"It appears that I win again. This just isn't your game, Trias…" Xan
chuckled softly as he gathered up his winnings yet again. His side of the
table was beginning to groan alarmingly under the weight of his winnings.
'Of course, I'm beginning to think that you don't have a game…"
Trias belched dismissively in response (it should be noted that Trias, through long centuries of practice, had in fact gained quite a range in belch tone), and took another drought from his ale glass. Well, more like keg. "Bah! I'sh playing wid yoo! Ish all…ish all…" he leaned forward conspiratorially, "Strategery! Yesh sir, ol' Triash is gonna swoop in like…eagle!" He spread his arms and made what he considered to be suitably eagle-like noises. "An' when I foolsh ev'ryone, I'sh gonna play double-or- nothing! An' win it all back! Cuz Trias hash…mad skillz!" He leaned in again, giving Xan a nudge and a wink as he did so. "But…" he glanced around and lowered his voice to a whisper (a drunk man's whisper, which is to say he had already shouted Xan's ear off and was now proceeding to stomp on it), "don't tell Xan! He'sh tricky like fox!" More animal pantomimes. "Ish our little secret, eh Xan? Now lesh deal da cards! Trias feeling lucky tonight!" He pumped a fist into the air. He then proceeded to be sick all over Xan's shiny floor.
The two sat at opposite ends of a polished oaken table within Xan's abode. To be perfectly honest, the operative word would be lair. One doesn't find terribly many 'abodes' in the Lower Reaches of the Abyss. And Xan, being the Unholy Blight and all, wasn't too fond of flower walkways and freshly scented foyers to begin with. He lived in a glorified cave, of the kind usually associated with dark sorcerers – only they couldn't hold a candle to this. The cave itself was gargantuan, easily the size of several palaces stuck together. The ceiling towered hundreds of feet up, lost in the murk and gloom, the only sign of its presence an occasional drip of water from on high – or at least, that's what Xan's more squeamish visitors assumed. Suffice to say, their theory wouldn't hold up to prolonged investigation. Such observation would have been complicated by the poor lighting system, consisting mainly of hundreds of candles, all placed within grinning skulls. A mixed blessing, as Trias was far more comfortable without seeing the beasts that accompanied the constant wails and growls. No entrance or exit was visible, but that hardly posed a problem – gods seldom use conventional doors.
Seeing these two gods together, however, would have given the Church of Light a collective apoplexy. For one thing, it was hardly in Church doctrine that Trias, the Lord of the Light, and Xan, the Unholy Blight, were poker-buddies. Although, many would consider that sermon a vast improvement over the current ones. For another, it would have completely undermined Church teachings. Undermined them, melted them down, and forged them into limited-edition commemorative coins. As the Church taught, Xan was a hideous, many-tentacled beast, with a visage horrid enough to scare the most hardened monsters. Conversely, Trias was a shining Warrior of Light, clad in garments bright as the morning sun; with his Divine Spear he championed all causes just and noble. In short, the two were held to be as different as night and day.
True, they did make an incongruous pair – inasmuch as a rabbit riding a donkey is an incongruous pair. Xan was the epitome of style and grace. He had given up the monster form aeons ago – as he said, if it couldn't hold a damn teacup and the crumpets at the same time, it wasn't worth having. He possessed a type of striking charisma – the kind that evades description with mere words. Upon closer examination, it wasn't so much his height - at full height he barely reached a horse's shoulders – as his bearing. Seldom riled and even more seldomly amused, he carried himself with a quiet assurance. His clothes were always impeccably clean – and always impeccably black (some stereotypes just don't die). From his black boots to the flowing silver-lined cloak, not one speck of dust existed. Of course, after that incident all those years ago, dust lived in mortal fear of him. His actual features would be impossible to describe – they seemed to constantly shift and flicker from one to another. Something in the eyes, however, revealed the inner demon…
Trias, on the other hand, would have mortified his followers if they ever caught sight of him. He couldn't have fit into his Holy Armor had he tried – unless, of course, they fastened in onto him with rope. He'd let himself go after that final climactic battle, and, well, had grown - just the slightest bit - corpulent (in other words, he was as broad as a barn). His Divine Spear he used as a toothpick. His Shining Garments were stained with ale and other, less savory, tidbits. He was also, to put it mildly, a drunken lech. Several centuries ago the Church had outlawed liquor. Trias, being the just and noble god he had been at that time, decided to try the substance to see for himself what the fuss was about. Suffice to say, he'd taken to the bottle like a fish to water. Luckily for all involved, he was a happy drunk (you really don't want to see a blubbering Ultimate Power…). The womanizing had started up as a result…unfortunately [for him], women, mortal or demi-god, aren't exactly attracted to inebriated gluttons. But let it never be said that Trias, Font of Perseverance, gives up hope (a passage, amusingly enough, from Church doctrine)!
Presently, the pair was playing a rousing round of blackjack. They had been playing poker, but Trias had passed into the final stages of inebriation, and had had an inordinately difficult time establishing why the Queen had 'picked that girly King over me'. As such, they had switched to the less mentally-challenging blackjack, and Xan was dealing the current game; in essence, all that was required of Trias was for him to fork over his money.
"Gimme da cards!" Trias hollered, pounding the table with his ale glass.
"The correct term is 'Hit me', brother…" Xan spit out through his forced smile.
Trias' eyes widened. Tears began to roll down his cheeks. "I'sh never do dat! I loves you! I'sh," he expanded, waving his arms to encompass the entire cave, "loves ev'ryone!"
Xan blinked. Shaking his head and muttering to himself – something about Spears of Unholy Flame and eternal torment – he proceeded to dole out the cards. "So, how are things up on the surface, brother dear?" he asked bitterly.
"You should go ups yourshelf, Xan! Ish loverly this time of year, like…like a tavern girl!" Trias gushed, waxing poetic.
Xan's hand twitched, sending a Jack flying onto Trias' ample belly. Small screams could be heard as the doomed card sank into his gut, never to be seen again. "Be that as it may, I am unable. If you remember, it was you who banished me here, all those years ago - all those tons ago…" he added in a whisper to himself.
"Oh, right! I'sh forgets sometimes!" Trias laughed heartily. "At leash we have dese brudderly moments…" he consoled himself by pouring another drink.
Xan clenched his teeth. These 'brotherly moments' were hardly his by choice. Trias – indeed, the whole bloody world, if they chose to – could jaunt in whenever the desire struck him; Xan had no power to stop him. Nowadays, it seemed he had no power to do anything. That damned brother of his had ruined everything… He contemplated his current dismal circumstances, taking no notice of the blood running out of the corner of his mouth and dripping down onto his table – where many such stains dotted the surface.
"Psst! X~a~n!" Trias yelled in a stage whisper, startling Xan out of his dark reverie. "We playing? I'sh ready to win!" He grinned toothily, revealing less-than-pristine teeth.
Xan took a moment to survey the cards, smiling inwardly. He wouldn't need to cheat to win this round (Trias had lost the ability to count accurately two hours and ten drinks ago, making winning pathetically easy). "You have a 12. I have a 21. Blackjack again for me…" He made to grab Trias' few remaining coins.
"HA! Da game's not over yet! Gimme a card, I'sh feeling lucky!" Trias demanded, hunching over his few precious coins.
"…No, I won. The game is over." Xan reiterated. He reached for the coins again.
Trias began to sob. Huge, racking sobs.
"Fine," Xan sighed. "You can have one more card. One." He tossed one over to Trias.
"Ha, now I'll show you lucky!" Trias roared. With drunken precision, he flipped the card over. His eyes widened. "Ish dat King! You stoled my girl, you rat! I'll kill you!" Gathering his energy, he raised the Divine Toothpick and blasted the King to oblivion. "Now…whatsh the King worth?" he asked innocently, trying vainly to cover the gaping hole in the table.
Xan dropped his face into his hands. He'd been exiled to a cave in the Abyss for all eternity, forced to spend weekends with this drunken idiot, and now he had to contend with property damage. Taking his brother's money wasn't nearly satisfying enough. Calming himself with promises of bloody vengeance, Xan raised his head and replied. "A…uh, eleventy forty two. You went over 21, brother, that's a bust for you."
"And what a bust it ish…" Trias whistled, ogling the Queen.
"That's it, I have to get out of this!" Xan hissed as he gathered Trias' last few coppers. A plan began to form within the dark recesses of his mind.
"You know, brother," he began sweetly, "I have just realized that you rarely…that you never…win these friendly games of ours. How unfortunate that is…
"Ish nothing," Trias replied, waving a dismissive hand. "Da Church tithes have to go to something. So I thought, 'Trias, dose priests are just gonna gamble dat money. I should keeps track of it for dem.' And so I'sh –"
"Shut up!" Xan yelled. "Ahem. I mean, you certainly have a valid point there." Trias preened. "Now, I had thought that – focus here, brother. Now, I had thought – stop staring at that card! It was my opinion that – STOP THAT!!" Xan snapped irritably. Taking Trias' ale pitcher and the Queen, he planted them firmly in front of him. Trias' gaze followed him like a vulture.
"Now," he began again, "I think it would be much more interesting for the both of us if we changed to nature of these little games of ours. Mere card tricks are hardly suitable for such as we, don't you agree? Of course you do," he said airily, overriding Trias' objections, "and I think it high time we indulged in activities suitable for our station, don't you? …Yes, you can answer!" Xan snapped. Leave it to Trias to ruin his momentum…
"Suit…suit…okey-dokey for us, eh? Whatsh you have in mind? Ladysh?" Trias perked up quite a bit at the thought.
Xan's eye began to twitch. "No, and considering that I don't want to be here all day – oh wait, I'm here forever! – I might as well just explain it myself. I propose a friendly wager – something to answer the eternal debate of Good vs. Evil. Now, the last time we fought was hardly fair…I had a headache. As another such battle would most likely lay waste to the world, that is out of the question." I need something to rule over with an iron fist, after all. "As such, I lay before you a suggestion: we shall each choose one…or rather, make that two, champions to fight at our behest. Well?" he asked smugly. Trias never could turn down a good fight – living vicariously, one could assume.
Trias made a great show of thinking it over, as only a drunk could. "Hmm…if ish what you want, I'sh have no problems wid doing it," he slurred indifferently.
Xan secretly exulted. That took care of Phase One of the plan – and if he fell for Phase One, he couldn't possibly resist Phase Two…
"Of course, to spice things up a little, there should be some sort of wager involved…now, what can it be~?" Xan pondered aloud, his eyes glazing over as he considered this problem. Trias took the opportunity to take a small nap. After some time – time holds no meaning to a god, after all – Xan bolted out his chair and slammed a fist onto the table. "AHA! If I win, you release me from this damnable prison for one year and a day! After all, you did say it was lovely on the surface at this time of year…" he added persuasively. Time enough for world domination, Xan inwardly chuckled. Especially when the only competition gets beaten up by barmaids on a regular basis.
Sloshed Trias may have been, but he wasn't that big a fool.
"You knows I can't do dat!" Trias told his brother sternly, shaking his head.
"And if you win," Xan went on, brushing aside Trias' vehement objections, "I'll supply you with liquor for all eternity…"
"Done!" Trias proclaimed without a second thought. When it came down to the world's peace and prosperity or liquor, he was of the opinion that the former was a result of the latter.
…'Fool' is such a subjective word…
Xan nodded calmly, as if it was of no great matter to him. Inwardly, he was indulging in his evil laughter. And the happy dance. A truly lethal combination, indeed.
"Now, as we want this to be truly accurate, I suggest we take our time choosing these champions. No need to choose the wrong subject in haste, after all. We can hold this one month from today, on whatever day it is up there." Xan leaned back in his chair and waited for his brother's assent.
"Sounds fine to me…" Trias began hesitantly.
"But…? Just spit it out!" Xan snapped.
"Where?" he asked.
"Oh honestly!" Xan sighed, raising a martyred gaze to the heavens – wherever they happened to be. "What do you have in your mouth now!? Spit it out on your own floor! I'll have clean wood shavings you bastard!" Xan screamed, shaking his fist at Trias.
"Um…wh-where ish da fight…?" Trias clarified, stuttering nervously. His brother was prone to fits, which usually consisted of him jumping up and down on Trias and swearing bloody vengeance on all who would defile his clean wood shavings.
"Oh…" Xan blinked. Then he blinked again. "Er…actually, that's a decent question. It should be on neutral ground…" He paused to honestly consider this unexpected problem. "I don't suppose you know of a –" He cut Trias off. "No, we need someplace without topless girls, if that was your suggestion."
Trias closed his mouth.
"Well, we could always – no, that's too horrible to consider…" Xan shuddered.
"What?" Trias asked curiously. Anything that frightened Xan was worthy of note.
Xan uttered one word, a word of such sheer terror, such awful might, that it had been methodically excised from all records, mortal and divine, aeons ago. A word that, until now, had dwelt in the mists of time, merely a dark reminder of darker times…
"Cadmus."
Trias belched dismissively in response (it should be noted that Trias, through long centuries of practice, had in fact gained quite a range in belch tone), and took another drought from his ale glass. Well, more like keg. "Bah! I'sh playing wid yoo! Ish all…ish all…" he leaned forward conspiratorially, "Strategery! Yesh sir, ol' Triash is gonna swoop in like…eagle!" He spread his arms and made what he considered to be suitably eagle-like noises. "An' when I foolsh ev'ryone, I'sh gonna play double-or- nothing! An' win it all back! Cuz Trias hash…mad skillz!" He leaned in again, giving Xan a nudge and a wink as he did so. "But…" he glanced around and lowered his voice to a whisper (a drunk man's whisper, which is to say he had already shouted Xan's ear off and was now proceeding to stomp on it), "don't tell Xan! He'sh tricky like fox!" More animal pantomimes. "Ish our little secret, eh Xan? Now lesh deal da cards! Trias feeling lucky tonight!" He pumped a fist into the air. He then proceeded to be sick all over Xan's shiny floor.
The two sat at opposite ends of a polished oaken table within Xan's abode. To be perfectly honest, the operative word would be lair. One doesn't find terribly many 'abodes' in the Lower Reaches of the Abyss. And Xan, being the Unholy Blight and all, wasn't too fond of flower walkways and freshly scented foyers to begin with. He lived in a glorified cave, of the kind usually associated with dark sorcerers – only they couldn't hold a candle to this. The cave itself was gargantuan, easily the size of several palaces stuck together. The ceiling towered hundreds of feet up, lost in the murk and gloom, the only sign of its presence an occasional drip of water from on high – or at least, that's what Xan's more squeamish visitors assumed. Suffice to say, their theory wouldn't hold up to prolonged investigation. Such observation would have been complicated by the poor lighting system, consisting mainly of hundreds of candles, all placed within grinning skulls. A mixed blessing, as Trias was far more comfortable without seeing the beasts that accompanied the constant wails and growls. No entrance or exit was visible, but that hardly posed a problem – gods seldom use conventional doors.
Seeing these two gods together, however, would have given the Church of Light a collective apoplexy. For one thing, it was hardly in Church doctrine that Trias, the Lord of the Light, and Xan, the Unholy Blight, were poker-buddies. Although, many would consider that sermon a vast improvement over the current ones. For another, it would have completely undermined Church teachings. Undermined them, melted them down, and forged them into limited-edition commemorative coins. As the Church taught, Xan was a hideous, many-tentacled beast, with a visage horrid enough to scare the most hardened monsters. Conversely, Trias was a shining Warrior of Light, clad in garments bright as the morning sun; with his Divine Spear he championed all causes just and noble. In short, the two were held to be as different as night and day.
True, they did make an incongruous pair – inasmuch as a rabbit riding a donkey is an incongruous pair. Xan was the epitome of style and grace. He had given up the monster form aeons ago – as he said, if it couldn't hold a damn teacup and the crumpets at the same time, it wasn't worth having. He possessed a type of striking charisma – the kind that evades description with mere words. Upon closer examination, it wasn't so much his height - at full height he barely reached a horse's shoulders – as his bearing. Seldom riled and even more seldomly amused, he carried himself with a quiet assurance. His clothes were always impeccably clean – and always impeccably black (some stereotypes just don't die). From his black boots to the flowing silver-lined cloak, not one speck of dust existed. Of course, after that incident all those years ago, dust lived in mortal fear of him. His actual features would be impossible to describe – they seemed to constantly shift and flicker from one to another. Something in the eyes, however, revealed the inner demon…
Trias, on the other hand, would have mortified his followers if they ever caught sight of him. He couldn't have fit into his Holy Armor had he tried – unless, of course, they fastened in onto him with rope. He'd let himself go after that final climactic battle, and, well, had grown - just the slightest bit - corpulent (in other words, he was as broad as a barn). His Divine Spear he used as a toothpick. His Shining Garments were stained with ale and other, less savory, tidbits. He was also, to put it mildly, a drunken lech. Several centuries ago the Church had outlawed liquor. Trias, being the just and noble god he had been at that time, decided to try the substance to see for himself what the fuss was about. Suffice to say, he'd taken to the bottle like a fish to water. Luckily for all involved, he was a happy drunk (you really don't want to see a blubbering Ultimate Power…). The womanizing had started up as a result…unfortunately [for him], women, mortal or demi-god, aren't exactly attracted to inebriated gluttons. But let it never be said that Trias, Font of Perseverance, gives up hope (a passage, amusingly enough, from Church doctrine)!
Presently, the pair was playing a rousing round of blackjack. They had been playing poker, but Trias had passed into the final stages of inebriation, and had had an inordinately difficult time establishing why the Queen had 'picked that girly King over me'. As such, they had switched to the less mentally-challenging blackjack, and Xan was dealing the current game; in essence, all that was required of Trias was for him to fork over his money.
"Gimme da cards!" Trias hollered, pounding the table with his ale glass.
"The correct term is 'Hit me', brother…" Xan spit out through his forced smile.
Trias' eyes widened. Tears began to roll down his cheeks. "I'sh never do dat! I loves you! I'sh," he expanded, waving his arms to encompass the entire cave, "loves ev'ryone!"
Xan blinked. Shaking his head and muttering to himself – something about Spears of Unholy Flame and eternal torment – he proceeded to dole out the cards. "So, how are things up on the surface, brother dear?" he asked bitterly.
"You should go ups yourshelf, Xan! Ish loverly this time of year, like…like a tavern girl!" Trias gushed, waxing poetic.
Xan's hand twitched, sending a Jack flying onto Trias' ample belly. Small screams could be heard as the doomed card sank into his gut, never to be seen again. "Be that as it may, I am unable. If you remember, it was you who banished me here, all those years ago - all those tons ago…" he added in a whisper to himself.
"Oh, right! I'sh forgets sometimes!" Trias laughed heartily. "At leash we have dese brudderly moments…" he consoled himself by pouring another drink.
Xan clenched his teeth. These 'brotherly moments' were hardly his by choice. Trias – indeed, the whole bloody world, if they chose to – could jaunt in whenever the desire struck him; Xan had no power to stop him. Nowadays, it seemed he had no power to do anything. That damned brother of his had ruined everything… He contemplated his current dismal circumstances, taking no notice of the blood running out of the corner of his mouth and dripping down onto his table – where many such stains dotted the surface.
"Psst! X~a~n!" Trias yelled in a stage whisper, startling Xan out of his dark reverie. "We playing? I'sh ready to win!" He grinned toothily, revealing less-than-pristine teeth.
Xan took a moment to survey the cards, smiling inwardly. He wouldn't need to cheat to win this round (Trias had lost the ability to count accurately two hours and ten drinks ago, making winning pathetically easy). "You have a 12. I have a 21. Blackjack again for me…" He made to grab Trias' few remaining coins.
"HA! Da game's not over yet! Gimme a card, I'sh feeling lucky!" Trias demanded, hunching over his few precious coins.
"…No, I won. The game is over." Xan reiterated. He reached for the coins again.
Trias began to sob. Huge, racking sobs.
"Fine," Xan sighed. "You can have one more card. One." He tossed one over to Trias.
"Ha, now I'll show you lucky!" Trias roared. With drunken precision, he flipped the card over. His eyes widened. "Ish dat King! You stoled my girl, you rat! I'll kill you!" Gathering his energy, he raised the Divine Toothpick and blasted the King to oblivion. "Now…whatsh the King worth?" he asked innocently, trying vainly to cover the gaping hole in the table.
Xan dropped his face into his hands. He'd been exiled to a cave in the Abyss for all eternity, forced to spend weekends with this drunken idiot, and now he had to contend with property damage. Taking his brother's money wasn't nearly satisfying enough. Calming himself with promises of bloody vengeance, Xan raised his head and replied. "A…uh, eleventy forty two. You went over 21, brother, that's a bust for you."
"And what a bust it ish…" Trias whistled, ogling the Queen.
"That's it, I have to get out of this!" Xan hissed as he gathered Trias' last few coppers. A plan began to form within the dark recesses of his mind.
"You know, brother," he began sweetly, "I have just realized that you rarely…that you never…win these friendly games of ours. How unfortunate that is…
"Ish nothing," Trias replied, waving a dismissive hand. "Da Church tithes have to go to something. So I thought, 'Trias, dose priests are just gonna gamble dat money. I should keeps track of it for dem.' And so I'sh –"
"Shut up!" Xan yelled. "Ahem. I mean, you certainly have a valid point there." Trias preened. "Now, I had thought that – focus here, brother. Now, I had thought – stop staring at that card! It was my opinion that – STOP THAT!!" Xan snapped irritably. Taking Trias' ale pitcher and the Queen, he planted them firmly in front of him. Trias' gaze followed him like a vulture.
"Now," he began again, "I think it would be much more interesting for the both of us if we changed to nature of these little games of ours. Mere card tricks are hardly suitable for such as we, don't you agree? Of course you do," he said airily, overriding Trias' objections, "and I think it high time we indulged in activities suitable for our station, don't you? …Yes, you can answer!" Xan snapped. Leave it to Trias to ruin his momentum…
"Suit…suit…okey-dokey for us, eh? Whatsh you have in mind? Ladysh?" Trias perked up quite a bit at the thought.
Xan's eye began to twitch. "No, and considering that I don't want to be here all day – oh wait, I'm here forever! – I might as well just explain it myself. I propose a friendly wager – something to answer the eternal debate of Good vs. Evil. Now, the last time we fought was hardly fair…I had a headache. As another such battle would most likely lay waste to the world, that is out of the question." I need something to rule over with an iron fist, after all. "As such, I lay before you a suggestion: we shall each choose one…or rather, make that two, champions to fight at our behest. Well?" he asked smugly. Trias never could turn down a good fight – living vicariously, one could assume.
Trias made a great show of thinking it over, as only a drunk could. "Hmm…if ish what you want, I'sh have no problems wid doing it," he slurred indifferently.
Xan secretly exulted. That took care of Phase One of the plan – and if he fell for Phase One, he couldn't possibly resist Phase Two…
"Of course, to spice things up a little, there should be some sort of wager involved…now, what can it be~?" Xan pondered aloud, his eyes glazing over as he considered this problem. Trias took the opportunity to take a small nap. After some time – time holds no meaning to a god, after all – Xan bolted out his chair and slammed a fist onto the table. "AHA! If I win, you release me from this damnable prison for one year and a day! After all, you did say it was lovely on the surface at this time of year…" he added persuasively. Time enough for world domination, Xan inwardly chuckled. Especially when the only competition gets beaten up by barmaids on a regular basis.
Sloshed Trias may have been, but he wasn't that big a fool.
"You knows I can't do dat!" Trias told his brother sternly, shaking his head.
"And if you win," Xan went on, brushing aside Trias' vehement objections, "I'll supply you with liquor for all eternity…"
"Done!" Trias proclaimed without a second thought. When it came down to the world's peace and prosperity or liquor, he was of the opinion that the former was a result of the latter.
…'Fool' is such a subjective word…
Xan nodded calmly, as if it was of no great matter to him. Inwardly, he was indulging in his evil laughter. And the happy dance. A truly lethal combination, indeed.
"Now, as we want this to be truly accurate, I suggest we take our time choosing these champions. No need to choose the wrong subject in haste, after all. We can hold this one month from today, on whatever day it is up there." Xan leaned back in his chair and waited for his brother's assent.
"Sounds fine to me…" Trias began hesitantly.
"But…? Just spit it out!" Xan snapped.
"Where?" he asked.
"Oh honestly!" Xan sighed, raising a martyred gaze to the heavens – wherever they happened to be. "What do you have in your mouth now!? Spit it out on your own floor! I'll have clean wood shavings you bastard!" Xan screamed, shaking his fist at Trias.
"Um…wh-where ish da fight…?" Trias clarified, stuttering nervously. His brother was prone to fits, which usually consisted of him jumping up and down on Trias and swearing bloody vengeance on all who would defile his clean wood shavings.
"Oh…" Xan blinked. Then he blinked again. "Er…actually, that's a decent question. It should be on neutral ground…" He paused to honestly consider this unexpected problem. "I don't suppose you know of a –" He cut Trias off. "No, we need someplace without topless girls, if that was your suggestion."
Trias closed his mouth.
"Well, we could always – no, that's too horrible to consider…" Xan shuddered.
"What?" Trias asked curiously. Anything that frightened Xan was worthy of note.
Xan uttered one word, a word of such sheer terror, such awful might, that it had been methodically excised from all records, mortal and divine, aeons ago. A word that, until now, had dwelt in the mists of time, merely a dark reminder of darker times…
"Cadmus."