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Chapter 85 – The Spark of Rebellion
🕑 Added 2025-05-08 12:35:03 +0000 UTCJack’s golden eyes blinked open from meditation, the glow in his pupils dimming like sunset behind clouds. He exhaled slowly, brushing his messy hair out of his face. The chill of the North Pole did little to cool the words still echoing in his mind. “You’re still miles from the act you put on.”
Hades was right. Jack wasn’t nearly as strong as he pretended to be. Not yet. He could feel the gap between himself and beings like Hades—the heavyweights of divinity, the old gods who carried realms on their backs and shadows behind their smiles. Still... he smiled anyway. “Kekekeke... Miles or not, I’ll build the road myself.”
Just then, the cottage door creaked open with a creaky whine. One of the alfar peeked inside, his long silver braid swinging slightly as he leaned in. “Breakfast, Young God.”
Jack sat up with a stretch. “Ooh—Christmas breakfast! My favorite kind!”
The alfar stared blankly. “Christmas is tomorrow. Do you not have a sense of time?”
Jack grinned. “You know how it is—dimension-hopping, soul-deep meditation, winning reindeer grand prix. Time gets fuzzy.”
The alfar didn’t even react. “Just follow me.”
Jack followed the alfar down the winding spiral steps, his slipper-clad feet padding lightly on the rune-lined stone. When he stepped into the main hall… his jaw actually dropped.
A grand feast sprawled across a long wooden table the size of a small ship. Glittering silverware. Bowls of steaming spiced vegetables. Platters of golden roast beast. Glowing jugs of mulled cider. Even tiny enchanted snowmen waddled around with trays of hot chocolate, whistling cheerily.
One of the burlier alfar—clearly the cook—stepped forward, wiping his hands on a flour-dusted apron. “Ah, Young God. Come, taste my labor. I’ve revived several old-world recipes. One of them might not kill you.”
Jack slid into the seat next to “Santa” — a.k.a. Hermes still in costume, whose beard twitched slightly whenever Jack glanced his way. “Hohohoho,” Hermes boomed with forced jolliness. “It’s been a while since we’ve all shared a table. Let’s enjoy the warmth of company!”
The alfar banged their fists on the table once in unison—BOOM!—a gesture of agreement and celebration.
Jack, in full mimicry, cheerfully banged his own fist down—BOOM! CRACK!
The thick wooden table split clean in two, dishes sliding and clattering, one turkey launching into the air like a doomed trebuchet. Silence. All eyes turned to Jack.He grinned, a single sweat drop sliding down his temple. “Oops.”
The silence held for a moment longer… Then the cook burst out laughing. “Ahahahaha A god who can’t hold back even on a toast! Now that’s the spirit!”
The others cheered, banging what was left of the table. Hermes sighed behind his beard. “Please don’t destroy the sleigh before the parade, Jack.”
“No promises, Old Man.” Jack leaned forward, piling his plate high with food, his grin never fading.
…
The feast rolled into full swing. Plates scraped clean. Bellies were full. Laughter rolled like sleigh bells through the warm halls of the North Pole. The alfar had already crafted a brand new table, their craftsmanship so swift and smooth it was as if the table had always been there.
Jack leaned back in his chair, eyes gleaming with thought as he chewed a slice of caramelized venison. “You know, I’ve been thinking…” The room quieted slightly. Forks paused in the air. Hermes, still posing as Santa, turned with a jovial chuckle. “Oh no… that tone means trouble.”
Jack ignored the jab. His eyes turned toward Aska, the elder of the alfar. “The Agreement—that ancient pact. It was between gods, right?”
Aska, sipping a cider as thick as honey, nodded solemnly. “Aye. Gods of many pantheons. It’s their law, not ours. We of Alfheim may still walk Midgard freely.”
Jack’s golden eyes gleamed. He turned slowly toward Santa. Hermes stiffened beneath the fake beard. “And what about you, Saint Nicholas?”
Hermes coughed. “Ah—well, you see, I’m technically not a god per se. More of a… nigh-immortal demigod? Enlightenment and all that.”
Jack gave him the kind of smile that could cut through clouds. “So technically, the Agreement only binds you.” There was a glimmer in Aska’s eyes. Something ancient. Something nearly lost. An old fire fanned by a new wind. Jack continued, casually swirling his cider. “So if the alfar aren’t bound by divine law… and if you, dear Santa, can’t deliver the gifts anymore…”
One young alfar warrior leaned in, voice eager but hesitant. “Then who would deliver the gifts?” Jack turned to him. That wicked, unstoppable grin blooming on his face like sunlight on snow. “I will.”
Hermes choked on his drink. “What?” The air changed. Hermes shot to his feet, beard nearly falling off. “Jack—you can’t! You’re a god, even if you’re a greenhorn. This could rupture everything. The Council, the Divine Accord—”
Jack stood up slowly, his hand placing itself casually on Hermes’ shoulder. His voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “That agreement doesn’t mean shit to me. I don’t owe the pantheon jack shit. If the gods want to stop me from spreading joy to kids across the world…” Jack leaned in, golden eyes glowing faintly. “…they can suck my divine left nut.”
A beat of silence. Then—BANG!
Aska slammed his fist on the table and rose. His white hair fluttered behind him like a battle flag. “People of Alfar—! The world once knew us as craftsmen of wonder, givers of joy, spirits of mirth. Today—today, we rise once more to fulfill our oath!”
The alfar stood, hands over hearts, eyes burning with old purpose. A low chant began to build, the rhythm of workers who had slept for centuries and were finally awake again. Gears clanked. Hatches opened. Magic-infused conveyor belts roared to life. Toy molds hissed with heat. The factory began to breathe again.
Jack turned toward Hermes, still stunned and trying to hold together the threads of the lie he'd woven for centuries. “So,” Jack said, still smiling, “what’ll it be, old man? Stand with me… or try to stop this and crush their joy yourself?”
Hermes was silent. The beard no longer fit his face. The twinkle in his eye dimmed. “You can’t do this, Jack,” Hermes said finally. His voice quieter. Strained. “You don’t understand what it’ll cost. This—this might ruin us.”
Jack’s smile faded to a faint, dangerous line. He leaned forward again. “Us?” he whispered. “Or you? Hermes?”
The clatter of machines. The joyous humming of the alfar. The warmth of old furnaces awakening to life. All around them, the old spirit of giving had returned. But to Hermes, the air felt heavy.
He looked around—the alfar were rejoicing, their hearts blazing with purpose once again. Not a single one heard the words that had shattered his composure. Not one of them understood the bombshell Jack Hou had just dropped. “Y-you…” Hermes stammered, his carefully crafted disguise wavering at the seams. “You know who I am?”
Jack smirked, arms crossed. “Not at first. But after that little FaceTime with Hades?” He tapped his temple. “Sealed the deal. And just now, I used my Golden Gaze. Pretty solid disguise though—what is this, Hephaestus’s handiwork?”
Hermes’s face twitched. Without another word, he grabbed Jack by the collar and dragged him toward a side room. The door slammed shut behind them.
Jack, ever the provocateur, threw up his hands. “Ouuuhh, kinky~ But listen, I like women more, old man.”
“Shut up,” Hermes snapped, every bit of godhood cracking through his genial Santa mask. His eyes burned with urgency, desperation, and something Jack wasn’t used to seeing on a god. Fear. “Jack…” Hermes said, quieter now. “You don’t get it. That Agreement—it wasn’t just politics. It wasn’t just old gods flexing their divine egos.”
Jack tilted his head. “Then what was it?” Hermes opened his mouth. And hesitated. “…I don’t know,” he said softly. Jack’s eyes narrowed.
Hermes continued, his voice growing taut. “All I know is the Heads of Pantheons—my father included—they know. We, the others… we just follow it. Because the alternative—whatever it is—must be worse.”
Jack was silent for a moment. Then he smiled, slowly. The kind of smile that didn’t shine—it burned. “So you’re telling me you’ve been enforcing a rule… you don’t even understand?” Hermes clenched his jaw.
Jack stepped forward, eyes blazing with mischief and something far more dangerous: conviction. “You’ve lied to them, Hermes. To the Alfar. To honest people.”
Hermes flinched. A flicker of shame crossed his face.
Jack’s voice dropped. Calmer. Deadlier. “And now you’re afraid I’ll be the one who breaks the illusion you built around them.” The silence between them was thunderous. “I’ll make it simple,” Jack said. “If this whole sleigh-and-gift thing sparks divine backlash? Then let them come after me.”
He stepped back toward the door, turning to Hermes one last time. His next words struck like a declaration of war. “This is my intrusive thought made reality. I’m doing this because I want to. Because I can. And if your pantheon, or any other, wants to banish me—kill me—tear me apart?”
Jack extended his hand, palm up, as if offering his soul to the stars. “Then let it be known: the Alfar are blameless. I bear the burden of my choice. That,” Jack said as his divine aura flared, glowing gold and wreathed in ancient wind, “is my divine promise.”
The room shook. Not from magic—but from the weight of a god making a vow that the universe itself had no choice but to witness. Hermes stood there, stunned. Speechless. Outside the room, the faint sound of sleigh bells being tuned echoed like distant war drums.
And Jack Hou. He just grinned and whispered. “Kekekekeke... Merry almost Christmas.”
The door slammed shut.
Hermes was left alone in the quiet room. The clamor of hammering Alfar, of cheer and prep beyond the door, dulled into a distant hum. But the echo of Jack's vow still thundered in his chest.
Hermes stood still. His disguise still held—rosy cheeks, red coat, the rounded belly of Saint Nicholas—but it all felt paper-thin now. His heart raced, pounding like a drum beaten by shame.
It had all started as a joke. A prank. A whim born from boredom. Centuries ago, he had stumbled upon a stray Alfar left on Midgard, still dreaming of giving. He had pretended to be Saint Nicholas, just for the absurdity of it. He threw down ridiculous conditions—make a flying sleigh, build a cottage on the highest peak, forge a sack of infinite space. All to watch the Alfar give up, break down. And yet… The Alfar didn't give up.
And Hermes? He didn’t laugh. He stayed. He watched them craft the impossible. Watched them smile while doing it. Watched their eyes shine each time they made a new toy, a new gift, a new reason to bring joy.
Over time, without realizing it, he started looking forward to every winter. Every solstice. Every ridiculous request. Every quietly sung lullaby to the spirit of giving. Somewhere along the way, Hermes—the trickster—had fallen for his own lie. And now a young god, wild and cracked with golden light, had seen through it. All of it.
Hermes clenched his fists. That damn kid… But he wasn’t wrong. Not one bit.
…
Jack was vibrating with glee. “KEKEKEKEKE, this is it!” he shouted as he clapped his hands, eyes wide with joy. “This is the machine! The one I’ve been searching for!” Before him stood the ancient, brass-and-wood marvel of enchantment. The Naughty or Nice Machine.
It looked like a twisted hybrid of an old-school typewriter, a loom, and a sentient cash register. Endless ribbons of light filtered through runes above it, flitting like strings of fate. “Where’s my name? Where is it?!” Jack scrambled around it, golden gaze activated, sniffing around like a hyper squirrel on pixie dust.
Aska, walking calmly beside him, merely said. “Your name won’t be there.”
Jack stopped mid-zoom. “Eh? Why not?”
Aska, hands behind his back, replied without pause. “You’re a god. This machine only scans energy signatures imprinted in Earth’s leyline. You don’t register.”
Jack blinked. Then blinked again. “...So gods can’t be judged?”
Aska shrugged, unapologetic. “Pretty much.”
“Wooooooowwwww,” Jack muttered. “The divine privilege is real…” Then he grinned. “Welp! Guess I’ll just have to act extra naughty to balance it out.”
…
Jack Hou stood with his hands on his hips, gazing across the magical workshop floor like a self-proclaimed foreman surveying a kingdom. Zephyr floated behind him like a concerned parent watching their overly ambitious child step into a construction site armed only with a hammer and too much confidence.
“All right, Aska!” Jack shouted with a grin too wide to be trusted. “Put me in, coach—I’m ready to help!”
Aska, who had just finished organizing the conveyor line of enchanted toys, immediately turned to give Jack a strict rundown of what not to touch. “Do not touch the soul-threaded bows. Do not yank the leylines from the energy loom. And for the love of all sacred light, stay away from the Temporal Wrapping Scrolls.”
Jack gave an exaggerated salute. “Got it, boss!”
Aska sighed. “That is not a reassuring face.”
Jack shout “Cue the fucking musical montage, BABYY!!!”
…
🎶 "Winter Wonderland" plays in the background.
…
Jack’s first task was simple: load pre-wrapped gifts into the enchanted sleighs. At first, he was focused—an almost terrifying moment of clarity. He carefully lifted the shimmering boxes, each bound in stardust-inked ribbons, and placed them into the back of the sleigh with surgical precision. Then one box slipped. “Oops.”
In his attempt to catch it, Jack’s foot slipped on a peppermint-iced floor tile. His body twisted like a falling cat, limbs flailing—yet somehow, in that chaos, his foot struck the sleigh’s energy stabilizer. A hum turned into a whine, and then—BOOM!
Ten entire gift boxes launched skyward in a golden trail like some kind of divine missile barrage. “Atmospheric delivery,” Jack declared as he dusted off his robe. “Very next-gen. The FAA might complain, but who cares.”
Aska stood frozen. A single candy cane dropped from his hand in disbelief.
…
“Reindeer feeding!” Jack announced proudly. “Surely this can’t go wrong.” Inside the enchanted barn, one of the Alfar lined up buckets of magical oats—each grain infused with starlight and frost-elemental blessings. The reindeer munched serenely.
Then Jack noticed the Feeder Crank, an ornate rotating mechanism used to sprinkle magical dust across the troughs. “It’s not spinning fast enough,” Jack muttered, narrowing his eyes like a man who’d just found a new toy.
Before anyone could stop him, Jack climbed onto the side of the crank wheel and jammed Ruyi Jingu Bang into its center, muttering, “Amplify.”
The crank whirled into a blur. A sound like a wailing banshee echoed. Then—KA-THOOM!
Oats exploded into a mushroom cloud of enchanted glitter and grain. The reindeer scattered. One bolted through the wall, another leapt into the rafters. Jack stood proudly atop a reindeer, riding it like a surfer, staff raised in triumph.
“YEEE-HAW, RUDOLPH, YOU CRAZY LEGEND!”
Zephyr hovered behind him, vibrating with embarrassment.
…
Next came the delicate task of charging the Gift Crystals—each the size of a child’s fist and glowing like a miniature moon. Jack offered enthusiastically. “Lemme juice ‘em. I’m basically a divine battery with flair.”
The Alfar hesitated. Aska stared. “These crystals are sensitive to emotional essence and divine aura. If you over—”
“Relax, buddy,” Jack said, already holding one. “I’ve done this a thousand times in my head.” He infused it with a thin stream of golden Qi. The crystal pulsed gently. Then Jack smiled. “Let’s try something a bit more festive.” He sang.
His qi swirled in rhythm to the melody of “Winter Wonderland.” The crystal surged like a heartbeat rising to the tune—and then, suddenly—FWOOSH!
The crystal burst into a cloud of sparkling fireworks. Everyone ducked as shimmering green and red sparks rained down.
Jack stood in the middle of it, arms wide, smiling at the beauty. “…Okay. That one’s on me.”
…
Last stop—gift wrapping. Easy. Or so it seemed. All Jack had to do was pull pre-enchanted paper from the roll and run it through the auto-wrap rune table. Zephyr hovered helpfully, nudging the tape dispenser toward him.
Jack, however, had a better idea. “What if,” he said, “we wrap me as a gift?”
One of the Alfar blinked. “Why?”
“Because the greatest gift is ME,” Jack said cheerfully, leaping onto the wrapping table. Before they could object, a tangle of sentient ribbon grabbed him like a dozen playful snakes. The auto-wrap machine surged to life, mistaking him for a high-priority package.
In moments, Jack was bound in shimmery red-and-gold paper, a massive bow on his head, his face only half visible. “Mmmmph! This is surprisingly comfortable.”
Aska stormed over, eyes twitching. “Off the table, godling.”
Jack gave a muffled giggle.
…
By day’s end, the factory looked like a mix between a Yuletide miracle and a divine war zone. Gift towers had fallen. Reindeer were grumpy. But the Alfar still happy.
And Jack was sipping hot cocoa, his new charm-ring glimmering faintly as he swung his legs from a high workbench. “Ahhh,” he said with a satisfied sigh. “The joy of giving… and mild, contained chaos.” Zephyr slumped over his shoulder like a long-suffering guardian.
From the shadows, Hermes watched silently. And for the first time in centuries, he wasn’t sure if he was playing the role of Saint Nicholas anymore or if he had become him.
Comments
Vrael333
Thx for the chapter :)
