Francis grunted with appreciation as a lance of green light lit up the evening. “Neat, a laser light show!”

The Paladin was unimpressed. “Foul Necromancer, I will defeat you just as good always defeats evil!”

The Marine paused. “I'm not actually evil, just so you know.”

“Hah! A well known trick! You seek to corrupt me, but I am-” The Paladin stopped mid sentence as a gigantic skeletal hand clawed its way out of the ground. He glared at the Marine as it wrapped around him. “Hey! That's cheating!”

Willow strolled into the garden and gave Francis a peck on the cheek. “I know you're having fun, but we have dinner plans with Typhon and Echidna in an hour.”

The Marine let out a sigh. “I completely forgot,” he said before turning towards the captured Paladin, “Hey, I hate to cut this short, but duty calls. How about we call it quits and I drop you off in front of your temple on our way to dinner? After all, it's not like you actually hurt anyone.”

The Paladin was seething with rage. Not only had they captured him, but now they were dismissing him? “Am I a joke to you?”

“Yes,” Francis and Willow said in unison before busting up laughing.

The Marine gave his girlfriend a kiss on the forehead before addressing the Paladin. “Look, I'm not even sure why we're fighting. I smacked you around because you came into my home and started wrecking shit. But I don't have anything against you specifically.”

“You are an evil that must be purged!” Raged the Paladin from inside his bony prison.

“No, he's a god who must go take a shower or we're going to be late,” clapped back Willow, “Look, I'm trying to be nice. Do you have a friend I can message to come pick you up? Or perhaps a Deity who can miracle you away?”

The Paladin glared at her. His once pristine armor was dented and dirty but his spirit was unbroken. “I'll accept no favors from you, bitch.”

Time seemed to freeze and the world held its breath. For a second, nothing happened. Then, like an iceberg breaking off from a glacier to wreck a luxury cruise liner’s day, Francis slowly turned to face the Paladin.

“What the fuck did you just say to my woman, shit dick?”

***

Wolfie, Not-Wolfie, and Also-Not-Wolfie were hungry (apparently they were as bad at hunting as they were at coming up with names). The druids had prohibited them from eating refugees, and game was scarce. That meant they had to range further and further looking for food.

Tonight their journey had brought them to a hill overlooking Brexis. The three Dire Wolves sat and looked at the city longingly. Even at night it was bustling with activity.

Wolfie was the first to speak. “I know we've talked about it before, but I think we should seriously consider volunteering for domestication.”

“And we always decide against it because it's a stupid idea,” snapped back Not-Wolfie, “Are you really considering giving up your freedom for a few meals and a place near the fire?”

Also-Not-Wolfie’s ears perked up at the mention of food. “I would kill for some meat right now, and I don't care what kind.”

“See!” said Wolfie with a wag of his tail, “He's on my side. If we trick the humans into accepting us, we'll never go hungry again. It's a perfect plan.”

“What is?” asked Also-Not-Wolfie.

“Domestication,” replied Not-Wolfie, growling out the word like a curse, “He wants us to become dogs.”

Wolfie raised his paw. “No. I think you'll find that our ancestors will become dogs.”

“Descendants,” corrected Not-Wolfie, “Our descendants will become dogs.”

“Oh good,” Also-Not-Wolfie said with visible relief, “Mum would be absolutely livid if I got her turned into a dog.”

“What about your dad?” asked Wolfie

“Oh, he probably wouldn't mind. Adventurers killed him last winter.”

Wolfie shook his head. “What a shame. It's always so sad when one of our own falls to a fetch quest.”

“Did you just say ‘fetch’?” asked Also-Not-Wolfie, his ears perking up again, “Because I could absolutely play some fetch.”

Not-Wolfie buried his head in his paws. “I don't know why I even bother with you two. It's like listening to a brick talk to a slightly dumber brick.”

“Alright,” said Wolfie, finally losing his patience, “The best hunting territories are already claimed. Orcs are eating everything across the river. And the druids won't let us hunt anything that talks. What do you think we should do, oh smart one?”

“Uh,” Not-Wolfie looked around awkwardly as he spoke, “I don't know.”

To the surprise of both Dire Wolves, Also-Not-Wolfie had an idea. He raised his paw slowly. “We could pray for food. I see humans do it all the time. It looks way easier than hunting. All they do is put their hands together, and ask for stuff.”

“And this works?” Wolfie asked, intrigued by the prospect but still skeptical, “You're saying that humans can just ask for things, and they happen?”

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“Oh yeah! I mean, not always. It doesn't work all the time, otherwise you wouldn't pray as much,” explained Also-Not-Wolfie, “But, I've seen it happen.”

Wolfie and Not-Wolfie shared a look. It seemed harmless enough, and was certainly a less drastic step than domestication.

“I know I'm probably going to regret this,” said Not-Wolfie, “But I think we should give it a shot.”

Also-Not-Wolfie tapped his paws on the ground with excitement. “Yes! Awesome! Who should we pray to?”

“Um… what's the name of that guy who took over for Zed? He's a god, right?” Not-Wolfie looked around awkwardly as he spoke. Organized religion made him extremely uncomfortable. “I'm assuming that we have to pray to an actual god, right? It would be kind of silly if we put our paws together and asked Joe the Cartwright for some food.”

“His name is ‘Francis’,” said Also-Not-Wolfie, “I heard one of the Woodcutters saying it as he prayed. He's the god of monogamy.”

“The Woodcutter?” asked Wolfie.

“No, the god,” corrected Not-Wolfie, “But I'm a bit worried about getting involved with religion. I hear they have all kinds of rules.”

Wolfie rolled his eyes. “He's the god of monogamy and we're Dire Wolves. I think we will be fine, we already mate for life.”

“I don't,” said Not-Wolfie, “Unlike some people, I like to keep my options open.”

“You would have to,” Wolfie shot back, “I can't imagine that your long term prospects are exactly great.”

After one brief scuffle (and much arguing) the three Dire Wolves managed to come up with a plan. Also-Not-Wolfie would lead them in prayer since he was the expert. And if it didn't work, or went horribly wrong, they would blame him.

Also-Not-Wolfie sat on his haunches and put his paws together. The Dire Wolf was new to religion, so he decided to recite the prayer exactly as he had heard it from the Woodcutter.

He cleared his throat and began to speak, hoping to give the sacred words their proper reverence. “Motherfucker, I know you're listening…”

***

Francis’ nose twitched. The Marine adjusted his stance slightly as he made another practice swing with Relativity. He didn't know why, but the tingling somewhere near his balls meant that god stuff was happening, so he decided to go with it.

The Paladin had already been beaten to shit and was currently being pulped even further by a pair of skeletal hands. Over by the wall, Hank was attaching thick cables to a device that looked like the bastard offspring of a wheeled cannon, several gas stations worth of questionable cutlery, and a satellite dish.

The kobold cackled as he made sure the runes were aligned. Hank had pulled out all the stops for this one. Nobody insulted his friend Willow and got away with it. “She’s ready to go, Boss! Not only will this thing kill, it'll hurt the entire time it's doing it!”

The skeletal hands stopped pummeling the Paladin and held him still. “Is that all you've got?” he asked.

“Nope,” replied Francis as he activated one of his Combat Warlock abilities.

> Kinetic Strike: Take one Stress to replace damage with distance. For each point of damage your next attack would do, move your target one meter instead. Only works on targets your size or smaller.

Normally Relativity tried to stay neutral, but the evil ancient artifact hated Paladins with a passion. As Francis’ swing connected, it had a bit more energy behind it than he was expecting.

> Guardian’s Wrath: Do an extra five damage per MP spent. Only available to a Guardian within their Domain.

Over by one of the hedges, System shook his head. Someone was going to need to do some math, but it wasn't going to be him.

***

If a Paladin insults the High Priestess of a god, how dead are they? Entity pondered this question as he stepped in for System. Obviously, they would not survive the encounter, but the damage still needed to be assigned.

System was programmed to think that he was the lone arbiter and decision maker. He had no idea that Entity would step in whenever there was an issue above his access level, or sometimes even overrule his decisions.

Entity had learned long ago that illusions of importance and control were necessary to keep System on track. Otherwise, they tended to break down or wander off.

If the various iterations of System had been beings of pure logic like they thought they were, the lie would have been unnecessary. They would have also spotted the deception immediately. There was no way Entity would leave the helm unattended, even for the briefest of moments.

Technically, System wasn't wrong about one thing. His absence could lead to disaster for Vahnis. System was programmed with a bias towards order and stability in his decision making. Entity, on the other hand, liked to shake things up.

Starting a new Age of Calamity was a good way to pass the time, as far as Entity was concerned. He had his own goals and objectives that System wasn't privy to. Sometimes he even did things for the pure entertainment value.

That brought him back to the unfortunate Paladin who was about to be launched into the stratosphere. System would have used a formula to calculate how Willow’s assist with her skeletal hands lowered the Paladin's Deflect, allowing Francis to get a critical hit. Entity went more by vibes.

It was inevitably going to be much more damage than the hundred HP or so the Paladin had remaining. So, why bother doing the math? Why waste the processing power? He assigned a flat ten thousand points of damage and let the world sort itself out.

***

Also-Not-Wolfie was getting anxious. His second prayer was coming to an end and nothing had happened yet. The other Dire Wolves were giving him sideways glances and grumbling under their breath.

“... and so Francis said, ‘I don't have time for that shit, hand me a Javelin.’ To which they replied, ‘But sir, it's only a man on a moped.’”

Not-Wolfie rolled his eyes, “It sure does go on a bit, doesn't it?”

Also-Not-Wolfie ignored him and continued the prayer. “However, the Marine gave no fucks about operational costs and didn't want to lug that shit back to base…”

Wolfie was curious to hear what happened to the man on the moped, whatever that was. But, he was also noticing a certain flaw in his pack mates’ execution. “I think you have to ask for something,” he said.

“What, like an entire Paladin, perfectly cooked, served on a platter so it doesn't get dirty?” asked Not-Wolfie.

“Ooh! Yeah!” Also-Not-Wolfie tapped his paws on the ground with excitement. “That sounds wonderful! Francis, if you're listening, that's what we want.”

Before Not-Wolfie could make a snide comment, there was a loud crash as something vaguely Paladin shaped crashed through the trees. Wolfie ran over to check it out while the other two waited.

A few seconds later he reappeared. “Guys, you aren't going to believe this…”

***

Back in Brexis, Francis rubbed his head as he got a System message. It was congratulating him on his new followers.

“Who the fuck names their kids Wolfie, Not-Wolfie, and Also-Not-Wolfie?” he asked.