“My friend!” A golden-haired man in gleaming armor with burly muscles bowed. I sighed.

“Yes, Malakar?” I asked drolly? “To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit? No more worlds left to conquer?”

Malakar chuckled, “No, Mythendriel, for I would weep if that were the case. I bring a gift to you, friend. A product of Bacchus.”

My eyebrow quirked upwards. “Bacchus? The old fool has another godly wine to sell?” I smiled wryly.

“I never would have pegged you as a salesman, Malakar. I’ve never gotten drunk off of Bacchus’ product, and alcohol was never one of my vices. You’ll have to seek for Divinity elsewhere.”

I shooed him away with one hand, content to dwell in my own boredom, but Malakar stayed.

“No, you somber fool, a gift! Bacchus sends a wager to the loneliest god… If you chug the bottle and feel nothing, he’ll leave you alone and send along some Divinity as recompense…” Malakar grinned at me, his boyish looks belying the destructive power trapped within his body. I rolled my eyes at his words.

“And if I somehow feel something?” I prompted.

Malakar’s grin sharpened.

“Well, then you have to come out to a party with me and a thousand of the other gods, of course!” He laughed and threw the bottle up in the air towards me. A wave of my hand and it froze in midair, floating gently towards my hand. I grasped it by the neck and tilted it towards me, analyzing it. The language of magic escaped my lips as easily as breathing. The wine glimmered softly for a moment as my magic searched out its contents, the information pouring into my mind. The heart of a basilisk, blood of a Chaos Viper, the Tears of Apophis, and a whole lot of Divinity. My eyes narrowed. This many strong poisons wouldn’t do fuckall to me, but that was a hell of a lot of Divinity.

“What’s the game, Malakar? I’ve grown lax in my old age, it appears.” I waved a hand and spell matrices bloomed to life in my mind– a plethora of self buffing spells and sensory augmentations. Malakar’s illusory disguise melted away, revealing a lithe figure wearing a purple bodysuit and a jester’s mask. Its hands went up in mock surrender.

“You’ve got me, I suppose!” The figure laughed.

“Loki,” I growled, more irritated than upset, “And here I’d thought a friend was paying me a visit. What’s the angle?”

“No angle. Everything I said to you was 100% true. Well, for the most part. See, the truth of it is that there’s a bit of a wager going on. Whoever gets mean-old fussypants Mythendriel out of his realm gets the pot– a whole lot of Divinity,” Loki gestured to the wine in Myth’s hands.

“That’s a pittance compared to the pot–a small investment, if you would.”

Myth sighed.

“Is my presence truly so desirable for you all? I’m not that handsome, surely,” I joked, and Loki’s shoulders shrugged repeatedly, as though with silent laughter. It wasn’t that funny.

“Milord, it’s been 10,000 years since the last intelligent life Ascended to godhood. And it’s been, what, 6,000 years since you’ve left your realm? A bunch of us just thought that, if you returned, it’d almost be like a new face was joining us for the first time. That’s all.” Loki shrugged now, as though there was little at stake. I waffled. On the one hand, I didn’t like Loki. I didn’t particularly care for Bacchus either, so I really didn’t want to gift them a big pot of Divinity.

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On the other hand, Loki spoke a lot of truth. It had been a little while since I’d left. I had been stewing in malcontent for quite some time… I was bored. No innovations in magic, many of my side projects left dormant for millenia at a time, even watching the mortals down below had become tedious. The abilities granted by my Divinity had made life so easy that there was no need for anything. Half the spells I’d invented since Ascending barely had any effect on me, whether because the spells themselves were failing or because I just couldn’t perceive the effects. What was 10% more intelligence on top of infinity? What was an ability to vividly recall up to an extra 50 years’ worth of memories on top of an infinitely clear recollection? My blood flowed like magic, unimpeded by even the most powerful of poisons. My mana was pure to the point of insanity with no impurities for magical corruptants to take root. If Bacchus had made something that could trouble me? Let him have his reward.

“Fuck it, I suppose. Let’s see, Loki.” I tipped the bottle up and chugged like a teamster.

“FUCK, Loki, this was a good idea. I gotta ad-hic-mit, I was pretty shkeptical at firsht, but you’re the firsht man, or thing or whatever the hell you are, to best MYTHENDRIEL!” I laughed, swaying in place. A red gauntlet clapped me on the shoulder, Asmodeus.

“HA HA HA! Mythendriel, it’s been too long. The last time we clashed, it was the most fun I’d ever had. It took me millenia to reform!” Asmodeus recalled, and I giggled loudly.

“Ashmodeus!” I placed my arm around his shoulder in camaraderie, “That battle was legendary, wasn’t it!? You know, maybe I was a bit harsh in totally disintegrating your internal organs… no hard feelings?” I slurred, my brain hazing over as I lost my inhibitions. Asmodeus grinned at me, fangs gleaming.

“None at all, my friend, it’s good to have you out! Haven’t had a new god in, what, 10 thousand years? I wonder why that is?”

I grasped onto this new conversation topic with joy, gods and demon lords crowding around me.

“I- hic - I swear, I watch theshe mortalsh alllllll the time. They’re just too shoft now! When we rose up, it was against the might of the univershe! We’re just made of sterner stuff now,” I boasted, the divine alcohol clouding my judgement further with each passing second. Loki butted in now.

“I don’t know, Myth, I think the world is just harder now, don’t you? I doubt even you could ascend to godhood given the state of the world now…” Loki mused, and I bristled with indignance.

“What?! I won’t stand for that disresh-hic-pect on my first party out in an Era, Loki! These mortals simply lack the cruel teachers that we possessed: reality!” I retorted, outraged. Now, the crowd of immortals was looking amused.

“You truly believe that?” hissed Azazel, a demon lord.

“Pfft, I’m the fucking god of magic. You fink I couldn’t - hic - teach a bunch of snot-nosed brats how to ascend to godhood?

“Prove it,” Loki said. I whirled to face them, their mask hidden in the shadows of crackling firelight.

“What?” I demanded for Loki to repeat themself.

“Well, prove it. It shouldn’t take, what, more than 50 years with everything you know? Just reincarnate down into the Lower Worlds and Ascend back up. Then you’ll set a good example for the mortals down there and we’ll get some new gods in the next few centuries, don’t you think?” Loki shrugged as though this were the most reasonable suggestion in the world. I was drunk, but I wasn’t that drunk.

“Not today, Loki. I won’t be goaded into something stupid tonight!” I rebuffed their attempts at instigation.

“Too true, Myth, too true. Apologies, have some more wine…” Loki brought out a second bottle of Bacchus’ newest product, and my eyes lit up. I snatched it from their hands and tipped it back some more, restraint learned over a millenia or two of stupidity gone after so much time unused.

I will not let Loki goad me into doing something stupid, okay? Drunk Myth is no fool either.