Godhood was no joking matter. In the vast universe, only a scarce few beings had ever grasped that level of power. One in a billion was not a saying meant to inspire awe, but a cold statistic that crushed hope just as often as it created it.

Whenever a new god rose, the flow of the cosmos subtly shifted. Ambition, fear, and instinct pushed people toward that presence, like debris caught in a forming gravity well. Some came seeking shelter, others seeking profit, and a dangerous few seeking ascension of their own.

The new branch of the Institute existed for that very purpose. It was a proving ground, a place where those willing to stake everything could be filtered and shaped. Only the useful would be allowed to walk alongside a god still carving its name into reality.

"We will be meeting a mercenary group tomorrow from the city. Their leader is a sanctified weaver bordering his next voyage."

Inside the manor's meeting room, Master White gestured toward the floating screen. Pale light spilled across polished stone as data unfolded, resolving into several humanoid outlines layered with dense records and threat markers.

"Mountain Berg."

[Rank: Sanctified][Avatar: Ice Giant]

[Description: Most notoriously known for holding the fort of Ogar Down, a prison fortress outside Snowfall City. It houses a myriad of criminals awaiting off world transfer. He is a berserker with a vast array of defense based skills, capable of becoming an immovable force.]

The name carried weight. Ogar Down was not defended, it was endured. Anyone who ruled that place had survived riots, sieges, and the desperation of monsters wearing human skin.

Mountain Berg was currently in search of a tyrant seed. The Institute had agreed to provide one through a ten payment plan, binding him and his men to Galafray for several high risk missions. Each completed task tightened the leash a little more.

Once the debt was settled, they would stand as retainers to the creation god now whispered across sectors as the Black Ink God.

"Titus and Enzo, you are both Exalted. You will handle the negotiation under these parameters."

White turned to the two present, his voice measured, leaving no room for refusal.

They were tyrants, direct students of Inkous himself. Bargaining with a sanctified weaver sat beneath their station, especially now that they were in their growth stage.

""No problem." Titus nodded. He was no stranger to bureaucracy, and truthfully, he thrived in it. Years as president of the Snowfall Club, the most influential club within the Institute, had taught him how to read people, how to bend procedure without breaking it, and how to make compliance feel voluntary.

"Hm. We trust you'll bring them into the fold." Master White returned the nod, already satisfied. With a flick of his wrist, the screen shifted, replacing Mountain Berg's profile with a new set of faces. One title lingered longer than the rest.

Demi God.

Silence settled over the room, heavy with implication.

....

"From what I heard, this used to be Minister Fin's woodland manor, where he hunted beasts."

The young man in metallic armor muttered the words under his breath, his eyes never still as they moved toward the towering gates. The manor loomed above them, carved into the mountainside as if the stone itself had grown around it, ancient and watchful.

"Hm. Does that mean the Ink God is aligned with the snow elves?"

The second man, broader in build and heavier in presence, lifted a brow as he took in the surrounding forest. The air was crisp, sharp enough to sting the lungs, and the snow beneath their boots was undisturbed save for a single cleared path.

They had been forced to abandon their vehicles at the foot of the mountain, escorted upward on foot by a silent patrol. Every step felt deliberate, measured, as though the land itself were judging them.

It was humiliating.

Yet, none of them voiced complaint. After all, they were walking onto the property of a god, and pride was a poor thing to cling to in a place like this.

""There. The envoys."

As they reached the peak, a deep, domineering voice rolled out from behind the group. Snow crunched under heavy steps as a giant of a man pushed forward, his pace measured, deliberate, brushing past his comrades as though they were little more than scenery.

"Where are your bosses?"

He stopped at the gate, standing close to eight feet tall, his presence bearing down on them like an oncoming avalanche. Frost clung faintly to his armor, and the air around him felt colder for it.

At a glance, he assessed them. Exalted, both of them. One rank beneath him, and far weaker besides. These were not the true authorities here, only messengers.

"They're busy attending to other matters. We're here, though. Why don't we go inside for some tea?"

Titus spoke easily, a smile on his face as he rose from his wheelchair. He reached out, patting Mountain Berg's side arm with casual familiarity, as if greeting an old acquaintance rather than a notorious sanctified weaver.

"Other matters? What other matters could possibly be more important than seeing me?"

Annoyance flashed across the giant's face, his voice rising despite himself. In these lands, his name carried weight, mercenaries listened, small groups wouldn't stand a charge and doors opened when he approached.

"They have many matters to attend to, my friend. Many."

Titus smirked, letting the words linger before flicking his gaze back up at the towering man. The meaning was clear. Whatever their masters were handling, Mountain Berg did not rank among it.

For a brief moment, the giant stiffened. Then, slowly, his expression shifted. He paused, eyes narrowing in thought, before nodding once, then again, the motion growing quicker as understanding settled in.

They were negotiating with many forces, all in a bid to bolster their presence on Galafray. Focusing on a single mercenary group would have been shortsighted, almost foolish, given what was at stake. Power was being gathered from every direction, quietly and efficiently.

"Come in." Titus snapped his fingers.

At once, servants moved in unison, massive gates groaning open as intricate seals disengaged. He led the group forward, guiding them into the heart of the compound.

In the few days since their arrival, the manor had undergone countless changes. It felt less like a residence now and more like a living myth, something half imagined and half imposed upon reality.

Blobs of floating ink puppets clashed midair, battling atop invisible platforms that shimmered faintly with divine residue. Beneath their feet, a river of churning black fluid flowed underground, catching stray light and refracting it into shifting colors that never stayed the same twice.

The air itself felt responsive. As though a careless word might shape the world around it.

This was the mark of a god's domain. A wonderland.

Enzo had felt it before.

On his voyage with Victoria, they had entered Raz's residence. That place had been filled with traps, blades, and mechanisms designed solely to kill. Yet none of it felt constructed. It felt inevitable, as though those dangers had always existed there.

That had been Raz's wonderland.

"Lord Inkous is a very straightforward divine being," Titus said as they walked deeper inside. "He doesn't demand loyalty upfront. He allows you to act freely, to gain what you will. That alone is better than what most gods offer."

"I'm aware." Mountain Berg nodded slowly. "Otherwise, I wouldn't be here."

His tone was calm, but his posture betrayed him. He was not a man fond of chains, no matter how gilded. Had he been, he would have long pledged himself to another power for the sake of ascension.

"Then why haggle with us?" Titus pressed. "Fifteen large scale missions is not excessive for what's being offered. Tyrants are not small fry."

It was true. On paper, fifteen company missions did not equate to the value of a tyrant seed. That imbalance alone was why this meeting existed.

But what the Institute lacked in quantity, it made up for in difficulty. Galafray was not merely hostile terrain. It was a focal point of the universe's attention.

Nothing tied to that planet was ever simple.

"Ten missions sounds like a fair midpoint, don't you think?"

One of Mountain Berg's men spoke up lightly, stepping forward just enough to insert himself into the negotiation. His tone was casual, but his eyes stayed sharp. They wanted better terms, if not for themselves, then for the man they followed.

"We can't compromise on that," Enzo finally said. His voice cut cleanly through the discussion. "Unless you're willing to consider the other option."

The air shifted.

There was another deal on the table. One that removed Galafray entirely from the equation. In exchange, Mountain Berg and his men would remain on Gaia, operating under the Institute indefinitely. They would serve until such a time that their debt could be repaid with a tyrant seed.

"That's also not something we can compromise on."

Mountain Berg's shoulders sank slightly. The frost around him dimmed as he exhaled, frustration seeping through the cracks in his composure.

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