The Stirring Below All Thrones

The world had changed when the chosen first arrived.

It changed more when the 99 rose to test them.

It changed again when Zion lit fire in bottles, and Twaile slapped Chaos into obedience.

But when Maman Ginen and Papa Ginen opened their eyes—

The world remembered.

The gods remembered.

And the deepest, oldest, forgotten ones in every pantheon began to stir.

In the Caves Beneath Mount Meru – Hindu Pantheon

The Devas watched the skies in reverence.

Indra stepped forward, but even he hesitated as he felt the vibration pass through the air—older than the Vedas.

From the depths of forgotten stone, a voice whispered,

"It has been long since I tasted time."

The Asura-king Bali, bound beneath the earth by Vishnu's third step, opened his eyes.

"Tell your Vishnu the wheel turns again," he growled.

And behind him, ancient Rishi-saints, who once drank the milk of galaxies, emerged one by one, their bodies made of mantra and ruin.

In the Nameless Sands of Duat – Egyptian Pantheon

Thoth dropped his pen.

Ra's sun dimmed, momentarily.

Beneath the sands, sealed by forgotten spells and faded offerings, something vast and coiled began to uncoil.

The ancient Ogdoad, the eight chaotic deities of the primordial waters, whose names were barely spoken, rose.

Kek and Kauket, twin forces of darkness and unlight, stood in the starlit tombs.

"The darkness listens," Kek said.

"The feast is near," Kauket replied.

Even Ammit, devourer of the unworthy dead, shuddered.

Not from hunger. But from envy.

On the Ashen Plains of Muspelheim – Norse Pantheon

The Aesir heard it last.

For they had long forgotten to look down.

But in the center of Muspelheim, within a furnace older than Yggdrasil, Surtr opened his burning eyes.

He had not moved since the world cooled—but the rising of the First Two had shaken even the roots of Niflheim.

"The fire calls me not to burn," he muttered, "but to be devoured."

And far below, chained by a thousand spears of fate, the Gnawer of Fates stirred—a wolf without name, older than Fenrir.

At the Edge of All Worlds

The pantheons gathered in horror.

They had always seen themselves as divine.

But they were children playing war with painted sticks.

Now they saw what slept beneath them.

What watched them.

And what rose—not for war,

but for supper.

Reaction Among the Living Pantheons

The Chosen of each god stood silent.

Some trembled.

Others prayed.

The bravest clenched fists, but even their gods did not speak.

Except for a few.

Ogun, silent and grim, began sharpening a blade that glowed with origin-light.

Shango roared once, splitting the heavens, but even his thunder echoed back… soft.

Vishnu, in all his avatars, merely watched.

Ra whispered, "The Devourers are awake."

And then came Papa Legba's voice, echoing from Ginen:

"Tell your gods to clear the roads.

We don't want the hive to trip over your worlds on its way to the table."

And In the Temple of Fire Bottles

Zion poured another measure of rum.

Tijan Petro, now wearing a brewer's apron and a haunted look, stirred silently.

"You feel that?" Zion asked.

"What?" Tijan said.

"The world getting smaller. It's what happens when the mouths get bigger