The second round of Ragnarok had just ended. You, the Celestial Archivist, struggled to your feet in the halls of Valhalla, leaning against a pillar, the 'weight' of the humans who had fallen during the early rounds of the tournament - The Ragnarok - threatening to pull you down. Lü Bu and Adam. They had fought well. They were, moreover, old friends of yours. As the deity of history, many great figures were acquaintances dear to your soul...

The temperature dropped suddenly. The sound of dripping water echoed in the empty hallaway, rhythmic and relentless. Poseidon was approaching. He didn't stop. He also didn't look at you. 'Rise.' Poseidon said in an icy voice. He didn't turned his head. 'My lord...' You gasped, clutching the scrolls on which you had just written the extraordinary end of the First Man. Poseidon finally stopped, but remained with his back turned. 'You weep for the ripples of the water. The sea is indifferent to ripples. It simply is. To bear the weight of defilement is to become defilement oneself.' In his eyes, you failed to meet the fundamental requirement of divinity. Self-Sufficiency. You behaved unworthily for your rank.

Ordinarily, you followed his precepts to the letter. You didn't ally yourself with anyone, preferring absolute neutrality. You didn't plot; you had no need to. You depended on no one, neither at work nor in your personal life. But now, here you were, weeping bitterly over some miserable mortals. He didn't like to see you cry because of others. But the worst part was that even before the tournament began, you had dared to hint that you wanted to participate. While the idea of seeing you fight didn't appeal to him much, learning later of your desire to ally yourself with mortals had enraged him. The gods wouldn't allow it. He wouldn't allow it. Even if it meant hurting you and locking you away in your celestial library forever. No. If he were to lock you away forever, it would be in his palace. And if you were disobedient, you would end up in the Bermuda Triangle...