Chapter 39

Dionysos approached the bar, nodding to the bartender. "A black coffee, please," he ordered. As he waited, he felt a gaze settle on him. Turning slightly, he noticed a man sitting at a corner table, his eyes fixed on Dionysos with an unsettling intensity.

The man rose, a sly smile playing on his lips, and approached Dionysos. "Good evening," he said smoothly, his voice carrying a hint of amusement. Dionysos recognized him immediately – it was the man he had sensed watching Claudia and him through the door hole.

Dionysos's eyes narrowed. Instinctively, he activated his observational ability, a skill that had served him well in countless encounters. His vision sharpened, and information about the man flooded his mind. In bold letters, the words appeared:

Marquis de Sade
Immortal Pervert
Lvl 222

The Marquis extended a hand, his smile widening. "I must say, I was most entertained by your... performance," he said, his tone dripping with mockery. "Allow me to introduce myself. I am the Marquis de Sade."

Dionysos accepted the hand, his grip firm and unyielding. "Dionysos," he replied simply.

The Marquis leaned closer, his eyes gleaming with dark amusement. "I have watched you with great interest, Dionysos. You have a talent for... indulgence. Perhaps we could find mutual benefit in each other's company."

Dionysos snorted, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. He reached into his pocket, producing a small, intricately designed coin. With a casual flick of his wrist, he handed it to the Marquis, whose expression shifted from amusement to confusion.

Before the Marquis could voice his bewilderment, Dionysos leaned in and whispered, "Barbiegirl."

The moment the word left his lips, the coin began to glow. The Marquis's eyes widened in shock as the light enveloped him, and the portier activated. The air around them shimmered, and with a flash, the Marquis was gone, transported to Thyrsopolis.

Dionysos glanced out the window at the bustling platform and murmured to himself, "No time to deal with him, so let it be a problem for Prometheus."

The train conductor's voice crackled over the intercom, clear and authoritative. "Signore e signori, siamo lieti di annunciare il nostro arrivo a Roma. Grazie per aver viaggiato con noi."

Dionysos downed the last of his coffee, feeling the warmth spread through him. He stood up, smoothing out his clothes, and glanced around the bar. The other passengers were gathering their belongings, ready to step into the eternal city. Rome.

7th December
Japan

Sparks flew and metal clashed as Verkat Metalclaw, Skaven Clawlord of the Skryre Clan, faced off against the dungeons delvers. Yasutora Sado charged first. He swung at Verkat, who deftly dodged, his mechanical arm countering with a series of rapid, brutal slashes. Sado grunted in pain as one claw grazed his side, but he stood firm, using his strength to hold the line.

Orihime Inoue was positioned slightly behind, her hands glowing with healing energy. She chanted softly, sending waves of restorative power towards Sado, mending his wounds even as they were inflicted, while Kurosaki Ichigo aimed for Verkat's exposed side, forcing the Skaven to parry with his metallic claw. The force of the impact sent shockwaves through the corridor, rattling the walls and causing Verkat to momentarily falter.

Taking advantage of the opening, Sado unleashed a devastating blow to Verkat's midsection, sending the Clawlord staggering back. With a roar, Verkat retaliated, his mechanical claw whirling in a deadly dance. Ichigo intercepted, his bat clashing against the metal in a flurry of sparks. The two exchanged blows, neither gaining the upper hand, until Orihime cast a protective barrier around Ichigo, giving him the edge he needed.
Ichigo swung his bat with all his might, landing a critical hit on Verkat's mechanical arm, shattering it. Sparks and hydraulic fluid sprayed from the ruined limb as Verkat snarled in fury. Sado seized the moment, charging in and delivering a powerful uppercut that sent Verkat crashing to the ground.

Breathing heavily, the three friends stood over the defeated Clawlord. Orihime's healing light washed over them, soothing their injuries and replenishing their strength. The notification system chimed in their ears, signaling their victory.

[Yasutora Sado has leveled up to Lvl 24!]
[Orihime Inoue has leveled up to Lvl 21!]
[Kurosaki Ichigo has leveled up to Lvl 30!]

As they caught their breath, a new notification appeared before them, glowing brightly.

[Congratulations! You have completed the first phase of the game. Prepare to be transported to Thyrsopolis.]

Unbeknownst to them, Kisuke Urahara, who had been invisibly following their progress, was inadvertently caught in the spell's radius. The powerful magic latched onto him, and as the blinding light enveloped Yasutora Sado, Orihime Inoue, and Kurosaki Ichigo, it also pulled Kisuke into the vortex.

8th December
Italy

Dionysos sauntered through the streets of Rome, savoring the rich, velvety gelato that melted slowly on his tongue. His eyes flicked over the crowds, lingering on the lithe forms and confident strides of the Roman women. One caught his eye, her dark hair cascading in waves down her back, her sundress clinging to her curves. She laughed with a friend, the sound clear and melodic. Another passed by, tall and statuesque, her eyes a striking shade of green that seemed to pierce through the bustle around her. She wore a short, red skirt that highlighted her long legs, and as she walked, her hips swayed with an enticing rhythm.

He carefully avoided the Vatican, his path weaving through narrow alleys and bustling piazzas. Since his ritual, he existed outside the boundaries of magical detection, a shadow moving freely, no longer constrained by the rules, without fear of being sensed or captured. Still, he had no desire to tempt fate by drawing too close to the sacred heart of the angel faction seat of power.

He paused at the Forum Romanum, the ruins stretching out like the bones of a once-mighty beast. The weight of history pressed down on him, mingling with a deep, personal sorrow. Despite the grandeur surrounding him, there was no temple here to Bacchus, not even vestiges, no place of reverence for the god of wine and ecstasy. The wild Bacchanalia had been subdued and scattered into the annals of history. The laughter and vitality of the city's women momentarily lifted his spirits, but the absence of a dedicated sanctuary for him in this eternal city left a void.

Dionysos continued walking, passing by a trio of girls lounging on the steps. One of them, a striking blonde with a mischievous smile, caught his eye. She wore a flowing white dress that contrasted with her sun-kissed skin. She met his gaze boldly, her lips curling in a knowing smirk. Another, with short, fiery red hair and a cascade of freckles, leaned back on her elbows, her legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles. Yet, as he admired the beauty around him, a pang of melancholy gnawed at his heart.

Fuck. He felt emotional, being in Rome and all. He tossed his empty gelato cup into a trash bin with a flick of his wrist. He went past the grand temples of Ceres, Jupiter, and the emperors, feeling a pang of bitterness at the absence of any shrine dedicated to him. Finally, he stopped before the Pantheon, an architectural marvel of ancient Rome. The massive portico, supported by sixteen Corinthian columns, led to a vast, domed interior.

"Fuck discretion," he muttered, a rebellious spark igniting within him. The time for subtlety was over. He cast a spell, a wave of enchantment that swept over the mortals guarding the monument. Their eyes glazed over, and they stood motionless, entranced by his not-yet-perfectly-divine power.

Stripping off his clothes, Dionysos strode naked into the Pantheon. He moved to the center of the vast, domed room, beneath the oculus that bathed the interior in ethereal light.

With a guttural chant, he began the ritual to consecrate the building to himself.

His voice roared through the ancient chambers, chanting incantations that resonated with raw energy. His movements were wild and unrestrained, drawing on the chaotic forces of the place. A sacrificial knife appeared in his hand, and with a swift motion, he drew it across his palm, letting his blood drip onto the marble floor. The blood sizzled and spread, forming intricate patterns of power.

Golden vines erupted from the ground, twisting and writhing up the columns, their leaves shimmering with a life of their own. The walls of the Pantheon seemed to pulse, and jaguars began to appear, their forms shifting between stone and flesh as they prowled the space, their eyes glowing with feral intensity. Wine flowed from the oculus like a torrential downpour, filling the air with the heady scent of grapes and madness. Dionysos's chant grew louder, more frenetic, as he danced wildly, his body moving in time with the primal rhythm of his ritual. The statues and altars trembled, their stone surfaces cracking and reforming into images of Bacchic revelry. Scenes of wild orgies, ecstatic dances, and frenzied sacrifices came to life, their vivid imagery searing into the walls.

The entire building seemed to come alive, thrumming with chaotic energy. The statues of other deities twisted and bowed in his direction, acknowledging his supremacy. He was very weak - but the absence of any divine presence for more than a millenary in this temple made the takeover easy. The Pantheon was now a living, breathing temple of Bacchus. Hell yeah.

With a final, guttural cry, Dionysos completed the ritual. The Pantheon was his. He stood in the center, triumphant, feeling the surge of divine power as the ancient structure yielded to his will. Rome, with all its history and splendor, had finally given him the reverence he deserved.

Three things happened simultaneously.

First, he felt his dormant divine soul connecting with the temple, like ancient roots entwining with the very foundation of the building.

Then, not far away, he sensed a rumbling, a seismic disturbance that echoed through the city's bones. It was as if an ancient force was stirring, responding to the ripples of his ritual. The ground beneath his feet vibrated. Fuck.

A fucking giant.

What was next?

Gaïa?

But more than anything, he felt a surge of overwhelming power outside the temple. It was a presence that made his heart skip a beat and his mouth go dry. An archangel. He was cloaked from their sight, as his transformation made him a mortal. But the ritual had certainly attracted their attention.

Fuck.

He hoped it wouldn't be Uriel.