Author's Note: This is my first attempt to insert an OC into a story as something resembling a main character, so constructive criticism is much appreciated.

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Disclaimer: I do not own Campione!

"Godō" - Regular Speech

'My Everyday life…!' - Thoughts

"God Slayer!" - Heretic God/Powered Up Campione speech

"Fire!" - Magic Spell/ Authority use


A Campione, known variously as Rakshasa Raja, Devil King, Supreme Lords and Bastard-Children of Epimetheus, are Mortals who have, through some means or other, slain a Heretic God or Goddess and stolen one or more of the defeated deities' Divine Authorities for themselves.

No mere Mage can stand up to the might of a Campione, for the power of the Gods that dwells within the God-Slayers renders all mortal magic null and void unless it is injected directly into the body of the Campione in question. Even the magic of other Campione is rarely full effective against another.

At this time, there are seven Campione, each ruling a different area of the globe, in Asia, Europe and America. They are: Marquis Sasha Voban, King of the Balkans; Luo Cuilian, The Ruler of the Martial Realm; Madame Aisha, The Queen of Caves; Alexander Gascoigne, the Black Prince; John Pluto Smith, The Masked Campione; Lord Salvatore Doni, the King of Swords; and finally, Kusanagi Godō, the Campione of Japan.

After a fierce battle, the newest Campione, Kusanagi Godō, has emerged victorious against The Great Sage Equalling Heaven, Sun Wukong, and his sworn brothers, Zhu Ganglie and Vaisravana. He was supported by two of his fellow Campione, Luo Cuilian and John Pluto Smith, in one of the few-recorded instances of Campione ever cooperating with one another towards a common goal.

As Godō attempts to return to his everyday life as a regular Japanese High School Student and ignore the fact he is a Campione, events begin to move in Britain that will herald more problems for the most reluctant Campione…

Chapter 1: An Encounter

Middle of the Sound of Iona, Scotland

Jean Campbell sighed as she gazed across the sea outside the Caledonian MacBrayne small ferry Loch Buie. She was currently heading from the Isle of Mull to the main settlement of the Isle of Iona, Baile Mór.

Jean was a young woman of eighteen, with long red hair in a ponytail and bright blue eyes. She wore an olive coat and blue jeans and had a black suitcase by her side.

'I never thought that I would actually come back to this place again.' she though morosely as she shifted her gaze to where a small section of the island was visible from the window she sat at. The Loch Buie was a small ferry with no forward-facing windows or portholes, so all she could see was a small sliver of the island.

Her parents had died ten years ago to the day in a stupid car crash that was nobody's fault when they were driving back to Oban from Glasgow. She hadn't been with them, having been left with her only other living relative in Oban while they had attended Glasgow for a meeting of some sort.

She had never returned to Iona, where she had once lived with her parents, since they had died. Her Great-Aunt Ella had taken her in and raised her after the funerals in Oban.

Aunt Ella had lived a long life by that point, being seventy-nine years old. When Jean had entered her Third Year of High School at Oban High, her aunt had fallen gravely ill, lasting until the end of Jean's Sixth year and graduation from High School, not even a month ago, before she passed away, leaving Jean completely alone.

From the inheritances and bequests from her parents and Aunt Ella, even after deducting Aunt Ella's funeral expenses, she could afford to rent a flat in Oban for a while whilst she looked for a job. She would do that as soon as she took care of her business on Iona: readying her parent's old house for sale.

She didn't know why Aunt Ella hadn't sold it years ago, but the point was she still had the place and she wanted no part of it. She would inspect the house and grounds and clean it up before arranging to have the place put on the market to be sold.

With any luck, the proceeds from the sale would reduce the student loan she would have to take out to get through college, perhaps even add to her small nest egg of savings as well.

*Attention all passengers, this ferry shall be docking at Baile Mór in a few moments.* the announcer spoke suddenly, *Please make sure you have all your personal belongings with you before you disembark and, on behalf of all Caledonian MacBrayne staff, we thank you for travelling with us.*

"Well, let's get this over with." Jean muttered as she started running through the small mental checklist of everything she had brought with her.

In the other lounge of the Loch Buie, another young woman sighed despondently. She had chestnut hair cut into a neat bob, black eyes and pale skin that said that she didn't get out much.

Her name was Rebecca Piper. She was a magic user, a Hearth Witch to be precise, and she was a member of the Greenwich Witenagemot. And she was not happy to be here.

To say that she was 'not happy' was something of a mild understatement. She was furious, put out and highly confused as to why she was even here. She had still journeyed here, because, nobody questioned an order from Princess Alice.

Rather, it had been a 'helpful suggestion' from Princess Alice, but it amounted to much the same thing as an order. Standing at the pinnacle of Heaven-based witchcraft, being a Princess-Shrine Maiden and possessing Clairvoyance and the ability to see into the future, Princess Alice was a 'Special Advisor' to the Witenagemot, which gave her enough sway and influence over the organisation to pretty much do as she wished, within reason.

The only time someone hadn't heeded her advice, a Campione had been born, Lord Salvatore Doni. After that, word was quietly passed around the entire organisation threatening dire things if her advice was ignored again.

Alice had already had the reputation of having almost a hundred percent accuracy with her predictions before this and her warning that 'a walking disaster would inhabit the land if nothing was done' was made a reality with the birth of the King of Swords as a God Slayer.

So really, Rebecca hadn't had much choice when the ectoplasmal clone of Princess Alice suggested to her, after she had been summoned to Alice's chambers, that she take a holiday to the Isle of Iona in Scotland, and investigates any unusual magical emanations while she was at it.

'Why do I have to do this?' Rebecca whined to herself, 'I'm a Hearth Witch! Outside of my home, I'm almost powerless! The only special magic I have is my Librarian's magic!'

In her opinion, this kind of busywork was best left to Black Prince Alec's Royal Arsenal Association. They were commoners, thieves and knaves, the perfect type of people to investigate unusual things to do with magic.

Royal Arsenal opposed the Witenagemot on principle. The Witenagemot was made up of elites; mages from noble and royal families, the best lineages available and it had been so since its founding in the middle of the Victorian Era, whereas Royal Arsenal was made up of combat mages, commoners and rogues.

She had heard rumours that Alec had left the British isles for the Orient for some reason. Perhaps he was going to fight the new Campione…Kusanagi, wasn't it? Rebecca neither knew nor cared, so long as he remained far away from her.

As the Ferry slid next to the jetty, and began to lower the front ramp to begin the disembarking process, the Witch knew one thing without the shred of a doubt.

"Today is going to really suck." she muttered aloud before moving to disembark.


Half an Hour Later

Jean's House, Baile Mór

The small stone cottage that had been the home of Angus and Michaela Campbell was located on the very edge of the outskirts of Iona's main settlement. Modest in size, it had been the perfect size for the small family that had once lived there. The garden, once taken care of by Jean's mother, was now overgrown with ten years of abandonment.

Jean sighed. She wasn't really surprised by all of this, but it did mean that she had her work cut out for her. It would take quite some time before she could get this place ready for the open market.

'The journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step.' she reminded herself tiredly as she gazed somewhat apathetically at the barely recognisable hedge and cracked pavestones that were the property's boundary.

"Excuse me?" a female voice called to Jean from her left. She turned her head to see a woman walking towards her. Jean automatically assessed her with the ease of long practice.

She had short brown hair, black eyes and pale skin, which indicated that she didn't get out much. Her clothes were an oddity, consisting of a very conservative shirt, blouse and long skirt, none of which was suitable for travel. On her shoulder, she carried a medium-sized tote bag.

"Yes? Can I help you?" Jean asked as she turned to face the woman.

"Indeed." the woman replied. Jean placed her accent as being from the Midlands, with a slight burr in it from living in the Greater London area, "Is this your house?"

The woman gestured at the bungalow lazily.

"Only as long as it takes for me to make it fit for human habitation." Jean replied dryly, "Why do you ask?"

"Are you aware that there is a Grimoire inside?" the other woman asked her quietly.

"A what now?" Jean wasn't sure, but she though she detected a flash of surprise in the woman's eyes.

"Please don't try and fool me. I am Rebecca Piper, a member of the Greenwich Witenagemot." the woman said sharply.

"Never heard of you." Jean replied bluntly, "And I'm Jean Campbell, since we seem to be introducing ourselves."

"Come off it." Rebecca scoffed, "I can feel the magic in your blood."

"So you're a magician of some kind?" Jean asked with a frown.

Jean's honest confusion made Rebecca frown. "Do you seriously not know what I'm taking about?" she asked carefully.

"I think I just said that." Jean deadpanned.

"OK then." Rebecca took a deep breath before looking Jean straight in the eyes, "I am, as I previously stated, a member of the Greenwich Witenagemot, a Mage Association based in London. I sensed the presence of a Grimoire on this island the moment I set foot on it, and was only just now able to narrow the location to this house."

"Are you Wiccan or something?" Jean asked suspiciously, "Because I'm an atheist, just so you know."

A snort of laughter erupted from the Hearth Witch. "Ha! Nice guess, but no dice. Look, this isn't exactly something that needs to be spoken of in public, so can we go inside?"

Jean huffed. "Fine. But nobody's lived here in a decade, so it'll be dusty. Just to warn you in advance."

Inside the House…

"Uwaaah!" Rebecca let out a squeak of shock, "You weren't kidding! What's with all this dust?"

The place wasn't actually all that bad. Jean's Great Aunt had come in a few days after the funeral and covered the furniture with tarps to stop any dust from gathering on the actual furniture, but there was a lot of dust on top of the sheets.

"Like I said, it has been ten years since anyone's been living here." Jean said impatiently as she led her guest into the living room, "What did you expect? Now what on earth were you talking about out there?"

Rebecca was staring at the dust-covered living room in shock. Every instinct in her was screaming at her to clean this place up. As a Hearth Witch, she drew her strength from the state of her Hearth or, in modern terms, her home. A neat Hearth meant she was powerful, a messy one meant she was weak, so she was kind of OCD about tidiness

"Hmmm? Oh, yes." Rebecca hurriedly brought her mind away from the place-that-must-be-tidied and back to why she was here in the first place.

"Basically, magic is real." she told Jean, who regarded her sceptically, "Witches, wizards, mages, sorcerers…no matter what you call them, they exist, hidden from modern society, yet inextricably linked with it at the same time."

"In what way?" Jean asked, "Assuming magic exists, like you say."

"First, to prove magic exists." Rebecca reached inside her tote bag and brought out a thin piece of wood. It was intricately carved from what looked like mahogany and had several strings of pictograms that Jean thought might be Greek Letters across the surface.

At the base of the grip section of the wand -at least, Jean guessed it was a wand- was a crystal orb the size of a large thimble. Rebecca caught Jean looking at it.

"This wand has been passed down through my family for ten generations, from mother to daughter." she told Jean with a smile, "It is a family heirloom, carved from a hundred year old mahogany tree limb."

"Seriously?" Jean was very sceptical of this.

"Yes, seriously." Rebecca had to respect the healthy amount of scepticism that the Scottish girl possessed. It was rather refreshing to deal with someone who didn't automatically believe what she said. "If you do not mind, I wish to cast a spell to clean this room."

"Go ahead." Jean replied, utterly unconvinced. "If you succeed, it'll be a lot less work for me."

"Very well." Rebecca said and raised her wand up before her, "I beseech thee, Lady Hestia! Goddess of the Hearth and Home! Lend me thy aid and restore this room to its former glory!"

As the Hearth Witch spoke, a feeling of light warmth began to emanate from her, a feeling that Jean hadn't felt in over two years; the feeling of a safe and happy home. Rebecca's wand then began to emit light brown pulses that spread around the entire living room.

Where the light touched, dust seemed to simply dissolve into nothing. The sheets levitated from the furniture and neatly folded themselves up and flew to the middle of the room. The fireplace, unused in a decade, was surely not blazing away merrily?

Jean gazed around her in shock. The place looked as good as new. There were no personal items left in the house, but save for that minor detail, the room looked exactly as she recalled it from her hazy childhood memories.

"Y…you really are a witch!" she exclaimed in slack-jawed amazement. She knew she had the only key to the door, so this woman couldn't have entered beforehand to set up any tricks. Besides, she had always been good at spotting the usual magicians tricks that used wires and there were no scents in the air to indicate hallucinogens were used.

"Thank you for noticing." Rebecca replied smugly, "To continue my explanation, I was sent here to holiday, with instructions to investigate any unusual magical happenings or sudden magical signatures appearing. As soon as I stepped off the ferry, I detected something, so I cast a divining cantrip in order to find it, as well as a spell to parse the exact type of magic it was. It took a while, but I managed to find the source of the magic."

"In my parent's old house?" Jean asked in mild confusion, "But neither of them were Mages…at least to the best of my knowledge."

"They didn't have to be." Rebecca replied, "The type of magic I detected is that of a Grimoire."

"Grimoire…a book of magical spells?" Jean guessed.

"According to popular culture, yes." the witch said as she took a seat on an armchair, "In reality, a Grimoire can be a stone amulet or tablet, an actual book or even a statue, each having different abilities and containing different powers from different Heretic Gods."

"Wait, gods exist? As in more than one as well?" Jean asked in surprise, "Moreover, how can a god be a heretic?"

"The gods of myth do exist." Rebecca explained, "And yes, I mean every god of myth. The Greek Pantheon, their Roman counterparts, Native American spirits, Aztec gods…for all I know, so too does the god of the bible, although thankfully, he has never manifested as a Heretic God, although His Angels have."

"Like I said, how can a god be a heretic?" Jean asked impatiently.

"Gods are born from myths and legends and their abilities are shaped by the various tales spoken of them." Rebecca replied, "For some gods though, their myth's form and legend becomes a burden and they rebel, breaking free of their tales and manifesting in our world from the Domain of Immortality. Here, they cause trouble on par with natural disasters until they are defeated and sent back. That is why they are called heretics; because they rebel against what humanity imagines them to be."

"Damn!" Jean said incredulously, "Why haven't they been reported on the news?"

"Because only those with magic can see Heretic Gods. To ordinary humans, they appear to be regular natural disasters." Rebecca said seriously, "It is best that ordinary humans do not know such things happen on a frequent basis. What do you imagine that members of the military -of any country- would do if they discovered that incredibly powerful beings habitually descend to the land and there is very little we can do to stop it?"

"Use the most powerful weapons at their disposal to destroy them with extreme prejudice." Jean replied immediately, "Either that or try and get them on their side to use as weapons. I see your point."

"Excellent." Rebecca nodded her head, "Now, we have a…countermeasure…of sorts that can deal with Heretic Gods. They are very much volatile to use and impossible to direct, but they do suffice most of the time. However, it is possible for a Heretic God to be…fractured…and lose one or more aspects of themselves when they battle the countermeasures. These aspects, called Divine Authorities, are a part of the God, an aspect of his or her personality and being. Without them, they are weakened and often their personality changes drastically without them.

What is usually done is the Authorities are sealed into Grimoires, containing their power and preventing the God from reclaiming it. This is what Grimoires are."

"So…I have the shattered fragment of a god concealed in or about my house." Jean said after a moment, "Is that what you are saying?"

"Essentially, yes." the Hearth Witch replied.

"Right." Jean took in a deep breath, "Then you wish to acquire this Grimoire then?"

"Yes, in order to keep it safe." Rebecca said.

"Very well." Jean said with a sigh, "I'll help you look for it. You can stay here while you search for it."

"My thanks." Rebecca was surprised by the generosity of the offer. "In return, I'll use my magic to help you make this house as good as new."

"No, thank you." Jean shook her head, "Now, we should see about preparing the bedrooms for bed tonight, then a little shopping at the village shop for dinner."

"By 'we', I presume you mean me?" Rebecca asked archly.

"No. I'll do my…my parents old room while you tidy the spare room." Jean replied, her voice hitching slightly when she mentioned her parents.

"Very well." Rebecca stood up again and laid a hand on Jeans shoulder, "Lead the way."

Nodding, the Scottish girl led the Hearth Witch to the spare bedroom before heading for the room that used to belong to her parents.

Opening the door, she slowly walked in and took the room in. The bed was neatly made, the ornaments and other various knick-knacks packed neatly into boxes off to one side. The large wooden wardrobe that her father had bought her mother while on honeymoon stood just as tall and impressive as she remembered.

She softly placed her hand on it as she recalled that her mother had loved that wardrobe. Running her hand over its hand-carved surface, she marvelled at the sheer amount of fine detail that had been put into it. Horses galloped around the outside, with waves lapping at the bottom.

"Dear God!" a gasp came from the doorway. Jean swung around to see Rebecca staring at the wardrobe in shock.

"What?" she asked.

"I came when I felt a surge of magic…your magic." Rebecca replied, "What were you doing?"

"I don't have magic." Jean replied flatly.

"Yes you do. I can sense it." Rebecca replied patiently, "Are you sure that your parents weren't magic users of some sort? That sort of thing tends to run in bloodlines."

"As I said, to the best of my knowledge, they were ordinary people." Jean replied, slightly exasperated at this line of questioning, "They worked for some big pharmaceutical company as auditors, I think."

"Perhaps it skipped a generation or two with them." Rebecca mused aloud, "It isn't unheard of. What about your grandmothers or grandfathers?"

"Granny Macintosh died giving birth to my mother. Granny Campbell died from a stroke when I was one." Jean replied, "Granddad Macintosh died from a heart attack a year after my mother got married. Granddad Campbell died from tuberculosis before I was born."

"Your family sounds like it was cursed." Rebecca remarked, "I won't bother asking about great-grandparents. You wouldn't have known them."

"True." Jean nodded.

"What were you doing before I came in?" Rebecca asked curiously, "You were channelling a lot of magic, even unconsciously."

"I wasn't 'doing' anything." Jean replied, "I was just looking at the wardrobe with my hand on it like this."

She demonstrated. Rebecca gasped again.

"Jean, this is…a Guardian Spell." the Hearth Witch said in mild disbelief.

"A what now?" Jean asked as she removed her hand from the wardrobe again.

"A Guardian Spell." Rebecca repeated, "A spell that protects something. This-" she flapped her hand at the wardrobe, "-is a very high level Guardian spell. How I never detected it before is beyond me; it is practically shining like a beacon to my [Magic Investigation] ability. It seems to be attuned to your magic…or perhaps the magic of your family…"

"It can't be the last one." Jean objected, "My father bought it for my mother on their honeymoon."

"Oh? Then it must have used your parents as a vehicle to get away from wherever it was." Rebecca said absently as she examined the wardrobe with her [Magic Investigation] ability, "Some high-level Guardian spells have a limited sentience and the ability to influence ordinary people in order to fulfil their task. In this case, to find someone worthy of unsealing it."

"How can you tell?"

"Whoever made this Guardian Spell either wasn't very good at concealing the spells they cast or they simply didn't care." Rebecca replied, "The spell is lit up like a beacon as I mentioned, especially when you are nearby. Evidently, it has deemed you worthy of whatever it is that it is guarding. The Grimoire, most likely."

"But…I haven't even been trained in how to use magic." Jean said in puzzlement, "In what way am I worthy?"

"I cannot see the criteria." the Hearth Witch said with a frown, "Regardless; you must unseal the Guardian Spell for me to get the Grimoire."

"How? No experience with magic here."

"Place your hand back on the wardrobe." Rebecca instructed. After Jean complied, the Witch whistled. "My, my. That spell is sucking your magic like a man after a drought. Is your hand hot or cold? Any difference from normal?"

"Ummm…" Jean had to think for a moment, "Itchy."

"Itchy?" Rebecca repeated in bafflement, "What could that mean…Ah? Ah-ha! Now I get it. Put your other hand on the wardrobe, next to your other one."

Bemused, Jean complied, flinching when Rebecca let out a shout of triumph.

"I KNEW IT!" the brunette gloated loudly, "I just knew it!"

After that undecipherable outburst, she whipped out a pad and pen and began to jot down something. After a moment, she finished and gestured at Jean, who dropped her hands from the wardrobe and trotted over to the excited Hearth Witch.

"When you put both your hands on the wardrobe, the spell to unseal the Guardian appeared to me." Rebecca said triumphantly, "Here it is."

She passed the pad to Jean who examined it for a moment.

"So what do I need to do?" She asked.

"Simply recite the words on the pad while you have both hands on the wardrobe." Rebecca replied, "You'll be exhausted afterwards though, just to give you advanced warning."

"Thanks for the heads up." Jean said wryly, "Right, let's get this show on the road."

She walked back to the wardrobe and placed her hands on it.

"Wait, don't you need to memorise the spell?" Rebecca called worriedly.

"I have an eidetic memory, very close to a photographic memory." Jean replied, "I rarely have to see or hear anything more than once to recall it with nigh perfect clarity."

"So lucky!" Rebecca blurted out.

"You'd think so, but it was irritating to conceal it in High School. So troublesome." Jean said, "Anyway, I'm going to start."

Rebecca nodded and stepped back.

Taking a deep breath, Jean began to speak.

"Ye, who walks the righteous path, hearken unto me. I stand as both a blessing unto life and a curse upon the world. I stand betwixt sea and land with the vicious tumult of the storm about me. My children both fly in the heavens and charge across the battlefield. My rage both heals and harms, yet none can stop me. By this power, I stand as God supreme. Κουτί της γης δονητή!"

As Jean spoke, the wardrobe began to glow and then shrink. It condensed until, by the time Jean spoke the odd Greek phrase at the end, the wardrobe had shrunk to the size of an attaché case. With one final flash of turquoise light, the wooden case dropped into Jeans outstretched hands.

"Uhhhh…" Jean groaned as she staggered drunkenly. She felt like she had just run three miles non-stop, yet so full of energy she could still run another three miles.

"Easy there." Rebecca caught her and guided the Scottish girl to the bed, "That was actually very well done for your first conscious use of magic, especially unravelling such a powerful Guardian Spell."

Jean smiled tiredly and then looked at the box in surprise. Apparently, she had not realised that she was holding it.

"Damn. My wardrobe's had a makeover." she said, "And a diet."

The box was now lined with a precious stone that Rebecca identified as Schist, or greenstone. The centre of the box had a bronze emblem that looked like a chasm or rift in the ground. Other than that, there was only a Mother-of-Pearl strip around the edge of the wooden case. No signs of a latch or even a seam was even visible.

"How do you register this thing now?" Jean asked the English Witch.

"I don't." Rebecca admitted with a frown, "It's like it isn't even there."

"A second Guardian Spell?" Jean suggested, but Rebecca shook her head.

"You can only lay a single Guardian Spell on something and, even then, it doesn't block the [Magic Investigation] ability of a witch. That would take a powerful Concealment Spell."

"That's what's been done then." Jean concluded, "With the absence of magic as a key, that leaves either brute force or a concealed opening mechanism."

"It will not be brute force." Rebecca said firmly, "There would be too much chance of possibly damaging the Grimoire within the case."

"Concealed mechanism it is then." Jean said and began to examine the case with a practiced eye, "It's a good thing I have Aspergers Syndrome in this case…aha!"

She pressed the centre of the split ravine. The two separated halves came together and a thin seam appeared in the top of the box, which slid apart with a well-oiled click.

"Aspergers?" Rebecca asked.

"Minor form of Autism." Jean replied, "I'm no Autistic Savant, but I am very good at seeing the world from a different perspective. I see things that others overlook. Ordinarily I suck at problem solving, but puzzle boxes have set limits to what can be done with them, so I'm quite good at them."

"Fair enough." Rebecca said, "Now, let's see exactly what kind of Grimoire we are dealing with here…"

She took the box from Jean, set it down on the bed and peered into it alongside Jean. The interior of the case was lined with turquoise silk and there were four indentations in the very centre, arranged in a diamond, of which two were occupied by talismans of some sort.

The first was made of bronze and had the emblem of a rearing Horse etched into it. The second looked like it was carved out of red coral and had a Trident inlayed into it made out of pure gold.

"Oh, no…!" Rebecca breathed in horror, "Not one Grimoire, but three!"

"Wait, three? The two talismans and what else?" Jean asked in concern.

"The box!" Rebecca replied, "What is worse all three are from the same god! This is bad, very, very bad!"

Jean thought about the symbols on each item. The chasm on the box, the Trident and the Horse on the talismans…only one god fit the bill.

"Poseidon." she said softly, "One of the three sons of Kronos. Lord of the Oceans. Horselord. Earth-Shaker. Stormlord."

She turned to Rebecca, who was paralyzed in fear. "Why is this so troublesome? Just take the box and take it to your Headquarters or whatever you were planning to do…"

This seemed to shake Rebecca out of her frozen state. "R-right. Close the box, Jean. For whatever reason, it seems you are the only one who can operate it."

"Joy. A fractured part of an eons-old sea god likes me." Jean remarked dryly, which surprised a laugh from Rebecca. The redhead touched a small lever on the inside of the case and the two halves of the lid smoothly slid shut again, closing seamlessly.

"So, does this mean that Poseidon was a Heretic God at one point?" she asked as she ferreted out a briefcase that used to belong to her father and placed the wooden Grimoire inside it.

"He must have been." Rebecca said with a frown, "There are no record of him becoming one in the last hundred and fifty-odd years, so his advent as a Heretic God must predate the founding of the Witenagemot."

"Following on from that, he must have either fought another Heretic God or one of these mysterious 'countermeasures' that you seem reluctant to talk about and been badly wounded enough to fracture and lose three of his Authorities. What happened then do you think?"

"Ordinarily, I would say that he was defeated." Rebecca replied with a sigh, "But this is one of the three most powerful Greek Gods that we are talking about. He likely defeated whoever was fighting him and then, for some reason, instead of reclaiming his Authorities, he created these Grimoires and sealed the Authorities within them."

"Why would he do that? It makes no sense!" Jean said as she stood up and turned to face Rebecca.

"I have no idea." the brunette witch replied with a shake of her head, "The way gods think -especially Heretic Gods- is completely at odds with most kinds of logic or reason that we humans adhere to."

"Can you contact your organisation and arrange for guards or something?" Jean asked looking around uneasily, "I have a really bad feeling for some reason."

"I sense nothing." Rebecca frowned.

Abruptly, a sensation of utter wrongness hit the two women, making them stumble before the caught themselves. The loud sound of waves crashing increased in volume, and thunder roared as a bolt of lightning streaked across the sky, clearly visible in the bedroom's window.

Rebecca paled. "A Heretic God has descended." she whispered.

"Poseidon." Jean said flatly, "Three guesses what he's after."

"I was right; today really sucks!" Rebecca moaned as she turned around and stalked out of the room, Jean following her.


Next Chapter: Heretic God Poseidon