The grand ballroom of the Pierre Hotel in Manhattan sat insulated from the mundane world by three layers of high-grade spatial deflection wards.
Inside, the air smelled of heavy amber incense and the ozone-sharp tang of hidden artifacts.
This was the biannual convergence of the world’s elite mages—a place where the History Compilation Committee of Japan, the Bronze Black Cross, and the Greenwich Assembly traded items that officially did not exist.
Ren sat in a velvet-lined booth, a crystal flute of vintage Dom Pérignon resting between his fingers.
He wore a midnight-black Tom Ford suit, the fabric subtly enchanted by his own treasury to repel minor hexes.
On his right index finger, the silver band of the Ring of the Unseen hummed, reducing his massive, reality-warping Godslayer presence to that of a perfectly ordinary, albeit staggeringly wealthy, collector.
“Ladies and gentlemen, we move to lot number forty-two,” the auctioneer announced.
“Unearthed three months ago from an uncharted cavern beneath the ruins of Mycenae.” Two security guards carried a reinforced titanium case onto the stage.
When the locking mechanisms hissed open, the temperature in the ballroom dropped.
Resting on a bed of black velvet sat a rough, circular slab of dark, weathered stone.
It was no larger than a dinner plate, its surface carved with the faint, terrifying visage of a woman whose hair coiled into serpents.
The artifact radiated a suffocating pressure—the dormant curse of petrification.
The Gorgon Stone.
The moment the stone was revealed, the atmosphere shifted.
Representatives from the History Compilation Committee and the Greenwich Assembly leaned forward, postures stiffening.
Ren watched them through his sunglasses.
To them, this was an apocalyptic trigger that could summon a Heretic God.
They had spent months securing organizational budgets just to buy it and lock it in a subterranean vault.
To Ren, it looked like a highly unique paperweight.
“Bidding for the Mycenaean relic will begin at twenty million euros,” the auctioneer stated.
The bidding climbed rapidly.
When it slowed to a tense crawl at forty-four million euros between the British mages and the Japanese committee, Ren lifted his matte-black metal card.
“One hundred million.” The room went silent.
The Greenwich representative turned, face pale with bureaucratic fury, scanning the back row to read Ren’s magical signature.
The Ring of the Unseen held firm.
The mage found nothing.
The auctioneer looked around the room three times.
No one moved.
Bang.
“Sold to the gentleman in the back row for one hundred million euros.” The penthouse suite of the Mandarin Oriental looked out over Central Park.
Ren threw his suit jacket onto a designer velvet sofa, unbuttoned his shirt, and poured a glass of neat whiskey.
He walked over to the titanium case, popped the latches, and lifted the Gorgon Stone out with his bare hands.
The petrification curse surged instantly, a dark, icy wave of divine energy attempting to turn his flesh into granite.
Ren’s absolute magic resistance swallowed the curse whole, converting the world-ending hex into a faint, static tingle that died before it reached his wrists.
He placed the stone onto a stack of leather-bound financial reports on his desk.
He walked back to the window, leaning against the frame and watching the rain wash over the city.
The peace lasted for exactly three minutes.
The shadows in the corners of the suite became alive.
The ambient light died, swallowed by unnatural darkness.
From the shadows, the haunting hoot of an owl echoed, followed by the dry rustle of unseen scales.
Ren didn’t reach for his treasury.
His eyes narrowed, and he channeled a fraction of mana into his optic nerves.
The room dissolved into streams of analytical data.
[ Alert: Divine Entity detected.
] [ Target Identified: Athena.
] [ Classification: Heretic God (Olympian Pantheon).
] [ Domain: Wisdom, Earth, Darkness, The Gorgon.
] Standing in the center of the room was a young girl with silver-white hair and starlit black eyes.
Athena.
“The stone of my ancient self rests upon thy table,” Athena spoke, her voice carrying the resonant weight of a deity.
“Thou dost treat it as a common trinket.” She stepped closer, the darkness pooling around her feet like liquid ink.
As she moved, the orchids in the corner withered into ash.
Ren didn’t flinch.
He looked at the ruined flowers, then down at the hardwood floor where the dark aura discolored the finish.
He let out a slow exhale.
“I just paid the security deposit on this place this morning,” Ren said.
“Do you have any idea how much bureaucracy it takes to get custom flooring replaced in a Manhattan high-rise?” Athena paused.
The shadows swirling at her feet stuttered.
She had expected terror, not a complaint about property damage.
“Thou art a strange beast, Eighth King,” Athena hissed.
“Give me the stone, Usurper, or I shall turn this concrete tower into a mountain of ash.” She raised her small hand.
The darkness surged, coalescing into the silhouette of a great serpent towering over Ren.
Ren set his whiskey glass down on the marble counter.
“A cost-benefit analysis,” Ren said, locking his crimson eyes onto hers.
“Fighting you here means destroying the top four floors.
It’s an administrative nightmare.” He stepped forward.
Snap.
The space behind Ren ignited.
A massive golden portal tore open, burning with incandescent light.
The brilliance cut through Athena’s absolute night, vaporizing the shadow-serpent in a fraction of a second.
From the golden ripple, the tip of a weapon emerged—the Rho Aias, the seven-petaled shield of conceptual light.
The divine light anchored the space, locking the laws of physics back into place.
Athena’s posture broke.
She took a step backward as she felt the infinite depth of the vault behind him.
She didn’t feel a chaotic Campione; she felt an absolute monopoly on human history.
“An infinite treasury…” Athena whispered.
“I do,” Ren said.
He walked over to his desk, picked up the Gorgon Stone, and tossed it through the air.
Athena caught the stone against her chest, her hands clamping down in disbelief.
“Keep it,” Ren said, turning his back on the Goddess.
“It’s a net-negative asset.
The aesthetic doesn’t match the room, and dealing with your constant ambushes while I’m trying to enjoy my vacation sounds incredibly tedious.” Athena stood frozen.
“Thou…
thou dost simply give it away?” she demanded.
“If you bring the night to New York, do it after Tuesday,” Ren replied, looking over his shoulder.
“I have a reservation at a private dining club in Brooklyn tomorrow, and I’d prefer the trains to be running.” He gestured toward the window.
“Please leave.
And try not to track any more shadow residue onto the rug.” Athena stared at him.
The blackness of her eyes rippled with intense curiosity.
“Ren, the Eighth King,” Athena whispered, her form beginning to dissolve.
“Thou art an anomaly among the demon kings.” The room snapped back to normal.
The rain pattered softly against the glass.
Ren walked to the counter and picked up his whiskey.
He stood in the quiet suite, watching the traffic below, and took a slow sip.
The System chimed in his mind, registering the interaction.
[ Interaction Complete.
] [ Divine Essence analyzed…
] [ Note: Authority of the Gorgon remains with the target.
] [ No further action required.
] He watched the city lights, satisfied with the clean outcome.
**** Enjoyed the chapter?
Your daily votes cost you nothing but help this fanfic climb the rankings and reach more readers.