It's Molly. It's her - you better believe it. No! Don't be fooled; the beard, the voice, the entire appearance, can't you see it's just a charade? That's not him, not the evil Raxial. If only it was! Please. It's her! It's Molly! It's... Father, I'm mad, were the thoughts of God.

Like a rat cowering from an extermination team, he whimpered beneath the table. All he could see were the two mens' legs. (No! Not two men - a man and a woman! Believe me!). 

"Dispute me not, Allfather," said Raxial  the Milkeye (Molly! Not Raxial! Molly!). "Your son is needed. We shall have him."

"Over my rotting corpse," spat the father of God, embodiment of all things good in every world.

"If you insist."

One pair of legs lunged forward. A fleshy, almost squishy sound filled the room, followed by a wordless gurgle. A splatter of red painted the four shoes; the black boots of a sinner and the white ones of the sinless. God would have cried, were the tears not already crusted streams plastered down his face, antique rivers of eternal sorrow.

Allfather's limp body slumped to the ground for his son to see. The thin crimson line across his throat sputtered blood. Divine blood. Holy blood. Blood of the hope of all worlds. The light drained from Allfather's eyes, plunging reality into darkness.

Raxial's face descended into God's eyesight. That pale, pale (oh, so pale, so milky pale) face, with those clouded pearls that stared through the shivering orphan. He smiled, revealing rows and rows of blackened teeth (dyed by the ink of his would-be pupils, maybe, maybe, maybe). Behind one tooth rested another, seemingly all the way down his throat. 

"Must you weep, child?" Raxial asked softly, in the God-feared voice of Molly (a voice with the power to rupture the fabric of Heaven!). "Must you shed these tears for your dearly departed sire?"

One erect, bony finger reached forth from Raxial's near skinless hand, to wipe away those holy tears. Of course, the rivers had run dry, though. Wiping them away was no simple task. As Raxial's razorblade fingerbone ripped the frozen lakes off God's cheek, the sound of tearing skin reverberated through his skull. With the tears of stone came the crusty cheek, leaving a strip of God's face bare and bleeding.

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Molly gave a comforting smile through Raxial's mouth. "What a brave boy!"

"Stop," God croaked, his words a whisper weak enough to be blown astray by the mildest breeze.

"Stop?" Molly's voice sounded hurt, like that of a wounded animal; a hare struck half-dead by a truck. "Stop what, my little darling boy?"

He wanted to scream but could only muster a sob. "Let me go."

"Your judgement is clouded, you don't mean what you say."

Raxial (how many times? It's Molly! Molly, Molly, Molly!) crawled under the table and took God in his creaking arms. For a while the divinity rested his head on the shoulder of his father's murderer, but then he saw the bloodied blade that hung from a hook on his waist and withdrew.

Raxial brought out a pouch from seemingly nowhere, and began to rifle through its contents. When that vile hand came out, it held a skittering little critter, cute and confused. (No, no, no - no more, I beg you!).

"Look at this little fella!" came Molly's faint whisper in his ear.

The thing was green, and it was tiny. It had a sort of diamond shape, with short stubby legs too short for its body. This led to a poor balance, causing it to constantly fall over backwards as it scuttled around Raxial's palm.

"His name is Bebo," Raxial gave a smile that might have been comforting had it been planted on anyone else's face. "Say hello."

God - son of Allfather - felt himself giving in, felt his battered and bruised resolve wavering. "Hi, Bebo." He spoke so quietly he may as well have mimed the words.

Bebo gazed up at God, with curious black beads. In response, the creature gave a nonsensical greeting (bip, bip-bip!). Then its minute tongue poked out from its mouth, a gesture of friendliness.

"Do you like him, child?" asked Molly. "Do you love him?"

God nodded. The bloody patch where his tears had been was already drying.

"Do you want him?"

Singular tears welled in each of God's eyes. He nodded again.

Delicately, Raxial held out his hand. Bebo still waddled around without purpose, episodically plopping down onto his bum. God watched him for a little while, and that while stretched to forever. But even forever draws to a close (everything does, when Molly's here). 

Shaking, God used his thumb and forefinger to pluck Bebo from the cold realm of Raxial's grasp. He held the tiny beast up to his face, and his eyes met those empty beads once more. 

"Bip," said Bebo.

"I love you too," whispered God, the tears finally falling.

He put Bebo in his mouth and chewed. It's cries of pain were cut off almost immediately, when his little ribcage caved in and pierced his little heart.

God swallowed, and Bebo moved on to next stage of digestion.

"It's all right now, child," Molly promised, soothing and comforting. "I'm here. I'll make you happy. I'll bring you joy. Just close your eyes and breathe, my sweet, sweet child."

Feeling renewed, reborn - a holy man once more - God shut his eyes as a tentative smile crept across his face. He took a deep breath, and drifted off into a state of ecstasy.