Sarvest shook his head slowly, replying Dagon's question. "No. I don't believe she's dead. It's more plausible..."
His voice thinned with restrained disbelief. "...that Leviathan is now serving him."
"What?!" Medusa's multicolored serpentine eyes widened, the green snake on her neck tightening slightly. "If that's true, then this is... unbelievably troublesome."
Sarvest let out a light exhale, fingers laced beneath his chin.
"Yes, it is. Deeply. And I find it increasingly exhausting." His tone lacked urgency, as though he were mildly inconvenienced by an insect.
"You people fret too much." Cthulhu chimed in now, lazily twirling a strand of her dark green hair. "Leviathan isn't that impressive. She's barely scratched the crust of real power."
"..."
A few subtle glances passed between the seats.
Their unspoken thoughts? "Well, coming from you..."
Ahriman lifted his chin, barely restraining a yawn. "Cthulhu, not all power lies in muscle and magic. Leviathan of Envy is dangerous because she is cunning. She thinks faster than most gods act. She was the main reason we were able to reach Heaven during the Four-Millennia War. Her mind opened the gates before our fists did."
His eyes grew heavy with memory. "And she isn't weak. She has the kind of strength that bends the cosmos to her will."
He sighed. "If even she succumbed... then this stranger isn't just strong—he's something else entirely."
The room fell into contemplative silence. Even the usual smirks dulled with unease.
"Or maybe," Ahriman added with a shrug, "she just got tired of all the fighting and decided to marry the guy."
Nobody acknowledged the remark. All eyes turned back to Sarvest.
He tapped a finger against the table—once, twice—before speaking.
"Let us move on. What are your thoughts on 'Ruben'?"
Murmurs broke out immediately:
Some claimed Ruben must've been dispatched by Pluto or even Gabi'el, sent to disrupt their centuries of planning.
Others rejected that idea—"Pluto couldn't leash a being like this," they said. "And the Ruben described by Sarvest sounds more like a rising Overlord than a divine errand boy.
A third faction believed he was something new altogether—neither Light nor Darkness, but a sovereign of a third force. And that, more than anything, was terrifying.
Some whispered strategies: ally with him, at least long enough to benefit.
Others, especially those from the Cthulhu-aligned faction, spoke firmly:
"He must be erased. Immediately."
"You're an Asgardian god, Loki," Sarvest said, casting a glance toward the one figure who had remained gracefully silent amidst the tempest of opinions. "Surely, you would know something about the wolf. He is a Dark Fenrir."
Loki exhaled quietly, fingers tracing the edge of his teacup with calculated grace.
"To be entirely honest," he began, "my knowledge of the Fenrir breed is... selective. I did father the Chaos Fenrir—my personal attempt at recreating the harmony of the golden and silver Fenrir twins. But this one... this 'Dark Fenrir,' often referred to as Ravenswood... he was a creation of the original siblings. Roughly three centuries ago, if memory serves."
He tapped his chin thoughtfully, expression distant.
"Back then, he was merely a restless cub with delusions of conquest—more bark than bite. But what you've described… this is not the same creature. Perhaps he's simply found his wings after all."
Sarvest inhaled deeply through his nose, almost disappointed by the turn of thought.
"You're all overcomplicating things," he said, unbothered, his voice a smooth cut through the room's thick tension.
His dark eyes swept over the warlords and divine sovereigns seated before him.
"I have met this so-called threat, trust me. And if I must speak plainly—he is a stray mongrel with no leash and no grand vision. A gauche mutt, indeed... merely stumbling through fate as it unfolds."
He shut his eyes for a beat, as if that alone dismissed the topic.
"However," he continued, opening them again, "I am not one to mistake foolishness for harmlessness. He may currently lean toward the light, or worse, be unknowingly manipulated by someone in Gihon. Should that manipulation serve a cause that stands against ours, then make no mistake—this mutt becomes a hound of war."
"And what of the human girl?" Ahriman asked from his seat, a faint scowl breaking his languid demeanor.
"An explosive anomaly, certainly," Sarvest replied. "But for now, she follows his every word—an obedient detonation, if you will. If we steer him, we steer her. However..."
He raised a finger with effortless authority. "If we are foolish enough to charge directly at him, then we do not fight him alone—we fight her, Leviathan, and whatever other enigmas he's gathered under his wing. Let's progress with wisdom."
A low murmur of agreement passed through the assembly. Some looked slightly reassured. Others still bristled at the idea of restraint.
"Should any of you feel confident enough to challenge him solely," Sarvest added, reclining slightly, "do as you wish. But ensure—clearly—that your actions are your own. I will not take responsibility for another's misplaced bravado."
He went on, voice calm and resolute. "Now, to the final matter on our agenda."
His gaze shifted between Cthulhu and Ahriman.
"How fare your operations in the art of subtle world corrosion?"
"I'm good," Ahriman answered lazily. "My agents are everywhere causing utter depression and making mortals understand the meaninglessness and insignificance of their lives. They should just die before we get to them. Thousands commit suicide daily, and I think I'm helping the world in that regard, instead of—"
"Okay, what about you, Cthulhu?" Sarvest cut Ahriman off, turning to the beautiful woman at his right.
"Hehehe." She responded with a sinister giggle, her dark green curly hair bouncing with each shake of her head.
"I'm cooking a really delicious porridge that will remodel the entire Heavenly pieces, starting with Pison."
"Oh? I'm beginning to smell the simmering already," Sarvest allowed a slight smile. "But be careful—Ruben now resides in Pison. It would be unwise to provoke him needlessly."
"What? Are you implying I'll get spanked like he did you?" Cthulhu giggled. "I'm CTHULHU. I won't be hurt by some clueless newborn Fenrir who acquired some new spell yesterday."
Sarvest sighed with quiet superiority, not bothering to argue.
"If you say so. But concerning the meal you're preparing, allow me to support you in any way I can."
"Worry not!" Cthulhu clapped her hands with glee. "I'll drain your coffers dry for my cause!!"
"She's declaring that in broad daylight?" Ahriman shook his head.
Cthulhu smiled with determination, stood up, looked at the entire gathering with satisfaction, then voiced:
"For the Great Dark Master—Satanas!"
Everyone, including Sarvest, echoed:
"For the Great Dark Master—Satanas!!"
With that, the meeting was adjoined.
'Now,' Sarvest sank into more thoughts, as Dagon had swiftly moved to grope Cthulhu, who began shoving his face away from her.
'Who do I send to check on those dwarves, with Andras dead?'