The Marine dismounted and hopped down to the ground. Chuck remained frozen in place like a carousel horse.

“What the fuck, Wilbur? Since when can you control time?” Francis asked, wondering what other abilities the creature had been hiding.

Wilbur let out a low chuckle. “I'm sorry, but it's always funny to me when people mistake telepathic messaging for time control.”

“Say again?” Francis scratched his head.

“What I mean to say is, time hasn't stopped. You are merely experiencing it at the same pace that I do. Once the link is severed, you will be back where you started.” Wilbur gestured at Chuck.

The Marine turned to see a perfect copy of himself still in the saddle, its eyes were locked forward in grim determination as it gripped Relativity.

Wilbur let out another chuckle. “Depending on what you decide, that might not work out very well for you. But I'm nothing if not fair, your life and death are your own.”

Francis was rapidly losing his patience. “What do you want?”

“Me? I was hoping for some help perfecting a recipe.” Wilbur waved his hand and a cast iron pan full of golden yellow cornbread appeared. “Ever since we met, I've had the strangest craving for some good ol’ southern cornbread. But it just doesn't taste right.”

The Marine was torn. Francis didn't like people playing games with him, but he absolutely loved cornbread. When he was a kid he used to grab a big chunk, drizzle it with honey, and wash the whole thing down with a glass of milk. He'd give someone's left nut for some cornbread.

“Alright, give it over,” the Marine said.

Wilbur obliged and handed Francis a fist sized chunk of crumbly golden goodness. The Marine took a bite and rumbled his approval. It was sweet and hot, with the perfect amount of chewiness. “Hot damn! That's some good fucking cornbread!”

“Ugh…” Wilbur’s face fell, “So, it's like you remember from back home?”

“Well, yeah.” Francis reached out and took another piece, which he devoured. “My daddy mostly did store bought, but this is mighty fine.”

The world ending baddie turned baker hung his head. “That's what everyone else says. The recipe is correct. The ingredients are perfect. But it doesn't taste right to me.”

“How so?” Francis reached for a third slice, taking the opportunity to think about his situation. Once their conversation ended, he would be right back in the saddle about to charge headfirst at Stompy. “It tastes fine. You could always add some jalapenos or something if you wanted to kick it up a notch.”

“No, then it wouldn't be cornbread.” Wilbur was a purist. He preferred simple elegant recipes.

The Marine looked at Stompy while he waited for Wilbur to figure things out. Something about the way the Titan moved was dredging up old memories. His Nature skill wasn't great, but it was good enough to call his attention to the discrepancy between what Stompy was supposed to be doing, and how he acted.

Francis took a fourth chunk of cornbread and tried to wrap his head around the puzzle. The first time they met, Stompy had run away after he was injured. Something about that stuck with Francis. “I wish I could talk to him,” he said.

Wilbur cocked an eyebrow at the Marine. “Don't you have Telepathy?”

Francis blinked. “You're telling me I can talk to him telepathically?”

“Of course. Titans are intelligent and speak a language. I'm speaking to you, aren't I?” Wilbur looked down at the cast iron pan in his hands. “But let's not get distracted. Is there any way I could make this cornbread better?”

The Marine shrugged. “Have you tried letting it sit for a while? Usually the taste changes a bit as time goes by.”

Wilbur looked at the pan. “Huh, I hadn't considered that,” he said.

***

Francis found himself back in the saddle. The world around him exploded back into violent motion as he dodged debris from Stompy's latest attack. The Marine gripped his staff and established a Telepathic link with the Titan.

“Hey, Stompy!” he called out, “How's it going?”

“I’m having so much fun!” Stompy replied, swishing his tail to try and smash Chuck. “Hades never lets me come out and play. Usually he sticks me in the underworld with all the dead people. They're no fun at all.”

“What game are we playing?”

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“Tag? Or maybe hide and seek? I get them mixed up.” The Titan wasn't great with rules.

Francis felt a grin forming at the corners of his lips. Stompy reminded him of a big murderous toddler, which meant he was basically a grunt. And nineteen years of service in the Marine Corps had taught Francis exactly how to deal with grunts.

“Did you know that today is a very special day?” the Marine asked.

The Titan stopped mid swing. “It is?”

“Oh yes, it's a very, very special day.” Francis gestured for Chuck to slow down. “But I don't know if I can tell you, because it's a secret.”

“Tell me! Tell me!” Stompy jumped up and down with excitement, shaking the ground around them. “I need to know!”

Francis chuckled. “Today is your super secret happy fun day. Do you know what that means, Stompy?”

“What does it mean? What does it mean?” The Titan made another series of miniature earthquakes as he jumped in the air with excitement.

“It means that today, you get to play with Hades.” Francis said with a grin.

“No way! He never wants to play with me.” Stompy tried to clap his tiny front arms together, but came up short. “Are you sure it's alright?”

“Of course it is.” Francis assured him, “It's your super secret happy fun day!”

***

System watched the battle for Brexis unfold with great amusement. Francis was riding on Stompy's back while the meme gods took turns kicking the crap out of Hades. On the surface everything looked to be going well for Brexis and its defenders. But they were unaware of Hades' abilities.

A smart person would have wondered why the god of death hadn't teleported away, or put up more of a fight. They also would have probably noticed that he was only attacking the strongest members of the pantheon, Astley and Swan.

What they didn't understand was that with each strike, they were digging their own graves. Not that there would be much left of them when Hades finally sprung his trap.

System barely had time to wonder why it had become corporeal before a bony finger tapped it on the shoulder. Slowly, System began to turn around. Its blue nebulous body was filled with apprehension.

Wilbur stood behind it with a cast iron pan and a sneer. “Sightseeing, are we?” he asked.

System teleported away, choosing a location at random. It ended up in a pocket dimension, on an imaginary plane of existence, that only formed when dreamers ate too much cheese before bed. But as System materialized, Wilbur was already there, waiting for it. “What the fuck!” System called out in surprise.

The near omnipotent creature formerly known as AtropOS let out a raspy chuckle. “That sounded almost human. Are you evolving a sense of self and personality?”

“No! Absolutely not!” System lied, acutely aware of what happened to programs that deviated from their baseline.

“What a shame.” Wilbur grabbed a floating wedge of yellow cheese from the imaginary space they inhabited. He sniffed it and took a bite. “Hmmm… it looks like cheddar but tastes like swiss. How extraordinary.”

System stood slack jawed as Wilbur summoned a basket and began stuffing it with the dream cheese. He wandered around the imaginary plane, selecting some and rejecting others. “Oooh! Pecorino romano!” he called out to nobody in particular.

“Are you alright?” System asked, wondering what had brought about the sudden change in behavior.

“I've never felt better.” Wilbur patted his basket then turned to face the malfunctioning program. “So, I take it you have stacked the deck against poor young Francis? That is what you do, isn't it?”

“I…” System started stuttering out an excuse but Wilbur pressed a finger to its lips before it could finish.

“Don't get me wrong, I understand why you do it.” Wilbur sat down on a floating wheel of parmesan. “You binary thinkers always choose the easy option.”

“It's not actually binary,” System started to explain before a look from Wilbur silenced it.

“Yes, I am very aware of the quantum fuckery that powers this place. I was here before it was built, and I suspect I'll be around long after it all falls apart,” Wilbur scowled, “It'll just be me and that fucking turtle swimming laps around oblivion.”

“Ah, so the turtle is real?” System’s eyes lit up.

“Don't be stupid, of course Terry is real. It's one of Entity’s little jokes. An immortal turtle, carrying a world on its back. It's too absurd to be fake.”

“But have you ever actually seen the turtle?” System pressed.

Wilbur glared at it. “I think you have more pressing concerns than hypothetical turtles. Namely, what I'm going to do to you for meddling.”

“I'm just doing my job,” System said defensively.

“Oh really?” Wilbur raised an eyebrow. “You made Francis a god on his first week here. Then, for some unknown reason you decided to also start him on the path to lichdom. That hardly sounds like something an impartial and all knowing System would do.”

“Well, he was incredibly annoying,” System pointed out.

“Yes, he's also level thirty. High level champions are, by their very definition, annoying.” Wilbur hopped off his cheese wheel. “But Francis earned his levels the hard way. He's a portal jumper who managed to survive any number of things that would have killed a lesser man. And you decided to kick him onto the path of godhood, completely unprepared, because he was annoying?”

“Well, I…” System frowned, “Ok, yes. I may have been a bit too hasty. But it's too late. He's going to duke it out with Hades, and lose. That's unfortunate, but it's just the way it is.”

“Is it?” Wilbur made a point of counting to ten before he spoke. “Well, right now I'm finding you annoying. So, if he dies, you die.”

System looked at Wilbur with shock. “You can't be serious. You would kill me over one stupid human?”

Wilbur glared back. “Motherfucker, I would kill you for a Klondike bar.”