## Chapter 1: Whims of a Lesser God

Sly lounged on his moldy throne, swirling the cheap wine in his cup. The seat wasn't actually a throne, of course. It was an old armchair he'd stolen from some mortal king's palace a few centuries ago. The fabric had once been crimson and gold, but now faded into an unimpressive brownish-red. He didn't really care. Why bother with appearances when no one ever visited?

He took another sip of wine. It wasn't the good stuff that Bacchus, the god of wine, kept in his cellars. Sly had stolen a bottle of that once, and Bacchus had thrown such a fit that it simply wasn't worth the trouble. So now he drank this mortal-made garbage. It did the job well enough.

His domain stretched around him, a jumbled collection of treasures that meant absolutely nothing to him. Golden statues leaned against piles of jeweled swords. Ancient scrolls were stacked haphazardly next to enchanted mirrors. Everything existed in a state of organized chaos that only made sense to him. Some gods built grand palaces or lush gardens for their domains. Sly preferred this warehouse of forgotten treasures. He had no use for most of it – the thrill was in the taking, not the having.

The astral light filtering through the high windows (stolen from a cathedral in the mortal realm) cast long shadows across his collection. Outside his domain, the ever-shifting landscapes of the divine realms swirled and changed. From his grimy window, he could see the edge of Poseidon's ocean territory, always churning with impossible waves. Beyond that, the golden spires of Apollo's solar palace glinted even from this distance.

"Pretentious pricks," he muttered, finishing his wine.

Sly scratched his stubbly chin and considered taking a nap. There wasn't much else to do today. He didn't have worshippers throwing festivals in his name or making grand sacrifices like the other gods. Most of his "followers" were petty criminals and desperate people. Their prayers came in whispers from dark alleys or prison cells – not exactly the stuff of legend.

That's when he felt it – a gentle tug at the back of his mind. Someone was praying to him.

This didn't happen often. Maybe once or twice a month if he was lucky. The sensation was like an itch he couldn't quite reach, somewhere deep inside his skull. He sat up straighter, setting aside his empty cup.

"Well, well, well," he said to the empty room. "Let's see what we have here."

He closed his eyes and focused on the prayer, letting it fill his consciousness. The voice was male, young, nervous. The words weren't spoken aloud but thought with such intensity that they reached across the divine barrier.

*Great God of Thieves, guide my hands tonight. Help me take what isn't mine without being seen. I need this score more than anything. Please, if you're listening...*

Sly opened his eyes and snorted. "Original. Very original, kid."

It was always the same. Some desperate thief about to attempt something risky, looking for divine assistance. He rarely bothered answering these prayers. What was the point? The mortals would either succeed or fail on their own merits. His intervention wouldn't change much.

But today was different. Today he was bored.

He stood up, stretching his arms above his head until his spine popped satisfyingly. His physical form wasn't particularly impressive – average height, wiry build, unremarkable face. The only distinctive features were his eyes, which shifted color depending on what light hit them, and his hands, which were long-fingered and nimble. Not that it mattered what he looked like up here. Gods could take any form they wished.

"Maybe I should pay our friend a visit," he mused aloud, walking through his collection. "Been a while since I've had some fun in the mortal realm."

The last time he'd gone down had been... when? Three decades ago? Maybe four? He'd inhabited the body of a pickpocket in some big city and spent a few enjoyable weeks relieving nobles of their valuables. Good times.

Of course, descending to the mortal world wasn't simple, even for a god. The higher gods like Zeus or Odin could manifest physical forms at will, but lesser deities like himself needed to work within certain limitations. The easiest method was to temporarily inhabit a mortal follower – someone who had invited him in through prayer.

But even that required power. He'd need to bring something with him, something to ease the transition and help him take control of the mortal vessel. Something like...

"Need to steal something," he said, scratching his head and looking around his messy domain. His eyes landed on a shiny object in his mind. "Maybe something from Hoard-and-More."

The God of Collections had a fancy name, but Sly just called him "the God of Hamsters" because he spent all his time gathering things he never used. Like a hamster filling its cheeks with seeds that would probably never get eaten.

Sly chuckled at the thought of his fellow god's face if he heard the nickname. The God of Collections was one of Sly's favorite targets, partly because he had so many interesting items, but mostly because his reactions were so entertaining. The god would turn purple with rage, stomping around his perfectly organized vaults, screaming about retribution.

But he never did anything about it. None of them did. Sly was too insignificant to bother with, and besides, he always returned what he took... eventually. It was just borrowing with an indefinite timeline, really.

He walked toward the far corner of his domain and flopped back in his chair. Looking through the transparent wall that separated his space from everything else, he saw Hoard-and-More's domain glowing in the distance. It looked like a museum mixed with a bank - so boring and organized.

Sly closed his eyes. Stealing was easy for him. No need for lock picks or sneaking around. He just had to want something and concentrate.

He let his mind wander through Hoard-and-More's collection, not searching for anything specific. And then he saw it - some kind of glove that looked cool. It was made of weird, shifty material that seemed to eat light instead of bouncing it back. The Soul Glove, he remembered it was called. Something about souls and mortals.

"That looks neat," he thought. Good enough. He didn't really care what it did - gods had tons of random trinkets. This one just happened to catch his eye today.

Sly concentrated harder, picturing the glove in his mind, feeling its texture, imagining its weight. Then he extended his will outward, a thin strand of divine intent stretching from his domain toward Hoard-and-More's collection.

"Come to me," he whispered.

For a moment, nothing happened. Then he felt resistance – the protective wards around the other god's domain recognizing the intrusion. But Sly was the God of Thieves for a reason. His will slipped through the defenses like water through cupped fingers, finding the tiny imperfections in the magical barriers that even a god of Hoard-and-More's stature couldn't eliminate.

The connection strengthened. Sly could almost see the glove now, sitting on a velvet cushion inside a glass case, labeled and cataloged with meticulous precision. He reached further with his mind, touching it, wrapping his will around it.

"Mine," he said.

There was a soft *pop* of displaced air, and suddenly the Soul Glove was in his hand. Just like that. No alarms, no dramatic chase, no confrontation. That was divine theft for you – disappointingly anticlimactic most of the time.

Sly examined his prize with satisfaction. The glove looked even stranger than he remembered. Its surface seemed to ripple slightly, like the skin of a creature underwater. When he turned it over, he could see intricate runes etched into the palm that moved and rearranged themselves while he watched.

"Looks cool," he said with a shrug.

He figured Hoard-and-More might not even notice it was gone for a while. The guy had so much junk piled up that Sly had stolen things before that weren't missed for centuries.

Whatever. If the God of Hamsters threw a tantrum, it wasn't a big deal.

Sly held the glove up toward his dirty window. Since he was bored anyway, maybe he could use this thing to have some fun with that mortal who prayed to him. He'd need to put a little bit of his godly self into the glove so he could connect to the human later.

He closed his eyes again, concentrating. Gods didn't have physical souls in the same way mortals did. They were more like... concepts given consciousness. Embodiments of ideas. Sly's essence was theft, cunning, stealth, opportunism – all the qualities associated with his domain.

Carefully, he separated a thin strand of this essence and directed it into the Soul Glove. The artifact absorbed it eagerly, the runes on its palm glowing briefly with a dull greenish light before settling back to normal.

"Perfect," he murmured, turning the glove over in his hands.

Now when the mortal thief wore it, Sly's essence would gradually blend with the mortal's soul. In a few days, the divine influence would be strong enough for Sly to take control of the body completely – at least temporarily. It wasn't possession exactly, more like... borrowing with permission. After all, the thief had prayed for his help, hadn't he?

Sly grinned. This was going to be interesting.

But now he needed to deliver the glove to his unwitting host. He focused once more on the prayer, which still lingered at the edges of his awareness. The connection was strongest when the mortal was actively thinking about him, but even now, hours later, a thin thread remained.

Sly gathered his will again, this time wrapping it around both the Soul Glove and that fragile connection to the mortal thief. With a flick of his divine intent, he sent the artifact hurtling across the barrier between worlds, aimed precisely at the source of the prayer.

The glove vanished from his hand with another soft *pop*.

"Delivery complete," he said, stretching contentedly. "Now we wait."

He poured himself another cup of wine and settled back in his chair, already imagining the adventures he might have in the mortal realm. It had been too long since he'd walked among humans, feeling their simple emotions, experiencing their brief but intense lives.

Gods tended to get stagnant after a few millennia. The same divine politics, the same feuds, the same tedious gatherings where everyone showed off their power and pretended to like each other. Mortals, for all their fragility and short lifespans, knew how to live in the moment. Their world changed constantly, unlike the relatively static divine realms.

Sly was looking forward to feeling the sun on his (borrowed) face again. Tasting real food instead of the bland approximations that manifested in his domain. Maybe he'd even find a nice mortal to spend some quality time with. His last trip downstairs had included a very enjoyable week with a clever barmaid who had a talent for counting cards.

His pleasant reminiscing was interrupted by an outraged bellow that seemed to shake the very foundation of his domain.

"SLYYYYYYY!"

Well, that was quick. Hoard-and-More had noticed the missing glove already.

Sly grinned and took a big gulp of his wine. For someone who did nothing but count his collection all day, the God of Hamsters sure could yell.

"THREE MINUTES," he said, pretending to check a watch on his wrist. "Must not have much else to do today."

Another roar echoed across the astral space between their domains. Sly could almost picture Hoard-and-More's face turning that particular shade of purple-red that clashed horribly with his golden robes. The mental image made him chuckle.

He decided to wait right where he was. No point hiding – Hoard-and-More always found him eventually. The confrontation was half the fun, anyway.

Sure enough, barely ten minutes later, there was a thunderous pounding at the boundary of his domain. The translucent wall separating his space from the astral void rippled with each impact, like someone was hammering on an invisible door.

"Enter!" Sly called, affecting a bored tone. "It's open."

The boundary parted, and Hoard-and-More stormed in, his substantial form barely fitting through the opening. Unlike Sly, who preferred a nondescript appearance, the God of Collections manifested as a massive, broad-shouldered figure draped in elaborate golden robes embroidered with symbols of wealth from a dozen different mortal cultures. His beard was perfectly groomed, each hair seemingly polished to a shine, and atop his head sat a crown studded with gems the size of pigeon eggs.

"You miserable little pest!" Hoard-and-More bellowed, his voice making the nearest pile of stolen goods tremble. "Where is it?"

Sly adopted an expression of innocent confusion. "Where is what, my esteemed colleague? You'll have to be more specific. I collect so many things, you see." He gestured vaguely at the chaotic mess surrounding them.

"The Soul Glove! Don't play games with me, you insignificant pickpocket! I know you took it!"

"Soul Glove?" Sly tapped his chin thoughtfully. "Soul Glove... doesn't ring a bell. Is it shiny? I like shiny things."

Hoard-and-More's face turned that funny purple-red color Sly enjoyed so much. "It's one of my gloves! It's in my collection! And YOU TOOK IT!"

"Oh, that thing!" Sly snapped his fingers like he just remembered. "Yeah, I took that. I was bored. It looked cool."

"Took it?! You mean stole it!" Hoard-and-More sputtered. "I want it back! Now!"

Sly stretched lazily. "Can't right now. I sent it down to some human who prayed to me. I'll probably grab it back later when I'm done playing around."

The larger god frowned. "The mortal realm? Whatever. Just don't lose it."

"It's fine," Sly said with a lazy wave. "Some human has it. They won't figure out what it does anyway. Isn't it just some old glove that does soul stuff? Don't you have others like it?"

"Two others," Hoard-and-More corrected automatically. "But that's not the point! It's mine and it belongs in my collection!"

Sly yawned. "So it's not special then?"

"It's part of my complete set," Hoard-and-More said with a huff. "Just bring it back when you're done."

"As I said, not possible right now. But I promise to bring it back when I'm done playing with it." Sly took another sip of wine. "Would you like some? It's terrible."

The God of Collections glared at him with such intensity that Sly wondered if his chair might spontaneously combust.

"Just don't break it," Hoard-and-More grumbled. "I like my things in perfect condition."

Sly couldn't care less about the High Council or any other gods. None of them paid attention to minor deities like him anyway. They were all too busy with their own stuff to care what happened in the mortal world.

Not that it really mattered. Even though gods didn't care much about their legendary artifacts, it didn't mean the items were weak or harmless. The gods were just very careless and would only notice when a disaster got big enough. Like that time some god gave away a necromantic scepter as a joke, and only a few decades later, when the mortal had raised an army of millions of zombies and was destroying kingdom after kingdom, did the gods finally pay attention. They eliminated the problem then, of course, but the damage was already done. What gods saw as toys were actually godlike artifacts to humans. But Sly didn't care about that, and honestly, other gods didn't either. They only stepped in when things got too messy.

He grinned at Hoard-and-More. "Sounds like someone's just upset about losing a toy. When I bring it back, you can tell me all about where you got it and how special it is to your collection. Deal?"

Hoard-and-More made a face like he'd bitten into something sour. Gods hardly ever got into actual fights - too much effort. They usually just complained a lot.

He just shook his head, clearly annoyed but not really caring enough to make a big deal about it.

"Whatever. Just try not to lose it," he grumbled. Then he turned and stomped back toward the boundary of Sly's domain, the transparent wall rippling as he passed through.

Sly raised his wine cup in a mock toast. "Always a pleasure, Hamster God!"

He heard a distant roar of frustration and grinned. These little exchanges were one of the few entertainments available in the monotony of divine existence.

Sly didn't think twice about what Hoard-and-More said. Gods always exaggerated about their possessions. This glove probably wasn't any more special than the thousands of other trinkets in the God of Hamsters' collection.

Once he took over that human thief's body, he'd have some fun in the mortal world. The glove might do something interesting, or it might not. He didn't really care either way.

He closed his eyes and extended his awareness, following the thin connection created by his essence in the glove. The artifact had successfully traversed the barrier between worlds and found its target – the mortal thief who had prayed to him.

Through this tenuous link, Sly could sense confusion, shock, and a touch of fear. The mortal was examining the glove that had appeared seemingly from nowhere.

Sly smiled. Soon enough, that mortal body would be his temporary vessel, and he'd have a proper vacation in the world of humans. A few weeks of fun and mischief, then he'd return the Soul Glove to its overly protective owner and everything would go back to normal.

What could possibly go wrong?

----

In a dimly lit room in the mortal world, a young man named Ren stared in disbelief at the strange glove that had materialized on his bed. One moment he had been kneeling, desperately praying to the God of Thieves for luck in tonight's heist, and the next there was a soft *pop* and... this.

The glove seemed to shift and change as he looked at it, the material unlike anything he'd ever seen. When he cautiously reached out to touch it, he could have sworn the strange symbols on the palm moved.

"What in the world?" he whispered, eyes wide with shock.

He had prayed for help, yes, but he hadn't actually expected an answer. Gods didn't just send gifts to nobody thieves like him.

Unless... unless they did?

With trembling fingers, he picked up the glove.