Darian & Arias vs. The Gods’ Dinner Party (The One with the Seriously Weird Appetizers)
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Being invited to a divine dinner party sounded prestigious—until Darian and Arias realized it was just a chaotic social gathering for gods and immortals who needed a break from their existential crises.
“This is a terrible idea,” Darian muttered as they arrived at the grand celestial hall, filled with floating tables, shifting constellations on the ceiling, and a general sense of impending disaster. The room seemed both infinite and intimate, its space bending in ways that defied logic. Some gods floated in conversation circles, others sat on golden thrones that reshaped themselves to fit their moods, and one particularly grumpy deity was in an argument with what appeared to be an animated soup ladle.
Arias, however, was delighted. “Oh, come on! Free food, fancy drinks, and gods! What could go wrong?”
Darian exhaled, already scanning the room for potential disasters. “Well, for starters, Arias, you have a bad habit of eating things you shouldn’t, and at least one of these gods is going to take offense to something you say within the next five minutes. Also, the last time we went somewhere with ‘divine’ in the title, you ended up with a celestial restraining order.”
Darian gave him a look. “I can list at least a dozen things.”
They had barely stepped inside when a server—a glowing humanoid with the faint impression of too many arms—handed them glasses filled with a liquid that shimmered like a miniature galaxy. Arias sniffed his and shrugged. “Tastes like expensive wine and possibly the concept of ambition.”
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THE APPETIZER DEBACLE
Everything was fine until Arias ate a cursed grape.
“I feel… incredible.” Arias stood up dramatically, arms wide. “I think I just ascended. Look at me, Darian! I’m immortal!”
Darian pinched the bridge of his nose. “You’re already immortal.”
“Yes, but now I feel extra immortal.”
A passing deity, one of the many minor gods in attendance, snorted, shaking their head in mild amusement. “That’s not immortality, that’s just an ingredient mix-up.” They leaned closer, watching Arias with a smirk. “Though I suppose if you believe you’re a god hard enough, reality might just humor you for a bit.”
“What was it supposed to do?” Darian asked suspiciously.
The minor deity smirked. “Make you slightly more interesting for an hour.”
Arias ignored this and spent the next hour loudly proclaiming his newfound godhood, much to the amusement (and slight irritation) of several divine beings. At one point, he started debating metaphysics with a god of knowledge who only spoke in riddles. He lost the debate, but somehow gained a glowing forehead mark that pulsed whenever he made a bad decision.
Darian stared at it. “That’s never going away, is it?”
Arias grinned. “Maybe I really am a god now.”
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THE TRICKSTER’S INSULT
Darian, for the most part, kept his head down and avoided unnecessary divine drama—until he accidentally insulted a trickster god.
“I didn’t mean it that way,” Darian said carefully, as the god of mischief and unpredictability narrowed their many eyes at him.
“Oh? So calling my domain ‘a glorified party trick’ was meant as a compliment?”
The air crackled with divine tension. Nearby deities stopped their conversations, sensing a potential conflict. A few whispered bets were exchanged in the background.
Arias, watching from the side, whispered, “Oh, this is gonna be good.”
Darian shot him a glare before turning back to the trickster god. “Look, I meant that unpredictability is the most powerful force of all. It shapes fate, it changes destinies—without it, existence would be dull.”
The trickster god considered this, rubbing their chin. “…Go on.”
Darian launched into an improvised speech, managing to redirect the insult into a philosophical discussion on chaos theory, trickery as an art form, and how even the greatest warriors rely on the unexpected.
By the end of it, the trickster god was pleased enough to drop their vendetta.
A few gods, impressed by the argument, clapped politely—which, considering divine beings rarely acknowledged mortal logic, was practically a standing ovation. Even a god of wisdom gave a slow, approving nod, which was reportedly rarer than a comet made of solid gold. in divine terms, was practically a standing ovation.
Arias, watching in awe, muttered, “I can’t believe you just debated your way out of divine smiting.”
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Darian exhaled. “Neither can I.”
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THE AFTERMATH
With the crisis averted, Arias somehow managed to convince a minor deity to buy them drinks, launching into an impassioned (and slightly slurred) speech about the beauty of mortal liquor.
“This is what makes existence worth living,” Arias declared, raising his celestial-infused cocktail. “Limited-time experiences.”
The minor deity, surprisingly moved, agreed to a round for the whole table. A god of revelry joined in, laughing loudly and conjuring a floating fountain of divine ambrosia, ensuring the drinks wouldn’t run dry for the rest of the night.
At some point, Arias got pulled into a dance battle against an ancient spirit of rhythm, judged by a panel of deities who graded on both style and sheer audacity. Arias, through a combination of luck, determination, and what could only be described as divine favoritism, managed to outmaneuver the spirit with an improvised routine that somehow incorporated flamenco, breakdancing, and an aggressive amount of finger guns., and to everyone’s shock—including his own—he actually won. The spirit, impressed, gifted him a pair of enchanted shoes that would force him to dance whenever he heard music.
Darian watched with thinly veiled amusement as Arias tried, and failed, to sit down while his feet tapped out a ridiculously complex jig.
Darian, finally settling into the chaos, took a sip of his drink. “Well. That could’ve gone worse.”
Arias, still dancing against his will, grinned. “We should come back next time.”
Darian shook his head. “Absolutely not.”
Arias, still swaying slightly against his will, smirked. “You say that now, but wait until you hear about the divine brunch next week.”
Darian vs. The Vampire Hunter (Not Exactly Subtle)
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The first sign of trouble came when Arias got a stake thrown at his head while picking up coffee.
Darian caught it midair before it could do any damage, sighing as he turned to see a man in a long coat and wide-brimmed hat staring at them from across the street. The man’s stance was tense, his hand already reaching for another weapon. His eyes burned with the intense conviction of someone who had spent way too much time researching vampire lore.
Arias, coffee in one hand, dramatically clutched his chest with the other. “Oh no, I have been mortally wounded!” He looked at Darian. “This means you have to avenge me.”
Darian examined the stake, unimpressed. “This thing is barely sharpened.”
The hunter took a determined step forward. “You cannot deceive me, creature of the night! Your reign of terror ends today!”
Arias raised an eyebrow. “I’m literally drinking a caramel macchiato.”
The hunter’s eye twitched, his grip tightening on the hilt of a dagger at his hip. His stance tensed, like a coiled spring ready to snap. “Do not mock me, fiend! I have spent years tracking your kind.”
Darian pinched the bridge of his nose. “Look, I don’t know who gave you bad intel, but Arias isn’t a vampire.”
“I don’t believe you.”
Arias sipped his coffee. “That’s fair. I wouldn’t believe me either.”
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A VERY PERSISTENT PROBLEM
Unfortunately, the vampire hunter was incredibly persistent. Over the next several hours, he continued to shadow them, appearing at increasingly inconvenient moments.
* At lunch: Arias went to take a bite of his sandwich, only for a crossbow bolt to embed itself in the table next to him. The café staff did not appreciate that.
* At the bookstore: The hunter knocked over an entire shelf trying to “dramatically reveal” himself, only to be buried under an avalanche of hardcovers.
* In the park: Arias was feeding ducks when the hunter threw a vial of holy water at him, only to douse an innocent jogger instead. The jogger let out a strangled yelp, skidding to a stop as the water drenched him. He stared at his soaked workout gear, then at the hunter, then back at himself. "What the hell, man?!" he shouted, throwing his hands in the air. "Is this some kind of weird prank?" Before the hunter could respond, the jogger took off after him, yelling about dry-cleaning bills and personal space violations. The jogger, now soaked and furious, chased the hunter halfway across the park.
* At the grocery store: While picking out vegetables, Arias found the hunter attempting to “stealthily” follow him while crouching behind a display of cabbages. It was not effective.
Finally, after the bookstore fiasco, Darian decided he’d had enough.
“I’m handling this,” he muttered.
Arias leaned back, amused. “Try not to break him too badly.”
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THE CONFRONTATION
Darian didn’t bother with subtlety. He waited until the hunter made his next overly dramatic entrance—this time at a rooftop bar—and grabbed him by the collar, lifting him clean off the ground. The hunter flailed, kicking his legs uselessly in the air, his hands scrambling at Darian’s grip. His hat tumbled off his head, landing sideways on a nearby table. "Unhand me, foul creature!" he sputtered, though his voice cracked halfway through, betraying a note of panic.
The hunter struggled, his hand reaching for a concealed dagger, but Darian plucked it away effortlessly. “Alright,” he said, voice flat. “We’re going to have a talk.”
The hunter glared. “I will never yield to a creature of darkness!”
Darian tilted his head. “Buddy, do I look like a vampire?”
The hunter hesitated. “...No.”
Arias, from behind Darian, waved. “Still not a vampire over here.”
The hunter scowled. “Then why do you travel with such dark company?”
Arias snorted. “You mean my brother?”
The hunter blinked. “Oh.” A pause. “That would make sense.”
Darian sighed. “Glad we cleared that up.” Then, without further ceremony, he tossed the hunter across the rooftop. Not hard enough to cause lasting damage, but enough to make a point. The hunter tumbled, landed in a heap, and groaned dramatically.
Arias whistled. “That was graceful.”
The hunter groaned again. “You’ll regret this… mark my words…”
Darian crossed his arms. “Buddy, do you even believe that at this point?”
The hunter paused. “...Not really.”
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THE SOUVENIR & THE PACT
Arias walked over to where the hunter had dropped his sword. He picked it up, inspecting the craftsmanship. “Ooh, nice balance.” He gave it a few test swings, narrowly missing a rooftop planter. “You know, this might actually be worth something.”
Darian dusted off his hands. “We’re done with vampire hunters.”
Arias nodded, still examining the sword. “Agreed. Demons, gods, eldritch horrors—those, we can handle.”
Darian grabbed his coffee from a nearby table, took a slow, deliberate sip, and let out a deep sigh. "But vampire hunters? Too much work." He shook his head slightly, as if already regretting the entire day, before taking another sip.
Arias grinned. “Way too much work.”
The hunter groaned from where he lay. “I can still hear you, you know…”
Arias flipped the sword onto his shoulder and smirked. “Good. Then hear this: you really need a new hobby.”
With that, the brothers turned and left, while the defeated vampire hunter lay staring at the night sky, reconsidering all of his life choices. After a long silence, he groaned and muttered, "At least I didn’t get turned into a bat this time…" before promptly passing out.