Scritch’s hand whipped across his chest. His summoned knife twirled through the air at high speeds before sinking into the training dummy’s chest with a satisfying thud. Coyote nodded in approval before putting her hand on her student’s shoulder. He was a quick learning, something Coyote appreciated. Training new recruits was usually a hassle for her but this time around it felt more fulfilling. She felt that Scritch would be a part of their team a while. For better or for worse.

            “Focus. It’s just the same as summoning it from the armory.” Coyote’s words were the only sound in the shooting range. It made it easy for Scritch to focus on them, but they did little to help him achieve the task given to him. He lifted his hand and turned his palm towards the floor. Coyote had told him to reach for the knife with his mind, not his hand, but if his body played along he figured it might be easier.

            “That’s it,” she said softly. “You’ve got this. Clear your head and think of it just like flexing a muscle. Your weapon is an extension of yourself. In our case it’s literal. It’s a manifestation of your magic powers. It will obey your commands. You just have to make yourself heard.”

            Scritch’s arm stayed in the air, extended towards his weapon. Clearing his head was an odd thing to think about considering his head wasn’t anywhere near him. Coyote’s ears twitched. The faint sound of steam whispered sweetly in her ear. She watched Scritch’s knife softly dissolve into shadows. In the same moment, shadows spilled forth from Scritch’s coat sleeve and softly took the form of his trusted knife. He’d have smiled if he could.

            “Oh hell yeah, baby!” Scritch’s hand gripped the knife tightly. He cheered and pumped his fist into the air while Coyote clapped for him. It was a small victory, but Coyote didn’t feel like raining on his parade. After all, just because it was nothing more than a cantrip didn’t make it any more astounding how fast he picked up on it.

            “Very good, Scritch. Very good. Now, again.” She pointed at the dummy. “This needs to become second nature to you.”

            “Ok but come on,” he said, tossing the knife with the same precision and effectiveness as before. “You’ve gotta admit I’m kind of kicking ass at this whole magic thing.” Scritch extended his hand and the knife once more dispersed into shadows and took form in his palm. It was easier now. Coyote had mentioned it was like flexing a muscle. He just had to find the muscle and then it came as naturally as making a fist.

            “You’ve got a knack for it, that’s for sure.”

            “That’s because I’m the best and everyone should copy everything I do all the time.”

            Coyote rolled her eyes. She watched another swift hit, this time to the dummy’s chest. Scritch extended his hand and once again retrieved his knife.

            “You have a huge advantage most others don’t.” She watched the knife fly. Another direct hit. “There’s nothing preventing you from believing in magic. No barriers to break and no proof necessary. You’re a blank slate exposed to the fantastical world around you and you simply accept it.”

            “Isn’t that how most people who die deal with things?” Throw, hit, summon.

            “No. Even in death, you retain memories. Faint as they may be. You aren’t dead, so maybe that has something to do with it.” Throw, hit, summon.

            “Almost sounds like you’re jealous I don’t have a head.” Throw, hit, summon.

            “It’s more of an advantage than you realize.” Throw, hit, alarm. Scritch’s hand recoiled. The vapors leaking from his neck hole sputtered as he spun around.

            “What’s that? Did I win? Can you win training?” Scritch looked over at Coyote, but she only stared at the alarm on the wall. Scritch looked as well, though he didn’t gleam any knowledge from it. Coyote picked up on that.

            “They have different colors. Right now it’s blue. That means a threat from Blue Heaven. The faster the strobe the more prominent the threat.” They both watched the alarm flashing blue. It was much faster than Coyote would have preferred it to be.

            “That’s, uh… that’s really fast.” Scritch opened his hand and brought his knife back to it. He didn’t like the urgency of that alarm. The look on Coyote’s face didn’t help him feel any better, either. Neither did holding his knife. He was suddenly quite envious of Coyote’s fancy lightning-conducting weapon.

            “We’re dealing with a god.”

            Scritch turned towards his teacher. She’d already summoned the naginata she was so proficient with. They both stood there, weapons drawn in an empty room, unmoving. The ground beneath them shook, spurring Coyote into action. She grabbed hold of Scritch’s arm and pulled him out of the room. Weapons and magic wouldn’t do much against a god. She needed to get Scritch away from the fight if there was going to be one.

            “You need to get out of here.” Coyote looked down the corridors, trying to figure out the best way to get her student to safety. “I don’t care how good your magic is, you can’t measure up to a god.” She pulled him by the arm again, charging down the hallways. Her movement was limited by Scritch’s inability to keep pace. He ran as fast as he could, but was weighed down with a hundred questions.

            “What god would have beef with Nakutama? He seems so amiable!” Scritch was pulled around another corner. Then he felt the ground tremble more ferociously than before. Whoever it was had been gaining speed, getting closer.

            “I don’t know.” The reply was as quick and curt as her footsteps. The fact that Coyote didn’t even know who was hunting them made Scritch increasingly nervous. His knowledge of the supposed pantheon of Blue Heaven was limited to Nakutama.

            “Well do you have any guesses? Are there any gods that he doesn’t get along with?”

            “Can you focus on running?” Coyote’s voice was strained. She was slowing herself down to make sure Scritch didn’t fall. He didn’t know these halls like she did. One wrong move and he’d be separated from her. The sound of shattering rock and crumbling drywall was suddenly far more prominent than the trembling floor.

            “Are they-“

            “Breaking down walls? Yes. Run faster.”

            Scritch did as he was told. He didn’t feel like being a victim to whoever was strong enough to bust down walls. From what he could tell they weren’t even breaking stride. The sounds of destruction were coming in a quickening rhythm and building rapidly.

            Coyote continued leading Scritch down the halls. She had come to the conclusion that this wasn’t random. Nakutama’s office was prolific to the gods. They wouldn’t need to charge through walls to catch him. Whoever was responsible for this bull-in-a-china-shop routine wasn’t interested in the god. They had to be here for her. Coyote gritted her teeth in frustration. If they wanted something from her then there wasn’t anything she could do about it. They’d come too far together for her to just let Scritch go. If he stopped moving now he’d get trampled. So they were back to their first idea.

            “Faster, Scritch!”

            “What’s our game plan here?” he shouted, feet pounding the pale tiles. “Just keep running until…” Scritch and Coyote both slowly came to a stop. The noises did too, albeit abruptly. Scritch looked behind them and saw nothing. Coyote breathed a sigh of relief and let Scritch’s hand go. The headless blabbermouth carefully checked the last corner they turned and was met with only rubble and dust. No living being in sight except Coyote and himself. The latter was still up for debate.

            The air was unusually still. The soft buzzing of fluorescent lights would be their only companion if chunks of wall weren’t still crumbling. Curious. He didn’t know much about the gods of Blue Heaven but he didn’t think they were quitters. Honestly they weren’t even outrunning their pursuer. Bashing through walls really speeds up the capture process.

            “Well whatdya know. You actually can run from your problems.” Scritch clapped his hands together and took a look at the damages. The hole in the wall was far smaller than he’d imagined in his mind. The damage was definitely there, though. Chunks of debris scattered about, exposed wiring, even the walls that weren’t in the god’s direct path were littered with dents and dimples from flying bits of wall.

            “No you can’t.” Coyote looked around, surveying the damage. There was no doubt in her mind that she’d be put on the team in charge of repairing this. Just what she needed. Scritch picked up a piece of drywall and tossed it lazily to the side.

            “Oh yeah? Then explain why the god disappeared.” He figured she was right, but he had no idea why. The gods and their peculiar ways were still a mystery to him. He barely knew anything about Nakutama and now there was another one of him he had to deal with?

            “Nakutama is the god of lost and found. That means things that are lost are considered his domain. People, too.” Coyote stepped over some debris. Her eyes closed as she sniffed the air. She was attempting to differentiate the smell of their pursuer from the menagerie of discarded construction material. No good. The smells were indistinguishable from each other. That narrowed down the list of possibilities. When she opened her eyes again, Scritch was standing in front of her, unmoving.

            Coyote rolled her eyes. “He’s the god of lost and found. If a person becomes lost he has eyes on them, can sense them. Why do you think this place is built so weird? It’s easy to get lost in so he’s able to exert his magic more easily on trespassers.” Her protégé crossed his arms. He added in little affirming words while she spoke. Coyote put her hands on her hips and raised an eyebrow. She wasn’t convinced.

            “Ah. I see,” he added. A last ditch effort to play it cool.

            “This office building has identical hallways and doors so that it’s easy to get lost. Once you’re lost, Nakutama can track you. Since the invader is so close to where he is, Nakutama can exert more power. In this case, he abducted our pursuer.”

            “But if they’re strong enough to chase us through walls then what exactly is his plan? Is he gonna paperwork them to death? Give them a monologue?”

            “Excuse me.” Scritch and Coyote turned in unison to see a small blue imp stumbling through the hole in the wall. His chest was heaving and his brow was glistening with sweat.

            “Excuse me,” he repeated, clearing his throat. “Naku- Nakutama wants to see you in- in his office, please.” Coyote nodded. She’d been right. Their pursuer had been after her, not Scritch. She should’ve known better than to drag her student into this. Now there was a new question forming in her mind. What did she have that a god would want? She had seldom few material possessions. Had she overstepped a boundary while hunting Eelzilla? That had to be it. That kill wasn’t as clean as she was used to. There were too many mistakes made.

            “Alright, Scritch,” Coyote turned to her headless compatriot. “I want you to go to your room. Stay there until I come get you.” Her orders were absolute, as always. Scritch had to throw his two cents into the matter regardless.

            “Aw mom,” Scritch whined, drooping his shoulders theatrically. “Do I gotta?” Coyote’s brow furrowed. His inability to understand the danger he was in stopped being cute. What happened with Eelzilla was still a mystery. She wasn’t about to put his life in danger on the off chance he had some weird healing factor.

            The little imp cleared his throat, drawing their attention back to him. “Actually, he wants to see Scritch. Just Scritch.” The trio stood unmoving for a moment. Coyote’s mind was overwhelmed. There were so few reasons that a god would need to associate themselves with her. There were even less reasons they’d want to talk to Scritch. He was barely a blip on Nakutama’s radar. How exactly did any god even know about his existence? He hadn’t been around long and hadn’t managed to do much since his arrival. Curiosity, disdain, confusion, and fear mixed themselves together to fuel a tense silence.

Scritch, as he had a habit of doing, broke the spell of quiet first.

            “Me?”

            “Yes.”

            Scritch looked over at his teacher. She remained still; her brow furrowed further. The stern look in her eyes was switched with concern. The only god she could think of that would want anything to do with him was Death. It made the most sense. He was supposed to be dead, by all scientific standpoints. He didn’t have a head. Nakutama had even stated himself if he were a second or two later that they wouldn’t have ever met Scritch at all. He’d just be another corpse in the dirt. Well, if he was lucky.

            “Coyote,“ Scritch started.

            “You heard him,” she interrupted. “Get going. I’m sure it’s nothing too serious.” Scritch doubted that. Everyone around here seemed deathly serious all the time. Humphrey was his only reprieve from the grimness of the work day. He thought about his little friend while he followed the other imp down to Nakutama’s office.

            Every time he saw one of Nakutama’s blue imps, he was reminded how little they meant to the god. He regarded his godspawn as pets. That just didn’t sit right with him. If these loveable little helpers were that expendable, it probably didn’t bode well with his own future. Scritch was well aware he’d signed a contract putting him in Nakutama’s employment, but it didn’t settle his nerves. How much did a contract really mean to someone as high up as a god? What if he ended up being more trouble than he was worth? Would he just be thrown away like an imp or used as cannon fodder? If he was in trouble with another god would Nakutama even try to help him out?

            “Here we are,” declared the imp, shaking Scritch from his spiraling thoughts. “Do remember your manners. Not all gods are as casual as Nakutama.” If Nakutama was considered casual, he couldn’t wait to see what this other god was like. Scritch nodded, well, as much as a headless man can, and gingerly opened the door. The painful creaking of hinges and the groaning of wood removed any chance of a subtle entrance into the room.

            The sheer white of the room hit him like a ton of bricks. He’d entered this office a dozen times before, but this time the energy was completely different. The curtains were drawn tight so the only light in the room came from the harsh fluorescents Nakutama was so fond of. The god of lost and found sat at his desk as he always did. His papers were neatly arranged, his metronome clicked steadily, and his pencils were all arranged in a neat row. Everything was normal except for him.

            If he wasn’t the only man in the room wearing a stark white suit, Scritch might have never recognized him. He was sweating profusely, and dabbing his forehead with a handkerchief did little to hide that. His smile wasn’t cold and confident, but forced and uneasy. Though his eyes were unseen, Scritch could feel them immediately dart to him as he entered. There was no other way to express this feeling except oppression. Nakutama opened his mouth to speak, but decided against it.

            Scritch looked opposite the god, curious to see who would cast enough of a shadow to silence his boss before he even got a chance to speak. It was a woman. A girl, to be exact, with lavender skin. A little more than five feet tall, but smaller than five and a half. Her whole figure was on the petite side, or at least from what he could tell. She wore an ill-fitting, worn out, dull yellow dress with one shoulder strap lazily resting above her bicep instead of where it belonged. Starting at her collarbone, covering most of her body, was a skin-tight black spandex body suit. The sleeves of her dress hid most of her arm but ended near her wrist, revealing proportionately little hands that were currently balled into equally little fists.

            Her violet-red hair was curly, unkempt, and contrasted nicely with her chiseled jawline. It confused him a little to see someone so small with a face that looked so adult. Her lips were curled into a coy smile as if she knew something he did not. Which, to be fair, was probably a lot. Her eyes were round and seemed almost a little big for her head, but he had little time to examine her further. Once her big purple eyes locked onto the vapor that spewed steadily from his head, she crossed her arms and let her smile grow larger.

            “Well well well, look what the tongue-sniffing gorilla dragged in.” Her voice was loud, her tone jarring, and her words somehow intimidating despite their nonsensical nature. “If it isn’t Scrunch. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

            “Actually, it’s, uh, Scritch.” Scritch didn’t quite know if he should be correcting a god or not. Well, this one, anyway. Nakutama never struck him as intimidating. This woman was yet to be determined. Her eyes narrowed into a squint as if Scritch was suddenly far away. He instinctively straightened up just a bit. He decided if she was high enough in the pecking order to scare his boss, that made her worth the extra effort of standing up straight.

            “I’m pretty sure it’s Scrunch.” Her reply came far too quickly. There was no doubt in her mind of the information gathered. Even if it were wildly inaccurate. Scritch turned to his boss, who simply shrugged nervously. It seemed he was alone on this one, just as he expected.

            “N-no,” he said, though with little conviction. “It’s Scritch. I should know, I came up with it.” The god remained silent. She continued squinting at Scritch. The silence grew more tense with every agonizing second that passed. Scritch shifted from one foot to another. Nakutama cleared his throat once again.

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            “Well my name is Lala Tiara,” she said, shrugging away the tension. “I should know. I came up with it.” Scritch was stunned. Did she just mock him? Had he returned to the playgrounds of his youth?

            “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Lala Tiara.” This time he remembered his manners. It was easier when the initial shock of learning her name subsided. He figured there was little room to judge considering her name was made of two real words.

            “And it’s a pleasure to meet the hero of my people!” Her demeanor turned on a dime. Her lackadaisical nature that had hung over his head like a weighted net was gone. In its place was a lighthearted aura, a kind smile, and an extended fist. Scritch had no option but to bump it. A sign of true solidarity if ever there was one.

            “Your people? Hero?” He hadn’t saved anyone, had he? No, wait, those two bodybuilders from the other night. The ones that were almost gotten by Eelzilla. Answering his question first with confirmation, she nodded enthusiastically.

            “Yeah! Roro told me about how you saved him and Soso from the eel-thingy.” Those guys had matching names? “He’d already eaten Wowo, Vovo, Dodo, and Fofo! It was a feeding frenzy of muscle mass!” Those couldn’t be real names. There’s no way she knew sextuplets with a naming convention that bizarre. Then again, he’d already come to terms with her fantastical handle. If the people she surrounded herself with had normal names, that would be a cause for questioning.

            “Are those their actual names?” The audacity of this headless man threw Lala for a loop. She stumbled back, throwing the back of her fist onto her forehead and gasping in shock.

            “Are you insinuating I would lie to you about the names of my precious baby boys?” Scritch stood silently. Then he looked behind him as if the god could be talking to anyone else. Alas, no such person existed. It was still just the three of them in there. Well, if Nakutama counted. He was busy being a wet paperweight.

            “Uh… yeah.”

            “I would never do such a thing. I don’t think so little of my godspawn. Unlike a certain someone who shall remain nameless.” Her eyes widened as her head slowly turned to stare down Nakutama. His sweating was starting to stink up the room. The nerve-ridden god excused himself to open a window. That allowed Lala to return her gaze to Scritch, just in time to hear him start to speak once more.

            “So your godspawn-“ he began, before he was duly interrupted.

            “The Dofafa.” Her voice was once again curt and corrective.

            “Yeah, the, uh, Dofafa. They’re ok, then?”

            “Yuppers,” Lala said, nodding her head. “Roro wanted to thank you personally. You’re just gonna have to nod along, though. Or, uh… do something like that around your neck area.” Scritch gave her a thumbs up. It would be good practice to start doing that. It was odd trying to break a habit he never remembered forming. Instead of viewing it as negative, he used it as more proof of his humanity. Something he needed reminding of when surrounded by gods and their creations.

            “Roro!” The jarring volume of Lala’s voice made the headless hero jump. “Get in here!” Lala stood with her little balled fists on her hips. There was a pause before the wall beside the office’s door shook. The silhouette of a mighty bodybuilder suddenly appeared amongst a cloud of rubble and dust. It walked through the sizeable hole in the wall its stride had created and moved to stand in front of Scritch. He was absolutely floored by the size of this thing.

            “Dofafa…” it muttered. The hulking beast was anything but a bodybuilder now that Scritch could see it up close. Its biceps were as large as the distance from one of Scritch’s shoulders to the other. Its forearms weren’t quite as broad but they were nonetheless obscenely muscular. In fact, its entire body looked to be nothing but raw muscle wrapped up in a skin-tight purple bodysuit. Tight enough that Scritch had to wonder if its skin was actually purple and not an article of clothing at all. The only thing he was certain of that was indeed an article of clothing was a stylized skull mask covering the entirety of its face. Then, to top it all off, this muscle-bound monstrosity stood at least two swollen heads taller than Scritch.

            “Yeah, you certainly are,” muttered Scritch. The massive beast opened its equally massive hands and grabbed Scritch by the shoulders. Panic began to set in to the young man as he was lifted into the air by an inescapable grip. He immediately began to squirm and kick his feet, protesting to being manhandled by someone three times his size.

            “Awwww,” coo’d Lala, unclenching her hands for the first time. “He wants to say thanks!” The Dofafa, Roro, pulled Scritch in for a hug. The terror built in his core when he was pressed against Roro’s chest. The colored pectorals were, unsurprisingly, as deeply muscular and solid as the rest of him. Roro gave the headless young man a loving hug and Scritch felt his torso collapse in on itself. He shrieked in horror as his bones were shattered into dust, breaking and snapping with the same ease as an excitable child would break a new doll.

            “Lala!” Finally Nakutama intervened. “Tell him to let Scritch go!” Lala turned to Nakutama, surprised that the man in white finally had something to say. Though she quickly dismissed him, waving away his words like a troublesome fly.

            “Oh come on, humans grow bones back really quick.”

            “No they don’t! Let him go!”

            “You’re being obtuse, Tutu.”

            “I’m not telling you again.”

            Lala stared at Nakutama. The seated god folded his hands in turn. The tense silence of the gods was only broken by Scritch’s continued shrieks of pain. Whatever was happening between the two gods was clearly unusual. Lala took a step towards the desk. The buzzing fluorescents overhead flickered just a moment. In that split second of suppressed visibility Nakutama made his move and suddenly appeared in front of Lala with his hands held behind his back. They were face-to-face now, Nakutama having a good six inches of height on the shorter and more in-shape god.

            “Standing up for a human?” she asked with a grin. Nakutama refused to answer. His eyeless stare persisted. It seemed to resonate with something inside Lala, pulling out either trepidation or intrigue from the depths of her soul. She turned to Roro and called off the brutal hug. He complied, dropping Scritch who fell like a sack of potatoes. He collapsed immediately, unable to hold himself since his structural support system had just been reduced to chalk.

“Dofafa…” mumbled the giant, crouching down to poke at Scritch. Yet no matter how much he was pestered, the body of the young man refused to respond. Lala looked on, genuinely surprised. Her wide purple eyes locked onto the puddle of man lying on the ground.

            “Oh shit,” remarked the pint-sized god. “Uh, don’t they usually stand? Or, uh, get up?”

            “They’re supposed to breathe, too!” Nakutama remarked, stepping towards the motionless body of his employee. “If anything happens to him-“

            “You’ll what?” Lala laughed, stepping towards her comrade in godhood. “What’s the god of lost and found to the god of power? You gonna paperwork me to death? Gimme a monologue?”

            Nakutama looked down at Scritch. The body wasn’t moving in the correct way a human body should. Something was shifting inside him, moving his body of its own accord. Something unseen, buried, and arguably grotesque. Nakutama’s eyes could not be seen beneath the harsh shadows that hid his face. Something told the lavender powerhouse that he was staring her down even though his face had yet to turn in her direction. Despite the seriousness of what had just transpired, Lala couldn’t help a smile. It’d been a long time since she’d seen the god of lost and found so worked up over someone.

            “Nothing quite so civil, I assure you.”

            Scritch awoke with a start. Well, if you could call it that. The last thing he remembered was the Dofafa crushing the air out of his lungs. Then a bright light, almost blinding. Had he died?

            “Ok does that mean you’re awake?” The person speaking sounded familiar. Jarring in tone, loud in voice. He dramatically reached for the blinding light, coughing to feign weakness.

            “God?” Scritch asked, his voice soft and frail. “I’ve been good. I’m ready.” His gloved hand was slapped away by a far more powerful and colored hand. He yelped and drew back his mitt. The silhouette of Lala Tiara blocked the blinding light that Scritch had just surmised being another one of his boss’s fluorescents. He wasn’t even sure what room he was in. They all looked the same. All he knew is that it certainly wasn’t his. There was no TV.

            “Fine, fine,” he whined, rubbing his sore hand. “Yeah, I’m alive. Awake. Whichever one is more accurate.” Lala rolled her eyes and leaned back in her chair. The little wheeled seat sent her scooting back a few inches. Scritch propped himself up on his elbow to keep her within his line of sight.

            “Geez, kid. Ya scared me a bit there. You’re already all corpsey to begin with. Then ya go not breathin’ and layin’ still for a while and whatever?” Lala scooted back towards Scritch. Uncomfortably close. Then, as if sensing his growing unease, she leaned even closer till the vaporous shadows gently spewing from his neck hole tickled her nose.

            “Yeah, well, I’m fine now. Mostly, I think. I’m still missing my head but that’s normal from what I’m told. Well, for me.” Scritch didn’t budge. Lala didn’t blink. It was just them in the room and the tension was palpable. The way she was staring at him made him wonder if she somehow could see his eyes. Or perhaps she was just staring where his eyes should be. In any case, he broke the silence.

            “Who, uh, patched me up, anyway?” he asked, trying to sit up fully without shouldering Lala in the face. Not that he figured it would bother her. He didn’t get to hear what she was the god of over the sound of his bones breaking, but the fact of the matter is that she’s a god. If her godspawn, the Dofafa, could crush him into dust without even trying he figured there was a good chance she could do the same.

            “You did.” Her answer was short, precise. It reminded him of Coyote’s speaking patterns.

            “Oh my god,” Scritch gasped, mockingly putting a hand up to his nonexistent cheek. “I knew I passed the exam.” Lala’s eyes narrowed. Clearly she wasn’t exactly up-to-date with her knowledge of human vocations. He’d have to explain.

            “So to become a doctor-“

            “You corn-stuffing slug, I know how doctors work!” Lala jumped to her feet, sending the chair rolling back into the wall. “You healed yourself! You got crushed to the max! You fucking died! Then you just got better!” Scritch looked down at himself. He was still adorned in his usual outfit. Not a speck of blood. Actually, when he was propped up on his arm and again when he sat up, there was no pain at all. He’d been healed. Completely.

            “How, uh…” his voice trailed off as he struggled to choose between two questions. “How long was I out?” Lala shrugged. She really did hop between expressions a little too quickly. At least he knew how she felt at any given moment. Right now, for instance, she was wearing an expression of intrigue. Confusion, more accurately.

            “Uh… shit. Like, twenty minutes? Nah, closer to ten,” she replied.

            Scritch felt nauseous. His hands went clammy. Ten minutes? Just ten minutes to recover from his spine being shattered? Ten minutes to reconfigure his lungs and internal organs? Just ten minutes. He’d desperately held onto the notion he was still somewhat human. He had to be, but humans didn’t recover this quickly. Not even Coyote. Though admittedly he hadn’t seen her get hurt. Even when comparing the two of them the layman would consider her far more human than him. It might just be a surface-level observation but that didn’t stop it from being true. So if he wasn’t human than what was he? A monster? Some kind of freak mutant that-

            “Hey, kid,” Lala grabbed Scritch by the shoulder. The headless man jerked to attention. There was a sudden sputter of the smokey vapor that came from his neck hole. It was becoming a tell that something was upsetting him.

            “Sorry,” he muttered, putting his hands on his thighs. “I, uh, I was just lost in my hea- my thoughts.” Lala raised her eyebrow surprisingly high. Then she did what she did best and invaded his bubble with a lean that went too far.

            “Oh yeah? Wanna share those thoughts or just be Mr. Brooding?” Her question wasn’t unwarranted, but Scritch still felt the sting nonetheless.

            “I’m not brooding. I’m just thinking.”

            “Is there a difference?”

            “Whatever.” Scritch shrugged and got up. At least he tried to. When he made the motion to stand, Lala pushed him back down with a firm hand. They sat in silence for a second. Scritch thought about saying something, but instead he just tried to stand up again. Then, just like last time, he was firmly prompted to sit.

            “Hi, my name is Scritch. I use words to communicate.”

            “Sit down, ya grape-kicking skunk. Ya just had your spine slapped back together. Wanna give it a bit to rest?” Scritch stretched his arm up to tenderly feel the top of his spine. He trailed down a few inches as if gently reminding himself that his anatomy was still the same.

            “I don’t need to. In whatever way my body puts itself together it seems to do it well.” Scritch stood up again, but this time he wasn’t sat back down. This time he was just glared at. Lala looked as if she were none too pleased. He wasn’t listening. To make things even more clear she stood up and crossed her arms. Scritch noticed the solid state of her forearms. She was flexing, preparing.

            “Sit down, Scritch.” This time, her tone dropped. “I’m not gonna ask again.” Scritch weighed his options. He could listen to the bossy little lady, or he could do what he wanted to and get out of this stuffy room. His new method of healing himself from mortal wounds had already bolstered his confidence. At the same time it put him in a terribly sour mood.

            He decided to ignore the god. He walked past her, but didn’t make it very far. His bicep was grabbed in much the same manner one would use to gently stop a child. In this case, it was far more insistent. Coupled with her seemingly infinite strength, there was nothing he could do to escape. So he did the only thing he knew he could. Lala listened as the sound of steam tickled her ears. Before she could place the sound, there was a knife to her chest.

            “You’re joking!” Lala’s eyes lit up. They weren’t angry, scared, or even upset. Her eyes glistened with excitement. They looked at the knife and then back to where Scritch’s head should be. It wasn’t every day she was threatened. It’d happened twice today, though. She had to remember to come around here more often!

            “Let me go,” Scritch said. His voice was low and threatening. The latter was less believable. When comparing their vocations it was clear who would come out on top.

            “You realize you’re threatening the god of power, right? Power.” Lala waited for Scritch to say something in response. That moment didn’t come. “Dude. I don’t think you get it. I’m the god of power-“

            “You said that already.”

            “Yeah. Do you even know what that means? I’m sustained by humans’ belief in power. All kinds. Political, emotional, all of it. Then? Oh yeah, it manifests as physical strength for me.” Lala smiled confidently. “I’m the only natural disaster you can talk to.” Even when compared to other gods like Death or Obedience with his damned rectangular smile, she was leagues above them when it came to manifesting her authority. She had nothing to fear from him, yet his knife persisted. So did her smile.

            “I like you, Scritch.” Her grip released. “For real. I dunno what’s going on in your head, but you better figure it out. You’re a whole new kind of guy and you’re wasting it with old man Tutu.” There was that nickname again. Scritch released his knife and it fell down towards the ground, dissipating before it hit the floor.

            “Just let me leave,” he said, already feeling the shame of pulling a knife on someone who meant him no harm. Not that Lala seemed to mind. She didn’t let him go to avoid getting hurt. They were both acutely aware of that fact.

            “Nah, I get it,” she said, shrugging. “You got a lot to figure out. If you feel like working for someone who isn’t a sweaty snowflake-colored ape, I ain’t hard to find.” Scritch’s body didn’t move. There wasn’t anything from stopping him this time, but he found it hard to move.

            “Listen, Lala-“

            “Don’t worry.” Lala slapped Scritch on the back, helping him take his first few steps towards the door. “I ain’t easy to offend. It’s a front to keep old man Tutu sweating.”

            “About that nickname…”

            “A story for another time, kid. Go digest whatever you’re feeling.”

            The rest of the day was spent in a stupor. Nakutama gave him a talking-to about how to engage with gods. Specifically, Lala Tiara. He didn’t really listen. Lala Tiara wasn’t the same kind of god Nakutama was. She was informal, brash, and confusing. She was the furthest thing from predictable he’d encountered. She reminded him a bit of Humphrey in that sense. Nakutama also gently, urgently, desperately, reminded Scritch about his contract. Not that he was seeing any results from his employment or anything.

            Coyote didn’t bother him too much. She checked on him every hour, but didn’t want him to feel like she was. What gave her away was the punctuality of it all. She’d been checking on him every hour on the dot. It wasn’t surprising. She didn’t get it. He figured no one would. It wasn’t just an identity crisis. He was learning that what he thought he was, he wasn’t. He was back to square one, desperately trying to figure himself out.

            His lack of identity had been eating at him more and more with every passing day. Today it had come to a all-time high. What was he? A corpse? A zombie of some kind? A phantom? Were these powers even inherent to him? Was he ever really human to begin with? Did he have them before his decapitation or was being headless the source of his magic? He’d had these thoughts before but now that he was by himself, they just continued spiraling. Spiraling, spiraling, spiraling.

            “Is this seat taken?” came the little voice of Humphrey. Scritch sighed deeply and patted the spot next to him. The same spot Humphrey always took when they watched the sun together.

            “Not for you.” With the answer locked in, the forgetful little imp trotted over and plopped down next to his friend. He began going through his brown paper bag in search of his food.

            “You look sad,” he said, his arm going through the bottom of the bag. It seemed he forgot to bring food this time. He just had the bag. Not that it bothered the little guy. The food was mostly secondary. He had foggy memories of beans and chips. Whether or not he actually ate them was a question no one could answer.

            “I don’t look like anything. I don’t have a face to look sad.” Scritch leaned forward, watching the people on the street below them. They scurried to and fro in the sunset, trying to get home before dark.

            “Yeah-huh.” Humphrey balled up the empty paper bag and threw it over the side of the building. “You got slumpy shoulders, you’re all leany and all downwards-facing.” The little imp watched the bag fall through the air like a rock in the water. It brought him peace. Especially when it landed on a parked car. He liked parked cars.

            “Humphrey,” asked Scritch. “What do you think I am?”

            “A guy.” Humphrey’s answer came too quick.

            “No, like, do you think I’m some kind of… ghost? Zombie?”

            “Aren’t you a human?”

            “I thought so.” Scritch looked at his hands. “But I’m having some serious doubts.” His gloves prevented him from seeing the skin on his hands. Right now, it was something he appreciated. The ability to look at himself without looking too deep at the problems plaguing his mind. A veil for his troubled mind.

            “So?” The nonchalant response was enough to pull Scritch’s attention away from his mitts. “Coyote can shoot lightning. It’s just magic.” A fair point, but it did little to soothe his worries.

            “I can heal myself, Humphrey. I had my spine crushed and my lungs popped like balloons. I woke up ten minutes later and I didn’t have a scratch on me. I didn’t even bleed. Humans don’t do that.”

            “Sounds like magic.”

            “No one else I know has magic that can heal themselves.”

            “Well that sounds pretty cool. I wish I could heal myself. I bumped into a table yesterday and it still hurts.” Humphrey lifted his little ragged shirt and showed off a bruise that didn’t exist. Humphrey gasped loudly and pointed to his side.

            “Oh my god! Scritch, I healed! We’re the same! That means you’re an imp!”

            Scritch couldn’t help but laugh. The sensation fell over him like a downpour. It warmed him up even better than the sun he came to see fall below the horizon. Even though he didn’t understand why, Humphrey laughed too. Together they laughed, spoke more of how they were the same, and lamented in their unique predicaments. Once the sun finally dipped fully below the landscape and the last rays twinkled away, the boys stood up to leave.

            “C’mon, Humphrey. Let’s get you a sandwich or something.”

            “Can it be salmon?”

            “Dude, what is with you and fish?”

            Far off where the boys couldn’t see, there was a structure which was never built. Inside sat a man who was never born. He learned of a corpse that never died and smiled.