The City of the Dead Gods boasted that it had fifty thousand craftsmen and tonight, the flames of their forges sent ashes trailing into the sky on dozens of black columns of smoke. The clangor of hammers on anvils rang through the streets, almost as loud as the cries of misery from the forest of woe that had sprouted along the road leading to the front gate.
The City of the Dead Gods had built bronze tools and charming clockwork machines that had aped the life of wild creatures. Birds that could flap their wings, turn their heads, stand. They had blown glass in many colors, using the exotic sands dredged from the vast Basilisk Desert that spread between the Barrier Mountains in this part of Purgatory.
The City of God – the city that had come into being with the arrival of Brax and his army – built nothing but weapons and death.
Brax felt his heart breaking as he looked at those forge-fires. He clenched his clawed fingers on the railing of the balcony that sat at the southern edge of the palatial estate that the Free Lord of the City had inhabited before Brax's men had dragged him and his family to the forest. There, Brax had quietly ordered his scaleguard – his most trusted soldiers – to slit their throats after planting their crucifixes. The Free Lord hadn't deserved the slow death, and his family were even more innocent than he.
“Brax,” a scratchy, echoing voice came from the manor behind him. Brax, if he had a thousand years, could not have described the sound of God. The only being on Purgatory who could have put a name to the warbling, repeating, jumping voice that God spoke with was thousand of miles away and Brax had already tried to have him killed three times. Liam Vanderbilt of Earth would have immediately known what God sounded like.
“Brax – Brax - Br-aaaaa-x -ax -ax,” the voice sang out. “Come to – me. Me!”
Brax had long since learned to translate the twisting words of God into something more straightforward. He got ready to do that again as he turned from the view and strode in through the small office that the Free Lord had once used to administrate his city. The lobby beyond the office had been turned into the resting place of God: cushions and pillows and mattresses and heaped blankets had been piled around God's crackling body, while dozens of nude slave girls tottered around him nervously – laying down the strange sustenance that God consumed. He eschewed fine wine and fine meat in favor of refined copper, sand that had been melted down and ground into powder, and lumps of crystal carved from the rhino-like crystalbacks that made the deep jungles so dangerous.
Several of those crystals vanished down God's throat as he chewed.
“Brax,” he said – Brax mentally abridging his actual rambling, repeating sentence. “The weapon production. How goes it?”
Brax shrugged his golden shoulders, his tail lashing from side to side. “My Lord, there are fifteen thousand swords, thirty thousand spears, shields enough for each man.”
“You had them counted properly?” God asked.
“Yes,” Brax said. “Under pain of death, as you ordered.”
God picked up a crystal and worried it between a finger, as a man might fiddle with a grape. “Hurm.” He popped it into his mouth and chewed. A slave stepped forward and grabbed the empty bowl, practically sprinting from the room in her haste to get away from the monster that had come to her city. Brax wondered what her position had been before the army had clapped a slave collar around her throat. The City of the Dead Gods hadn't been immune to the cancerous touch of slavery, but it had mainly weighted that burden onto criminals.
But God had made his most lenient punishment enslavement. And while the city had worshiped no god above others, that hadn't created a town of atheists. Quite the opposite. Before God and Brax, the primary cause of civil violence and riot in the city had been religious violence.
Now?
“That's slow,” God said. “We should have easily half again as many weapons. What is going on?” His crackling, buzzing eyes turned to affix Brax. There had been a time where looking into those whirlpools of power had frozen Brax with fright. Those days had long since passed. Brax looked back with the normal bland expression he kept around his God. “Sabotage?”
Yes, of course it is sabotage, you great village idiot, you walked into this town and have been killing people and forcing them to worship you instead of their actual gods, Brax thought in a deep, carefully locked part of his mind. It was the same part of his mind that dwelled with the Princess Asurya. A part of his mind that had room for laying in the palace gardens while she laid beside him and asked him of the deep jungles and the tribes that dwelled within.
Tell me the stories of your people, Braxy, she had panted as she splayed naked across his chest, her hair fanning across his shoulders. He had been able to feel the hardness of her nipples through his condition – that memory filled him for a moment. He felt his member start to rise, despite the situation.
That was the hold Asurya had on him. Even here.
Brax forced his mouth to move: “Yes, my lord.”
God stood from his cushions. He did not stand as a man – instead, he simply was standing, as if the movement from reclining to standing simply did not exist. He shook his head, then slammed a fist into the wall. Cracks surrounded the impact site as lightning crackled along the monster's shoulders and forearm. He clenched his jaws and howled – a hideous screeching sound that made Brax's feathered ruff stand on edge and his tail straighten out to a point.
Then the howl stopped. God was looking pleased.
Brax hated that look.
“I see a way to kill two birds with one stone, to fix a bug without a new build,” God said. At least, that was what Brax thought he said. “We have an enemy, Brax. An enemy that we need slain. Slain. Liam Vanderbilt, born 1997 Common Era, on Earth, North America, United States of America, Republic of California, San Francisco.” God jerked his head to the side, whirred, then continued speaking as if the stream of unfamiliar names and dates hadn't been spewing from his mouth moments before. “He must die. Die!”
“He's killed five of our men personally, and his allies have killed a dozen others,” Brax said. “And he slew a basilisk. And the minotaur-”
“The minotaur had a heart attack!” God snarled. “But no. We shall bring him here. Here!” He twitched, then held still.
Brax clenched his jaw, waiting for the sentence to continue.
God nodded. “Find the families of the saboteurs. Crucify them. But let at least one escape. A valkyrie. Yes. Let them fly and bring Liam Vanderbilt of Earth to us.”
Brax bowed his head.
In so far as plans went, it was not horribly-
“And then once you have begun the orders, pick two or three of your best men,” God continued, “And set out for the barrier mountains.”
Brax snapped his head up. He barely managed to keep the sound of incredulity from his voice. “Sir, but you want me here. I-”
“In this city, alone, friendless, surrounded by your troops, this one man will be easily taken. Taken!” God laughed. “You, Brax, my finest general.” God reached down and placed a large, rocky hand on Brax's shoulder, squeezing. “I need you to retrieve something for me from the mountains. Something guarded. Something only you can bring back.”
“What is it?” Brax asked.
“It is the Codec,” God said. “With it and Liam's head – head – on a platter, Purgatory will be ours.”
Brax grunted. Then, turning on his heel, he stalked away from his god, his hands firmly planted on the sword belt that hung around his hips and his tail lashing all the way.
* * *
Two of Brax's best men were currently balls deep in the mouth and pussy of a rather happy looking elf – while the third was leaning back in the corner, drinking heavily and watching. Brax tried to not look irritated as he leaned on the doorframe of the small house that he had finally found Vazt, Anix and Raotsh in. Vazt was a scrawny lizardman, with a belly hammered flat by a lifetime of deprivation and hard work. His arms were corded with muscle that smoothly rippled underneath his pale, sky blue scales, while his belly was the most bright golden hue that Brax had ever seen. His cock, emerging from a slit between his narrow thighs, was the same dark black as the elf's skin, emerging from a slit between his narrow thighs, while his balls – swinging free in the excitement of sex – were the same hue as his belly, glinting as they slapped against the elf's chin.
Meanwhile, Anix was a polar opposite of his brother in arms. He was the tallest lizardman that Brax had ever met and wide enough to make two of Vazt, with muscles like boulders beneath forest green and black scales. His nipples were pierced with silver bars, and his cock was an intense red – highlighted all the more every time inches of it emerged from the elf's hairless pussy, glistening with her moisture. His ridges brought quiet, muffled moans from her mouth as her eyes rolled back into her head, her bedraggled white hair dangling almost to the ground as she writhed between the two lizardmen.
Raotsh was unique in the group for three reasons. The first was that she wasn't a man at all. The second was that she wasn't of the scaled folk – her body was the brilliant reddish hue of the Liliun. The third, though, was a bit more subtle. Unlike the muscular swordsmen, Raotsh - or Rao, as she normally went by - did not have sleek or bulky muscles. She wasn't flabby, by any stretch of the imagination, but she did not seethe with the raw physicality of the other two.
Instead, she simply looked like a girl. Carefree. Happy. Innocent, even, despite wearing what amounted to a leather strap across her breasts and a thong, with two slender crystal stilettos sheathed on both of her hips. She laughed around the beer she was sipping, blowing some of it out of her nose. Coughing and wiping at her face, she set the wooden mug on the ground.
“Holy fucking shit, General, you should see your fucking face.”
The two lizardmen looked at their general and paused, mid thrust. Anix managed, at least, to look abashed.
Brax thought he would never in his life see Vazt look ashamed for anything. Ever.
Instead, Vazt simply slid his black cock out of the elf's mouth – leaving a thick string of her spittle and his pre-come connecting her desperate tongue as it lolled out, trying to lap at his cockhead.
“Want a go, General?”
Brax snorted.
“Come on!” Vazt said. “She came eager-like. Didn't even pay her.”
“Ah!” The woman cried out, her voice thick with pleasure as Anix buried himself deep inside of her again. His balls slapped her belly and she cooed happily, her eyes closing as she reveled in the feeling of his cock filling her. Brax forced his own member to stay within his body, though his balls ached to swing free and spend themselves. He had been without for... it hurt to think of how long he had gone without the touch of his Asurya.
It will be forever, she whispered in the back of his mind.
He shied from that thought. Instead, he shook his head and crossed his arms over his chest.
“I don't mean to interrupt my best troops' fun,” he said, “But we've been assigned a mission from God. We are to go, incognito, to the Barrier Mountains. There, we shall find the highest peak and seek out the Codex of the Ancients. God believes that we can awaken a great power with it.”
“What!?” Vazt spluttered, his tongue hissing out. The girl managed to lean forward and capture the tip of his cock in her mouth, sucking on it happily. Vazt, ever the practical soldier, stepped forward and thrust into her throat. From the gurgling noise that the elf made, she was enjoying herself.
Brax frowned. “Vazt!”
“Hey,” Vazt said, grinning slyly, “You did say we should enjoy ourselves once the city was under control.”
“Yeah,” Anix said, nodding.
“You two are lucky the general is a soft touch,” Rao muttered into her cup, sipping from it. “If I were him, I'd have had you both crucified by this point.”
Brax's condition had several advantages. One of them was that when he snapped his tail-tip against the wall of a house – whether it be a large mansion or a small hut – the sound was amplified. Rather than making a dull thunk, his tail rang against the wall like a gong, bringing everyone's attention to him. He frowned at the three soldiers, his eyes flashing.
“I may be unwilling to have my soldiers whipped,” he said, his voice dark, “But don't mistake this for leniency. You will finish with her.” He pointed at the elf. “And you will report to the front gates. Do you understand?”
“Yes sir!” All three said at the same time.
Brax turned and stalked out, his tail lashing from side to side. He paused by the door – and heard the sound of suddenly intensified lovemaking within. Out of sight, he let himself go for a moment. His cock slid from the slit between his legs, and his balls emerged a moment later. His loincloth tented, then slipped aside. Brax did not have a difference in color between his back, his belly, his balls, his cock. All of him gleamed with the brilliance of gold and shone with a metallic sheen that even Vazt lacked.
It had been a nameless battle, at first.
The mercenary unit he had been a part of – back before God, before the tribes had gathered, before he had been a general - had marched out for coin and been led by a fool into a valley before a prosperous Hellenic city. There had been a priest of Zeus in the enemy camp, standing on the hill. His voice had called down a curse on the larger army that marched towards his city. The voice still echoed in Brax's memories.
You will die to teach a fool a lesson, then! May the curse of Midas be your doom – and may your master's thirst for gold be quenched!
The sky had split.
The gold had come down – sheeting, pouring waves of it. Men and women screaming, clawing at their flesh as the molten metal dug in and burned into them. They were the less fortunate ones. Those who had been luckier – like Brax – had been doused completely with the first real deluge. There had been heat, then darkness. And then, for reasons that he had never learned, an endless waiting. Not death but some limbo. There had been nothing for Brax to do but stand there, poised with sword and shield in his hands, his clothes burned away, the gold worked into his very being.
He had stood there and entertained himself with thoughts ranging through legend and fantasy, while he listened to the ever so faint sounds of first the dying, then the dead, then the buzzing of flies. Then the sound of wildlife, birds and beasts, coming back to the battlefield.
Then…
Her.
Asurya.
Who makes a statue in such a foolish pose? Laughter then, the sound of serving maids and bodyguards responding to their Princess's jest.
And that had been the name of the battle ever since.
The Battle of Statues.
“Oh gods!” The happy sound of an elf climaxing – so similar to Asurya, as she rode him – sent Brax fleeing faster than any army had. He strode through the streets and tried to focus on the mission at hand. He knew which soldiers would be able to do what was needed without waking in the night, trembling and filled with the memories of what they had done. And he was already working the angles.
There was no way to predict exactly what would happen in a chaotic system. He had learned this in the almost forgotten days of his youth, watching leaves flowing through the river and trying to spot the shifting hints that would indicate a slumbering flatfish. With flatfish, you needed to be able to not just predict where things were but also where they would go.
That skill would serve him well.
* * *
Liam stepped into the small home that Sobek had gifted him, a collection of scrolls tucked under one armpit, and a fresh pot of ink in the other hand. He stopped when he looked across the interior of the room and saw the grinning face of Maurice the artificer. Maurice was a familiar pain in Liam's ass – ever since Sobek had gotten his scaled hands on the formula for gunpowder.
But there are so many different things you could work on, Liam had said. Medicine. Education! Printing presses!
If anyone gets gunpowder first, then those other things won't matter much, will they? Sobek had shot back. Then Maurice had come by Liam's home every other day, asking him an endless series of questions that Liam felt entirely unable to answer. He knew the rough process for producing gunpowder, but the actual chemistry was beyond him. He couldn't help the goblin find a replacement for pigshit, or narrow down what naturally occurring crystals in Purgatory could be ground into powder and used as saltpeter.
“Maurice!” Liam said.
“In my defense, it was her id-ahh!”
Liam blinked.
And realized that Maurice wasn't sitting at the table. He was sprawled on the bed, his green hands pressed to the sheets, while Meg's head bobbed in his lap. Her wings were folded neatly behind her back, leaving only the glorious, heart-shaped mound of her rump visible as she bobbed her head up and down with a slow, steady, slurping noise. Her hands were on Maurice's knees, caressing the smaller man gently, her elbows pressing her tits together into a firm line of cleavage. Liam pursed his lips, then slowly walked to the side. Looking at the scene from an angle, he saw that while the artificer had been born about half Liam's size, he wasn't proportionally smaller.
There was enough emerald green cock for Meg to wrap both of her bountiful tits around, her spittle and his flowing pre-come soaking her skin like an oil rub. Her nipples drew slow circles against his chest as she leaned forward, rocking herself against Maurice.
Liam looked at the goblin, who was trying weakly to push Meg's head away. “If you kill me, Sobek will, uh, he'll, uh,” Maurice stammered.
He looked like he wanted to argue that Sobek would punish Liam for murdering him. But he also looked like he was mentally recounting the various ways Liam had pulled Sobek's tail out of the fire.
Liam leaned forward menacingly.
Then grinned. “Can you keep it down while I'm doing my paperwork?”
“Zuh?” Maurice asked.
Meg drew her mouth back – tongue swirling around the thick glans of her lover – and shot a glare at Liam. “You ruined it, honey! You should have heard him. Talking about how naughty we were being, about how nooo, he shouldn't, you'd kill him.” She grinned, flicking her tongue against the very tip of the goblin's cock, causing Maurice to gasp quietly.
“Sorry,” Liam said, laughing and ruffling Meg's hair. “But I couldn't help it – the look on his face.”
Meg snapped her left wing out and smacked Liam's entire upper body with it. She had gotten quite good at putting just enough impact into those strikes to send Liam staggering without actually causing any real, permanent damage. Liam skidded backwards, his knees knocked out from under him by one of the office chairs he'd had custom built at great expense. His butt thumped against the silken cushion and he laughed.
“Message received: don't ruin the fantasy,” he said, grinning.
Meg humphed, then turned back to face the goblin man who was still looking somewhat like an Earth turkey during a rainstorm. Her palms went to her chest, closing her tits around his cock again, and she started to rock her hips up and down, using her breasts to squeeze and massage Maurice's member. The artisan closed his eyes, gritting his teeth hard as he clenched his palms on the sheets, which rumpled around his fingers. Liam, meanwhile, laid his first scroll out, dipped his quill in the ink, and started to write down the after action report that Sobek would want.
The slick sound of titflesh wanking a hard cock filled his ears – followed by a restrained groan.
“Oh, horror,” Liam said, his voice deadpan. “I have been cuckolded. I am filled with rage and contempt.”
A pillow thumped into the back of his head. Liam glanced back. Meg stuck her tongue out at him, then used said tongue to guide the tip of Maurice's dick into her mouth. She sucked hard enough to hollow out her cheeks and make Maurice's eyes cross.
Liam turned back to his paperwork to hide his wicked grin. “However could you betray me, oh light of my life?”
This time, Maurice threw the pillow. Amazingly accurate, considering.
Liam wrote down his summary of what little they knew about the creature that he had decided to classify Kevinos Baconitarum. He looked at the words, glistening in fresh ink, as the wet slap of lip to tit to cock filled his ears. Normally, writing a joke that literally no one else in Purgatory would get would at least draw a smile forth. But instead, all he could do was think about the reports of lizardman raiders. Rumors that Ares hadn't been seen in New Athens for almost a month – not impossible, but entirely unusual. He leaned back in his seat.
“Fuckinggods!”
Maurice had the trick of making it all one word down pat.
Was that creature sent? Liam wondered. How could we prove it was? No one has seen anything alike. But those crystals it fired, they were null crystals. Perfect to stop a valk. Was it designed to trap us?
No answers. Just questions and shadows.
Maurice came noisily.
Liam had become quite a connoisseur of the aural delights that came with the female climax. If he had gone back in time and told himself when he had been in high school that he would basically have a harem of eager, willing, utterly gorgeous women who had not only never heard of sexual modesty, but essentially laughed at the very concept... well, he'd have dropped dead from excitement. But Maurice's climax lacked the musical quality of, say, Tethis screaming in pleasure.
Still, it didn't make it any easier to focus on the paperwork.
“Ohh look at my tits,” Meg purred.
Liam turned around on his office chair, the brass and wood that the chair used in lieu of plastic and metal making a soft rasping noise. Meg was leaning back against the bed, her wings spread. Her fingers caressed her breasts, rubbing the thick white streams of cum that splashed her face, neck and tits. She drew slow circles with her fingertips, then used her palms to scoop and rub the goblin spunk into her skin. She gleamed like she had been oiled.
“I'm so wet now,” Meg whispered. Her eyes met Liam's.
Liam looked at her.
He turned back at the paperwork. It was still only a single name and a few tentative notes. He looked back at her.
Then, grinning, he stood.
“Fuck it,” he said.
“No, fuck me,” Meg purred.
Liam strode over, his hands going to his kilt. It hit the ground and his sandals thumped into the wall as he kicked them away. One narrowly avoided knocking over a hoplite shield – complete with Spartan lambda – that decorated one of the walls. His hands grabbed onto Meg's wrists, lifting them up and over her head. Meg could bend bronze with her bare hands and yet, somehow, she never seemed quite able to escape from Liam's grip, despite squirming and writhing in such a way that ended up pressing her bountiful breasts to his chest.
Strange, that.
A loud smack sounded and Meg squeaked. Looking past her shoulder, Liam could see that Maurice wasn't out of the game yet. His smaller palms were still enough to cup and squeeze Meg's ass hungrily. The goblin leaned forward, kissing the base of Meg's spine, then standing up on the bed, his hands pressed against her ass like she was a humanoid shelf, he kissed the base of her wings. Meg crooned quietly and Liam grinned at the goblin. The bed and his posture meant they were almost the same height now.
And in that moment, the two shared one of the semi-telepathic conversations that could happen, when two men were getting ready to just go to town on a girl.
If you hurt her, I will kick your ass, Liam's eyes said.
I'm just glad to be here, Maurice's entire body said.
Meg grinned, opening one eye. “So, who wants my feathered pus-”
The explosion that rang out across the city of Faiyum Falls wasn't nearly as shocking as it should have been. Animals and children cried out in alarm – but most people simply took it in stride. Random explosions had become more and more common the harder that Maurice tried to build gunpowder. But it was still loud enough to fill the room and cause Meg's wings to flare in momentary surprise. Her eyes widened – and then she and Liam looked at Maurice.
“Maurice!” they said, in unison.
“Whoa!” he said, lifting his hands off Meg's ass. “Why are you looking at me? I'm not doing any experiments right now!”
Liam's brow furrowed and he hurried to the window, ignoring the faint blueness that tingled around his balls. Standing at the sill, his hands on the edges of the window, he leaned around the edge of the building and looked out over the city. Dust rose from Maurice's workshop but Liam immediately saw that it couldn't possibly have been a gunpowder related accident. Even if Maurice had built working powder, and even if that powder had gone up, there was no way that an explosion from inside the building would have broken a hole from the roof down into the shop itself.
“Someone just crashed into your shop,” Liam said, stepping back and grabbing his kilt. “Come on!”
Maurice started for the door. Meg grabbed him by one arm and instead headed to the corner of the room, where Liam tugged out a small wooden ladder. The three of them scrambled up it to the roof. There, Meg slid her arm around Liam's waist, held him to her side, then picked up Maurice with her other arm. Her wings spread and she leaped off the top of the building before Maurice could so much as squeak. They did not fly so much as fall in a very controlled and artful way, landing in front of the shop without needing to spend minutes fighting through the congestion of Faiyum Falls narrow, winding streets.
The city guard were arriving with uncharacteristic swiftness. Almost, Liam thought, as if this was some kind of amazingly important research project or something. They were a tough looking group, wearing bronze armor with leather over what the metal couldn't cover, and holding kopesh blades in their hands. The curved, sickle-like swords had a blunt edge and a sharpened one, and their hook meant they could grab and yank people around, beat people about the heads, and hack through shields with equal skill.
The guardsmen and women looked at the three of them. “What should we do, sir?” one asked Liam.
“Well,” Liam said, adjusting his kilt. “We-”
He stopped.
A horror emerged from the workshop.
Blackened. Shrunken. Almost skeletal. The only reason why the man could walk at all was that he was clearly a valkyrie, but at this point, Liam wondered if their amazing endurance and toughness was more of a curse than a blessing. He was covered with fifth and sixth degree burns. White bone showed where his flesh wasn't blackened to a crisped char. The internal crystals that Tethis theorized gave valkyrie their amazing strength gleamed, looking like the fire had polished them.
The valkyrie fell to his knees and then reached out towards Liam.
“You,” he said, his voice eerily calm and amazingly normal sounding. His lips twisted. “You need to stop him. God. You need to kill God. He took the City of the Dead-”
And then his eyes rolled up into his head and he collapsed, face first onto the ground. Mercifully dead.
Liam stood there, watching as the guards advanced forward – only to be shouted back by Meg. Meg's voice sounded as if it was coming from very far away, echoing down a well. She directed guards, her face steady, her wings closed behind her back. Bring Tethis. Don't touch the man. There was going to be an autopsy. Liam knew, distantly, that she was doing the right thing. But he couldn't stop hearing that eerily calm voice.
You need to stop him. God. You need to kill God.
“Liam!”
Liam realized Meg had said his name three times. He jerked his head up and looked at her, blinking. “R-Right. Yes.”
“Are you okay?” she asked.
Liam looked back at the corpse.
His hand slid along Meg's arm, finding her hand. He squeezed her tightly and Meg closed a wing around her side, nuzzling his neck. Her closeness to him made it easier to say…
“No,” Liam said. “I'm not sure I will be for a while.”
* * *
Tethis blew out a sigh and stepped away from the corpse, brushing her palms along her hair. She looked back at Sobek, Liv, Meg and Liam. “All right,” she said. “There is nothing on Purgatory that could have done this – not the gods' magic, not arcane spells. Nothing can produce that much heat. The writings of Ataxis Ptolemy state that even those who fell directly under the heat of the Eye of Ra were merely stripped of water and left dried, rather than burned.” She frowned. “However, if we recall that Purgatory is a hollow sphere, there is a possibility...”
“He took a straight shot,” Meg whispered.
“...this unknown valkyrie flew here on a nearly direct course from the City of the Dead Gods and-” Tethis stopped. “Hey!” She glared at Meg.
Meg shook her head. “Valkyrie have been trying that since the War of the Ancients. No one has ever survived. The sun burns too hot.”
“To be fair,” Liv said, “He didn't either. And if the sun burns, why not go at night?”
Meg made a face. “The sun may not shine but it still provides heat. And in a straight shot, you get close enough that even at the coolest point of the night, you still cook.”
“And this guy crossed during noonday,” Tethis said, dragging a linen shroud over the blackened corpse. “What did he tell you, Liam?”
Liam, who had been remaining silent for the whole conversation, sighed. “He said that I needed to stop God.”
“Which god?” Meg asked.
“Not a god,” Liam said. “The God. My god, with a capital G. The one true god.”
Sobek growled quietly. “Kid, you've been living on Purgatory for a year and you still believe that bullshit?”
“Yes!” Liam snapped. Then quietly added, “Sobek, it's clear that we need to investigate this right now. This man was so desperate to find me, to warn me, that he flew from the City of the Dead Gods here - without even knowing if I'd be here - on a suicide mission. I don't want to even imagine what would be bad enough to warrant that response.”
Sobek slid his hand along his snout. Slowly, he nodded. “Fair. I'll go and send supplies to your ferryman-”
“No,” Liam said.
“What?” Liv, Meg and Tethis asked at the same time.
Liam's voice was grim as he explained, pacing backwards, then forward, his hands lifting up and spreading in the air. “Whatever is going on is serious. It'll take us months to cross the Platonic Sea and I've been tracking reports of pirates and lizardman raiders; we'd be lucky to get to the Tuathan straits without getting attacked at least twice. If the bad guys have another basilisk they can control with their collars, we could face multiple monsters. No. We need to get there now.”
“And how-” Sobek started, but Tethis cut him off with an excited squeal. The tall, broad-shouldered god turned to glare down at Tethis. The gobliness, though, looked too busy being excited to notice. Her green palms slapped together and she jumped up and down happily, her ample breasts bouncing under her shift.
“The altar! The altar! The altar!”
Meg's wings flared out in alarm. “We're talking about the same Ancient teleport altar that dropped Liam fifteen yards to the left of the city walls? He broke his spine.”
Liam looked at Meg. A few months ago – hell, a few hours ago – he might have quipped that 'he got better.' But instead, he just put his hands on her shoulders. He squeezed gently.
“I've talked with Tethis about this before today – she's figured out the issues and thinks she can get it to work without any more drops.” He grinned. “Besides, wouldn't you rather skip the traveling montage?”
Meg looked less than amused. She knew what a traveling montage was – the pair of them had spent hours cradling one another as they watched the only two movies that Liam had stored on the hard drive. Unfortunately, one of those was the 2005 Pirates Of The Caribbean porno spoof and the other one was Manos: The Hands Of Fate. Liam had a reason for having both on his iPod, but he hadn't yet forgiven himself for letting himself be banished to an alternate universe without at least bringing The Terminator.
“Fine,” Meg said. “But if you die, I will kill you.”
The only person less happy about this than Meg was Vulkis.
“But- but- but-” he spluttered, gesturing around himself at his boat. He had paid to affix a sleek, bronze-coated ram to the front of his vessel, giving it an extra punch if they ended up in any naval battles. A few dozen new crew were lounging on the side of the boat, their arms and armor making it clear they were more in the line of mercenaries than sailors. Vulkis put his hands on his head, tugging on his hair in exasperation. “I've always transported you, Vanderbilt!”
“Sorry,” Liam said, spreading his hands. “But the time crunch is too much.”
Vulkis made a wordless, highly agitated noise. It was somewhere between a squeak and a gargle.
Liam grinned, despite his mood. “All right, Vulkis. How about this: you sail to the City of the Dead Gods anyway. We might need assistance or support or a way to get out of the city in a hurry. If we're dead, then you can just make a profit buying consumer goods from there and selling them in, I don't know, Olimurias or something.”
Vulkis' face froze in the middle of his angry response. His brow furrowed and he started to do some mental math, rubbing his chin. Then, beaming, he nodded.
“I knew there was a reason I liked you, Liam of Earth!”
Liam grinned. “I afford you a chance to spend extra time with Liviana, Tethis and Megara?”
“Well, I knew there were multiple reasons I liked you.”
* * *
Striding through the jungles that surrounded Faiyum Falls, Liam didn't lead the way. That was left to Tethis, who had spent a great deal of her life studying the fauna and flora of the area as an amateur researcher and archaeologist. Though, thinking about it, as there was no unified school of archeology, and no accredited universities in Purgatory, Liam figured that amateur and professional were essentially the same thing. Still, Tethis picked her way along with confidence, her passage revealing a trail that Liam and Meg and Liv and their pack horses could stomp through with considerably less grace. Meg's wing batted a tree branch aside with a gunshot loud crack.
“So,” she said, glancing at Liam, “We need to talk.”
Liam knew that she wanted to talk about his mood but a lifetime on Earth had trained his soul to react to those four words being spoken in that tone of voice by a woman that he loved as if he had been doused in acid. Liam flinched despite himself.
“What is wrong?” Meg asked. “You need to talk me. First, you lose your crucifix. But then you don't get it replaced? It's a symbol of, well, you. And don't give me that horseshit about not wanting to offend people. You could have gotten one of the other symbols of Christianity you talked about. The ones not based around an execution device.” She shook her head. “So. What's the real problem?”
Liam walked forward for a few more steps. He ducked underneath a tree, pushing some leaves out of the way of his face. For a moment, he just looked out at the verdant jungle surrounding him. The beautiful flowers, so brilliantly colored. The lush green leaves. The thick vines. The buzzing of insects, whirring around him. The occasional crystal outcropping that thrust from the ground like jagged teeth. He saw a small, simian creature perched in a tree branch about fifteen feet away, watching them with beady eyes. Liam hung his head forward and turned back to face Meg, arms crossed over his chest.
“When European explorers on my world started to explore Africa, do you know what was the thing that stopped them for almost two centuries?” he asked. “Plague. Malaria killed them, and African Horse Sickness killed their mounts. It took the invention of drugs that stopped malaria and the invention of steam-engines to counterbalance the loss of horses. Once guns got good enough, the whole of Africa got chopped up and fed to the monarchies of Europe. And the same pattern existed in other places.” He sighed. “How many people here die from plague?”
Meg blinked.
“None,” Liam said. “I haven't seen a single epidemic in the whole year I've been here. Hell, I haven't even caught a cold. Meg!” He gestured to himself. “I'm from another fucking planet, you should be getting sick from any diseases I was carrying that I'm immune to. And I should have gotten sick too. But wait, there's more!”
By this point, Tethis had noticed they weren't walking. She came back, but didn't speak; just watching Liam as he got more and more worked up, his face turning red. His hands starting to shake. Meg folded her wings behind her back as Liam started to pace from side to side.
“Cancer? Do you even know what cancer is?”
Meg nodded.
“Has anyone died from it in your life?” Liam asked. At the shake of her head, he started to pace more angrily. “I've seen scars and disfigurement, but never in the rich or the well to do – and I've never seen a plague. Fuck! I haven't even seen an sexually transmitted disease. Everyone here is willing to drop their kilt at the snap of a fingers and get plowed. Why?” He shook his head. “Interbreeding is impossible without magic, so interracial fucking is basically risk free fun times. On Earth, you can get a death sentence because you had sex without protection.”
Liam threw his hands wide. “Why?”
Tethis blinked. “The gods?” she asked.
“Yes, the fucking gods!” Liam shouted, glaring at her. “Your venal, selfish, asshole gods can cure cancer through their priests. But my God? The God who loves his people, who created us in his image? He watches as we shove each other into furnaces by the millions and as we die, choking on our own fucking cells, blasted by radiation and poisoned by the very fucking drugs we take to try and fucking stop it and he doesn't do anything!”
His voice echoed off the trees. Tethis looked afraid. Liv had put her hand on the hilt of her sword. Meg, though, stepped forward. Her arms closed around Liam's shoulders and she embraced him. She used her whole body, pressing herself to him, her wings closing around him. For that moment, there was no one else. Just Liam and Megara, contained within the strength of her wings. Liam shuddered and cried, tears streaming down his face as she stroked his back and whispered soft nothings in his ear. Breathing in a shuddering gasp, Liam said: “M-My father took two weeks to die, Meg. Two weeks. Sobek-”
“No. Sobek couldn't have saved your father,” Meg said, her voice quiet. She drew back, to look him in the eyes. Her hands cupped his cheeks as her wings brushed up and down his back. Liam had never found Meg's eyes more beautiful – those deep, electric blue eyes – than right now, viewed through a refracting haze of tears. She seemed to glow. “Because Sobek was here and your father was there. And maybe that is why your God brought you here in the first place, Liam. Maybe he can't do anything. Maybe he's not even real. But you can do what he would want...”
She smiled. “And if you don't find a way to bring the gods back to Earth and strong arm them into every hospital in your world, then you are not the Liam Vanderbilt I love.”
Liam laughed, his voice wet with tears. “God, I love you,” he whispered.
“Of course you do,” Meg said, seriously. “I'm fantastic.”
Liam nodded. He held up his hands. “G-give me a second, guys.”
He turned and walked off the beaten trail, taking a moment to wipe his face down. He tugged a leaf branch off, then blew his nose. He looked at his own mucus – just to wince in disgust – then tossed the leaf away. He used a few more to finish crudely wiping his face down and once he felt halfway like a human being again, he stood there and rubbed his chin. Deep in his brain, ideas were clicking forward. He nodded slowly and then looked out at the trees.
“I'll need artisans,” he said, to no one in particular.
Then he turned and walked back to the group. He slipped his arm around Meg's back, his hand dipping to grope her rump. Liv pulled her hand away from her sword hilt with a relieved smile, while Meg nodded.
“He's okay, girls,” she said.
Liam made a face – faux offended – and slapped Meg on the butt hard enough to make her squeak.
They came to the crevasse that had the served as the first and last battleground between Liv and Liam and picked their way down the side. Once in it, they pressed on to the cave temple of the Ancients. The traps that Liam had to evade last time were still present – and still easy to avoid if you had a girl who could read Ancient writing. The same altar was there, sitting in the center of the same dark room. Liam stood and watched as Tethis got to work on it.
“I'm trying to not hold a grudge,” he said.
“It wasn't the device's fault!” Tethis said, turning to look at him. “I've figured it out – working with your iPod made it clear. The iPod uses electromagnetism in various ways, and I believe that those functions, even quiescent, altered your trajectory. I just need to compensate for that.”
Liam nodded slowly. “Got it.”
It took Tethis three hours before she was ready for them to step on the platform. In that time, Meg, Liv and Liam shared what they knew about the City of the Dead.
“Nothing,” Liam said.
Meg slapped the back of his head. “It's a city of artisans, craftsmen, smiths. The finest bronze-wights. They make glass, too. Lots of it.” She paused. “I also know that their government is a proper Athenian style democratic organization, with elements of the ancient Carthaginian merchant-nobility and mercenary armies. And it's big - lots of people and lots of money.” She shifted her wings and despite the completely different physiognomy and lack of spectacles, she managed to look like a professor pushing their glasses up their nose after delivering a speech.
“They're weak,” Liv said. “Mercs are worthless when a real fight gets going. Can't rely on them, cause gold is never stronger than blood and love.” She nodded. “The only thing that they have going for them is the defensive – when a merc has their backs to the wall, they gotta fight to the death. But on the attack? Forget it.” She snorted.
“You say that like the inability to wage wars of aggression was a bad thing,” Meg said, sniffing.
“What's better?” Liv asked. “A six month siege where half your city starves and the enemy only breaks because you've been sniping at them every night and you drop boiling piss on their heads, or a single day's battle where you break their moral and route them before they get within ten miles of the place?”
Meg blinked, looking taken aback.
“It's ready!” Tethis called over.
Liv stood up, her hand on the hilt of the sword. “I'm faster,” she said. “Better reflexes, and I can't be cut by an edged weapon. I say I go through first and make sure everything is safe.”
Liam clapped his hands on his knees. “Sounds good,” he said, pushing himself to his feet. Liv grinned at him, then turned and walked up the stairs. For a moment, the playful sultriness she had used to torment him when she had been his slave returned. Her butt jiggled underneath her short kilt and she bent forward just enough to flash him a hint of the slender underwear that she wore.
She stepped onto the altar and Tethis brought her hands together and a crack of magic filled the air.
Meg smiled at Liam. “Wish me luck,” she said, nodding and heading up.
“Hey, we're going together!” Liam said, hurrying after her.
“Well, actually, no, going one at a time is safer,” Tethis said. “Okay, now!”
Meg vanished.
Liam shook his head, then stepped onto the platform. He tensed his shoulders and got ready to hit the ground with the impact. Tethis smiled at him, seeing his tension.
“Do you want me to give you a countdown?” she asked.
“Oh, hell no!” Liam said. “I don't want time to-”
Tethis slapped her hands together.