Pip let out a long-held breath, a mixture of tension and anxiety escaping with it, as he watched the serpent crumple to the ground, its once menacing form now a lifeless heap. Relief surged through him, a powerful rush that momentarily pushed aside the gnawing doubt that had haunted him. For a brief moment, he had feared that all of their meticulous planning would come to nothing.

The mortal had been moving aimlessly, resembling a man seized by convulsions, incapable of making an intelligent decision. His proficiency with weapons remained woefully inadequate, making him look like a young child engaged in make-believe warfare rather than true combat against the serpent. His attacks were almost comical. Each swing, each thrust, was a feeble attempt that barely scratched the serpent's hide, let alone caused any substantial harm.

Thankfully, the mortal's quick-thinking coupled with Pip's spells had succeeded in tipping the scales in their favor, leading to the swift demise of the beast.

Unseen by the mortals and even Nersia's daughter, Pip waited with impatience as Talax eventually pieced together the puzzle. He observed Talax's expression shift from bewilderment to realization, the epiphany that his very blood held the key to the young child's liberation.

During his search across the forest for opportunities to expedite Talax's growth, help him level up and secure rare resources that could enhance his power, Pip had never dared to imagine unearthing such a discovery. A lair of a merewif, suckled by divine powers. Unable to cause actual harm to his protégé and able to offer him rewards beyond the little mortal’s wildest dreams. The strings of fate were guiding their progress... He should pay her a visit soon...

A single, fateful flip of his coin had steered the trio towards the lucky encounter, guiding them into the hidden recesses of the merewif's sanctuary.

Pip's fingers danced in an intricate pattern, weaving a spell that temporarily boosted Talax's luck. Overwhelmed with gratitude and under Pip's subtle influence, the woman chose to bestow upon Talax gifts that even kings would become green with envy.

As the merewif and her daughter vanished into the watery abyss of the seemingly unassuming pond, Pip dispatched an avatar to silently trace their path. The revelation that Nersia, a Goddess in her own right, harbored such potent maternal affection became a gem in Pip's collection of secrets, a leverage that could be used in the future.

With a contented nod, Pip left the trio, knowing that they were safe for the moment.

He blinked away, distancing himself from his previous location. Once he had ensured a safe buffer, he summoned the arcane incantations that would allow him to traverse the boundaries between realities and breach the veil that separated the realms, allowing him to slip into the Gilded city, the home of the Gods.

The key to the city and the source of all his powers lay inside his core. Within him, mana, imbued with a myriad of magical forces, flowed and merged. An overwhelming pressure surged into his core, seeking out a specific essence, the seed of his power. He sensed the laws of this plane of existence converge upon that seed, and with a surge of energy, he was whisked away.

In the next heartbeat, his surroundings changed completely. He found himself standing within one of the 719 shimmering portals that dotted the expanse of the Gilded city.

The transition was jarring yet exhilarating, as his senses were immediately overwhelmed by the opulent flood of ambient mana, a magical current that existed uniquely within the divine domain. The sheer levels of mana coursing through the air were of such intensity that mere mortals would find themselves dead within seconds. Protective, invisible barriers enveloped the mortal attendees, their fragile forms shielded from the overwhelming energies that could turn them to ash in the blink of an eye.

He allowed himself a moment of indulgence, a contended breath left his lips as he surrendered to the ambient mana. It flowed like liquid through his very cells, a greedy and invigorating elixir that dissolved his accumulated weariness and concerns, remnants of his travels within the mortal realm. It was as if the very essence of his being was revitalized, a sensation akin to rediscovering a long-lost self.

When he was satisfied, feeling like his old self, a deity whose power could turn the fate of any mortal with the flip of a coin, he opened his eyes. They gleamed with a renewed radiance, a reflection of the immense potency that now coursed through his veins.

His attention was immediately captivated by the heavens above, a shifting tapestry of colors that seemed to dance eternally. Within this vast expanse, miniature suns adorned the celestial canvas, casting their distinct hues upon the Gilded city and suffusing it with radiant light. Each one so close, that you thought that if you extend a hand, you could touch their brilliant surfaces, revealing intricate details like craters and canyons. This spectacle held a mesmerizing and awe-inspiring quality, its sole purpose being to evoke wonder and humility.

With bated breath, Pip started counting. 1, 2, 3... 19.

A sigh of relief escaped his lips as he noted the unchanging sky. This counting ritual was a tradition ingrained in everyone who set foot in the Gilded city, a practice established once the first sun had appeared. Each sun bore a unique signature, a distinct mark that prompted all to observe and marvel at the might of the ascended.

None of the suns were native to this plane. Instead, they were transported by the mightiest deities, a testament to their superiority from the city's other denizens. These entities stood as Gods among Gods, surpassing the numerous Godlings who paraded before mortals, masquerading as beings of unrivaled power.

To seize a sun was the pinnacle of supremacy, a grand display of strength and an exhibition of dominance over the fellow deities.

Only 19 had achieved this remarkable feat, forever revered as the ultimate authorities within the Gilded city and the planes governed by the pantheon. Among them, 12 were affiliated with the pantheon itself, each sun symbolizing their dominion and rank. The remaining suns belonged to deities who had either declined a seat of governance or had been denied one for various reasons.

He saw the blue sun of Ataaw, sending soothing waves of brilliance. The sun of the lovely Ayat, small and elegant with pinkish wisps flaring every so often, as if it was having a tantrum. The imposing sun of Xiphos, large and threatening as if ready to crush the Gilded city with its power and menace. And at the edge of the constellation, a small, unassuming sphere that shone with blood red color. For a moment Pip thought he could actually spot rivers of blood floating down from the distant star. He knew though that wasn’t the case, it was just an illusion, placed as a warning to those that dared defy the blood mistress. A symbol reminding that their impudence could only be washed away with blood.

All these celestial entities had been plucked from faraway solar systems, plunging surrounding planets into eternal darkness and obliterating any life that had managed to evolve. These suns, despite showcasing divine might, also stood as harbingers of immeasurable loss. The Gods, in their vanity and arrogance, turned a blind eye to the toll in lives and the far-reaching consequences of their actions. They simply wanted something. And they took it... Since there was no-one to oppose them, they went ahead with their games of power.

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Pip hated those games, but for some unknown reason he was constantly pulled to their schemes. Acting like a pawn for the powers above. Once he had ascended into Godhood, he had initially believed this status would elevate him beyond petty struggles, only to discover how mistaken he had been. The Gods, it seemed, surpassed even the mortals they looked down upon, in pettiness and immaturity. With a disheartened sigh, Pip directed his gaze upon the city sprawling before him, a panorama adorned like a resplendent, gem-studded tapestry.

As he observed the city, his home, the same awe enveloped him that he had experienced during his first sighting. Centuries have passed since his ascent to Godhood, yet the admiration and reverence he felt for the city remained undiminished.

In the realm of towering citadels, their spires fashioned from gleaming adamantium and radiant silver helium, rivers of liquid gold tumbled with a mellifluous roar into shores adorned with microscopic diamonds that glittered like starlight trapped in crystalline form. Opals, like iridescent dreams, shimmered with every movement of the water, casting prismatic reflections that danced across the surface.

Godlings, their bodies aglow with ethereal radiance, reclined with carefree abandon within opulent establishments that defied all notions of grandeur. Luxurious fabrics spun from the threads of celestial constellations adorned the walls, while chandeliers crafted from the captured light of supernovae hung above, casting a shimmering cascade of colors upon the laughing Godlings whose every whim was a command fulfilled by devoted attendants.

Lush terraces, each step a journey through an enchanted garden, sprawled with a decadence of flowers and plants that dared to thrive only within the mana-rich environment of the Gilded city. Blossoms, colossal in size and vibrant in hue, exhaled intoxicating perfumes that mingled with the air, wrapping those who ventured among them in a heady embrace of scented luxury. Just one fruit or seed that blossoms on this plane is able to incite battles of epic proportions. These coveted treasures can inspire the mortal empires to wage wars in order to possess them.

Only among the chosen few, the champions who have proven their unwavering loyalty and devotion, are allowed to be given, granting them powers that mortals could only dream of.

Yet, the crown jewel of this symphony of opulence was none other than the Grand Palace. Perched upon the summit of the mountain that kissed the heavens. It surveyed the city below with an air of regal authority. Its very façade was a testament to the heights of artistic brilliance, crafted by hands that belonged to the long-extinct Alterran race, whose legacy was forever woven into its tapestries and etched into its halls.

Unfortunately, one by one, the Alterrans were erased from existence, brought to their end by the very Gods they had erected the palace to honor. The divine pantheon, unwilling to witness the creation of a monument rivaling their own Grand Palace, deemed the ancient race obsolete once their purpose was fulfilled. Echoes of their memory lingered only in hushed whispers and cautionary songs. A warning to newcomers against flaunting talents that might catch the attention of the divine and spark their interest.

This monumental structure served as the very heart of the pantheon, a testament to their supremacy and dominion. Entrance was a privilege granted solely through invitation, an honor reserved for those deemed worthy. Pip shook his head in amusement at the pompousness and pretension of some of his peers and set off on a leisurely stroll down the grand boulevard.

The thoroughfare itself seemed to hum with an energy that pulsed like a living heartbeat. Mortals and immortals intertwined seamlessly, their forms a kaleidoscope of beings from across the cosmic tapestry, each engaged in errands of necessity or indulgence. Boutiques lined the majestic main street, their facades adorned with rare materials gathered from the furthest corners of existence trying to entice the eccentric clientele. Attendees bartered, negotiated, and procured services that catered to patrons with otherworldly appetites.

Recognition flickered in the eyes of the few who recognized Pip in his current form. With a respectful bow and a discreet retreat, they acknowledged his presence, a whisper of deference woven into their every movement. Yet, Pip's attention scarcely lingered, his sole desire was to reach his personal haven, a palace that belonged to him alone, where tranquility and solitude awaited.

Whistling softly and idly toying with his favorite coin, the melodious sound of his name being called pierced the air like a golden note.

“Tychos! Do come and join us!” He turned, and there stood Ayat, a Goddess whose beauty was a symphony of celestial art, sung by mortals and revered by even the mightiest of Gods.

Ayat, a central figure in the pantheon, radiated an aura of authority that could not be denied. A mere glance from her was enough to command attention. Eager to avoid offending her, Pip's lips curved into a warm smile as he hastened to approach the Goddess of love.

Godlings, some bedecked in resplendent attire while others lounged naked, gathered like jeweled fireflies around her. She reclined regally in a sun-kissed chair, her porcelain skin absorbing the sun's adoration, while the golden river's liquid gold kissed the tips of her delicate feet. Draped in diaphanous fabrics that barely covered her nudity, she became a living embodiment of desire, evoking furtive and yearning glances from her devoted admirers.

As his name echoed in her melodic voice, a swarm of envious eyes fixed upon his approach. Their collective resentment and jealousy radiated like a palpable wave of energy. The attention they fervently desired had shifted toward the newcomer, and their determination to win favor with the Goddess was resolute.

Undeterred by the currents of negativity, Pip executed a bow that merged deference with dignity, his posture reflecting both his reverence and his own inherent power.

"How may I be of service, lovely Ayat?" His words, infused with sincerity and honor, garnered a melodious laugh from the Goddess that rippled like golden laughter along the river's edge, setting the very air ablaze with excitement.

Even the male Godlings, statuesque embodiments of virility, found themselves entranced by the allure of her laughter. Pip, too, felt the enchantment weave around his senses, but he wasn't defenseless. Using all his willpower he circulated mana all over his body trying to fight off Ayat’s influence, deflecting the tendrils of her enchantment.

Ayat's connection to spirit magic was beyond the realm of ordinary mortals' understanding. It was a facet of her being, an ambient force that enveloped all in her presence without the need for spells or conscious intent. She could mold hearts and minds effortlessly, transforming the most astute minds into smitten fools. Her legendary line of past lovers attested to her mastery.

Pip couldn't fathom the depths of her spirit magic's potency, yet he knew it was unparalleled, though he was convinced she surpassed all others. Be they Gods, mortals, or the undead.

As her enchantment gradually ebbed under the strain of his relentless mana manipulation, he dared to meet her gaze, his demeanor composed and unaffected. Ayat pouted playfully, her lips a luscious curve, and she crossed her legs in a display that was both tantalizing and mischievous. Pip's eyes were involuntarily drawn to the provocative gesture, a response that evoked a knowing and satisfied grin from the golden-haired Goddess.

"My sister is looking for you. Hopefully, you haven't taken any actions to provoke her anger. You're probably aware that her forgiveness is not easily granted." Her voice carried a delicate undertone that fluttered in the breeze, yet her words cast a chilling sensation down his spine.

Summoning all his effort, he maintained a pleasant smile on his face. With a careless flick of his coin, he responded, aiming for an air of nonchalance.

"I sincerely hope not!" He let out a brief laugh, aiming to create an impression of indifference. "Antagonizing the blood mistress would undoubtedly be unwise." Despite the casual tone, the statement held undeniable truth, earning him a solemn nod in return.

"It's been over a century since I last saw my favored son, Eron..." Her words trailed off abruptly, as if she were on the verge of revealing something but chose otherwise. "Still... I don't dare to demand his release..." The radiant woman's eyes momentarily dimmed, but she quickly shook her head and mustered a weak smile.

Before Pip could react, one of her admirers, a demigod revered among mortals for vanquishing one of the three scourges, interjected, seeking her favor.

"I pledge to release your son, lovely Ayat! I shall journey to the somber river and breach the infernal realms for your sake!" He proclaimed, puffing his disproportionately muscular chest, and he was met with a chorus of agreements. Ayat scarcely spared the young man a glance before emitting a scoff. Irritated by the cacophony of voices, she hushed her eager admirers and turned to Pip, her gaze now earnest.

"You would be wise to approach my sister sooner rather than later." Her statement held more of a caution than a command, compelling Pip to take her advice. He nodded with equal gravity, discarding his playful façade, and expressed his gratitude.

Leaving the Goddess of Love and her entourage to their amorous pursuits and games, Pip quickened his pace and altered his route, veering into a part of the city that he rarely ventured to.

With his every step, his mood soured, and his anxiousness mounted. For the blood mistress to have summoned him, there was only one reason, Talax.