The dawn light washed over Orario, cool and gray, casting long shadows behind the rising form outside the Crimson Church. The incomplete Dreadnought was no longer a skeleton. Steel plating now covered the torso and left arm; the armor curved into a functionally brutal form. Joints had been sealed and reinforced, and the power conduits were now sheathed in protective tubing. From a distance, it looked like a giant caught in the mont before rising.
Freya, serene and radiant as always, wore a smile that was all eyes and knowing. She leaned slightly. Beside her, Hephaestus was silent, a gloved hand resting against the Dreadnought's plated leg. Her eye scanned every inch of exposed armor with the precision of a master craftswoman.
"This is... beyond understanding," Hephaestus finally said, voice low. "All the material is of different grades. Why not just use the sa quality throughout?"
"He's probably having difficulty forging," Freya said, clearly recalling how he had been making it.
Hephaestus ignored the comnt, eyes narrowing as she stepped closer.
"Even as a golem, this thing would be too heavy to move around." She brushed her fingers across a seam. "So of these materials are good enough for divine weapons."
Freya tilted her head, a playful glint in her eyes.
"Why can't this thing be a divine weapon?"
"Because it has no divinity," Hephaestus replied, though her hand lingered on the tal. "But... it shouldn't matter."
Above them, the servitor sensors embedded in the church's fra clicked softly to life. One of them swiveled toward the pair, emitting a brief tone. A second later, the front doors of the Crimson Church opened without a sound.
"If you're done admiring the shell," ca Luther's voice from within, calm and iron-edged, "co inside."
The two goddesses exchanged a glance—neither moving first—before stepping across the threshold.
The change from outside to within was stark.
Inside, everything was cold and tallic. One might even call it unpleasant. tal skulls floated overhead, suspended from long chanical arms attached to the ceiling like a spider's web.
Luther was at his bench, sleeves rolled up, a dull tal gauntlet clamped in a vise. Sparks arced from a servo-tool in his hand as he calibrated the inner chanics. The faint scent of incense hung in the air.
At that mont, Hestia erged from her room.
"Morning," she murmured.
"Since you're awake, bring so tea. We've got visitors," Luther said, still working.
As Hestia turned slightly, her eyes landed on the second figure in the hall. She blinked, a flicker of surprise breaking through her calm expression.
"Hephaestus…?" Her voice was filled with confusion. "Did you co to pick up for work?"
Hephaestus t her gaze evenly, arms at her sides.
"No," she said plainly. "I ca to speak with Luther. There are so issues we need to resolve."
Freya stepped forward, her voice soft yet composed.
"I ca here to make a request."
Luther glanced at the silver-haired goddess.
"If you needed sothing made, why not ask your own familia? If I recall, a few of them are rather talented with their hands."
Freya's lips parted, as if to say more, but she hesitated. After a pause:
"But they are not as good as you."
Hephaestus folded her arms, her gaze still flickering toward the outside.
"I'm not here to see you flirt with each other. The Guild inford about your illegal sales of guns. But now we have a bigger problem," she continued, her tone asured. "Because of you, black market trading has increased. Materials are vanishing. And now... I see this."
She stepped closer to the slab, glaring at Luther.
"While you build this massive, useless thing, others can't even find enough iron to forge swords."
Luther finally looked up. His eyes, cold and precise, settled on her with asured disdain. Slowly, he set the tool aside and rose to his full height.
"You see iron—I see a miracle. Others lt steel into dull blades and hollow armor," he said, placing a hand on the cold slab of tal beside him. "But I sanctify."
His voice deepened—not with reverence, but with unshakable conviction.
"I build in the na of the Omnissiah. I breathe life into dead alloys. Every rivet, every seal, every circuit—they are sacrants."
He paused.
"If you call this thing a waste again..."
The silence that followed was heavy.
"...then be prepared to face the judgnt your ignorance earns."
A pause stretched between them, thick with tension and steel.
Hephaestus's gaze was fixed on him—not just the man, but the thing beneath that robe. The words he spoke felt like doctrine. He wasn't lying.
But truth alone didn't explain it. What is the Omnissiah? Who taught him to speak like that? The na was foreign, yet the way he uttered it reminded her of the followers of dark gods.
What disturbed her more, though, was his intent. He was prepared—truly prepared—to defend his so-called miracle with violence. That armored giant behind him was ready to strike. She could feel it. Even the room itself felt as though it was preparing to attack.
She didn't understand. Why was he threatening a god? Did he not fear that all the other Familias would go to war against him for thinking like this?
He had no blessing—no Familia to shield him. No patron to pull strings in his na. Did he not fear the wrath of the Guild or the retribution of other deities? One word from her, and a dozen Familias would rise against him. That was the way of the city. That was balanced.
And yet... he didn't care.
Silence settled over the hall. The only sound was the distant, chanical wheeze of a servitor drifting overhead—its breath like so ancient beast sleeping in the rafters.
Then a soft voice broke the tension.
Freya stepped forward, her smile warm but unreadable.
"I think both of you need to cool down."
She glanced at Hephaestus, her tone almost chiding, but laced with charm.
"And you, as the goddess of forging—should you really speak ill of another's craftsmanship?"
Her words floated gently—but they cut just enough to disarm. Not harsh. Not defensive. Just enough to let the threat dissipate.
After all, she wasn't here to see a mortal fight a god. That might be interesting—but she had a different plan.
Continuing her soft smile, she spoke in the gentlest voice,
"I just received a list of services you're providing through your shop." She held up a parchnt. "According to this, you're claiming to enhance human lifespan and strength."
Luther turned, slightly amused.
"Then prepare the money. From strengthening the bones to extending life—it will cost millions, if not billions."
Freya tilted her head, her smile soft and honeyed.
"Why don't you give a discount?" she asked, her voice velvet-smooth, charm bleeding into the air like incense.
Luther didn't flinch. Didn't even blink. He rely turned a dial on the bench, eyes still fixed on the data readout, and replied in the sa flat tone as before.
"Are you attempting to seduce for a discount?"
Freya's smile wavered—just slightly.
Finally, Luther looked up. The red lens of his mask glead, chanical and unblinking.
"I'm not wearing this thing for show," he said, tapping the side of his helt. "It filters all images."
He turned back to his work, the cold edge of his voice scraping against the silence.
"If you're done playing, you should leave. I have more important things to do."
User Comments
0 comments from readers