The original Temple of Lordly Penetration had been the grandest structure in the Home of the Gods, and therefore in all of existence. Cheg-Cheg had crushed it in an afternoon. The monster hadn’t left too many of the marble blocks still touching. In fact, he had eaten a surprising quantity of the marble and then deposited semi-digested marble all over the Gods’ Realm in piles that inspired both awe and horror.
The new Temple of Lordly Penetration was an opulent two-story villa just large enough to house six egotistical gods. Krak had included gold fixtures and floors inlaid with rich woods, which protected everyone within it from insanity. He had also deemed it wise to place an eighteen-foot-tall statue of himself in the foyer.
Fingit glanced at the marble effigy and then at his father. What a chunk of nose filth.
Just two things prevented Fingit from calling Krak a son of a bitch and walking out. First, Krak had fashioned the walls so that they would be invisible to three-hundred-foot-tall monsters. Just that morning, Cheg-Cheg had passed within spitting distance, which for him was about a mile, and never glanced at the temple. Second, before Krak did anything else with Fingit’s power, he had siphoned off enough to regain control of the impossibly searing light of the sun. He hadn’t yet mastered it the way he had in the old times, but he could certainly burn off an arm or leg when a god got too snotty.
Fingit took another drink. Despite his rage, he had yearned for ambrosia during the years of deprivation. Lutigan was still working to get those demigoddesses off into a discreet alcove. Harik was attempting to engage the God of War in an intellectual discourse on some pretentious crap or other, but Lutigan responded only one time in twelve. In the meantime, Harik sipped ambrosia and nibbled wedges of tin apple. Maybe golden apples would make a resurgence someday, or at least silver ones.
Sakaj sat on her marble throne as if it were a cocoon. Her black hair fell luscious around her shoulders, and she wore a simple red gown with no jewelry. She had pulled her knees up to her chest and folded her bare arms around them, and her eyes flicked from one fellow god to another.
The mighty Father of the Gods rose like a whale and placed his palms on the gleaming black table, which had been formed from a single piece of onyx. He looked virile and strong, but Fingit could see a little tremble in the hands and a bit of a gut on the old fellow. Krak cleared his throat. “Children, we stand on the first step of the stairway that will return us to glory. Man has suffered without our protection and guidance. We have now battered through the barriers so that we may return to mankind, and to our obligations. We have behaved as less than gods, and we have lagged in our duty. But now we will grasp once again the power to defend and nurture mankind as our destiny demands.” Krak lifted his diamond goblet. “To our destiny!”
The other gods jumped up and repeated the toast with their golden goblets upraised.
“And to mankind too, of course,” Krak added as he dried his lips with a napkin. “Sit, everyone! Now that that’s out of the way, what do we do about Cheg-Cheg? We must make plans.”
Don’t you mean it’s time for you to tell the serfs what you want them to do according to the plans you’ve already made? You clever old son of the Black Drifting Whores of the Universe.
Fingit looked down and wondered whether that was an insult or the literal truth. Then he banned even the tiniest sign of discontent from his expression.
Krak leaned forward. “It all comes down to power. Fingit has struck some respectable bargains with this Nub fellow, and well done, Fingit. Of course, since the Nub is new to all this, I was expecting a more favorable outcome, but it’s still nothing to be ashamed of.” Krak nodded at Fingit, while Harik sniffed and Lutigan sneered.
“Now, let’s sum up our progress!” Krak rubbed his hands together. A flicker of impossibly bright light showed through his fingers as he rubbed them. Every other god at the table froze into polite attention. “Gorlana has discovered a few opportunities. She’s found three minor healers—none worth naming—but they’ve all taken the standard ‘village healer deal.’ In case any of you have forgotten during your insanity, that’s a trickle of power as needed in exchange for a long life of personal suffering and misery, ending as a horrible crone who’s burned by the people she spent her life helping. Nothing fancy there, but I’m sure you’ll agree that it’s a nice start.”
The Goddess of Mercy waved a hand in acknowledgment.
Krak nodded toward the God of War. “Lutigan drew a little good luck. He found some awful thug of a bandit with a bit of an aptitude for sorcery. Oddly, the little toad didn’t want the standard deal. He wanted wishes!” All the gods laughed hard. “Where do people get these ideas? Wishes indeed! Anyway, he accepted an unknown number of opportunities to make himself unseen by his enemies, in exchange for an agonizing death when his power fails at the most inopportune moment imaginable. Nice work, Lutigan.”
Lutigan smiled and flexed his biceps again. Fingit suppressed some insults and indulged a brief fantasy that included a thousand bunnies hurling a net over the mighty Lutigan, dragging him down, and chewing out his heart. And his brain, if they could find the withered thing, banging around inside his skull.
Krak tapped the table with a sound like a lead pipe whacking granite. “Harik has stumbled onto an astounding bit of luck. One of his pre-Veil
