"Pardon my intrusion, Holy Pope."
The soft, unapologetically lazy voice echoed directly beside the Patriarch of House Invictus. A sudden, heavy drop in atmospheric pressure washed over the room, followed by a localized, silent crack of golden thunder. From the empty space beside Tiberius, Julian Invictus materialized directly into a sitting position, leaning back casually in a freshly formed runic chair.
It was Julian Invictus, the undisputed apex of the Path of Jovis.
Throughout the Empire, terrified whispers and grand theories suggested that he had already reached Ascendant Step 6: Imperator, and was perhaps even encroaching on the mythic, god-like threshold of Divinitas. However, it was all just speculation. Not even his own father knew his true Ascendant Step.
Unlike other warriors who proudly displayed their progression, Julian possessed the uncanny ability to perfectly conceal the geometric rune marks etched into his hands. The only measure of his power the world was ever allowed to see was the one mark that could never be hidden: the glowing, golden halo of his Primordial Lingua Caelestium, resting heavily around his neck.
"Where were you?" Tiberius demanded, his lone purple eye narrowing as he locked gazes with his son. "You knew we were convening a summit of the highest order."
Julian simply smiled—a lazy, entirely unapologetic grin. Instead of offering an excuse, he reached into his spatial pocket and casually withdrew the three dark, humming Chaos Cubes. With a soft clack, he dropped the heretical artifacts unceremoniously onto the center of the polished obsidian table.
The moment the cubes touched the stone, the Lingua Caelestium runes carved into the table flared in defense. Tiny, violent sparks of golden lightning hissed and snapped against the pitch-black aura radiating from the cubes.
Tiberius let out a heavy, exhausted sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. He was the Patriarch of the strongest House in the Empire, but when it came to his son's infuriating lack of decorum, he knew he was entirely powerless.
"Right, then. These are what I found," Julian announced cheerfully, gesturing lazily toward the volatile artifacts as he shifted his bright purple eyes to the glowing, hooded figure of the Pope.
The oppressive, suffocating weight of the dark cubes washed over everyone in the room. The sheer malice radiating from the artifacts felt as though it was gnawing at the ambient magic in the chamber.
Noticing the heavy tension, Tiberius raised a finger and firmly tapped the surface of the obsidian table. Instantly, the geometric runes carved into the stone flared to life. A dome of crackling golden lightning snapped upward, forming a localized, protective shield over the cubes to isolate their corrupting aura from the gathered leaders.
Tiberius let out another heavy sigh, leaning back in his amethyst throne.
"As you can see, these artifacts warp the very fabric of reality," Tiberius explained, his deep voice deadpan and serious. "They violently reject the magic of the Divine Pathways. Furthermore, my son informs me that consuming one forcefully grants the user an incredibly massive reservoir of Aethel, temporarily making them near-unstoppable."
Before anyone else could comment, the Pope abruptly pushed his runic chair back and stood up. The ethereal figure of absolute light actually seemed to tremble.
"This cannot be," the Pope's omnipresent voice fractured, completely losing its usual, divine calm. "This cannot be here."
The Pope took a step back, his glowing, hooded form radiating a mixture of profound confusion and raw, undeniable terror. It was as if he were watching a nightmare from ancient history threaten to repeat itself.
"These... these things should not be appearing again," the Pope murmured, his overlapping voice laced with dread. "They were sealed away."
Cassius shifted in his seat, his golden eyes narrowing. "What do you mean by that?" the Head of House Valentine demanded. He looked deeply unsettled, genuinely alarmed by the sight of the Holy Pope—a figure believed to speak for the Unknown—losing his composure over a mere artifact.
The Holy Pope let out a long, shuddering breath, slowly regaining his composure as he sank back into his runic chair.
"Forgive my outburst," his omnipresent voice echoed, though it still carried a faint, unsettling tremor.
The room fell into a heavy silence, everyone agreeing to give the Pope the floor.
"As you all know," the Pope began, the absolute light of his hood dimming slightly as he spoke, "in the beginning, there was The Unknown. We believe this primordial creator birthed the Seven Divine Pathways, from which all subsequent branches of magic and Aethel are derived. That much is written in every foundational text of the Empire."
He gestured vaguely toward the dark cubes isolated inside the lightning shield.
"However, there is a hidden chapter buried in the deepest archives of the Church. We believe there was once a mortal man who despised the gods of the Divine Pathways."
Cassius Valentine furrowed his scarred brow, raising a hand to interrupt. "Gods? It is widely believed that the Old Gods have been dead since the dawn of the Empire. How could a mortal hate them?"
"Please, allow me to finish, Lord Valentine," the Pope replied gently. "In the very first era of human civilization, it is said that the Seven Old Gods walked the earth alongside mortals. According to the forbidden texts, this man begged the gods to save his family. Some variations of the story claim his sister was suffering from an incurable blight, while others say his entire bloodline was targeted. It depends on which archive you read. But the result was always the same."
The Pope's ethereal voice grew heavier. "The gods refused his prayers. He was forced to watch his family wither and die while the divine beings turned a blind eye."
Ares felt a strange chill run down his spine. The room was absolutely silent.
"Driven mad by grief and a boundless hatred for the heavens, he did the unthinkable," the Pope continued. "He cracked the primordial code of the Lingua Caelestium. It should have been completely impossible for a mortal mind to deconstruct the language of reality without shattering, but he succeeded anyway. And by doing so, he ascended into something unimaginable."
The Pope paused, letting the weight of his next words hang in the air.
"He became the Eighth God."
"The Eighth God?" Cassius, Tiberius, and Ares all repeated in unison, their voices laced with sheer disbelief. Only Julian remained completely silent, lazily leaning back in his chair with an amused smirk.
"Yes," the Pope confirmed solemnly. "History was intentionally erased so that humanity would only ever know of the Seven. To exact his revenge against the heavens, this man created the Chaos Cubes. They were designed for the weak—for mortals who possessed no Aethel and no Divine Pathway—giving them the heretical power to tear down the established world order."
The Pope looked down at the violently sparking cubes, a profound sadness in his omnipresent voice.
"There are not just seven gods. There is an eighth. And in the dark texts, we call him... Asterion of the Stars."