The musky smell of old paper and mase sermeate the court chambers—no doubt caused by the bination of a struggling air ditioner, brilliant sunshine p in through rge windows, and the eighty seats filled with sweaty wyers.

  Yes, the courtroom is packed with tall, muscur wyers dressed in intimidating bck suits and bck suhey sit at attention, like soldiers, but instead of ons, they carry clipboards and ptops. Eae carries himself like a seasoned veteran of many bloodless battles.

  Well, my wyers look like that, and, of the eighty wyers present, seventy-five serve as my legal sel.

  I take a ga the five state attorneys who sit nervously o my linebackers that could break them like twigs. Ihe rgest and most musy wyers are sitting around the five. Eaent, they flex their muscles to elicit the quiet but distrag whisper of flesh stretg fabric.

  The gover wyers—two men and three women—nervously stare forward. They are sweating, distracted, and absolutely out of their league.

  I wonder who’s bullying these poor people?

  Wait, that’s me. I won’t deny that I allowed this charade of a case to get this far just to make a point.

  I g the ‘Live’ cameras streaming everything that’s happening within the courtroom. Every news outlet is currently making sure that all Ameris as well as the iional audience see this one-sided, metaphorical bloodbath.

  The audience also see the petite, four-foot-eight bailiff in charge of keeping the piece. Yes, somehow, the powers that be went ahead and pced what looks like a grade schooler in a uniform and told her to protect people.

  “Mr. Eludo,” the Judge begins, “You state that the bined -worth of a trillion dolrs of rare metals appearing on your properties is a result of a,” the judge pauses, exhausted. He g the witness stands where two suited men, one odd and the other Bob -or maybe Bob and Todd?- share a knowing look. ”God,” he says the word slowly, “telep the metals from the bottom of os and into all of your warehouses.”

  He pauses for a moment. “This teleportation,” he tests the unfamiliar word, “is in payment for services successfully rendered during a hero summoning to a world called Orbis. The service rendered was,” the judge checks aack of paper- a dot with my signature on it, “Destroying the world.” The judge grimaces. “Is this correct?”

  “Yes.” I answer pletely and truthfully.

  The judge looks at me with annoyand distrust. Which I pletely uand. All the gods that had ruled Earth fled this mana starved coop for Orbis thousands of years ago. All they left behind are some fancy rocks and unlikely stories.

  “You also state that you offer no proof, correct?”

  I grin towards the camera and spread my arms. “My proof is that there is no evidence of any wrongdoing. One moment there were empty warehouses, and the , they were filled with valuable metals.”

  “Mr. Eludo. Please ahe question.”

  I roll my eyes. “Yes, correct.”

  The judge nods as he goes through the dots. After several more questions, I am finally allowed to speak freely.

  “Alright, let's get this straight.” I lean forward. “This entire case is a sham. There is no evidehat any malfeasance has happehe gover is just being pissy about my wealth increasing by four zeroes ht. They want some of it, if not all of it for themselves. Not that that is going to happen.”

  I scratch my ahe annoying stubble growing sihe st time I’d shaved. “They have no legal way of accessing my wealth, nor they expin how it was obtained. I’ve had the metals tested, and the sediments on them reveal that they were under a pressure in excess of seven miles below sea level. Other than seveed nuclear subs designed and unched by the U.S. Military, there are no other publicly known vehicles that could travel the distao access the metals.”

  I grin, knowing full well that I had just thrown a wrento iional pns.

  “And even if I did have some craft capable of accessing the o floor, theals would be taken in iional waters wherein there is no legality. Regardless though, the metals were obtained by a god and transported to my warehouses. You’re free to try and tax me, but that would involve accepting the existence of divine beings into w, which, as much as I’d hope you do, I know you won’t.”

  I lean bato my seat.

  “Is that all, Mr. Eludo?” the judge asks after a moment.

  I open my mouth to answer, but pause. A chill runs down my ned the hairs on my arm stand up.

  “Really? Worst possible timing.”

  The judge raises an eyebrow at me.

  “Mr. Elduo?” he begins, but I ignore him. Instead, I focus on the influx of mana. My soul resonates with the all too familiar energy. I gnce around, trying to pinpoint the hole into this reality.

  “Mr. Elduo?” the judge asks again.

  I tinue looking, growing ever more fused. Normally, the mana es from one dire, but this is uniform.

  “Something is wrong.”

  As the thought escapes my lips, I feel the mana vibrate.

  The judge opens his mouth to say something, but pauses. His eyes widen, as do every single persons’ on the p.

  In our vision, a block of text appears in the world's most on nguage.

  gratutions Homo Sapiens, your species has been magnanimously chosen for the great honor of being part of the 17894th god games. Once your world is adequately suffused with energy, I will ehe testing phase upon your phose who pass the trial shall be worthy of joining the god-games and being a gods champion.

  So, please take your time and prepare for the trials.

  -Pandora, Master of The Labyrinthiaower of Laurels, Divine Lord Of Games

  The block of text disappears when I finish reading. As it disappears, I hear the sounds of distant car crashes happening all at once.

  “So,” I clear my throat and pull out my phone, “in light of ret events proving the existence of the divine, I would like to request,” I check my phone dar, “a week long break to attempt to tact my ex-employer.”

  The court room remains silent at my pronou. I sigh. “No, that would waste too much time,” I admit. “I would like to plead no test to any and all wrongdoings.”