Blood poured into the sea, forming clouds of crimson that hid Rafael as he bit recklessly into his prey.

  The angelfish had changed completely. Its body had lengthened until it rivaled some of the predators that hunted it relentlessly. Its frame had thickened, and wicked claws had grown from its fins—claws he now used to seize struggling prey.

  Its jaws had changed as well, reshaping into something far closer to a shark’s.

  An Achievement born from his relentless consumption of a particular species.

  He had become a vicious monster of the deep.

  A predator feeding on lesser gods to sustain the endlessly draining siphons of divinity within the Veil.

  Eventually, corruption had found its way inside him. It seeped into his flesh and soul alike, promising strength—promising freedom from the cage that had been built to imprison his enemies.

  Rafael still couldn’t understand how this had happened to someone like him.

  Someone as mighty as he had once been.

  Someone who had lived as long as he had.

  Even death hadn’t stopped him before. He had risen from a saint long ago, clawing his way upward through faith and power.

  And now he had been dragged into the abyss by a wretched little snake.

  His red eyes darted through the dark water as confusion crept into his mind. He wanted to shout in fury—but he couldn’t.

  Water filled his mouth.

  For a moment the sensation felt like drowning.

  Then the realization returned once more.

  He was a fish.

  A tool he had once used and discarded long ago had come back to claim him.

  Now Rafael was the tool.

  He tore into the mangled creature trapped in his claws, savaging it violently as if destroying the corpse could somehow appease his rage.

  How could he have known it had survived in this odious abyss, festering in hatred and memory?

  How could he have known the abomination he had once created would endure?

  The cruel creature watched him from above in countless hideous forms.

  Salutaris had whispered to him.

  It had promised power.

  Freedom.

  If… the former god would only submit to a ritual.

  A minor thing, the snake had said. Nothing intrusive.

  Nothing painful.

  Rafael could still remember the slippery smile it wore.

  No matter what form the creature took, he knew it spoke only foul things.

  So Rafael had hidden.

  He fled constantly beneath the shadow of the other drowned gods, hoping their presence would shield him. The festering rot of that serpent would not reach him.

  It would not consume him like it had consumed so many others.

  Rafael refused to listen to the corruption saturating the abyss.

  Yet he had never been able to fully reject it.

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  He needed its power.

  It was the only way to claw back even a fragment of safety in the endless dark.

  So what if he had changed?

  He screamed the thought into the void.

  The abyss was a lonely, suffocating hell.

  And the Veil…

  The way they had built the structure to so efficiently tear divinity from both body and soul…

  Rafael hated it.

  He hated the cage that had been turned against him.

  It had been meant to help them reach more people—to spread their light to distant lands.

  To save the lost souls of the ignorant masses.

  Lowly people who could never understand the true scale of the world.

  Or the beings who truly ruled it.

  Rafael laughed within his narrow crevice in the reef.

  A small hollow where he had dragged many of his prey to devour in peace.

  Bones floated through the water around him, alongside freshly torn corpses still leaking blood into the current.

  And somewhere above him…

  Something watched.

  -

  Piltzintecuhtli had looked into the near futures after the black clouds surrounding the nearby mountains became a constant presence. He had not been pleased to see his lovely moon and sun hidden beneath the smirch staining his beautiful sky. Even the stars had begun to vanish behind whatever audacious fellow had decided to settle so close to his domain.

  He had performed numerous divinations until he finally glimpsed the wretched corrupted god responsible for ruining his once peaceful existence. With the increasing number of people running about and climbing the mountain, his followers had become far less able to harvest the mushrooms he loved so dearly.

  Piltzintecuhtli had come to this secluded valley to escape the endless wars his fellow gods waged against one another. He wanted no part in such pointless conflicts. Especially when gods like them could simply live as they pleased.

  Becoming part of the cycle that sustained the world was not an overly difficult thing to do. Which was why it baffled Piltzintecuhtli that some would choose corruption instead. Why abandon the natural order when doing otherwise would only bring strain and instability?

  Piltzintecuhtli had never heard of a corrupted god becoming anything greater than an ancient god. Even so, the idea of a corrupt god reaching such heights was already terrifying enough. Which was precisely why he could not allow this foul creature to continue festering within his mountain range.

  It simply would not do for his peace to be disturbed.

  So he summoned his priests and ordered them to descend to a nearby community he had foreseen in his divinations—one capable of confronting the beast hidden in the mountains.

  At least, that was his hope.

  Once he provided them with the location of the villain instigating such chaos, the matter would no longer be his problem.

  -

  Atloc carefully watched the many new faces gathered around the table. Several of them still stood, as etiquette demanded that the elders be seated while the young and strong remained standing in protection of them. It was an old custom—one most no longer consciously thought about when choosing their places. Simply the natural order of things for their people.

  Atloc smiled once everyone had finished settling in.

  He had been elected to guide the discussion that would follow—talks with the young goddess of fire. Most of those present had already met her to some extent after her visits to their villages.

  By virtue of experience, Atloc would also be responsible for directing much of the council's discussion. Even if he was not the oldest among the elders, his long life had granted him enough wisdom to handle whatever might arise.

  Atloc shifted in his chair as the chosen settled themselves near members of their respective tribes. The variety of colors and clothing filled him with pride. Despite their differences, they had managed to gather here as one people of the same land—even if they did not always think alike.

  Everyone seemed calm, though an awkward tension still lingered in the room. Many had only recently been chosen to lead their people. The battle that had claimed so many of their predecessors was the very reason they now sat in those seats.

  The fate of their people would be shaped by the choices made here.

  Would they place their trust in the young goddess, or continue struggling alone as they had before?

  In Atloc’s opinion, their attempts to stand alone had been going poorly.

  Whatever power supported the young goddess was strong enough to grant her both guidance and strength. And beyond that, there was the way she carried herself among the people. She walked beside them rather than above them—a rare quality among divine beings who so often allowed their status to distance them from mortals.

  “Well,” Atloc said as he rose to his feet, “it looks like we are ready to begin this council of chosen.”

  His eyes swept across the gathering, meeting each gaze in turn. They lingered briefly on a few old acquaintances who nodded back at him in silent agreement.

  “You have all entrusted me to guide our discussions among ourselves,” he continued, “and eventually in our dealings with the young goddess.”

  He paused, allowing the words to settle. Seeing no objections, he continued.

  “First, welcome to the new chosen who now carry the weight of leadership. Even if some of your gods have fallen, it is important to remember what our young fire goddess represents.”

  His voice carried a quiet gravity.

  Atloc could tell he did not need to say more. Everyone present already understood.

  The young fire goddess symbolized something far greater than any single tribe.

  For the first time in generations, war was no longer the only thing binding their people together. Jimena had begun weaving something deeper between them.

  Across their lands, idols and shrines had begun to appear in her name. And unlike the hollow relics of recent decades, these carried true power. Blessings flowed from them. Small miracles returned to their people just as they had long ago—before the invaders had come.

  Every one of them had felt the change.

  They could sense it in the land.

  In the wind.

  In the quiet pull of something greater moving their people forward.

  Destiny was calling them.