnabus needs to be fed,” he said, cradling the horse’s exposed cheekbone with the affection of a doting father. In absence of a tongue, the horse snapped at the apple cores like a starving shark, nearly taking one or two of Kezko’s fingers off with each bite. “You’ve been such a good boy trudging us around. Oh yes you have.”

“I hit the level cap, Kezko.”

Kezko froze, blinking twice at her. “Oh.”

Quickly followed by, “oh—oh dear—by Morgana!” he screamed, and at first Momo had the naive thought that he was actually empathizing with her, but it turned out to be the reaction to something entirely separate: in his brief distraction, one of his fingers was finally mistaken for an apple. Barnabus was chewing on it like any other snack.

Kezko forced the horse’s jaws open, and he pulled out one black and blue, nearly disattached finger.

“Can I get some help with this, my deity-to-be?” he pleaded, and she nodded begrudgingly, shooting out a quick shock of [Dark Healing] from her sword to his finger.

The digit righted itself, bone cracking back into place, and skin turning several shades back to light pink. It was a miracle to watch, even after she’d seen it a dozen times.

“Ah,” he said, wagging it in the air like it was some sort of toy, and not a fragile extremity. “Much better, thank you. Now. Back to the topic at hand. What’s the offering package like?”

She stared at him, mouth open, as he hovered over the mud pit, floating as easy as a flower petal.

Why did he make the skeleton carry him through the mud if he can do that anyway?

She wasn’t sure if she felt better or worse knowing that his sadism wasn’t exclusive to her.

He landed gracefully in front of her, and dabbed his eyeball with a cloth. “Alright,” he said, tucking the handkerchief away and making a give me motion with his hands. “The parchment, please? You should always have a second party review terms during a promotion. Didn’t Valerica ever teach you that?”

“Since she was my boss, well, no.”

“Hm. Right. I guess her altruism does indeed know some bounds.”

Despite how annoyed she was at how unseriously he was taking this moment, as if she had just been promoted from Fry Cook Junior to Fry Cook Junior II, she did hand it over.

Because, well, it gave her comfort to have someone else at least verify what she was seeing. That she was, in fact—she swallowed, her arms trembling again—on the verge of becoming a goddess. A fully fledged heaven-dwelling skylady.

Kezko looked the parchment up and down just once, pupil zooming in and out. With a humph, he handed it back over to her.

“I don’t see any vacation benefits in there, so you should ask about that when you get to the Nether, but, otherwise.” He shrugged. “Which one are you interested in?”

And what a packed question that was—because yeah, sure, which type of goddess was she interested in becoming? He had phrased it like they were at the McDonalds drive thru weighing if it was better to get the meal or just the burger. Hm, well, fries are certainly cheaper with the meal, especially if you want a large one. But what if she wanted a dip? What if she wanted onion rings? Which do you want, Momo? What type of ethereal being would you like to become, Momo? What mortals would you like to shepherd, Momo?

Sadly, this wasn’t burger and fries. This was a choice that could change the trajectory of not just her life, but that of the entire universe. Because the scope of one Queen of Aloysius all seemed rather small now, when she really thought about it. Like a speck of ketchup on the dashboard. And goddess, well—that was the whole damn franchise. That was like going from Fry Cook Jr II to Ronald McDonald.

I desperately need better analogies, she thought, then groaned.

Everything just felt too much.

“I don’t know,” she said. “I need to… I need to think about it.”

He had already begun floating back to the carriage, preparing the horses to chart them a path back to Morganium. “Take as much time as you’d like. Or don’t. Morgana and Valerica are gods. They’ll be alive forever.” He paused briefly, and gave her a considering look. “In what state of mind, or in how many pieces they’ll be, however, I cannot tell you. This ballgame has traveled way beyond my fence.”

—

It took eight days to make their way back to Morganium; eight excruciating nights that Momo barely slept through, the insane question looping in her head like a radio that had no off button—what kind of goddess did she want to become?

With Kezko snoring next to her, and the moonlight seeping in through the carriage window, Momo lifted the parchment above her head, and read it again.

Congratulations!

You have hit the level cap for the Excalibur rank.

Normally, this is where we’d tell you WELL DONE, YOU DID IT, YOU ABSOLUTE MADMAN! You have conquered the last echelon in the Class System.

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

Normally, we’d tell you that all future skills will have to be acquired by reading skill books or pursuing education with relevant professors.

We’d also recommend that you take a break.

Set down the sword, stop muttering incantations, and just relax. There’s no more grind to be grinded. This is the sweet end, where retirement can begin.

But that is no longer the script.

Since this is indeed your fault, I will take this opportunity to explain to you the ramifications of it. The plight you have unwittingly put upon our heads.

We at the Nether Administration Department are a hardworking but understaffed bunch. In your Earthy lore, you might have heard our occupation and general location described as “hell,” or, more specifically, “the ninth circle” of “hell.”

Most of us have long since forgotten the sins of our past lives which landed us here. But you intend on giving us a constant reminder of what pain truly is. Working here is an eternal punishment you are only aggravating with your constant introductions of new rules and systems and, and—general blasphemous activity.

Since we only lose employees to the eternal flames of bureaucracy, and do not gain them back, it is important that we operate at maximum efficiency. Not only this, but Morgana has set a lofty goal for us, since the Dawn of Time—one hundred percent accuracy. No courier is allowed to give the wrong mortal the wrong message, or else risk the balance of the entire universe.

If this had been a conversation and not a Stan-style one-way monologue, Momo would have pointed out that it was actually a mistaken courier which had given her the [Eye of the Nether Demon skill], and consequently allowed Momo way more insight into the inner workings of the universe than she had any business having.

Not that she was complaining.

The letter meandered on for a bit more, but Momo had already read the ‘total evisceration of her character’ section enough times, so she brushed past it until she got to the important bits. The bits that were actually her problem.

So, all of that is to say: we do not appreciate that you keep introducing edge cases to our workflows. Mortals should just be mortals, not gods. And yet, we must follow the commandments set forth by the haikus in the Book of Beginnings.

So, mortal, due to your meddling… you will now become a [Lesser Goddess].

That was the part where the personal soliloquy ended, and the Nether Administrator seemed to pass the paper over to some sort of machine for printing. The rest of writing was blocky and automatic, with a slight fading glaze like dried-out printer ink.

Please select one of the following Subdomains of Morgana.

Unlike a Class, taking on ownership of a subdomain means that you will be responsible for a specific Godly Task.

Failure to take action on your Godly Tasks means that the universe might fall into disarray. We cannot punish you with death, as you will now be for all purposes immortal, but if you fall behind on too many tasks, you might be asked to do a term at the Nether Administration Department.

Also, your choice of subdomain will decide the Godly Form you take on. Godly Forms serve as your physical manifestation, your embodiment. These forms affect the environment around you, so pick wisely if you plan to spend time in a specific realm, country, or plane of existence. No one wants to hang out with the Guy Who is On Fire All the Time during August in Rome, Italy.

Each subdomain contains several specializations that you may select based on your interests. Now, choose wisely.

Subdomain of Disaster, Destruction, and Plague

Are your mortals acting uppity? Nothing better to kickstart a new era of religious devotion like a good old-fashioned plague. As the Lesser Goddess of the Disaster, Destruction, and Plague department, you will be tasked with making sure piety is always at an all-time high.

Potential skills include: [Acid Rain], [Frogs], [Livestock Plague], [Truck-sized Hail], and [Lice Infestation at Elementary School].

Subdomain of Dreams and Nightmares

Every single night, the Nether is visited by an overwhelming number of tourists, so-called “dreamers” that have zero respect for the environments they’re visiting. Since dreamers don’t actually *know* they’re visiting, they tend to get quite distressed, and cause all manner of chaos for our permanent Nether residents. Your job is to scare these dreamers into wakefulness by transforming into terrifying eldritch horrors and chasing them around the void.

Potential skills include: [Abomination Form], [Embody Bully from Second Grade], [Shapeshift into Parental Figures].

Subdomain of Undead Maintenance

Necromancers are infamously lazy when it comes to releasing the souls of the dead after putting them to use. They take a soul from the Nether, plug it into a skeleton, put that skeleton to work, but after that? They just leave it to rot! It’s an insult to sustainable soul recycling. As Lesser Goddess of the Undead Maintenance department, you will be in charge of making sure borrowed souls are returned home to the Nether, where they can rest for a bit before becoming someone’s henchman.

Potential skills include: [Soul Chain Repair VI], [...]

Momo sighed, skimming past another three domains that she had no interest in. As hard as this choice was, approaching it from a process of elimination made things easier.

Subdomain of Transition, Safe Passage, and Soul Reaping

When a mortal dies, their soul chain remains attached to the body until it is claimed by a reaper. As the Lesser Goddess of Transition, Safe Passage, and Soul Reaping, you will ensure that no soul is left behind—that every chain is claimed as soon as the body perishes. You will be in charge of finding the most suitable replicant area for these souls to call home. And if none exists, creating one for them to feel safe and cared for. This can be a perilous job, as Nether Demons constantly haunt the passageways between worlds, so it is best to only take this job if you have battle-ready experience.

Potential skills include: [Reap], [Pacify], [Create Replicant Area VI], [Circle of Death]

Momo’s lip trembled, and she clutched the parchment.

She couldn’t think of a more important job than that one.

Done right, it meant that she could ensure that every soul that passed on found the perfect place in the afterlife. She could create the Home for Undead Pets she’d always wanted, fitted with unlimited fish bones and chew toys and New York skyscraper-sized cat towers.

But just because it was important work didn’t mean she was right for it. She thought doctors were important, and vets, and school cafeteria lunch ladies, but she hadn’t been particularly interested in either of the three. She was too… fragile for that kind of work.

But maybe I’m not so fragile anymore.

She stared at the parchment for an hour more, eyes aching, before ultimately sleep snuck up on her, its gentle fingers lulling the paper out of her grip. The horses rode through the night until dawn, when the silhouette of Morganium finally bubbled up over the trees.

Unbeknownst to Momo, a foreign figure watched as she entered, perched high on the city’s obsidian gates.