Finally, when I'd made my way through not only Slavic gods but also Scandinavian, I found it!

Macaria. The daughter of Hades and Persephone. The goddess of blissful death. In Greek mythology, hers was a bit part: apparently, she sacrificed herself at the altar in order to win victory in battle for her brothers. As a goddess she didn't account for much, her skills being mainly passive, but they all dealt with one thing only: an easy death, beneficial and even enjoyable.

Second Chance: a passive skill giving a 10% chance of immediately respawning on the spot in full armor without any XP losses.

Always At Hand: a passive skill giving a 25% chance of your grave teleporting with you to your bind point.

Smile of a Goddess: a passive skill giving 1% chance of receiving extra XP in case of death, equaling five times the XP penalty in case of death at the hands of a mob.

Grace of God: a passive skill giving 10% of not losing experience in case of death.

And, finally, that was it:

Blissful Death for Another. The skill grants and easy and painless death while sharing the experience lost equally between the Goddess, the Fallen One and the player of your choice. Cooldown: 1 hr.

Bingo. I sent another Internet request for more information. The answer was quite reassuring: the girl had no backstory of any scary or questionable actions, a perfect faceless prospect, virtually a new skill tree with no Hades, Morana or Koschei lurking behind it to pull any strings. Or so I hoped. True, it was unlikely the girl would strengthen the Fallen One, but that wasn't the idea. The sheer voluntary death option would preclude any kidnappings or forceful imprisonment, bringing all perma players—at least a hundred thousand people—under the Fallen One's banners. That was even if you didn't count some totally cool passive skills that could cut your experience losses a good 25%.

I stole a look around, making sure the Fallen One wasn't listening in. He could well have his own ideas about his Pantheon, and there I was, suggesting Macaria the Blessed as his sidekick. I highlighted the line I needed and pressed Yes, whispering,

"This is none of my fault. You should have let me in on your plans."

Bang! Once again, the floor shuddered. The shield I'd so comfortably been sitting on slid from under my backside like a dog on ice. I dropped onto my back, noticing a cloud of a thousand lights appear under the dome and thicken into a luminescent figure.

Pantheon alert! A new force has entered the world! Macaria, the goddess of easy death, has joined the Pantheon of the Fallen One.

Dark worshippers! Now you can choose your patron god. In order to do that, visit the temple of your chosen deity or address yourself to one of the Fallen One's priests.

Too bad. I would have thought that clicking a god's name on the menu would be enough. But apparently, religion was sold piecemeal. What now, then? Was I supposed to set up a portal right in the Temple or bless every worshipper personally? Wonder how much the Olders would fork out for private protection against kidnapping? And did I really want to offer them that option? That's where my interests could potentially clash with those of the Fallen One. He needed worshippers while I didn't want the skills to disperse around the world. Having said that, I was his First Priest, so any growth of the Temple was also my personal growth. A mind-boggling prospect.

I waved the message windows away and froze. A pretty girl's figure hovered in the air halfway from the ceiling to the basalt floor.

I jumped up, brushed my clothes and lowered my head. "Goddess..."

Macaria turned her face to me, her eyes curious but still trance-like. "Priest. How long did I sleep?"

Oh. Suppressing the desire to scratch my head, I flexed my math muscles. "Over two thousand years."

"That's a lot. Where are the Heraclidae, my brothers?"

How was I supposed to know? She liked asking uncomfortable questions, didn't she? "In the legends," I managed.

"And this," the girl poked the molten stone with a squeamish finger, "is this my Temple?"

"Actually, this is the Temple of the Fallen One. He's the highest god here. But it's yours as well, my lady," I tried to sugar-coat the news that she'd have to share.

She frowned, shaking her head. "Never heard of him. This awful place just can't be my Temple. Everything has to be white!"

Following a wave of her hand, the streaks of molten stone shifted on the walls, acquiring the whiteness of the finest marble and the sheen of mountain snow caps. In a flash, gone was the dirt; gold mosaic patterns ran across the gleaming white. Slender stucco columns reached for the ceiling sparkling with the finest frescoes.

I stood open-mouthed, watching the Temple's miraculous resurrection. Had anyone ever witnessed something like this in real life, they'd have stopped wreaking havoc on earth and sought redemption under the banners of faith.

"It's just like back home," the goddess whispered. She clutched at her chest and burst out coughing, blood fountaining from her mouth. The girl sank to her knees, croaking, then collapsed to one side.

I darted toward her and scooped her up in my arms, swinging my head every which way. What was I supposed to do? She kept coughing, spitting red everywhere, dark streaks running from her ears and nose.

I concentrated on my internal interface and slammed the new Appeal to Gods button. Tasting the girl's blood in my mouth, I yelled,

"Help me, O Fallen One, quick!"

You have tasted divine blood! Now you will always retain a divine particle within you. Your skills and abilities will be a cut above the rest of the mortal world. But beware of false pride! Do not consider yourself equal to Gods! The stairway to heaven is long and fragile; according to some, it has no end at all.

Jesus. For a brief moment, I even forgot about the girl who was hosing everything down with her blood. A hoarse croak brought me back to my senses. I swept the message into Junk and yelled again,

"Fallen One, you son of a-"

"Keep your voice down," a calm voice said next to me. "So you're a vampire now, eh? Who is it you're sucking dry?"

He looked pleased with himself like a cat who'd stolen a pot of cream and chased it down with a double serving of valerian. He looked into the girl's face and gasped, his voice sobering.

"A goddess?"

He rushed towards her and ripped her collar open, exposing a voluptuous blood-soaked chest. He lay his hand on it. Groaning threads of energy stretched from the altar toward him, pumping enormous amounts of mana in double record time. The veins bulged on his glowing arm. Shaking all over, he stood there unmoving, scowling, siphoning kilotons of mana into the wasted goddess. As I watched the altar's glow fade, I grew restless. What if AI 311 had botched up the system it had taken me so much to restore?

The old 311 hadn't let me down, though. Soon the umbilical cord connecting him to the altar started to wither. Heaving a sigh, the Fallen One breathed in the last drops of energy and waved his hand, severing his connection with the altar. His legs gave way; he lowered himself onto the blood-soaked floor next to me.

"Stupid girl..." he whispered looking at her, his voice strangely gentle. The girl's face was clear now, her breathing level. You'd think she was asleep.

He turned to me, raising his hand for a high-five. Mechanically I slapped his palm, celebrating our victory. The familiar gesture symbolized the finding of the Temple, the double resurrection of the goddess and our shared closeness on the bloodied floor. But once I slapped it, I quickly retracted mine. Wasn't I a bit too fraternal with a god? We weren't basketball buddies, after all.