Godstealer-Chapter 24: Year Eight – The Fire That Never Dies

Year eight wasn't about strength. It wasn't about speed. It was about the mind—and the fire buried inside it.

Dante had trained. Fought. Survived. He knew how to channel energy, copy abilities, reverse wounds. But the Trickster said that wasn't enough.

> "You're still fighting like a boy trying to prove something," the Trickster said. "What happens when the gods dig into your head? When they twist your truth? What keeps you standing then?"

> "I'll keep standing," Dante muttered.

> "No, you'll break. Like your mother did."

Silence.

A wind tore across the snowy plateau.

Dante blinked, but the words had already struck. Deep. He stepped forward slowly, voice low.

> "What did you say?"

The Trickster didn't flinch. "She screamed, didn't she? When they came for her. And what did you do, Dante? Just a kid hiding behind a door. You couldn't stop it."

And that was it.

Dante lunged.

The mountain shook under his rage. His aura flared — crimson and gold — uncontrolled and wild. He moved faster than he ever had, slamming into the Trickster, eyes blazing with something raw. Something not taught.

Anger. Grief. Desperation.

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They fought. No structure. No form. Just fury unleashed in waves.

The Trickster didn't block — he let it happen, laughing through the pain. Not mockingly... but knowingly.

> "There it is," he whispered mid-punch. "There's the fire I needed."

Dante collapsed to his knees, breath heavy, eyes blurred with tears he didn't want to shed.

> "Why would you say that...?"

> "Because you needed to remember what's at stake," the Trickster said softly. "Your mother. Your father. Every hybrid that died praying the laws would change. You want to stand among gods, Dante? You have to burn hotter than them. Even when it hurts."

Dante didn't speak. He couldn't.

But something in him settled. Hardened.

He wasn't just fighting for survival anymore. He was fighting for change.

And for the first time in his life, he didn't feel like a scared boy.

He felt ready.

The Trickster smiled, quietly this time.

> "You're not a child anymore. You're a storm with purpose."

They stood together, side by side, at the summit of the final year.

And in the distance... the path to the Celestial Bowl began to open.

---

As the wind died down and the echo of Dante's fury faded into memory, the Trickster patted the snow off his robes and gestured forward.

> "Time to move. He's waiting."

> "Zerathis?" Dante asked, voice still hoarse.

> "Unless some other chaos-fueled bastard has been stirring up drama at the High Table, yeah."

They made their descent from the peak, crossing the old stone bridge carved by time and gods. Down at the foot of the mountain, resting beside a long-extinct, overgrown shrine, was Zerathis — relaxed, back against the mossy wall, chewing something suspiciously crunchy.

> "You're late," he said through a mouthful. "I was starting to think you got frozen up there. Or worse, having a heartfelt moment."

Dante raised a brow. "What are you eating?"

> Zerathis grinned. "Fried cyclops."

> "...You stole from a cyclops?"

> "Not just one. A whole batch of temple servants. You should've seen the look on their faces when they realized the food was gone. I told them it was probably a 'rogue glutton god.' Made up the title and everything. They believed me."

The Trickster groaned, clearly impressed. "You've been gone a year and still manage to out-chaos me."

Zerathis leaned forward, his expression shifting—calmer now, but proud.

> "While you two froze your bits off training, I've been causing 'incidents' at the High Table. Enough panic and finger-pointing that they started questioning each other more than looking for you."

> "That's why no assassins came after me this year," Dante realized.

> "Exactly," Zerathis said. "One of them tried to send a seer after you, so I fabricated a divine scandal involving three minor gods, a phoenix egg, and a cursed harp. They're still sorting it out."

He stood, dusting himself off.

> "I've lied about sacred laws, faked prophecies, convinced a war god that you were just a wandering monk with anger issues. I even pretended to be a divine inspector once. Wore a wig and everything. Tripped over a relic and nearly got smited."

> "You're insane," Dante said, half-laughing.

> "Maybe. But you're free because of it."

The Trickster looked between them, then toward the horizon—where the skies shimmered faintly, pulsing with divine energy.

> "Time to go," he said. "The path to the Celestial Bowl is open."

Zerathis slung an arm over Dante's shoulder as they started walking.

> "You ready to lie to gods, outwit ancient beings, and fight until your bones hum?"

Dante nodded, eyes locked forward.

> "More than ever."

And with that, the three vanished into the growing light—toward fate, war, and the chance to change everything.