The musky smell of old paper and masculine sweat permeate the court chambers—no doubt caused by the combination of a struggling air conditioner, brilliant sunshine pouring in through large windows, and the eighty seats filled with sweaty lawyers.

Yes, the courtroom is packed with tall, muscular lawyers dressed in intimidating black suits and black sunglasses. They sit at attention, like soldiers, but instead of weapons, they carry clipboards and laptops. Each one carries himself like a seasoned veteran of many bloodless battles.

Well, my lawyers look like that, and, of the eighty lawyers present, seventy-five serve as my legal counsel.

I take a gander at the five state attorneys who sit nervously next to my linebackers that could break them like twigs. Indeed, the largest and most muscular of my lawyers are sitting around the five. Each moment, they flex their muscles to elicit the quiet but distracting whisper of flesh stretching fabric.

The government lawyers—two men and three women—nervously stare forward. They are sweating, distracted, and absolutely out of their league.

I wonder who’s bullying these poor people?

Wait, that’s me. I won’t deny that I allowed this charade of a case to get this far just to make a point.

I glance at the ‘Live’ cameras streaming everything that’s happening within the courtroom. Every news outlet is currently making sure that all Americans as well as the international audience can see this one-sided, metaphorical bloodbath.

The audience can also see the petite, four-foot-eight bailiff in charge of keeping the piece. Yes, somehow, the powers that be went ahead and placed what looks like a grade schooler in a uniform and told her to protect people.

“Mr. Eludo,” the Judge begins, “You state that the combined net-worth of a trillion dollars of rare metals appearing on your properties is a result of a,” the judge pauses, exhausted. He glances at the witness stands where two suited men, one named Todd and the other Bob -or maybe Bob and Todd?- share a knowing look. ”God,” he says the word slowly, “teleporting the metals from the bottom of oceans and into all of your warehouses.”

He pauses for a moment. “This teleportation,” he tests the unfamiliar word, “is in payment for services successfully rendered during a hero summoning to a world called Orbis. The service rendered was,” the judge checks another stack of paper- a document with my signature on it, “Destroying the world.” The judge grimaces. “Is this correct?”

“Yes.” I answer completely and truthfully.

The judge looks at me with annoyance and distrust. Which I completely understand. All the gods that had ruled Earth fled this mana starved coop for Orbis thousands of years ago. All they left behind are some fancy rocks and unlikely stories.

“You also state that you can offer no proof, correct?”

I grin towards the camera and spread my arms. “My proof is that there is no evidence of any wrongdoing. One moment there were empty warehouses, and the next, they were filled with valuable metals.”

“Mr. Eludo. Please answer the question.”

I roll my eyes. “Yes, correct.”

The judge nods as he goes through the documents. After several more questions, I am finally allowed to speak freely.

“Alright, let's get this straight.” I lean forward. “This entire case is a sham. There is no evidence that any malfeasance has happened. The government is just being pissy about my wealth increasing by four zeroes overnight. They want some of it, if not all of it for themselves. Not that that is going to happen.”

I scratch my chin and feel the annoying stubble growing since the last time I’d shaved. “They have no legal way of accessing my wealth, nor can they explain how it was obtained. I’ve had the metals tested, and the sediments on them reveal that they were under a pressure in excess of seven miles below sea level. Other than seven redacted nuclear subs designed and launched by the U.S. Military, there are no other publicly known vehicles that could travel the distance to access the metals.”

I grin, knowing full well that I had just thrown a wrench into international plans.

“And even if I did have some craft capable of accessing the ocean floor, then the metals would be taken in international waters wherein there is no legality. Regardless though, the metals were obtained by a god and transported to my warehouses. You’re free to try and tax me, but that would involve accepting the existence of divine beings into law, which, as much as I’d hope you do, I know you won’t.”

I lean back into my seat.

“Is that all, Mr. Eludo?” the judge asks after a moment.

I open my mouth to answer, but pause. A chill runs down my neck and the hairs on my arm stand up.

“Really? Worst possible timing.”

The judge raises an eyebrow at me.

“Mr. Elduo?” he begins, but I ignore him. Instead, I focus on the influx of mana. My soul resonates with the all too familiar energy. I glance around, trying to pinpoint the hole into this reality.

“Mr. Elduo?” the judge asks again.

I continue looking, growing ever more confused. Normally, the mana comes from one direction, but this is uniform.

“Something is wrong.”

As the thought escapes my lips, I feel the mana vibrate.

The judge opens his mouth to say something, but pauses. His eyes widen, as do every single persons’ on the planet.

In our vision, a block of text appears in the world's most common language.

Congratulations Homo Sapiens, your species has been magnanimously chosen for the great honor of being part of the 17894th god games. Once your world is adequately suffused with energy, I will commence the testing phase upon your planet. Those who pass the trial shall be worthy of joining the god-games and becoming a gods champion.

So, please take your time and prepare for the trials.

-Pandora, Master of The Labyrinthian, Bestower of Laurels, Divine Lord Of Games

The block of text disappears when I finish reading. As it disappears, I can hear the sounds of distant car crashes happening all at once.

“So,” I clear my throat and pull out my phone, “in light of recent events proving the existence of the divine, I would like to request,” I check my phone calendar, “a week long break to attempt to contact my ex-employer.”

The court room remains silent at my pronouncement. I sigh. “No, that would waste too much time,” I admit. “I would like to plead no contest to any and all wrongdoings.”