Looking past the dismembered limb, Fingit saw that he was in a familiar forest and twilight rested upon it. The forest looked healthier than the one in which Cheg-Cheg had masticated him to death. It felt peaceful and quite still. Fingit sensed no breeze, and he heard no noises at all. No swishing of tree limbs, no crying of birds—just silence.
Fingit tried to speak, but his crushed jaw was jammed into the grass and his mutilated body lacked the power to turn his head.
Crap! I have to waste a whole day in the Dim Lands.
Someone else spoke. “Stay out of my way next time, you bouncing shit-ball!” Lutigan slurred. It sounded like he was talking through a mouthful of shattered teeth. “But for you, I’d have vanquished the monster!”
“You couldn’t vanquish a thimble of beer,” a woman’s voice wheezed. “Nor a willing nymph, even if she were tied to a post and oiled like a squab.” It sounded like Effla, Goddess of Love, and her lungs must have been perforated by at least three ribs.
Lutigan mouthed a protest, and Effla huffed an insult. Several other gods hissed or moaned or gurgled their own opinions. Someone was even slapping a limb against the grass, trying to communicate some vital piece of inane, unhelpful information.
Fingit shut them out. They’re all as crazy as a crocodile humping a couch. If we don’t chase away Cheg-Cheg, then every day we’re going to get smashed into puddles of flesh and spend all day and night here. And when we’re reborn at dawn, Cheg-Cheg will smash us into puddles again. And why’s he back so soon, anyway?
It wasn’t as if the gods never received visitors. Beings other than themselves sometimes traveled close to the Gods’ Realm. The gods mostly ignored them, although they used a few for specific purposes. For example, Krak invited the Black Drifting Whores of the Universe to a festival every five hundred years to reconsecrate the walls defending the Home of the Gods. The Black Drifting Whores got to feel important, and they brought snacks. The Unnamed Mother of All Existence wandered by the Gods’ Realm every few hundred years to provide unwanted advice in exchange for a new wardrobe and some nice jewelry. She and Krak were rumored to enjoy a tryst when she visited, but no one knew for sure. He had been known to agonize over gifts for her, especially shoes.
But the least welcome of all these beings was Cheg-Cheg, Dark Annihilator of the Void and Vicinity. Every so often, Cheg-Cheg showed up like some dread pig charging the trough, instigating a war that could last for years. Demigods fell like snow, and the gods spent a lot of time in the Dim Lands. The gods referred to these as the Wars of Shattering Woe, but in an odd way, they relieved boredom, which was an immortal being’s greatest enemy. After Cheg-Cheg had pulverized or eaten each of the gods several dozen times, obliterated most of the holy buildings, and hauled himself to the peak of Mount Humility for a bit of triumphant roaring, the gods would mount some clever and devastating offensive. They had never killed the monster, but when they hurt it enough, it would flee into the Void. At least, that was how the monster’s retreat was described in the songs that gods wrote about their victories. It had always seemed to Fingit that Cheg-Cheg just got bored and wandered off.
But now, without the power they normally fleeced from mankind, the gods were incalculably diminished. Maybe Cheg-Cheg would terrorize them forever. Maybe he’d find that weak, confused gods can be killed for all time. Could they? Who knew?
“Everybody who doesn’t want to be tortured for all eternity had better shut up!” croaked the Father of the Gods. Even insane and bisected Krak could slap everyone into silence with his voice. “Did that bastard knock us all off? Sound off when I call you. Harik?”
“Here.”
“Fingit?”
Fingit managed to indicate his presence by flopping one foot against the god next to him. From the curses, it sounded like Weldt, the God of Commerce. Krak ran through the list until he reached Sakaj last of all. Sakaj always came last when Krak called his twelve children. She was last on every list. When she protested and asked why, Krak had just shrugged.
This time when Krak called, Sakaj didn’t respond.
Krak grunted, “Her vow of shutting the hell up can be annoying. Who’s near Sakaj? Slap her.”
No one answered.
“She’s not here? She wasn’t destroyed like the rest of us? Could she have been killed forever? Did anybody see?”
Some mumbles and whines indicated that no one had seen Sakaj.
“Oh, well,” Krak said. “Sakaj isn’t the most important thing right now.”
Everyone waited for Krak to speak. Many stopped breathing. Some were missing lungs or diaphragms, so they hadn’t been breathing to start with.
Krak said, “The important thing is that my ass is itching beyond belief. Is anyone close enough to scratch it for me?”
The gods who could speak then spoke all at once. Most of them expressed their ideas about defeating Cheg-Cheg, although Fressa hooted questions at Krak about where exactly his ass itched.
Fingit tried to ignore them all. Without nasty, ridiculous mankind to dupe out of power, this is what the divine rulers of all existence had degenerated into. Maybe we deserve to be exterminated, he thought.
When the veil between god and man had fallen eight years ago, it had ripped away contact with mankind like tearing off a scab. After the shock had dissipated, all the gods marched around shouting for the first month while waiting for things to go back to normal. When nothing improved, they sharpened their enchanted weapons,
