Misadil, the second strongest God of Wealth in the world, smiled on his throne. These newly integrated planets were just so profitable. He had already made 73.9 million Credits just by setting up some shows and selling viewing rights. He had enough scrying experts in his employ that he could see the most dramatic scenes on the new world, and many would pay an amazing amount of Credits to get a good look at the new planet.

Along with those who scryed for drama and action, he had a team that gathered projections of any remaining museums or historical showcases. The more he learned about the world's past, the better he could find its ancient treasures. Whenever a new planet got pulled into the System, it always hid a few goodies worth finding.

And Misadil was loving the history of this place. Earth, they called it. A humble name for the planet that housed them all. That was where the humility stopped.

They just loved money so much. It was incredible. The wealthy had everything. They literally started to destroy their own planet, realized they were ruining the entire world for future generations, and then didn't stop because it wasn't profitable. Such greed! Such selfishness! Such complete disregard for others! It was like looking in a mirror.

And he had a lot of sponsorships to give out too. Those were long-term money makers, but easily the most profitable part.

Misadil wasn't like other Gods in his sponsorships. He didn't give a blessing or a pseudo-affinity. What he did do was either increase his sponsored's Credit limit or just provide them with a boatload of Credits, all in exchange for three percent of future profits. When people could live for thousands of years if they got strong enough, that added up. Merchant and its variants were one of the most straightforward paths you could take to Godhood.

When he had still been mortal, his own Class had been Fortunate Son, in which he could literally buy progress. His father gave him a small loan of three billion Credits, and within four minutes of getting his System, he had bought his way to Aspirant-3.

But that all dealt with Credits, which could only be accessed by Merchant Classes and their variants. Other Classes needed different incentives. Usually, he just offered to send something to the nearest Merchant for them to pick up. But the truly exemplary, he employed himself. Crafters, Blacksmiths, Scribes, Alchemists, Handymen, Jacks of All Trades, and many more. His father even had a Chosen Creator in his employ that made up a good thirtieth of his profits.

A feat Misadil was trying to replicate. A Chosen, any Chosen, was strong. There were only five for each newly integrated planet, and a new one was only added every thousand cycles. The Warrior, Mage, Rogue, And Ranger were unparalleled at what they did, and almost half their number ascended to Godhood. But in the end, their might was focused on battle. They were Chosen to help defend their planet from the Monsters, even if they didn't live up to the task.

But the Chosen Creator was different. He was useful. He was profitable. A Chosen Creator could make incredible marvels of metal and runes, machines that could destroy planets, or golems that were as strong as a dedicated combat Class of their own level.

But his plans for snapping up this planet's Creator were foiled. He sent his offer, and it arrived among the thousands that were sent to each Chosen. It was summarily ignored. He watched the Creator for a little while after he left the pocket dimension he was in, completely unscryable as it was. One of his best Farseers had died of Void madness trying to get a peek. It was why he didn't scry anything himself.

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The Creator found a Merchant, and Misadil thought that this was his in. He might not have gotten the man himself, but he could control him through the Merchant.

But then his presence was kicked away. All the projections shattered. Every Farseer, Scryer, and Aspect of Sight he had monitoring the situation died immediately, their eyes blank and full of the darkness of Void. A presence that he had never wanted to feel descended. The last Void God. The greatest loss of money in the universe.

Thousands of expeditions had been made into the true Void to search for treasures, trillions of Credits worth of personnel and supplies. All killed, by the last Void God. Hundreds of Gods had challenged him, wanting to prove to themselves that they were absolute in power. All killed, by the last Void God. Entire solar systems and galaxies, burned because of a flinch or feeling of annoyance. All killed, by the last Void God.

No one knew his name. No one knew what he was the God of. Essentially all they knew was that he was male, of the Void, and the strongest thing in existence besides the System itself.

So when that zone of denial moved over the next few mortal days, he watched the outskirts. The movements of the Void God were information worth much, and he was planning on sponsoring the Merchant the moment she left the bubble. No cost to her, no assignments, no tricks. He would act with complete honesty and honor if it meant making an ally of someone the Void favored.

Soon enough, with a Merchant stranded in a clearing as the bubble of anti-scrying was pulled away into the distance, he got his chance.

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Doutrix, the Goddess of Curiosity, giggled to herself. This new world was so so so so so cute!

Otters!

Bunnies!

Baby toucans!

She wanted to pet them alllllllll!

So many new things! So many interesting things! SO MANY SHINIES!!!

It was amazing! She watched a thousand different scenes and places and things through thousands of scrying pools, projections, and crystal balls. She saw hundreds of thousands of people, places, and things. And it was all new. Blessedly, relievingly, amazingly new.

Being the only Goddess of Curiosity was hard. Sure, she was likely in the top five best at scrying in the world, and knew more than most Knowledge Gods, but that was the problem! At a certain point, there was nothing new to be curious about.

These new worlds were one of the only ways she could see new things. Satisfy the burning itch of her neglected domain.

See the last Void God retract all of his fragments, avatars, and constructs, and then converge all his sight on a single mortal. Create what was likely the best mystery in millennia. Why had the strongest being in the universe done that? Why. WhY. wHY. WHy. WHY.

WhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhyWhy.

She HAD TO KNOW.

No God of Knowledge had any wisdom concerning the last avatar of true nothingness. No God of Sight had seen anything that he didn't want them to see. No God of Exploration had survived his domain. The first God of Curiosity, Doutrix's predecessor, had died trying to find those secrets. Now, she had to be careful to not fall victim to the same fate. But she just HAD TO KNOW.

So the moment that a mortal who had seen inside the bubble of Void that her sight couldn't pierce was outside of it, she sent a sponsorship invite right away. Some form of sight-based Class. Maybe he had learned something from the Creator? From the Void? Had he seen the last Void God? Been able to ask questions of him? Did the little Overseer know his name? Doutrix didn't know something. She loved new worlds.