Henry appeared out of nothingness again, getting a little tired of skipping the whole walking-around thing, but damn if teleporting wasn't fantastic. Hopefully, I can pick that up someday. He thought, hopeful and restless, itching to start his new life. His musings were cut short by a loud, unconvincing cough, and as he looked up, he was stunned.

There were beings of pure light looming above him on thrones crafted from stars and scattered constellations. They were colossal—each as tall as the Empire State Building. Honestly, it was kinda sick.

"Uh. Hello there?" Henry managed, more than a little rattled. "Can I help you?" Smooth, Henry. Real smooth. He scolded himself. What are you, an idiot?

The central figure boomed, " I am Father, the first Prime, god of guidance, leadership, and...fathers." The figure was burly, robed in light, and had an odd simplicity to his look. He nodded at Henry, who, in a panic, did the dumbest thing possible—he waved. He just waved at gods and not just any gods primeval gods.

"I'm Henry King, swordsman." He said it like a job title, patting the sword strapped to his side. He hadn’t even drawn it yet, though he was itching to; getting to know his blade felt like something sacred. That might be weird to some people, but to Henry, every blade had a spirit. You didn’t just wield it—you got acquainted, maybe even shared a bond. It was just how he operated.

Bah! How dare you introduce yourself as a swordsman—to me! The original swordsman! A voice snarled from the right, grating and dismissive. Henry turned, and his gaze landed on another being seated in golden armor that was even more ridiculous than Legion’s. This god wore his helmet in his lap, his face visible and scarred like a million fights had crossed his path, and he was itching for the next one.

The instant Henry met his gaze, he was assaulted with visions, like a punch to the gut. He saw himself—angry, unstoppable—cutting through armies as lightning tore from above, and every swing of his sword took out dozens. Then, in the same breath, he saw something more painful than war—memories he’d buried: walking into the gym locker room and seeing Dana and Chance together, the ring he’d bought for her discarded into the river, him breaking down and screaming, feeling like he’d never be enough.

The visions dug deeper, showing every rejection, every painful moment where he’d been cast aside. His friends, his coach—everyone who’d abandoned him- flooded back. The shame and fury took over momentarily, threatening to break him. But then, something stirred inside. A force like a gale wind tore through the visions, leaving him with a memory, one he wished he could forget.

Himself, broken from all the shame and ridicule, was on the verge of begging his coach, Jean-Paul, for forgiveness—his knees about to hit the floor.

But then, four words rang out from the depths of his soul: “A monarch never kneels.”

That whisper surged through him, an echo that built to a roar, refusing to let him collapse. He hovered upright, pulled back to his feet by a force he hadn’t realized he possessed. Henry looked up at the god of War, fury boiling hotter than anything he'd ever felt. Without thinking, he leveled his sword at him—a blade he didn’t remember drawing, but damn, what a beauty it was. A full-sized claymore, dark as night, with a simple hilt and a circular pommel that screamed brutal efficiency. The weight was perfect, and he held it like he’d wielded it a thousand times before.

“How dare you make me relive that day, you absolute fucking asshole!” he shouted. “I swear, I’ll make you regret it! That’s when the rain started, a soft mist twisting into a storm as thunder cracked in the heavens.

The gods reacted differently to his outburst. Father smiled, watching the youngest among his creations defy one of the oldest. Though Father had no true children, his heart embraced all life, and he’d always thought War could use a good humbling.

Mother, however, had a different take. She watched two of her creations—one newly born and the other ancient—locked in hatred. She was worried. Even if War couldn’t harm Henry directly, he had armies, leagues of bloodthirsty soldiers who would tear him apart. She wasn’t about to lose this mortal; this one had a spark unlike any other.

Love watched with gleeful eyes. Two strong, capable young men fighting? She loved every second. The young one—Henry—was cute, and she found herself rooting for him, letting her mind drift to his potential and the greatness he could achieve.

Hatred, on the other hand, loathed it. Stupid meetings between Prime Gods are always so dull. Stupid mortals poking at War’s temper. But something about this mortal was different; his genuine rage burned in his heart. Hatred respected that as hatred and rage were what his path was built upon. This one was impressive, standing against War so boldly. Even though Hatred despised War, he hoped the mortal would survive long enough to put up a real fight. Still, he hated it all.

War, however, had had enough. As he prepared to smite the boy, consequences be damned, a sensation of dread gripped him—an ancient, scarring memory. He felt the old wound across his chest, a gash that ran from neck to hip, heat up and sting like it was just made, and his eyes darted around as he recognized the power that caused it.

NO! War bellowed as reality split open, and a figure emerged.

Chaos stepped out, his sword resting casually on his shoulder. War knew instantly that Chaos had grown even more potent in the depths of his power—stronger than the entire Legion combined.

"Ah, hello, my favorite Prime Gods! How are we today?" Chaos greeted them with a grin, almost as if nothing had happened. He turned to Mother, genuine warmth in his voice. "Mother, so good to see you again. I trust you’ve been well?”

Mother smiled, meeting his eyes. "I have, Chaos. But tell me, what brings you to this meeting? It’s been eons, and this is a private gathering—the System should have stopped you." She winked, and Chaos caught her drift immediately. He whispered a quick thank you, bowing his head slightly. She’d always been the only one who’d never turned against him.

Father, however, extended his arms, still seated, as if expecting some awkward sitting-down hug. "MY SON! You’ve returned to us after all these years!" as if nothing had happened between them and his dimwitted assistance to War and Hatred were not the reasons of his exile.

Chaos rolled his eyes. "Yeah, no thanks, asshole. Or did you forget why I exiled myself in the first place?" He glared at Father before letting it land on War, who seethed at the sight of him.

Just then, a voice piped up beside him. "Who the fuck are you? And what the hell is going on?" Chaos turned to find Henry, sword raised against War, staring up at him in bewilderment.

A surge of recognition hit Chaos; this young man was his grandson. The karmic bond between them was faint but unmistakable. Though Henry’s frame was smaller, his spirit and features were undeniable—dark hair and a fierce gaze. Chaos’s memory shifted, overlapping the image of Henry with his firstborn son, who had died in his arms, defiant until his last breath. Now, here was Henry, standing tall, facing down the gods.

Chaos grinned wide. "Ah, my boy! You've got spirit, but that little needle wont do much against that lug over there." He thumbed at War. "Get a real weapon, and maybe you’ll best him one day." He laughed, his voice hearty and proud.

Henry raised an eyebrow. Who was this guy, and why was he so at ease with a room full of gods? Then it clicked—this was the guy Andrew had mentioned, Chaos, the exiled Prime God. But why was he here? For some messed-up family reunion?

"I’m Typhon, dear boy," Chaos said with a casual shrug. "Known as Chaos, the sixth, rarely spoken-of Primeval, and also your great-great—multiply that by a billion—grandfather." He dropped the bombshell so casually, almost like an understatement.

"What?" Henry managed, eyebrows raised.

A wave of disbelief rippled through the room. War, Hatred, and Father glowered, their faces blurring with fury and shock. Love and Mother’s expressions were softer, touched with compassion and understanding.

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"Impossible!" War roared, his voice threatening to tear the room apart. "I destroyed the last Chaos-born thousands of integrations ago. This pitiful mortal cannot be one of your vile spawn!"

Chaos's eyes narrowed. "Oh, he’s my grandson—I can feel it. And thanks for that little trip down memory lane, War. But if you lift a finger toward Henry, I’ll wipe out your entire War host. I’ll finish what I started all those eons ago, and that’s a promise."

He gave Henry a sidelong look like he’d found a diamond buried in mud. There was no mistaking his pride.

Henry still looked guarded, skeptical. "And how do I know you’re telling the truth, old man?" he challenged.

"We can enter a System Contract and call upon Judge! I always love hearing from them," Chaos said, scratching his neck with an almost embarrassed grin. "They’re not really a person, more an entity, but I always feel bad calling them an 'it'—they’re just too kind for that."

Chaos leveled his gaze at Henry. "I swear to you, Henry. I’m not lying. I am your grandfather."

Henry met his eyes, searching. "Fine," he said, tone firm. "I’ll commit to this System Contract thing. But if you’re lying, I want nothing to do with you. I hate liars more than anything."

Typhon clapped his hands together, his smile wide. "Ah, a man of honesty and integrity! I hoped you’d be a good man, not a self-centered prick."

Henry shrugged, sheathing his sword. "Yeah, my mom would’ve tanned my backside if I lied to her, so I’ve just always been straight with people." He patted his sword and muttered to it, “Soon, promise—gonna do a proper fuck-about with you later.”

Typhon raised his arms, calling upon ancient energy that pulsed through the room. "I call upon Judge, the eternal arbiter of the System, to facilitate a contract between myself, Typhon, Lord of Chaos and Balance, and my grandson, Henry King!"

A powerful, intangible energy flooded the room, and from the air, a tall, womanly figure appeared, seated atop a giant set of scales. Her voice, metallic yet distinctly feminine, reverberated. "It is a rare sight, the Primevals gathering like this," she said with a nod. "Typhon, it is no surprise you’ve shown up, given the…circumstances."

Typhon inclined his head. "Good to see you, Judge. I’d like to introduce my grandson, Henry King. Henry, this is Judge, the arbitrator for System contracts. If you ever need one, just call her up. She’s got you covered."

Henry raised an eyebrow. "Well, nice to meet you, even though nothing’s proven yet, old man," he said, eyeing Typhon.

Typhon rolled his eyes. "Fine, Judge. I’d like a contract stating I am Henry’s great-grandfather. I’m not counting how many ‘greats.’” He crossed his arms, looking mildly annoyed.

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Kestis watched the exchange with an amused glint in her eyes. She’d lived through countless family dramas but never anything quite like this. She recalled her father saying she looked and acted so much like her mother she might as well have been her twin. In those days, she’d scoffed at the comparison. Now, she smiled, thinking back to all the mannerisms she’d inherited from her mother—until tragedy struck, and she was captured and sold into slavery while her parents and the rest of her clan were murdered. She had been lost in that darkness until she’d met Typhon. Back then, she hadn’t known he was a god; to her B-rank senses, he was just a strong man—her former master’s equal.

When Typhon freed her, she’d braced herself, expecting him to take her as his own slave. Instead, he set her free. Since then, they’d been inseparable, though the actual depth of their connection was still undefined. She wasn’t even a god yet, while he was a Primeval. But damn if she didn’t love the idiot in front of her, pouting because a mortal refused to call him grandpa.

Judge’s scales glowed, sealing the contract with an undeniable truth: Henry was, in fact, Typhon’s grandson. Henry’s expression was a mix of shock and curiosity, but he took the news in stride. Typhon went in for a hug, only for Henry to draw his sword and point it at him. Both Typhon and Kestis burst out laughing. Yep, Henry was going to fit right into their strange little family.

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Henry still couldn’t quite believe it. He had a godly granddad, one of the original Primevals, no less. He cleared his throat, a smirk playing on his lips. "Alright, so…Granddad, what’s the plan now? I was supposed to get a blessing and head off to a tutorial if my information was correct, but I’ve got a feeling that’s out the window now."

Typhon grinned, looking thoroughly delighted. "Oh, there’ll be a tutorial—just one led by yours truly. You’re welcome.” He mock-bowed, adding, “Only the best teachers, top-quality family time, good food, maybe some pretty girls…” He nudged Henry with an elbow. “Or guys—I don’t judge. If you want to come out to your granddad, I may be old, but I’m quite progressive!" He flashed a thumbs-up with a wicked grin.

Henry chuckled. "Girls. But I’m not letting you set me up, you old creep." He shuddered at the thought. "No way am I tanking this new life with a relationship, not one you arranged. What about combat training, though? I need to put this puppy through its paces!" He patted his sword, feeling a tinge of guilt for the delay in action.

“Oh, don’t worry—we’ll get to that. Expect a sick training montage,” Typhon said with a wink, oblivious to how cliché he sounded.

"Alright, then, what are we waiting for?" Henry rubbed his hands together, eager. "This place blows anyway; too many people for my taste." He stepped up beside Typhon, only now noticing Kestis for the first time. He nodded politely to her. "I'm sorry, but I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced. Henry King."

Kestis dipped into a small curtsy, grinning. "Kestis Alluran, at your service, Henry."

Typhon groaned. "Why does she get all the niceties, and I get ‘old man’?”

Henry shrugged, smirking. "Because my mother would’ve tanned my hide if I wasn’t polite to women."

Typhon shook his head, laughing as he clapped Henry on the back. "I’ve got a feeling we’re going to get along just fine."

Typhon regarded Henry thoughtfully, a glimmer of respect in his eyes. “Your mother sounds like a noblewoman. Would have loved to meet her.” Somehow, Typhon knew that his mother was gone, and he seemed truly sympathetic

Henry’s gaze softened. “Yeah, she was a good person and taught me a lot about being decent. Same with my dad, though he passed when I was ten.” He paused, recalling his last memory with his dad—feeding ducks at the park together. His dad, Thomas King, had been a firefighter, and he died saving a family from a burning building. That memory used to haunt him, but now it brought a bittersweet peace. At least his parents were together again. Losing his dad had nearly broken his mom.

Typhon’s aura turned somber, thickening the air around them. “If you ever want to talk about it, Henry, I have more experience with family loss than most.”

Henry smirked, brushing it off. “Thanks, Gramps, but I’m good… for now. Who knows—maybe later.”

Typhon nodded, then turned a steely gaze on the god of War. “Before we go, War, let’s get one thing straight: if you try anything to harm Henry before he can defend himself, I’ll know, and it won’t end well for you.”

War held his gaze, saying nothing. Typhon’s tone softened as he looked back at Henry. “Actually, how about a little challenge to keep things interesting? Henry, how would you feel about War blessing a few mortals in your world? Gives you some rivals right out of the gate. Those blessed by me are eternally opposed to War’s followers, so it’ll make for solid practice.”

Henry blinked, puzzled. “How would I allow him to bless others? It’s not like I could stop him.”

“Ah, good question.” Typhon chuckled. “Think of it like an auction. God's bid for resources—number of mortals to bless, planet size, etc. I’ve sat out of bidding for the last four thousand five hundred integrations, so I’ve got some points burning a hole in my pocket.” Typhon gestured to Judge, who sat primly on her massive scales, looking amused. She noticed their glances, and Typhon and Henry awkwardly waved back.

“Say the word,” Typhon continued, “and I’ll let War bless a few mortals. They’ll be good fodder—uh, practice for you. War’s legion is a brutal force for fresh recruits to the multiverse, so it’ll be good for you to face a disciplined enemy.”

Henry grinned. “Sounds fun! Can’t wait to wipe out a few battalions like my friend Andrew. He’s a time mage. I’ve got to one-up his record.”

“Oh! Are you making friends already? A time mage, you say? I knew one a while back—Clockman, they called him. Pretty formidable.” Typhon said, smiling bittersweetly at the memories of his old friend.

Henry’s eyebrows shot up. “ Lord Clockman? I just met him about an hour ago. Helped Andrew out when Legion—War’s son—tried to slap him around.”

Typhon’s hand unconsciously rested on his sword hilt. “ Yes, Henry, I know who wars’ son is, and Clockman didn’t try anything against you, did he?”

“Nah. He saved Andrew’s skin. Legion tried to backhand him, and Clockman came out of nowhere, caught Legion’s hand mid-swing like in some kung fu flick, and almost melted it with this weird time energy. It was kind of epic. It seemed like Clockman and Andrew have this whole father-son vibe, It's honestly adorable”

Typhon nodded. “Good to hear. I hope I get to meet this friend of yours, Henry. Ready to head out?”

Henry cracked his knuckles, grinning. “That’s a hell yes from me, old man. Time to get some sword practice in.” He caught the look on Typhon’s face. “Oh, and some family time, too,” he added, sheepishly.

Typhon laughed, raising his sword to slash a portal open in the air. “It’s been a pleasure, all! Let’s do this again sometime.” With a final maniacal chuckle, they all stepped into the tunnel, the portal snapping shut behind them, leaving silence in their wake.

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Meanwhile, in the Throne Room of the Gods

“Father, what will we do?” Legion asked, fuming. “The boy disrespected me! I cannot let him live.”

War’s expression hardened. “Don’t worry, my son. That old fool just signed the boy’s death warrant. I know exactly who to pick since he’ll let me bless some mortals on the boy’s planet. Two promising candidates entered my tutorial not long ago. They’ll be perfect for the job.” War grinned, looking upward as if addressing Chaos himself. “We’ll see whose champions are better, Typhon!”

He turned to Legion. “Come, my son. We have much to prepare.” With a nod, they vanished from the throne room, setting their plans into motion.