The streets of Keddah were not safe, had never been. She knew this, had always known this. It had not bothered her before.

But tonight, she was truly frightened.

As she walked down the crowded avenue, Susan’s eyes kept darting in every direction, on the lookout for any sign of danger.

If they came after her, would they do it out in the open? She was hoping not, and was carefully avoiding small alleys and isolated spots.

The crowd would keep her safe. At least, that was what the young short-haired brunette thought.

A loud popping sound made her jump. When she turned in its direction, she saw a small boy shooting a toy gun at his laughing parents.

She frowned and started walking again.

Where would she go, though?

At some point, the crowd would thin and she would become more exposed. She needed a safe place to hide. At least for a little while. Until she figured out some way out of this mess.

It angered her, too, because she was supposed to be in control. They were supposed to be afraid of her.

But perhaps they were. Perhaps that was the problem. Perhaps she had gone too far. Worried them too much. And now here she was, running for her life.

As she turned a corner, Susan saw a police car and froze. It took a couple of seconds before she came to her senses, and stepped out of the light and into a shadowy corner.

Her heart pounded as she closed her eyes. Were they looking for her? Had they seen her?

She waited a moment, but when she didn’t hear them coming, she took a deep breath and headed in the opposite direction.

Her hotel room was out of the question. They would find her too easily. She needed to disappear. Lay low.

As she walked past a crowded bar, she wondered how difficult it would be to get a fake ID... Who would she ask for something like that?

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Did she have any friends who could help her?

She thought about that for a moment.

Most of the people she knew lived in other cities—if not other worlds... There was Adrian, though. But she hadn’t seen him in... what? Ten years. At least that.

Still...

If he hadn’t moved away, maybe he would help.

He had always been kind to her.

She glanced all around, suspicious of every movement.

Did she remember where he lived? Yes. She thought she did. Maybe.

It would take at least twenty minutes to get there.

Susan headed for a transit station... might as well use public transportation while they were still running packed.

As she went down the stairs—after making sure she wasn’t being followed—she fervently hoped they wouldn’t get to her before she reached her destination.

***

He stood three feet above the assembled mass and stared down at it with contempt.

“Look at them... how pathetic they are! Puny little things.”

“They have come for you,” remarked the small man at his side.

He snorted. “Indeed. As well they should. I am the closest thing to a god they will ever behold.”

The crowd below was an agglomerate of humans of all genders, races, and strata.

Without waiting for the other to respond, the would-be god took a step forward and extended both his arms to his sides, and exclaimed loudly—he wanted to make sure they could all hear him:

“Behold, my beloved followers! I have arrived! I shall bless you all with my presence. For I am the self-appointed Lord of Rectitude. Blemish me not, for I am Wrath! And my might is formidable!”

As he spoke, the crowd became agitated, squirming and yelling. When he finished, a loud ovation resounded within their midst as they praised his name.

“Lord Valerian!” they chanted, “Lord Valerian! Lord Valerian!”

He shook his hands and closed his eyes to bask in their adulation, if only for a moment.

Then he turned and stepped back into the room.

“By Udrak, how I despise them!”

His servant—for that was what he was—was a human himself, but he refrained from reminding his master of this. He knew it would serve no purpose, save maybe to elicit anger. So he held his tongue. Gods should be allowed some leeway, after all, should they not?

With reverence, he poured Valerian’s favorite wine into a cup and brought it to him with his head bowed.

He did not expect thankfulness—he would never be so presumptuous!—nor was he wrong on this matter. There was little reward for his position, save of course to be in Valerian’s quasi-permanent divine presence. That alone, to him, was reward enough.

The cup was taken and downed, then tossed to the floor with utter disregard for the servant.

“And yet, and yet...” muttered his master.

There was a long silence as he paced the room, his mind wandering elsewhere—likely lost in the realm of the gods.

He finally stopped and looked at his servant. There was surprise in his expression, then anger.

“Timothy! What are you still doing standing there, gaping at the walls, and drooling all over my floor? Bring me my diary before I change my mind and skin you alive!”

The servant had been staring at his master, not at the wall, but he knew better than to talk back. So he bowed—deeply—then ran out to get the precious book.

Oh, how blessed was he!