The figure on the stage looked calmly over the shouts of protest from the crowd.

"Who are you?"

"A jester of sorts," he said flippantly. "I am also known as the Archangel Michael."

"You're not a real archangel! You're an idiot, a clown!" shouted [FatherJohannes], a player who wore a large crucifix pendant around their neck.

Michael's juggling stopped abruptly, and he silently turned to face FatherJohannes. Staring impassively at the heckler, he held out his right palm and a fireball flew effortlessly out of it.

As the fireball accelerated and collided with FatherJohannes, his body was soon consumed in searing, white flames. His screams thundered across the area. Soon, only his ashes were left, still burning on the ground. The crowd stared on in confusion as the ashes continued screaming louder and louder, as if wracked with a deep pain, until the fire consumed them.

"Ask no more," Michael said. His voice sounded like the searing flames which had just consumed Johannes.

In a somewhat self-aware manner, he shifted back to his usual, carefree voice. "Now, to be honest, he was right. I used to be the Archangel Michael, but by now I am considered fallen. I lied. But it doesn't matter, you could just call me Apollo, it's what everyone calls me."

"Then where's your chariot?" snorted a sceptical observer named [Aphisa].

Some of the people around him looked nervous, seeing what had happened to the last heckler. But for Aphisa, a devout Christian who had painedly watched his family dwindle away in this game, Michael's carefree, dissolute demeanour was thoroughly offensive.

Michael half-turned his face towards Aphisa, and said in an emotionless voice, "Bring me my chariot of fire."

Aphisa's body exploded into four pillars of flame, which spun in a circle. Each flame rose wildly upwards, and crowed with the sound of Aphisa's screams like a rooster at morning. These pillars trundled over the clouds towards Michael, as the crowd scampered to get out of the way. A few were crushed or set on fire by this, and those who were set afire were soon consumed by the flame.

Squinting, Crucis saw that the four pillars of flame were accompanied by an infrastructure formed of Aphisa's charred bones and other remains, which formed a dusky chariot with a fiery pillar in each corner.

As it approached Michael, he smiled and hopped in, leaning back luxuriously inside the chariot before leaning out to address the crowd. The flames danced around him.

"Sköll and Hati shall soon come for their feast. This grand chariot, fretted with golden fire, is only cooked meat for hounds," Michael said. "Soon they shall come and devour it, even though your friend was so obsessive about it. So be it. It's not about the chariot, it's about sending a message."

A few members of the crowd were becoming increasingly agitated and disturbed by the corpse-chariot.

"It's screaming! It's - aaah!" screeched [DellaB].

"Why not? Maybe he just wants to be heard," Michael replied, eyes seeking out this female in the crowd. "You should understand him. Isn't that how hecklers are, too?"

She cowered behind a few tall male Guildmates nearby, who stood tall as if to protect her. Crucis could see that they were in a Guild named [Chagrin], which was fairly small but seemed to have a few large players.

Michael frowned, as he noticed her hiding behind them. "What are you afraid of? He's dead, he has the right to stage his depressive screamo concert." His voice turned slightly more serious. "You're even afraid of the voice of your fallen comrade! What are you? Why should you live to see the daybreak, if you can't bear the crowing of the rooster that announces each dawn?"

The crowd grew louder and more agitated. Crucis heard a small sound, like birdsong, in the sky, and looked for it. However, as his sight verged towards the sun, in the direction from which he had heard the sound, he found jarringly that he was simply looking straight at the fiery chariot and the birdsong resolved to its screams. The sensation of birdsong vanished as instantaneously as if it were a pareidolia.

He shook his head, to ward off dizziness, and noticed some of the Hashin rubbing their eyes. The surreal nature of the heavens took some getting used to.

"Excuse me, could you all stop clustering around the lady? It's not very sociable," Michael said to the crowd.

"You're mad!" shouted one of the males, bravely standing in front of the female. He seemed familiar with her, and was using a hand to calm her down and encourage her to crouch down out of sight.

"You're weak," Michael retorted. The defiant male was only level 48, but had seemingly spent enough to qualify for this event. "But I can't be bothered dealing with all of you delinquents. Here's what we'll do, let's play a game."

Michael reached into his chariot, and scraped out some powdery red paint off the seat inside. Crucis wondered if it was blood.

Using a skill named [Holi], Michael tossed the powdery paint freely into the air towards the girl and her guardians. It fell over them gently, coating them with red stains. Crucis saw that a tall, red light emanated from the stains on each marked player, and glowed in a thick column towards the sky, reaching as far as the eye could see. This would make the players visible to all, and render them unable to hide.

Seemingly, Michael had left them to die at the hands of other players, judging them to be easy targets.

"You think I'm mad. Well, let's see if your fellow players will prove as mad." He paced the stage silently. "But hopefully people are done with interrupting me. Now, then, onto the reason why you all came here: rewards, benefits, a headstart! Power granted by the heavens!" he said in a booming voice.

In spite of the situation, the crowd's mood lightened, and there were even a few scattered, expectant cheers to egg him on. Some in the crowd were so nervous for the upcoming event that they didn't care about Michael's victims, as long as they got some kind of advantage to benefit themselves.

Michael laughed on noticing the cheers. "What, am I the good guy now? I saw you guys, you were terrified a moment ago, what changed? I might be an Archangel, but I never thought I was such a saint. One promise to you, and suddenly I've changed; you must consider yourselves the axis mundi."

"Makes sense," Dr1fter said quietly. "You know, sometimes all it takes to be a hero or saint is extravagant promises. Give people stuff, and they'll run off to enjoy it, but promise people stuff and they'll admire and focus on you. Such promises are how many become an upstart, underdog hero, outsider politician, even a revolutionary leader."

"Tricks of the trade?" Vladislav teased.

"Maybe. I wonder if other leaders realise that the members they've bought will need to be bought continually. The members they've got by pandering will soon try to shackle and drain them. Most Guilds will someday be empty husks. See, nothing is mediocre unless humans make it so. Nature doesn't have lawyers, one example."

Michael paced the stage, then faced the audience again. "Speaking of beatitude, what's ridiculous is, I'm not even trying. I haven't even shown off my halo."

As he grew silent, his face suddenly began to glow fiercely, a fiery, flickering light without a fire. His skin turned almost pale, as wild light began to emanate all the way around his head. He was smiling faintly, but as he faced the crowd they began to shiver on seeing his empty, black eye sockets staring back at them.

"You seem surprised. Why? You say that angels are hollow beings, who erode away singing Holy, Holy, Holy to the heavenly throne. You never knew?" Michael paused, as the crowd hushed. "Did you think that angels could be stable, while broken at the core? You never knew that everything was falling through? Anyway, on to the matter of the fight. It begins soon, be on your way."

"Where are the rewards he promised?" someone in the crowd muttered, pointing at him accusatorily.

"Why do you come to the heavens, and demand such rewards from the gods?" Michael spat. "'Who have persuaded you that this admirable moving of heaven's vaults, that the eternal light of these lamps so fiercely rolling over his head, that the horror-moving and continual motion of this infinite vast ocean were established, and continue so many ages for his commoditie and service?' Montaigne. What part of the heavens should I break off, to sell it for your lucre? The artist does not sell off his art, nor does the pious sell his soul. Still less will I sell the heavens!"

His voice rose to a violent sound like thunder, and players' knees involuntarily began to bow and weaken at the impact.

A few of them shouted angrily, feeling betrayed and let down.

"Alright, alright. Your reward is... to remember my name," Michael said. "It's a fine name. 'Michael.' 100% worth remembering. But seek your reward from whoever you bribed, not from me. If you're really anxious, then I think that there are some pre-event challenges that you can complete, at the entrance to the wider plains. But you get nothing from me."

"Give us what we're owed! My family are rich, they will sue!" one player cried out. He was named [Alauphag], and was shivering with anger.

"They will... 'sew'?" Michael said playfully. "Am I a coat? In what proportion could I be exchanged for linen -"

"No, idiot!" screamed [Alauphag]. "They will... get you arrested in a court of law! In the great United States of America! I mean, get the devs arrested!"

Dr1fter snickered quietly at the thought of the man suing an NPC.

"This happens on every game I play," he whispered. "I gank someone, then they threaten to sue me, or say that they're friends with the devs. If people don't have courts, they invent one, it's interesting."

"A court of law, in 'America'? What's that?" Michael asked Alauphag. "Do you mean a synagogue? But I'm not sure that I'd be subject to their jurisdiction. Anyway, enough of this."

He reached out his palm in the direction of Alauphag, and flames began to spiral around Alauphag's neck, sinking in to leave a deep pattern of burns, sickly pink wounds, and black, charred skin. Alauphag held his neck in agony for a few moments, then collapsed to the ground, barely able to breathe.

The gates out of this area opened, and the rest of the crowd were allowed to leave. They did so quickly, to avoid any further run-ins with Michael. A few stepped over Alauphag as he writhed on the floor, due to their haste and fear.

After a minute, Alauphag was dead.

As the crowds hastily left, Crucis noticed that Michael didn't seem to notice the four players hidden in the rocks nearby.

However, as Vladislav stumbled slightly while stretching his legs, he stuck out of the rocks for a moment. While no player saw him, Michael looked over and flicked his wrist, and they found a small, thin card embedded in the rocks next to them. Its flight towards them had been barely even a blur. Picking it up, Dr1fter saw that it was folded over, and contained two lines of text:

Bring the [Ashen Urn] to the Temple South of Sanra.

I am Apollo, but am also known as the Archangel Michael and 4183239444.

Dr1fter tossed out a small, cosmetic [Sun Trinket] as thanks, while the others carefully copied out the information.

"What's this number?" Jin asked.

"It must mean something," Dr1fter replied circumspectly. "Take it down."

"I think that numbers like that are used to represent AI," Crucis said. "Maybe it represents his AI version."

"Oh, interesting. So was he a rogue AI? Impressive. I have noticed a few NPCs are more complex now, Vladislav said it is probably something like that."

"Yes. Seemingly, the usual censors and policies aren't working on this figure, so it acted more freely. It was probably given its massive power to confer advantages and referee things, basic janny biz, instead of which it attacked them."

"Like any God of mythology, it is only invented for human interests, and that is why people feel comfortable giving it big powers. Like the Hashin, who were supposed to serve others! Excellent information, thank you. I'll memorise the number. Perhaps it could be put to use somehow... Well, if we meet again, we'll see if you figured something out."

After this speech, Dr1fter led the way back towards the plains.

"So, is everyone ready for the event?" he asked.

"Yes!" Vladislav said, with a hint of nerves.

The rest of the group agreed sheepishly, and Dr1fter smiled.

"We will have no choice, might as well be confident."

"What is likely to happen is that one or two big Guilds will spearhead the fight with the monsters. I'd guess, [Stranded] Guild for Aesir and [Erasure] for Vanir. I'm getting PMs saying those Guilds are the biggest so far on each side. We will be on the Aesir side, but we'll kill on both sides. Eventually the monster fight will become a PvP battle as well, because each side strengthens their own monster so they will try to obstruct each other. By the way, you have no Guild, right?"

"Yes."

"OK, best way then is to avoid the big fights, because Guilds there will protect their own. Try to stay hidden, and don't let most players come near. Do not be too... 'gung-ho.' If you can, form a party of three, but not before the event because you won't be able to hide with two sods next to you."

"Sure. You guys will be looking for kills, I'm guessing?"

"Don't worry, we'll leave you alone. Our MO is to aim for named players, because killing them will have more impact. So our Guild won't attack you... Actually, Awdimir's clique might. Those guys never listen to me," Dr1fter said. "Look out for them. Good luck."

The group split as they approached the entrance to the plains, with the Hashin members going to meet up with others from their Guild.