An Invitation

"Lord Pearl, an invitation from the Orthodox Holy See," a young man gave Pearl an envelope with shaking hands.

Pearl slanted his red eyes at the man, gave him a nod and snatched the envelope from him. He brushed aside his long hair before ripping the envelope open. The letter fell gracefully into his palm. Unfolding the letter, he read it. His eyebrows folded at the letter's contents. He couldn't quite understand why he was invited to such a high-profile gathering. Had he done something special? He was nothing more than a minor god in the expansive Orthodox Pantheon as far as they were concerned. His exploits weren't spectacular when one compared them to the extended realm. Only a few beings knew of his name in the Plexus Star System, let alone the Myriad Realm. In short a nobody in the grander scheme of things. Though he couldn't decline the invitation even if he was underqualified, doing that was sure to offend some of the top gods and unsurprisingly accepting it would do the same. Only that the latter was much more manageable than the former.

"Dismissed," he said in his usual frigid voice.

Quickly, the man bowed and made quick work of the distance between the throne and the exit, not paying much attention to the blatant waste of wealth surrounding him.

He dropped onto his throne and sighed. The throne was massive and uncomfortable. Most of his friends considered it impractical unless used as pure decoration. The thing was made from pure divine gold, a variation of gold normally found in mortal realms. Its creation process was an interesting one. It usually involved idols. When mortals sculpted idols from certain metals such as gold, bronze and silver, those idols gained a peculiar ability to absorb a portion of the faith meant for the god whose image was sculpted on the idol. Once a large enough portion of faith seeped into the idol a transformation would occur to the metal, making it virtually indestructible to mortals. The metal became useless to mortals from a practical point of view and extremely important to gods. The latent faith energy in the gold could be used by gods to strengthen themselves and promote themselves to a higher rank. For Pearl, divine gold was nothing more than a toy. Every bit of the throne room was littered with it, from the massive carpet that lead from the doorway to the thrown, the polished floors, and to the walls and pillars supporting the room. He shook his head and dragged his body from the throne, briefly admiring the beauty of the place.

The massive doors in front of him were pushed open. A man seemingly in his late eighties entered the throne room. His back was as straight as an iron rod. Happiness was an infrequent visitor on his face. The flesh around his cheeks drooped down to his chin, erasing the possibility of a smile ever forming on his lips. Black pockmarks littered his bronze skin, some as large as a peanut. His white locks of hair bounced with each of his steps.

"Your Holiness! Someone is in need of your assistance right this instance," urgency trickled through the man's attempt at keeping calm.

"Tell them later, I'm in the middle of admiring my genius. Can't you see that?" a little warmth cracked the ice that normally accompanied his voice.

"No time to play games your Holiness, it's the Blarian Prince, mortal son of the God Emperor Plexus," the man finally reached a few meters away from Pearl. "You can disrespect any other person Your Holiness. But not him. Please!"

"Why should I, the God of Crystal and Beauty, pay mind to dust Roosevelt? It would have been different if the God Emperor sent one of his divine sons. Do you want the entire System to laugh at me for bending my knee to a mortal? Unacceptable," Pearl said. "I'll be with him first thing tomorrow morning. I'm busy at the moment."

Pearl flourished his cape and sped past Roosevelt. A mortal dared to make him a laughing stock amongst his people and the system? What did they take him for? A fool?

Sweat dribbled down Roosevelt's forehead as he watched Pearl leave the throne room. His master was too arrogant for his own good. He pulled out a handkerchief from his robe's inner pocket and wiped the sweat away. Pearl's actions had more consequences than simply offending the son of the most powerful being in the star system. There was more to it. One didn't send a mortal to meet the most arrogant god in the system without an ulterior motive. A shame his master couldn't see through such a simple scheme. Or maybe he did, but his pride wouldn't let him dance to the tune of whoever planned on setting him up.

"You are far too confident and arrogant for your own good master," Roosevelt whispered.

_____________________________________________________________________________________________________

Pearl stared at the letter written with divine energy. It was a simple invitation and a simple decision, yet he hated himself for it. The decision was only simple because whoever sent it to him was forcing his hand. Declining meant death, and accepting meant a chance of survival. He placed the letter on the table and slid out of the chair. He needed to think.

His office was a simple space. It lacked the lavish décor common around his palace. Different shades of brown made up the room. He believed the colour had soothing properties. Behind him, a massive shelf that kept books and records of his past adventures was built into the war. A picture of his mother hung in the centre of the shelf, which was divided into a three-by-three grid. He focused his gaze on the soft contours of his mother's face. Her rich brown skin, offset by the white background of the image, glowed. He let her bright smile invade his heart. It brought back some beautiful memories of his mortal days.

"True freedom is the ability to make decisions and abide by them, to your dying breath." The words she told him that day rang in his mind.

The letter floated from the desk into his hand. Immediately, he molded his faith energy into a pen and with a quick stroke signed his name onto it. A golden flame lit the letter on fire. Within seconds it was burned to oblivion. Weakness overcame him and he crashed into the shelf. Signing the letter sapped up more than ninety per cent of his faith energy. Holding the leg of his desk, he helped himself up. He opened one of the drawers and scrambled to find an energy-restoring pill. He found it and threw it into his mouth. The pill melted into pure faith energy. The energy slipped into his god-core. He clenched his fist, feeling power course through him once more.

"To think that a simple letter from the Holy See requires so much energy to sign," he thought.

Then it dawned on him. Whoever sent him that letter expected his failure.

"Fuck!"