SmilinKujo
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Chapter 128 – Vanishing Act
🕑 Added 2025-07-31 17:02:32 +0000 UTCThe world below was a swirling marble of blue, white, and green, shrinking with every passing second. Jack Hou was being carried piggyback style by Hermes, the wind of their ascent a silent, screaming thing in the void of space. For the first time, Jack saw the world not as a map, but as a living, breathing jewel hanging in an endless sea of black.
"Wow," he breathed, his voice a quiet, awestruck whisper against Hermes's ear. "It's really peaceful out here, huh?" He paused, his grin returning. "If only there wasn't a giant, angry tentacle monster now let loose to ruin the vibe."
Hermes let out a long, weary sigh, the sound a frustrated gust of wind. "Can we not talk about Amatsu getting away?"
"Well, you tell me!" Jack's voice suddenly rose, his frustration boiling over. "I can seal the Phoenix when I'm by myself, with a bunch of teenagers as backup! But the second I trust the so-called 'Skyfather' and his estranged wife to hold the line, they let the main course escape! Haaahhh, I can't even believe it! Susanoo and I almost had him, too! Fuck!"
"Oww! Can you not shout directly into my ear?!" Hermes yelped, wincing.
"Kekekeke," Jack cackled, his mood shifting on a dime. He looked down again, his anger forgotten, replaced by a childlike wonder. "Wow. Can you see my planet? I can't even see the borders from up here. It's just… one big, beautiful ball."
He then pointed a finger toward the thin, shimmering line of Earth's atmosphere. "Hey, look! That's one of the politicians who thought he could do something to my Golden Peach when I was in my marble state."
Hermes glanced over his shoulder. Sure enough, the frozen, preserved corpse of a middle-aged man in a bespoke suit was floating in a slow, silent orbit, a forgotten piece of cosmic garbage.
"Are you ready, Jack?" Hermes asked, his tone shifting, becoming more serious.
"Ready for what?"
"We're going through the jump points."
In the vast emptiness of space, Hermes's foot touched something solid, something that wasn't there. A hexagonal, shimmering rift of pure, golden light tore open before them. He crouched, his divine energy flaring.
Then, he went full speed, launching them through the gateway.
Jack could only scream, a wild, joyous, and utterly terrified sound that was swallowed by the silence of the void.
"AAAAAAAAGGGHHHHHHHH!"
…
The jump point spat them out with a final, disorienting lurch. Jack and Hermes arrived not with a gentle fade, but with a hard stop, landing on the polished, cloud-like marble at the gates of Mount Olympus.
Hermes stood proudly, a genuine, heartfelt smile on his face. He had been away for what felt like an eternity, and seeing his home again, in all its majestic, sun-drenched glory, filled him with a warmth that had nothing to do with the celestial climate. The structures, carved from pure, living light and ancient stone, soared into a sky of impossible blue. Waterfalls of liquid ambrosia cascaded down floating islands, and the air hummed with the soft, distant music of the Muses.
He turned to Jack, his arms spread wide, his voice full of a pride that was both kingly and deeply personal. "Welcome," he announced, his voice echoing with the grandeur of the realm itself, "to Mount Oly—"
BLEEGGHHH.
The sound was wet, violent, and utterly profane. Hermes's proud moment was cut short as Jack, bent over at the waist, projectile vomited onto the pristine, divine marble of the entranceway.
Hermes looked at him blankly. His face was a perfect, beautiful canvas upon which a masterpiece of conflicting emotions was being painted. Tiredness. Disappointment. Unamused resignation. And a simmering, righteous anger. All of it, bottled into one, perfect, deadpan stare.
Jack held up a single, shaky finger, a silent request for a moment, and then continued heaving, adding to the growing puddle of what looked suspiciously like half-digested tacos and divine energy.
Hermes, with the sigh of a god who had seen too much, reached into his pocket and pulled out a silken, embroidered serviette. He handed it to Jack.
Jack grabbed it, wiped his mouth with a final, shuddering breath, and looked up, his face pale but his eyes still twinkling with mischief. "You were saying?"
Hermes looked at the pile of vomit desecrating the sacred ground. He looked back at the majestic, soaring architecture of his home. He looked back at the vomit.
"Ohhh," he muttered to the heavens, his voice a low, defeated whisper. "What have I brought to my home?"
He turned and started walking toward the main city, his grand tour officially cancelled.
"Hey! Don't leave me!" Jack called out, scrambling to his feet. "Continue your script! You were about to introduce me to Mount Olympus like that one scene in Jurassic Park! With the music and the dinosaurs and everything!"
But Hermes just kept walking, a god on a mission to get as far away from the puke puddle as possible. Jack, however, his cosmic motion sickness already forgotten, giddily followed after him, his tail swaying with a new, excited energy.
Jack strolled beside Hermes, his tail swaying with a curious, almost bored rhythm. He looked around at the grand, empty villas that dotted the foothills of Mount Olympus, their marble columns gleaming in the eternal, golden sunlight. The only sound was the soft crunch of their footsteps on the golden pathways.
"Hey, Hermes," Jack said, breaking the serene silence. "Why is it so quiet? I was expecting, you know, gods playing frisbee, maybe a few nymphs gossiping by a fountain. This looks like a rich person's ghost town."
Hermes didn't break his stride. "It's usually like this," he explained, his voice a low murmur. "It only looks lively when there's a festival or a banquet." He shot a pointed look at Jack. "And don't even think they'll hold a banquet for you."
"Aawww, why?" Jack pouted. "I'm a lawful monkey. Kekekeke." He then craned his neck, looking up at the soaring peaks. "Anyway, is Hercules here?"
Hermes's eyebrow twitched. "Heracles? Why do you want to meet him?"
"I just want to let him know there's still a HYDRA on Earth," Jack said with a deadpan expression. "I think he let one slip when he was doing his 12 Labors. Kekekeke."
Hermes just shook his head, a long, weary sigh escaping his lips as he chose to ignore the comment entirely. They continued their ascent, the path growing steeper. As they rounded a bend, Hermes stopped, holding out a hand to halt Jack.
"Alright," he said, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Do your concealment thing."
Jack grinned, and with a flicker of will, his form dissolved into the air, leaving behind nothing but a faint, lingering scent of ozone and mischief.
Hermes waited a beat, his divine senses scanning the area. Nothing. It was unnerving how completely Jack could vanish. He gestured to the empty space where Jack had been.
"Follow me," he whispered. "And don't wander around."
And so, Hermes, the God of Messengers, began his solitary walk up the main path of Mount Olympus, his posture calm and unassuming. But he was not really alone.
They were almost at his own area, a sprawling, open-air district that hummed with a different kind of energy than the rest of the silent, stately mountain. Hermes, still walking, began to whisper as if he were a tour guide in a sacred museum.
"Olympus is divided into twelve great territories," he murmured, his voice a low, conspiratorial hum, "respective to the twelve great gods. I don't mean to brag, but I'm one of them. Hehe. Anyway, just stay close. We're almost at my territory. We just have to—"
His words were cut short by a shadow that fell over them. A big, menacing shadow. Ares stood before them, his stature made even more grand and terrifying by the contrast with Hermes's delicate, beautiful form. The God of War was a mountain of muscle and battle-worn armor; the God of Messengers was a sculpture of grace and light.
Ares growled, his voice a low rumble that seemed to shake the marble beneath their feet. "You remember your way home, brother."
Hermes, unfazed, flicked a stray golden curl from his forehead. "What can I say? I have a much bigger brain than your muscles, brother. Even if I were at the edge of the universe, I could make my way back."
Ares took one heavy step forward, looming over his younger brother, his gaze a promise of violence. Hermes simply looked up, his own eyes holding a sharp, intelligent light that refused to be intimidated. They were locked in a silent, tense standoff.
"Careful, brother," Ares snarled. "My blade can cut your legs easily if you don't see where you step."
Hermes's lips curled into a smirk. He stepped aside, gracefully moving past Ares and continuing on his way. As he left his brother standing there, he stopped, turning his head just enough to look back.
"Oh, by the way," he said, his voice light and conversational. "Your daughter sends her regards. For once, I was wrong in my outlook on you. Your daughter seems to be talented enough to awaken the god-slaying sword. Congratulations." He smiled, a brilliant, beautiful smile that did not reach his eyes. "You should be proud."
He then turned again and continued walking, leaving behind a seething, silent God of War.
…
Hermes finally arrived in his own territory. It was not a single, grand palace, but a vibrant, bustling hub of constant motion. Open-air pavilions and floating platforms were connected by bridges of pure, solidified light and currents of wind that shimmered like rivers. Here, his subordinates—swift Wind-Sprites and ethereal Echo-Nymphs—darted through the air, delivering scrolls, guiding travelers, and sorting through an endless stream of information. It was a divine Grand Central Station, a celestial marketplace, and an eternal gymnasium all rolled into one.
He strode into the central pavilion, a confident smile returning to his face. "Alright, Jack," he said to the empty air. "You can dispel your vanishing act. Let's plan which of my siblings we should rob. Hehehe."
But there was no response. No shimmering reappearance. No unhinged cackle.
Hermes's smile faltered. "Jack, you can undo it now," he said, a hint of annoyance in his voice. "Even my father can't see what's inside my territory without my permission."
Still, nothing.
He began to reach his hands out, waving them through the empty space around him, trying to feel for the invisible monkey. "Jack, this isn't funny. Undo your spell."
But there was no one there.
Hermes's face paled. He spun around, his divine senses sweeping across his entire territory in a frantic, desperate search. Nothing. He was gone.
Hermes's face palmed, a look of pure, dawning horror on his perfect features.
"Shit."
…
The Bifrost tore open the sky over Asgard, not with the usual triumphant roar, but with a weary, grinding sigh. From the swirling rainbow of light, Odin emerged, astride the eight-legged Sleipnir, his spear Gungnir held firmly at his side. Behind him, the victorious armies of Asgard and their allies marched, their armor caked with the frost and blood of Jotunheim. The war was over. Laufey, the self-proclaimed descendant of Ymir, had been slain by Odin's own hand.
As they reached the end of the Rainbow Bridge, the allied forces began to break away. Skadi and her fierce hunters gave a final, respectful nod to the All-Father before their troops turned, marching toward the Bifrost to return to their own realms. One by one, the armies departed, leaving only the Asgardians standing on the hallowed ground of their home.
Odin's one good eye scanned the remaining warriors, a flicker of kingly pride in his gaze. But then, his eye landed on a scene that made the victory feel as hollow as a dead man's skull.
There stood Baldur, his golden son, his pride, now a symbol of rebellion. And beside him, bound in heavy, rune-etched chains, was Loki.
"Brother, please," Baldur was saying, his voice a low, desperate plea. "Just apologize to Father."
Loki remained silent, his head held high, his gaze fixed on some distant, unseen point.
Odin saw this, and a cold, hard mask settled over his features. He ignored them. He turned to the rest of his generals and troops. "Go home," his voice boomed, carrying the weight of a king's command. "Go back to your families and tell them of our victory. Tonight, we will hold the ship funeral pyres for our fallen. Be happy now, so you can reflect on our comrades who do not have the privilege that you have."
As the warriors dispersed, a heavy silence fell over the courtyard. All that was left was Odin, Baldur, and the chained Loki.
Odin finally turned to his adopted son, his voice devoid of any warmth. "To the dungeon you will be," he said, his tone as cold and final as a tomb. "You will wait for your sentence after we have honored the dead. Maybe then, you will see what you have done."
