"Screw this." Mike had been hacking away at Buttchug's body for over half an hour with Clarent. The Black Knight's sword was nearly as slice and dicey as Solais, and the Red Knight had been methodical. The God's limbs had been cut into thin slices no more than an inch thick. The torso had received similar treatment, but the Red Knight had not been satisfied. I couldn't blame him, with all the parts wiggling like they were. He'd now reduced Buttchug to tiny cubes, and the wiggling hadn't stopped.

The smell was... unpleasant. The coppery tang of blood served as a disgusting aftertaste, overshadowed by the God of Hunger's shredded bowels. Shit and blood, that's what death smells like. Buttchug wasn't dead, not really, but he was as close as we were going to get him.

The Red Knight stepped away from the mess. He stuck his borrowed and gore covered sword into the dirt. His armor disappeared and he started digging in the pocket of his sweatpants.

"You sure that's a good idea?" The Blue Knight was somewhere between a squat and a sit, resting his arms on his knees with his feet planted on the ground. His rapier was sheathed, but the Blue Sword of the Bequest rested in his grip.

"I don't care," Mike decided. "I need a cigarette." He pulled a pack out of his pocket. My mouth watered. Nicotine. We'd finished the last pack a half hour before we got to the keep. I didn't know he'd brought a spare.

"Me too," I didn't have the energy to unplop myself from the ground, but I dispelled my armor and held out a hopeful hand. Mike rolled his eyes. "You need to start getting your own smokes, man." Still, he walked over and gave me one. Then his armor reappeared. Mike raised the visor of his helmet, put a cancer stick in his mouth, and drew Drynwyn.

There was something slightly blasphemous about using a magic holy sword to light up. I savored the irreverence as I drew sweet cancerous smoke into my lungs. Mike gave me a look as he was taking his own drag. "You should armor back up."

I blew smoke at him, but he was right. Buttchug the Butchered God was only ten feet away. He was mostly a pile of quivering chunks, but he was still a God. Who knows what the fuck he could do? That's why I was sitting instead of lying down. Falling asleep didn't seem like a good idea.

I summoned the Armor. White steel or something like it sprang into being around me. I let go of the Green Knight's Bequest long enough to flip my visor up. The night air smelled like a butcher shop outhouse, but the cool air still felt good on my skin. I took a moment to appreciate that the armor hadn't crushed my smoke when it appeared. Then I picked up the Green Knight's sword again.

"How you feelin'?" Mike asked.

"Like I got stabbed," I answered honestly. That's why I was holding the Green Bequest. It carried a portion of William's old powers. In addition to dispelling magic, it healed any jackass holding on to the thing. The effect was a lot slower than the actual Knight would get, but it would still have me fixed up in eight hours or so. My wounds (probably) weren't life threatening, but they'd take weeks to heal on their own.

"Yeah, well." The Red Knight shrugged. "Rest up while you can. Soon as Nynyane finishes her ritual thingy we gotta go hunt down Roderick." He looked over at Patrick. "Hey, you have any idea how long this'll take?"

"It'll be a while." The Blue Knight stood up with a yawn and a stretch. "With the Pink Armor, Nynyane's probably at the village already, but she said it'll take a few hours to set up the ritual and another few hours to get it done."

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"Damn." Mike puffed thoughtfully. "Well, I guess the bastards aren't going anywhere. It's not like they can get off the island on their own."

"Nynyane's going to help them."

"She's gonna what?" Mike stared flatly at the man.

"She's going to get them off the island," Patrick repeated. "Probably before she does the ritual."

"Fucking why?" the Red Knight demanded. His sword burst into flame. "After what those sons of bitches did..."

"Brother," the Blue Knight's smooth base was soothing. "I feel you. I do. But look at us." He gestured around. "We. Are. Spent."

"So we'll get some sleep and go kill them in the morning." Mike took another angry puff. "They literally can't get away."

"We can't take them," I spoke up.

"Bullshit," said Mike. He pointed his flaming sword at the gory mess that used to be Buttchug. "We just fucked up a God."

"Yeah," said Patrick. "You did good. Real good. Nynyane was right to choose you."

"Damn right," Mike seconded.

"But neither of you knows how to fight with a sword, and Roderick's immune to both of your powers. The Black Armor was the only one designed specifically for killing other Knights, and Roderick's been wielding it for a thousand years. Even if we were fresh, even if we still had William..." The Blue Knight shook his head. "He'd kill us all. He's done it before, against bigger groups of more experienced Knights. That's how he got his hands on so many Bequests."

Mike grunted, thinking. "So we gotta come up with a plan, first. We can still..."

"They've got a Prophet," I reminded him.

"That Orange son of a bitch can see the future," said Patrick. "You got a way around that?"

Mike considered. Then he cursed.

"We can't take them," Patrick told him. "And they know it. The only reason their not stomping all over us right now is they can't risk running into..." I could hear him frown. "Are we really gonna keep calling this fool Buttchug?"

"That's his name, now," I confirmed.

"Whatever." Patrick shook his head again. "We can't beat them, and Nynyane knows it. She'll get them out while we've still got some leverage."

"Fuck." Mike let out a breath. "That means he won, you know? They got what they wanted."

"Not really," I told him. "Buttchug's not dead. Roderick's still going to the land of the hungry when he dies."

"You know what I mean," Mike snarled as he took another drag. "They got away with it."

"We'll still make them pay," Patrick assured him. "Just not yet. We need to get you two trained, and we got to get more Knights."

"Yeah?" Mike glowered. "And how long will that take?"

"Years," Patrick admitted. "But that's a problem for later. We saved the Lady of the Lake. We saved Avalon. We saved the whole Goddamned world. Ain't that enough for one day?"

Mike thought about it. "No." He took one last hit of his smoke, then dropped it and ground it out with is boot. "But I guess it'll have to do."

I was nodding agreement when a thought occurred to me. "Wait. You said Nynyane's taking them off the island?"

Patrick gave a single nod. "Yep."

"Isn't it a long ass hike back down to the beach?"

Patrick nodded again. "Yep."

I looked over at the Butchered God. I understood now why Nynyane had been in such a hurry to grab a piece of him and get out. I understood why she left us to stay with Buttchug. I understood. I even agreed. That didn't change the fact that I'd be spending the next six to twelve hours in a burned out courtyard smelling blood and Godshit. I was tired, I was starving, and I'd have to hike all the way back to the village once the ritual was done.

A terrible frustration welled up within me. I retrieved Clarent, and proceeded to slash the ever loving shit out of the puddle of flesh that used to be divinity. I hacked and swung and swore and screamed for a full thirty seconds before exhaustion made me stop. I looked up to see the other two staring at me. Patrick still had his visor down, but Mike's face was watching me the way you'd watch a clown in a tutu with a chainsaw.

"You alright, man?"

"We," I panted, "are gonna. Be stuck here." I gulped more air. "All night."

"Oh." Mike jabbed a thumb at the far wall of the courtyard. "Well let's be stuck over there." He pointed down at our feet. "We're stepping in loser. It's kinda gross."