"You realize that this is completely insane, don't you?" Roland stared at his friend- his utterly mad, absolutely unreasonable, yet undeniably correct friend- Greg, resisting the urge to either roll his eyes or try to blame the one shot of whiskey he'd had for what he'd just heard. Yet the sincerity in Greg's eyes, the sincerity that always filled the muscular black man, told Roland that he'd heard everything correctly.
Moreover, it meant that he had to give a better response than that.
"To summarize," the pale man continued, "you're planning, as a simple human, to go against the Karma Society and their swarms of demons. You're planning on abandoning the surface and the dome that protects us from God's malignant data..."
Here Roland swept his hand towards the window of his apartment, and to the great yellow dome which could be seen outside. A masterpiece of engineering, the aegis between man and God, the only protection from the fate of eternal petrification which hung over all their heads... that dome was the only reason they could remain on the surface, and Roland for one was eternally grateful that he hadn't been transformed into a statue. "...live beneath the surface in tunnels for however long, eking what sustenance can be found or stolen, and condemning yourself to an existence little better than a dog's... why, again?"
Despite the entire diatribe, Greg hadn't stirred, nor had his expression changed from its usual proud, confident look. Even his voice was still strong, still vibrant and unshrinking. "It is the only honorable course of action. I will not have my wife or son turned into demons."
"Or get eaten, I imagine." Roland fell silent, his eyes still looking out at that dome. He had to grapple with a truth he'd long known but never given conscious thought. Greg, as always, was the one who forced Roland to face reality, even when he didn't want to. That was why Roland only reluctantly spoke again. "If you think about it, the Karma Society is raising their own Tower of Babel with those domes. It's a direct challenge to God, saying that humanity is no longer going to accept divine punishment. Considering that we humans have turned our backs on God... it wouldn't be wrong to say that this is 'Hell'. We even have the demons to go with it."
As he spoke, Roland idly stroked the stubble along his chin, his mind whirling. Greg was silent, simply waiting and listening, and his friend knew that Greg was doing so out of consideration. Greg was contemplative, thinking through actions and stillness by turns; Roland was creative, he thought through words. "But you're planning on creating a purgatory, safe from God but also secure against the demons of the Karma Society's hell. Perhaps, in time, being able to find an answer to the apocalypse we're fighting against, without having to sacrifice our humanity. An underground sanctuary... do you really think that's possible?"
"Yes." Simple, succinct, and said without a single doubt; exactly what Roland expected.
"All right, let's assume we do that. But if it's just your family and me, we're going to be eaten before the week's out. Even the lesser demons are resistant to bullets, and I don't think their Tuners are going to be kind enough to let us shoot them before they transform. Especially since we'll be on the defensive."
A quiet chuckle dragged Roland's attention away from the window, and the man arched a pale eyebrow as he saw the mirth on Greg's face. "Something amusing?"
Greg smiled once more as he met Roland's incredulous gaze. "It won't just be us. Everyone who isn't a part of the Society, and even some people inside of it, already agreed to leave as soon as I give the word. They don't want their children becoming food for the Society. I even convinced Adil to defect with us; he's planning on taking all the designs for elemental ammunition with him when we leave, and begin manufacturing everything we'd need to defend ourselves. The only thing missing is a name for our new faction."
"At least I have some part in your plan," the other man dryly answered, yet a grin contradicted his complaint. Chuckling beneath his breath, Roland strolled over to the window, gazing out at the black sun which blazed far above them; in the past, even raising his eyes would have been blinding, but with the dome in place he could stare at God for as long as he wished without fear of retribution. All because of the Karma Society. Yet the price was always at the back of his mind; Greg's precious son Fred being fed to those demons, the insatiable hunger which rumors said could never be removed bringing about unspeakable tragedy...
He looked out to the main laboratories, stretching up to the sky, and after a long pause he finally spoke again. "A faction which is rejected by God but in return rejects Hell... no, that's not right. For a name, it has to bring the purpose to mind. Why are we doing this? To protect... the world? The children? Our future?"
As Roland spoke, his voice became more and more agitated; he fidgeted, he tapped his finger against the window pane, he tapped his foot, he was struck in the creative mood yet frustrated by his inability to think of just the right phrase. That Greg might not have wanted his input on the name never even crossed his mind. "Guardians... children... mm... suffer the little children? Hah, that put them on the level of... gods..."
Suddenly Roland spun around, his gray eyes flashing with triumphant inspiration. "That's it! Greg, we're not just guarding the world, we're guarding 'gods'! The very future of not just the world, but of heaven and hell together."
To which the much larger man only nodded, making an assent for Roland to continue.
"And with you, your wife, myself, and Adil as the leaders... we could be called the 'celestial kings' of this new faction. With all of that in mind, the name has to be 'Lokapala.' The guardians of the gods. We even have the 'Watcher of the Lands' and 'He who sees all' right here." With a grin Roland first indicated his friend, one who had always had the greatest respect for nature... and then himself, or more particularly his glasses.
Greg remained silent, yet Roland was not concerned in the least. Just as the taller man respected Roland's need for voicing his thoughts, so did he respect Greg's need for quiet contemplation. That patience was rewarded when the black man turned to the drink bar and retrieved two glasses, filling both before offering one to Roland. "To Lokapala," he announced, raising his own and letting the light gleam in the ambrosia-like liquid.
To which the other man countered, "To the gods who will come after."