Gabor, God of Champions, peered down at Brittle with an unreadable expression fixed across his chiseled features. The god had a broad chin, a broad nose, and an even broader forehead, with piercing eyes wedged beneath a single, thick eyebrow. Locks of silver and gold hair tumbled from the crown of his head, reaching past his shoulders. His hair cast off iridescent shimmers each time it caught the light.

The god’s voice rumbled low and deep, like distant thunder. “What manner of monster is this?”

Edvin answered, “It’s a–”

“It?” A surge of crackling heat swelled within Brittle’s trunk, pouring through every hollow bone in his body. From the corner of his eye, he saw Gilly and Sir Thomassin slowly advancing towards him. Both froze the moment the words left his mouth. “I’m not an ‘it’! I’m a he. A bog log beast to you, mister.”

Edvin stood and pressed his body flat against the narrow entryway, making room for Gabor to descend the steps unobstructed. Out of his father’s direct line of sight, Edvin motioned to Brittle with a pleading shake of his head, urging him to say nothing more.

Gabor approached with slow, intimidating steps. He towered above Brittle like a mighty cypress over a freshly sprouted sapling. “A bog log beast, you say? Curious.”

Brittle puffed his hollow chest and stood on the tips of his cork bark toes. “A beast most foul, I’ve been told.”

“Is that so?” An unnerving smile cracked across the god’s chiseled face. “You remind me of someone, little beast.”

Mara’s silhouette appeared in the doorway, backlit by the warm yellow light spilling from the inside of her home into the dark passage beyond. Whereas Gabor’s voice was low and rumbling, Mara’s cut with the sharpness of a knife. “I thought I told you to leave.”

Gabor paid her no attention. His thundering tone lowered to a croon, eyes still fixed on Brittle. “There are two types of people in this world of ours. Those that believe destiny is predetermined and those that set out to forge their own. I find the truth lies somewhere in-between. While even the lowliest of mortals can make his life what he wants it, there will always be elements outside of his control. It’s no different for the gods. Life can oftentimes be a letdown in that regard. We don’t get to choose to whom we’re born. Or to whom we, in turn, give life. It’s a roll of the dice, and more often than not, the results are disappointing.”

Brittle saw Edvin’s broad shoulders start to dip.

“It’s a shame your goddess couldn’t do right by you, boy,” Gabor continued. “Gave you a pitiful body. A pitiful life. Unable to find the very family of beasts she unknowingly willed into existence. I daresay, if you’re not careful, you could be reduced to a pile of ash the next time she loses that famous temper of hers. Wouldn’t be the first time she’s burned something to the ground, after all. Isn’t that right, Mara?”

“I don’t like your tone, mister,” Brittle warned.

“Brittle,” Mara hissed from the doorway. “Come to me, now.”

Gabor leaned closer and placed his hand on Brittle’s shoulder, practically engulfing his upper body. The weight of the god’s hand trapped Brittle in place. “You may have been born of the Goddess of Ill Fortune, but that doesn’t mean you owe her your loyalty. I’d do right by you, boy, if you ever felt like trading sides. A few little fixes, and we could fashion a real champion out of you.”

A pink and orange blur barreled towards them with a venomous hiss. Gilly wedged herself between Brittle and the God of Champions, pushing the former away with her body as she rattled her throat at Gabor.

Gabor’s single eyebrow lifted in amusement. “Is this another unfortunate creation of yours, Mara?”

Mara bounded down the stone doorstep in her slippers and seized Brittle by the hand. She herded him behind her, walking them backwards until the back of Brittle’s legs bumped into the bottom step. “No, I think she just has the natural sense not to like you.”

The intensity of Gabor’s unflinching stare made Brittle’s bark crawl. The god never lifted his gaze from them, tracking the pair as they moved up the stone steps and into the open doorway. “That’s what I like about you, Mara. Always have something smart to say. I only wish you’d apply those smarts to something other than running your mouth for a change.”

Mara spoke the word as a command. “Leave.”

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

“I’m choosing to be the bigger deity in this, Mara. But you’re wearing on my patience. Think about what I said. For now, the offer still stands.” Having said his piece, Gabor turned and walked away, paying no mind to the human pressed flat against the side of the passage as he strolled past.

Brittle could feel the heat radiating off of Mara’s skin.

Edvin turned to her, his forehead creased in despair, “Mara, please. I can ex—”

Bam! The front door slammed shut with such force fragments of the splintered ceiling chipped away and pitter-pattered against the ground at Brittle’s bare feet.

“Gilly’s still out there,” he said softly.

Mara opened the door a crack, allowing the lizard to squeeze through before slamming it shut again, causing a second cascade of broken pieces of ceiling to shower down over them.

“…And Sir Thomassin.”

With a muffled shriek, Mara jerked the door open again, throwing her arms wide. “Fine! Everyone just come on in! Make yourselves comfortable! What’s the point of naming your home Stay Away Canyon if everyone just keeps coming around all the time uninvited!”

“Technically, Brittle and I were invited,” Sir Thomassin said sheepishly, producing the folded piece of parchment as proof.

The goddess bit her lower lip and stormed away, yellow robe billowing majestically in her wake.

Mara banked right at the kitchen, stomping in circles around the island counter as she mumbled and muttered under her breath. Inanimate objects flung themselves out of the way to avoid being swept up in her raging warpath. Brittle flinched when a ceramic planter hanging from the ceiling dropped and shattered across the stone ground. Mara merely stepped over it, either unaware or simply uncaring of the destruction caused by her flaring temper.

While Gabor, God of Champions, had been intimidating, Mara was downright terrifying. Brittle stood rooted to the spot, unsure of how to help — unsure whether or not he wanted to help, truth be told. This looked to be the sort of situation best left to the adults. Alas, aside from age, Brittle didn’t think anyone else in the room qualified.

Didn’t stop Edvin from trying, though.

“Stay back, Loglet,” the god said as he squeezed past. “This is on me. Let the expert talk her down, alright?”

The God of Ill-Gotten Gainz made the mistake of stepping into Mara’s direct line of sight. Her dark eyes narrowed. “You.”

The ground rumbled beneath their feet. A chunk of ceiling fell away and would have struck Edvin had he not ducked to the side at the last second.

“How could you, Edvin?” Mara said. “What were you thinking bringing him here?”

“I wasn’t having any luck finding your log beasties, Mara. Dad promised he would help.”

“And you believed him?” Mara resumed her furious pacing, this time crossing over into the living room. The rug rolled itself out of the way to avoid being trampled on. “Your father doesn’t have answers. He doesn’t even care. He used you to get to me.”

“Why would he do that?”

“Because I’ve been avoiding him.”

“Why?”

“Your father has been hounding me to join his stupid war ever since it started, alright? I didn’t want to say anything to you before because I know how you get. So let’s just say he’s not happy with my decision. Been trying to change my mind, in fact. I’m pretty sure he’s the one who’s been pulling the strings behind the curtain, sending idiots like him” — Mara gestured to Sir Thomassin whilst stomping her living room and kitchen circuit — “to harass me into reconsidering.”

“You?” the god said, as if to clarify.

“This is not the sort of thing to get jealous over.”

“I’m not jealous. It’s just that you didn’t start out as a, you know…”

Mara’s dark eyes flared and the room filled with heat.

Brittle felt someone tug on his arm. He looked over his shoulder to find Sir Thomassin crouched beside him. “It’s time to go,” the man whispered. “It’s not safe here.”

For once, Gilly seemed to be in agreement with the knight. She swished her tail as she slowly scuttled backwards, claws scraping against the ground.

Brittle knew deep in his hollow bones that he should have listened, but he found himself still rooted to the spot, unable to tear his gaze away from the scene unfolding before him. Despite all the obvious warning signs – the falling ceiling, the shaking ground, the sweltering heat that filled the room – Edvin continued digging his hole deeper and deeper. “You weren’t born a deity, Mara. I don’t mean it as an insult, either. You know that. But Dad’s not like me. He turns his nose up at human-turned-deities. I’m not trying to be rude. I’m just trying to figure out why.”

“But that’s not what you’re really asking, is it, Edvin? So unless you want the real answer, I’d drop the subject and leave.”

“But–”

“Drop it!”

The walls rattled one final time. Edvin took no notice. The God of Ill-Gotten Gainz stood alongside the back of the flounced couch, appearing strangely small for someone who ordinarily took up most of the room. “Why?” he said, softly. “Why you and not me?”

Mara’s stomping footsteps slowed to a halt. She stared at the back wall for some time, considering her answer. It was only then that Brittle realized she was trembling. “Because you’re of no use to him, Edvin. You don’t wish harm on others, even to those that might deserve it. Your father is bent on becoming the most powerful god of all. The god of gods. His kingdom will be built on pain and terror. The reason he wants me, and not you, is because I’ve already proven myself capable.”