The abandoned city in the remote depths of the Parani Rainforest.

Three figures sprouted from the ground, Henry and Karnon having been joined by a woman-height tornado.

Inside the Princess span a lovely honeymoon outfit consisting of a blush pink dress and a totes cute sunhat.

The azure-haired God raised his arms in pride. “Behold, my protégé, for your next lesson, I have brought you the stars!”

The Napella Gum forest had been replaced by a black sea extending well beyond the horizon. Its surface glittered with innumerable yellowy-white lights, giving Henry a sense that a few paces forward and he might dip his toes into the midnight sky.

The enchanting effect was soon ruined by an overpowering stench of paint fumes.

“Absurd,” he said.

His craftsmen had made a single lake of this Kamalite paint. To produce an entire sea, that quantity must have been multiplied by a thousand-fold.

The original lake they’d converted was actually still present to the side of this sea. Additionally, there was a second, new lake of ordinary water, being fed by a river that had appeared from out of nowhere.

Before these two lakes stood a solitary figure, a stout man with a curly beard hugging his neck and cargo shorts whose bottoms stopped halfway down his calves.

Noticing the arrival of the three, the man tipped his fedora at them in greeting. “Excuse me, gentlesirs, there’s one last batch to go.”

Although Henry didn't recognise the neckbeard aesthetic, it having long been lost in the annals of time by 2050, he did recognise the figure.

This was Bes, Zone Guardian of Bes, an empire to the north of the Rangbitan territories. Bes, the God, was one of the rare Zone Guardians with a Civilian class as his primary role, being a Tier-11 Artist with a Tier-10 Crusader secondary class to support it.

Although he was technically an 'Artist', it was debatable whether his creations could be classified as ‘art’.

“Take your time working your magic, Bes! We’ll sit back and enjoy the show!”

With Karnon's encouragement, the Artist God pulled out a crystalline flask and popped open its cap. Upending it, he chugged down a couple mouthfuls of an orange-brown liquid, some of which dribbled down his neckbeard.

This object was The Flask of Rekindling, a Legendary item capable of replenishing a drinker’s Universal Productivity a thousand times per real-life year. It belonged to the Metalworking God Isti, but Karnon had likely stolen it.

Henry wondered why the azure God hadn’t used the flask to manufacture all the paint without his guild's help. Perhaps justification was needed to trade him the overpowered cloak. Or maybe—he wasn’t wasting his energy analysing this further.

Bes, having restored his Universal Productivity, walked out along a thin path of dirt separating the two lakes. Reaching the half-way point, he lay down on his stomach and shoved one hand into each of the lakes.

From the hand immersed in the lake of Kamalite paint, glowing handprints signifying Artist energy marched up the length of the God's arm, across the back of his trenchcoat, then down his other arm.

From the hand in the freshwater lake, a splotch of black spread out like oil spilling from the hull of a broken tanker, except much, much quicker.

Four breaths later, the freshwater lake had been converted.

Getting back to his feet, the Artist God cleaned his hands with a rag and approached the three of them.

Avoiding the gaze of Henry and Princess Pateela, he addressed Karnon with a secretive mumble. “The goods, have you brought them?”

The azure God shapeshifted into a balding man with two tufts of blue hair above his ears and a pair of magnifying glasses designed for inspecting antiques. Waving his hands like a magician, he produced a counter draped in a velvet cloth. With a second wave, he fanned out a set of creepshot portraits.

“Tell me, Bes, do they make your artistic spirit swell?”

The Artist God, holding his breath, grabbed a painting of Mindobeli stripping before a steaming bathtub, the sunflower panties dangling around her ankles. As he traced along her bare thigh, keeping his fingers a few millimetres above the canvas, his face began to redden and his eyes burned with a fierce, animal energy.

“Praise for my next doujin will echo across the ages.”

Henry felt his ribs being prodded by a baffled wisp of bubblegum pink wind.

“You’ve already tied the knot,” he whispered back to The Princess. “For your own happiness, don’t inquire into his past.”

Bes gave Karnon a glare of life-and-death importance. “What about the panties?”

The azure God waved his hands again, transferring the debauched portraits back to his inventory. “The goods will be delivered when the job is complete.” The God gestured behind himself. “This is my temporary wife, that’s My Protégé. Have you met him before? Sometimes he goes by his less prestigious title, The Tyrant.”

Bes gave Henry a concerned look.

“You won’t tell her, will you?”

“My lips are sealed.”

Henry knew the majority of the Zone Guardians on a personal basis, having encountered some while searching for The Cap of a Thousand Dreams, others while handling guild business. He’d have run into Karnon earlier if the mischievous God didn’t habitually flake on scheduled meetings.

Karnon laughed. “He has the most to fear of us all! Who do you think is the artist behind these perverted pictures? Hahahahaha! Lewds handcrafted by The Tyrant, is there anything more comical? ‘Oh, look at me, I’m The Big, Bad Tyrant of Saana, operating in the shadows, manipulating puppet empires, blah blah blah.’ But you and I, Bes, we now know the truth!”

Surprised by this information, the Artist God closed his eyes and adopted a blissful pose. “Ah, if only I’d known sooner, Tyrant, that you’re a man of culture, as well.”

“Don’t lump me in with either of you. I'm not a degenerate.”

Karnon clapped his hands. “With the introductions out of the way, let’s move along with the plan! I looted this from the corpse of an engineer demon while holidaying in The Infernal Plane.” The azure God whipped out a metallic device the size and shape of a Rubix cube. “It’s an Arcane Compressor of the likes that none of you have seen, one with almost limitless storage. My protégé, can you guess what happens next?”

Arcane Compressors employed similar magic to Spatial Bracelets to pack a large quantity of items into a small space. Their capacity was higher, but they didn’t nullify their contents’ weight, so they were used mostly for long-term storage rather than transportation.

Henry gave a sorry glance to the Princess, before turning back to her husband. “Seriously, you married her to bring her out of The Living Fortress in order to exploit her family's weight reduction spell to—”

“Not just any weight reduction spell,” interrupted Karnon. “THE weight reduction spell! ! Go on, my protégé, become a tornado and tell her to enchant this metal beauty!”

Sighing, Henry underwent the transformation, his bodily winds immediately being ruffled up by an exasperated pink wind furball.

“Is he for real?”

“Yes.”

“The angle of those shots, you couldn't have taken them without being caught.”

“Nag your husband about it later. Just bless the stupid Compressor so we can move on with our lives.”

When the Princess eventually complied, a snickering Karnon shapeshifted into a Dragonhawk.

Gripping the weightless Arcane Compressor in his claws, the God sped off at Mach 5, zipping across the Kamalite sea, vast swathes of paint being vacuumed up wherever he passed.

With Karnon on collection duty, the Princess continued huffing and puffing, while Bes harassed Henry for his opinions about his newest manga.

90% of the panels after the fifth page were a blur due to the underage censorship filter.

"This plot is ridiculous."

Coming to a chapter about masochism, Henry recalled his guild and decided to warn them about Karnon’s impending plans.

If they acted fast enough, they might make some pocket change by bulk-purchasing lamps.

“Did you figure out how we’re getting to our final destination?” asked Karnon, transforming back into a human and slipping the sea-storing Arcane Compressor into a pocket.

Henry had no clue.

No God to his knowledge could muster enough speed to surpass the planet’s escape velocity, and Karnon’s teleportation magic required a continuous ground linkage between the starting and end points.

He took a wild guess. “Since your cheek was streaked with oil earlier, did you find a damaged Blueskin Tunnelway and repair it?”

Karnon’s face went blank. “Blueskin Tunnelway?”

Bes and Princess Pateela didn’t recognise the term either.

“Beats me,” said Henry. “Before my battle with The Redeemer this morning, he mentioned a special transportation technology. ‘The Tunnelways of The Blueskins were marvellously convenient. Using them for transport, it was only two steps to travel from Lifa to Cavalry, three to go on to Halford. Four and a half more and you’d end up at the scar on the second—”

He noticed the Gods breathing heavily.

“You guys can relax. The fight ended with his death.”

The Gods continued to be frozen in place, disturbed by a sense of mortality that had been absent for millennia. The common folk may have long forgotten, but the Gods were beings of history, versed in its tragic turns, often present at them.

“Forget I said anything.”

Bes gulped. “How?”

“It wasn’t even a big deal. He was Level 4 and senile, a sliver of a shadow of his former self. If the prep time hadn’t been so absurdly long, I wouldn’t rank the fight in my top ten thou—“ Henry remembered to subtract the fights in The Cap since that would sound absurd coming from a Level 5 player, “—ought-provoking encounters.”

“The Redeemer lives on. We must warn the world.”

“For a while, sure, but now he’s dead again. I’ll send you the footage of his limp body being tossed into a black hole later.” The donkey would need to be edited out. Henry snapped his fingers. “Karnon, if not The Tunnels, then how are we going to the moon?”

Yes..........the moon!

After Henry had awoken from The Overdream, when Karnon had puffed out his stomach while forming a circle above his head with his arms - a poor impression of the moon!

The God's big plan was to use the excessive amount of paint to graffiti the moon - at least one of them; Saana had three.

He would probably write his name or draw an obscene picture.

Whatever the specifics were, based on the quantity of paint, it would result in an appreciable reduction to Saana's brightness during the nights.

Had the God considered that outcome? Only he himself could know.

Henry felt it was a bit absurd, but he supposed that journeying to outer space was still more thematically-congruent with the Earthfriend lore than stealing panties or organising a shotgun wedding.

The mischievous God who’d orchestrated this master plot was mumbling to himself. “Of course, to be worthy of my tutelage, one must be capable of slaying God Killers. If this weren't—” He slapped himself twenty-six times. “Right, my curious protégé, your answer was dead-wrong!”

Karnon jogged over to one of the abandoned city’s rectangular, smooth buildings and gave it a hard punch. The force of his blow seemed to travel down the building into the ground, which began to tremble.

The others ran back as the earth split open beneath them.

From out of an ever-widening maw, a mist of steam vented through, followed by a massive steel point that resembled a giant’s spear stabbing the sky.

After that came glass windows...for a cabin?

Then two jet boosters...

Three pairs of wings...

Henry groaned in disgust. “A spaceship in a fantasy universe...”

Did Hannes not understand how immersion-ruining it was to blend these aesthetics?

How's the progression supposed to work? Will fax machines be introduced at Tier-6 and cassette players at Tier-9?

Dumb.

The Arcaneworker class should be deleted.

Karnon laughed at his audience’s confusion. “This contraption will allow us to sail across the stars. I’m calling it a ‘Space-ship’. My protégé, before we hoist the anchor, to continue your lessons, your next assignment on the cosmos—”

“First.”

“First assignment is to decipher this ancient tome containing secret star knowledge.”

Smack!

Henry peeled the book from his face.

Its cover, depicting an engineering schematic of the 'Space-ship', was wrapped in a plastic laminate.

Thus, he performed more manual labour with his Scholar skills.

With the Karnon gifting him Universal Productivity to sustain the quickest but least UP-efficient methods, he didn’t need long to translate the book, which turned out to be an owner’s manual detailing the Space-ship’s operation and maintenance.

Out of pure curiosity, he activated , the technique from when he’d been in the hole solving Sikarmilki’s Dread Curse, to see through the eyes of the manual’s writer.

It was a blue-skinned gnome with a rainbow mohawk and a tinfoil suit.

Terrible game design...

“The oil on your cheek,” said Henry, giving a translated copy to Karnon, “how did you fix the 'Space-ship' without reading this?”

“Instinct! An Earthfriend should trust nothing but his heart!” The God skimmed through the manual to ensure he hadn’t made any fatal errors. “Let’s go!”

And so the four of them boarded the Space-ship, entering a command centre with flashing screens and whirring gizmos and machine-cut panels.

Karnon used a secret technique to create six clones of himself, which he spread around to operate the controls.

Bes, who’d been quiet after the news about The Redeemer, eased up as he strapped himself in and thought about the upcoming cosmic adventure.

“Hey, Tyrant, reckon we’re going to be the first Saanians up there?”

“Nope,” replied Henry absentmindedly, “The Redeemer mentioned a trip, although he didn’t think much of the place. Too empty, apparently.”

The Artist God paled.

“My bad.”

Karnon picked up a microphone and spoke to them through the intercom. “Tornadoes and gentlemen, welcome aboard Flight 452 with service from Saana to Cholmas, the third moon. Before take-off, we ask that you fasten your seatbelts and secure all baggage in your Spatial Bracelets. In the event of catastrophic failure, it’ll be everybody for themselves. Thank you for choosing Azurewing Spaceships. Enjoy the journey!”

Henry was suddenly slammed back into his seat with a force that would have liquefied his body without the reinforcement from .

Through the Space-ship’s front window, he spotted the base of a cumulus cloud. A second later, they were amongst empty blueness, having already traversed half of the planet’s thermosphere.