UNMEI: Pantheon's Game-Chapter 125: Twin Tongues

The Church of the God of Fame stood tall like a monument to pride. White pillars reached up to the sky, carved with faces of smiling worshippers frozen in eternal praise.

Gold banners hung along the walls, each shining with the name God of fame, Mirathis, the god everyone here worshipped.

As I stepped inside, the noise faded.

The moment people saw me, they moved aside. Heads lowered. Some knelt. Others bowed so deeply their foreheads nearly touched the floor.

"Prince Damion..."

They whispered it like a prayer.

I walked slowly through the wide aisle, past rows of worshippers in fine robes. Some were nobles, others officials, priests, all gathered here to be seen.

The high, ranking church members wore golden belts over their robes, priests, they were called.

Supposedly the closest to Mirathis. Some of them followed beside me, their eyes filled with curiosity and nervous excitement. I didn't speak to them. I didn't need to.

I had one goal, speak to a god.

We passed the main prayer chamber, then the offering pool, until we reached the High Altar, a marble platform with the symbol of Mirathis carved into the floor, an open eye wrapped in flame.

I stopped in front of it and looked up.

Praying to a god isn't like speaking. It's like aligning yourself.

When we call a god by their true name, and when we channel our Neba into the words, something strange happens.

Neba isn't just inside us, it's everywhere. And each god has their own current flowing through the world, hidden but constant.

When we recite their full name with focus, that neba current reacts. Their Neba reaches out to ours. For a moment, the god sees us clearly. And if they want to, they can influence us.

That's how contact begins.

I dropped to one knee, not because i respect or bow to the gods, but because it's a necessary step for my goals.

I closed my eyes and focused my breath. Then I whispered the full name of a true god.

"He who lives in the gaze of millions...

He who drinks the breath of applause...

He who shines when others fade...

Mirathis, God of Fame, hear me."

My Neba flowed through me as I spoke. Not like fire. Like light, pale and sharp.

But nothing came back. No warmth. No voice.

One of the priests behind me shifted and finally spoke.

"Forgive me, Prince Damion... but gods rarely answer prayers directly. Even with all the steps, they choose silence most of the time."

I turned my head slightly. My voice didn't rise.

"Don't speak unless you're asked to."

He stepped back. Quiet followed again. I kept my eyes closed, holding the connection. The silence didn't bother me.

Of course gods don't answer.

Not unless they gain something. Not unless they're forced to. And I had something that would force Mirathis to listen.

A secret, a key.

I know a way for him to descend to the earth.

Even gods can't ignore that.

So i repeated prayer once more.

"I know how to bring you here. To the human world. To walk with your name echoing louder than ever before."

The moment I whispered the words, the altar flame twisted unnaturally, spiraling higher as the air itself seemed to tighten. A pressure settled around me, heavy and cold, like unseen hands were slowly wrapping around my throat, not to choke me, but to remind me who held the power now.

A voice, sharp, elegant, and cruel, echoed directly into my mind.

"You speak boldly, mortal. If you are wasting the time of a god... you will suffer."

There was no anger in the tone. Just certainty. A truth that existed above consequence. It wasn't a threat. It was the natural order of things. I lowered my head slightly, masking the small smile that curved my lips.

Got you.

He was listening. That was all I needed.

"I'm not wasting your time," I said quietly, each word deliberate, the weight of the divine still draped across my shoulders.

"The method is real. A way for a god to descend. Not through symbols or avatars or whispers in the minds of believers. I'm talking about a true return. Full presence and power."

The air around me trembled again, the golden flame shifting shape as though reacting to some unseen thought.

Then, laughter echoed in the space above and within, cruel and far too large to belong in this world.

"And what do you seek in return, little prince?"

I lifted my gaze, letting it rest on the flame, which no longer flickered randomly but pulsed like a heart, ike an eye. "The Sword of Rules."

Everything stilled.

Not just the flame. Not just the chamber. Even the faint humming of distant prayers beyond the grand hall seemed to pause, as if the entire church had forgotten how to breathe.

Then, Mirathis spoke again, his voice low now, colder.

"You ask for a weapon sealed even among gods. A blade that shapes law. A tool of creation and control. Do you truly believe you're worth that?"

"I do," I answered, not blinking. "But if I'm wrong, if I fail to bring you to this world, you can take my life. No bindings. No trials. No second chances."

The god didn't reply. Not immediately. Instead, the Neba in the room became still, suspended in the air like dust frozen in a single moment. It was a pause that wasn't indecision, but something worse, a pause that meant Mirathis was interested.

Then came the response, quieter than before, but no less dangerous.

"You would offer your soul for a weapon?"

"No," I murmured, the edges of my voice soft with confidence. "I'm offering it for what comes after."

A sharp sound split the silence, the flame bursting upward one final time, illuminating the dome in golden fire before collapsing into nothingness. The divine presence vanished with it, and the weight on my chest released. I exhaled slowly, the scent of burnt incense and melted silver lingering in the air.

"Very well," the voice echoed one last time as it faded, distant and thunderous.

"Impress me, Damion Asus Murderthrone. Fail me... and you will learn what eternity feels like."

The chamber returned to stillness, the silence now thick with something sacred and unseen. The priests nearby glanced around in confusion, their instincts sensing a presence even if their minds couldn't grasp it. I stood slowly, brushing invisible dust from my coat.

The deal had been made. And gods, for all their pride, do not break promises.

.

.

.

Far above the reach of mortal hands, within a boundless sanctum of radiant silence, Mirathis stood alone.

The Hall of Fame, the true one, not its humble reflection built by men, stretched infinitely in all directions, layered with millions of glowing, circular lights suspended in the air.

Each one shimmered faintly with Neba, whispering the wishes, praises, and desperate cries of mortals far below.

Mirathis, draped in white and gold robes that pulsed with divine light, moved through them with a solemn grace. Tall, with golden hair falling in waves past his shoulders and piercing blue eyes that saw far more than any man ever would, he carried himself like a monarch who had never known defeat.

But something was wrong.

He halted. His gaze dropped to his open hand.

A symbol had burned itself into his palm, dark, sharp, alive.

A coiled serpent devouring a sword, twisted with horns that bent outward like a crown.

He stared, unmoving, lips parting slightly as his mind reeled.

What... is this?

The mark pulsed with a dull heat. Not divine. Not his. Something else entirely.

He summoned his Neba with a single thought, gold and white light surging around him, divine energy dense enough to crack lesser souls apart. His hand blazed with purifying fire as he tried to sear the sigil away.

But it remained untouched.

Mirathis flinched, his features tightening. For the first time in centuries, confusion crossed his face.

This symbol... it had appeared after the mortal spoke to him.

Damion.

He grit his teeth, eyes narrowing into slits as fury crept up his spine.

"Impossible," he whispered. "A mortal's ability... affecting me?"

His voice echoed through the hall, unanswered.

His hand trembled.

The shame of it, the impossibility, gnawed at his pride like rot. For a god to be marked, without permission, without comprehension, was a sin against the very nature of divinity.

His Neba flared uncontrollably, storming across the chamber in wild arcs of golden rage.

.

.

.

Somewhere below, far from the heavens...

Damion stepped out of the Church of Fame, his cloak swaying behind him as the heavy doors sealed shut.

[ Ability: Twin Tongues ]

[ Ability Description: Allows the user to enslave anyone by making a deal that is unfair to themselves. Once the target accepts, they are bound completely ]

[ They will obey every command from the user. ]

[ All past curses, marks, or bindings on the target are instantly removed. ]

[ If they try to resist, they die instantly. ]

[ Weaknesses- 1. Unfair Deal is Required: The deal must heavily favor the target. The more unfair it is for the user, the higher the chance of successful enslavement. ]

[ 2. Death on Failure: If the user loses the deal or fails to fulfill their end, they die. ]

[ 3. Cooldown: This ability can only be used once every 30 days. ]

[ 4. Secret: If the user reveals or explains how their ability works, whether before, during, or after the deal, the ritual automatically fails, and enslavement becomes impossible for that target. ]

[ current target: Mirathis, God of Fame ]

The sun cut through the clouds above, bathing the world in light, but Damion didn't look away. He raised his eyes to the sky, watching, waiting, knowing.

A grin pulled at his lips, sharp as a blade.

"Soon," he murmured, voice calm, laced with quiet triumph. "The god will descend..."

He chuckled softly, low and certain, a sound that carried weight.

"Just to kneel before me."