“I promise,” said Dionysus, his voice small and uncharacteristically steady. “But for now, we still have to face this battle. I am confident in my power, but these vines won’t stay erect forever.”
Somewhere in the dome of vines, Artemis snorted.
Dionysus chuckled, his cheeriness returned. “It is good to know that there are some who still appreciate my sense of humor. Now, I think we can all agree that it would be to our disadvantage to fight an enemy that is split into a million different bodies, yes?”
“So what do you propose?” Apollo snapped his fingers, a perfect little sphere of sunlight appearing in the palm of his hands. We stood in a ring, Dionysus positioned between his siblings in the pantheon. The wreath tattooed at his temples shuddered in an excitable breeze as he spoke hurriedly, almost breathless.
“That we force these demons out of their insect bodies. We give them a choice between those fly husks they wear and a more humanoid form, and we make that choice definite, and very painful.” He nodded at Florian. “My alraune friend. Have you heard of the Nepenthes? And the Dionaea muscipula?”
My head spun and my eyes goggled at the sound of what, to me, could have just been a series of ancient magic words.
Florian creased his forehead, thinking. “Actually, I have. Nepenthes. The pitcher plant, right? Very common in Borneo. It’s a plant, shaped like a jug, and it eats insects.”
“Indeed,” Raziel said, nodding slowly in understanding. “Or flies.”
Florian’s mouth fell open. “And the other thing – Venus flytraps. Oh. Oh! I see where this is going. But we’d need hundreds of the things. No, thousands. And they’d get shredded to bits by Beelzebub’s minions, anyway.”
Dionysus’s teeth flashed white as he grinned in triumph. “Not if we grow them large. As big as we can. Tall as trees, big as houses.”
Artemis chuckled, shook her head, and ruffled her hair. “This is honestly so crazy that it just might work.”
“Then it’s decided.” Dionysus raised his hand, wisps of pink light dancing across his fingertips. “I will drop the barrier. Florian, my good friend. Will you join me?”
“Gladly.” Florian rubbed his hands together gleefully, a kid about to play with a new toy.
Dionysus grinned, the inked leaves of his wreath fluttering. “Perhaps when this is all over, we can discuss brewing your special wines once more. We shall see. For now, we slaughter.”
The earth moved again as Dionysus’s vines receded, unfolding outwards like the strange leaves of a gigantic flower. And that was what he and Florian had planned anyway, right? To beat back the forces of Gluttony with giant plants. I shook my head in both awe and disbelief, then remembered that I still hadn’t settled on what to summon for the fight.
Droning filled the air again, Beelzebub’s millions buzzing and somehow screeching high up in the sky like some horrible, enflamed flock of birds. The shield of vines had only been down for seconds, and the flies had already noticed, en route, heading straight for us.
“It’s that damn thing on your head,” Artemis grumbled, eyeing my halo. “How convenient, glowing bright again all of a sudden to show the enemy exactly where they should attack.”
“I can’t help it,” I said, exasperated, finally settling on a sword and shield. Force them out of their insect bodies, Dionysus said. Maybe then I could contribute to the fight. I reached for the shaft of light and the sheet of shimmering gold that appeared before me, catching the blade and tower shield in my hands as they materialized into warm, solid steel.
“Now,” Dionysus roared.
The god raised his fist, and so did Florian. Twin spires of energy, one faint pink, the other emerald green, twined into a brilliant braid, then dived into the earth. As the ground heaved yet again, I tried to recall a time when I could focus on fighting instead of keeping my footing.
The first of the monstrosities pushed up through the soil, roaring its fury as it came. Holy crap. A proper Venus flytrap, exactly as Dionysus had suggested, its jaws as huge as a bulldozer’s. It snapped at the air, taking huge chunks of the flaming swarm out of commission.
“Very clever,” Raziel muttered in my ear, and I jumped, only just noticing that he was standing so close to me. “The insides of these plants are moist and slick. The fire means nothing to these gargantuan flora.”
I stumbled as the earth shook again. Several yards away, another fly trap emerged from the ground, and then another, and another. These things must have been marvelous to see working in the wild, as nature intended, but boosted by god and alraune magic, they’d also been granted the gift of sentience, actively working to eat anything that flew into range. And then came the first pitcher plant.
“What the fuck,” I said, goggling at the huge beast. It was just like it said on the label, a large, cylindrical plant shaped very much like a jug. It even had a huge leaf on top, growing over the opening like a lid.
“The Nepenthes,” Raziel said, my own personal nature documentary narrator. “The inside of the body is filled with digestive fluids, and the lid secretes a sweet nectar. Irresistible to flies, and to Beelzebub’s offspring, no doubt. I wonder if the Lord of the Flies regrets sticking so literally to his demoniac traditions now.”
I clanged my sword against my shield in annoyance, scowling at him. “How do you know so much about carnivorous plants and yet so little about human things like doctors and buttholes?”
He blinked at me, confused, and somewhat offended. “I thought you might like to know. Plants are easily classified. Humans, not so much. I am the angel of mysteries, granted, but let’s not forget that humanity might be the greatest mystery of all.” Then he added, under his breath: “And it comes with further mysteries – like the lacking
