My eyes adjusted as I peered past the beam of light into the shadows encircling the stadium in time to see a flare of black wings. The King of Hell abandoned the ornate throne carved to accommodate his wings. He got to his feet, turning on the crowd behind him.
They were in our house.
And, I reminded myself,I was not on trial.
I spotted a blue-skinned man with an ornate, feathered crown forced to resemble a hummingbird. Huitzilopochtli, the Aztec god of war, had left his throne in the lush jungle for this meeting, despite the oceans that separated our mortal territories. He realized I was peering directly into his eyes and held my gaze. A feathered serpent flicked its tongue beside him.
Their winged snake had a gift shared by few in each pantheon.
Their god could see the future.
Across the stadium’s sandy floor, shrouded in darkness halfway up the terraced seats, my father settled back into his throne, nodding for me to go on.
Years ago, I’d yelled at Izi and my father in his hall, demanding to know if they’d heard something I had not. Now when I scoured the stands, I searched for the faces of gods known for their power to peer into the future.
Every present pantheon in attendance had brought their prophet.
They knew what was coming.
I let the knowledge empower me. My chest swelled.
“Maybe this new faith has yet to touch your region. Perhaps you’re here out of politeness, or curiosity, or to delight in the suffering of the fallen. But…” Another slow rotation as I spotted other unfamiliar pairs—entities who’d never interacted with Hell before this day. I recognized them through reputation only as I spotted gods of the rainforest, of the dunes, of thesnow. Their king or queen of battle, each accompanied by their soothsayer.
“You already know.”
The eerie silence returned. My eyes unfocused.
“That’s why you’ve come. The deity we face isn’t just conquering, he’s colonizing. Your gods of guidance, those with premonitions, those who directed your actions as they peered into the horrors to come…” With an open hand, I motioned to the Aztec deities.
“This virus has spread from the Cradle of Civilization to North Africa, to the Mediterranean, and northward. I’ve spent more than one hundred mortal years on the ice of the Bering Strait. It will take centuries, a millennium, even, for this infectious faith to poison the people, sully the temples, and overthrow the gods across the sea. And yet Huitzilopochtli has attended today’s conclave. Whatever Quetzalcóatl has seen, showed them the future. This faith, this sickness, it may not have reached your pantheon yet, but…”
I was able to ignore the spotlight altogether as I made yet another slow rotation, this time truly seeing how many immortal prophets, oracles, seers had come.
“You already know.”
I planted my feet as my circle came to its end.
If they had seen me and my human together, they wouldn’t have needed to arrive, to push me into the legend, to beg for Hell to play its role in overthrowing the rapidly-spreading faith.
Their future had told them that, whether tomorrow or a thousand years from now, this new god would be at their doorstep. Jerusalem’s war deity was certain, and as such, his future had solidified. He would keep fighting. He would keep winning.
As of yet, I’d remained undecided. As such, no visions soothed their panic as they watched their gods, their people, their kingdoms fall with no one to challenge Heaven’s King.
They were here because they needed the prophecy to be real.
My performance had come to an end. There had been no cries for accountability. No one had arrived to see my head roll for what I’d done on their soil.
I was their only hope.
I could work with that.
I rallied my vestiges of diplomacy and made my final proclamation. “This is our first time meeting, but it won’t be our last. We’re united behind a common enemy. They have their virgin birth between a god and the purest of his mortals. You want your demon and his—” I stopped short of the word.
The antichrist would be born of a whore.
My expression flickered. Through the shadow, I saw my father learn against the ornate arm of his throne. His elbows rested on his knees, fingers over his lips, as he waited to see if his son’s next words would save Hell, or damn them all.
“She is my human.” I shot a scathing look to the top of the stadium where a single Slavic deity had sequestered himself far from the rest of the pantheon. “Mine.”
