“Well… what a clusterfuck, huh?” the Slaver King said.
The entirety of his inner council avoided meeting his eyes by pretending to consult their notes or staring somewhere else.
“Relax, people. Head’s aren’t going to roll… yet,” he continued. “I know you’re all operating on not enough sleep, but I have you here because I want your input. You know what I think of yes men. So, what should we cover first?”
“Have you decided?” General Mark said.
“We are not hitting him with everything we’ve got… unless the situation changes. Speaking of which, Kim?” he pointed. “You’ve got the latest news on the stadium? My last update was about an hour ago.”
“Firefighting efforts have proved useless. Fortunately, the fires haven’t advanced since then,” Kim said.
“Just the stadium then,” he nodded. “Conditions?”
“Er… it’s hard to see through the flames, but it looks like the stadium is a total loss,” Kim said.
“Seriously?” Eric’s laugh verged on hysterical.
“Its hot enough that the iron and steel frames have melted, while the concrete’s still exploding,” Kim said.
“Bullshit,” Eric said.
“What do you think the loud bangs all night where?” Kim scowled.
“Fireworks,” Eric shrugged.
“And our Mr. Freeman?”
“Again, it’s almost impossible to see through the flames with standard eyes. Our mages are also having trouble scrying—” Kim said.
“What about those weird floating mage eye things?” Eric said. “They should be able to fly through it since they’re partially immaterial or whatever.”
“They can’t. Not through this flame. And Eric, stop interrupting me!” Kim snapped.
“Thought you don’t get your time of the month anymore,” Eric muttered.
“Enough,” the Slaver King eyed his longtime friend. “This isn’t the time for your usual banter. We need to focus.”
“As far as they can tell, Mr. Freeman is still where he has been since the incident during his match.”
“Sitting in the middle of a firestorm,” Eric nodded. He snapped his fingers, “we should’ve called him that.”
“And the Sapphire Smasher?”
“I’ve confirmed from multiple reliable sources that after she leapt out of the arena she headed straight to the west. Lost her after that,” Kim said.
“Damn shame. Their fight was shaping up to be epic.”
“What do we do about the championship, King?” Eric said.
“We’ve got a couple of options,” he said. “One, we declare it a draw. Isaac and the Sapphire Smasher are co-champions. Two, we call it a forfeit and have the magus and Rou fight for the championship. Three, we go to the judges. Whoever they had winning at the time things… got out of hand… is the champ.”
“I’d be concerned about pissing one or both of them off,” Eric said.
“Do we have time to hold a replacement match? Our schedule is tight. We’d have to hold it today. Early tomorrow is possible, but difficult,” Kim said.
“What do the rules say?” General Mark said.
“Technically, both can be disqualified. Isaac, for destroying the stadium and endangering the spectators. Sapphire Smasher for leaving the designated battlefield before the match was officially over,” he said. “We’ll circle back to that. Kim, I should’ve asked this first, but what about my subjects?”
“Miraculously, no deaths. Lots of injuries, but mostly from the panic to get out of the arena at first. They calmed down though and made an orderly exit, which was strange,” Kim said.
The Slaver King nodded. “Yeah, I saw it myself. Definitely weird. Eric, you were there with me. Your thoughts about their behavior?”
“What Kim said,” Eric replied.
“I’ve got my people working on interviewing everyone. We’ve gone through about three thousand and they seem to have similar stories. Initial panic as the flames broke our magic shields. Flames coming for them and then being stopped by our secondary line of magic shields.”
“Um… I thought we only had one line of shields?” Eric said.
“There was panic and terror— until there wasn’t. All the people we’ve talked to said the same thing. It was like a peaceful calm came over them and they knew just what to do. They ran for the exits, but they were all in sync. No one tripped and fell. No one bumped into each other. There was no stampede after the initial rush,” Kim said. “Honestly, I thought you used a Skill, my king. Perhaps one you’ve kept secret for a reason. If so, I thank you. The death toll would’ve been in the thousands otherwise.”
The Slaver King nodded.
Eric looked at him expectantly.
“No comment,” he grinned. “Now, General Mark, our prisoners?”
“In your cells,” General Mark said.
“A man of many words as always.”
“Noel!”
“Huh? What?” Noel jolted to attention. It appeared as though he was doodling something in his notebook.
“Pay attention. This concerns you. I need you to shift your priorities. I want a collar that’ll work on someone over Level 40. And I want it yesterday.”
“That’s impossible— I mean, yes your highness. I’ll get right on that,” Noel rose slowly.
“After the meeting,” he sighed. If only Noel wasn’t the only one that could make collars… “Yesterday should’ve been the culmination of all our hard work. A triumphant celebration of the New American Republic’s rise to greatness. Instead, we don’t have a winner. Our main arena is ruined. Fodder killed my men and almost escaped. How did I not know about this Hanabi?” his voice rose as he pounded the hardwood table, shaking it violently enough that water glasses toppled. “This woman cut bullets out of the air with nothing. She cut my men down from a distance, again with nothing.”
“I heard she cut a tank in half,” Eric said.
“It wasn’t a tank. And she didn’t cut it in half,” General Mark grunted. “Just the sabot and the barrel.”
“It’s got a big gun in a turret and treads. That’s a tank,” Eric said.
“The Bradley is an infantry fighting vehicle with a 25mm gun. A tank, the Abrams, has a 120mm gun.”
“25mm sounds like a big gun to me, general,” Eric smirked.
“I want a full audit. How did someone so obviously powerful end up with a job training fodder in one of my arenas?” the Slaver King said.
“I dug deeper and found reports that there were complaints from the arena staff. There was an incident. One of the trainers lost a hand to this woman,” Kim said.
“That seems like an important thing to note. Why didn’t it get to the king?” Eric said.
“I don’t have an explanation for that. My people are still tracking the chain of custody on the report. I also found that Lord Don Wynn has been providing monetary and material aid to the group of fodder under the woman’s authority,” Kim continued. “Aside from that, we’ve traced the woman’s entry point into our city through one of the mercenary companies operating in and around our country.”
The Slaver King stared expectantly at his right hand woman. “Well? Don’t keep me in suspense. Which group?” he said after a long, silent moment.
“We don’t know. That information is missing,” Kim said.
“That’s weird too,” Eric said.
“Too many coincidences lining up. I’d start thinking enemy action,” General Mark said. “I’d ask Wynn some hard questions.”
“Yeah…” the Slaver King thought for a moment. “Keep digging, but it isn’t a priority. After all, we have the woman and her fodder in my dungeon. We can question them at our leisure. Let’s focus on making sure that we close the championships the right way. I want the next three days to be something my citizens will remember for the rest of their lives.”
“So… don’t we need a Gold Division one v. one champ? It’s gonna be notable if we’ve got champs for every other contest except the biggest one,” Eric said.
“If you want us to hold a new match between the magus and Rou then I’d prefer to know right away, so I can start organizing,” Kim said.
“Are they even fight ready? It’s been a week, but they both got kinda bodied. I know Rou heals quick, but what about the magus?” Eric said.
“Malcolm.”
“Yes, your majesty?”
“You’re the only other person here with an arena fighter’s mindset. What do you think?”
“I’m guessing you’re asking about the girl and Freeman. Hard to say,” the champion gladiator shrugged. “They might hold a grudge if they think you robbed them. But the rules are the rules and they signed off on them. But that might not matter. The stronger people get the less likely they’re gonna care about stuff like that. It might come down to if they think they can take us in a fight. So, one way or another, it won’t matter what you decide to do.”
“My thoughts exactly. Here’s my decision, Kim, right this down,” he cleared his throat, “Sapphire Smasher and Isaac Freeman violated the rules of conduct in the arena. Isaac Freeman endangered spectators and destroyed Hard Rock Stadium. In my magnanimity, I will not seek damages from Mr. Freeman. I understand better than most what can happen in the heat of true battle. The Sapphire Smasher exited the field of battle while the match was still underway. That is grounds for immediate disqualification. However, extenuating circumstances and such moves me to leniency. I declare that the match will be determined by the judges’ score.”
“So, who won?” Noel looked more interested than he had been the entire meeting.
“The Sapphire Smasher was leading on the cards.”
Noel and Eric cursed.
“A little girl!” Eric snapped. “I don’t care what the appraisers said. You need to disqualify her for being, you know, a little girl!”
“I warned you about your gambling, you fucking degen,” he chuckled. “How much have you lost betting against that girl?”
Eric grumbled.
“Your majesty,” Kim began, “we still haven’t come up with a solution for Mr. Freeman.”
“I have several,” General Mark said. “If you’ll let me try, sir,” he inclined his head to the king.
“No, general, I won’t have you waste ammo and trigger him even more. Imagine what would happen if he decided that he didn’t want to stay seated in the middle of the stadium.”
“Yes, general, burning whole chunks of our capital city would be bad,” Eric chided.
The old soldier bristled.
“We monitor the situation and leave him alone. Hopefully, he runs out of juice sooner rather than later. Then we inform him of his second place finish. Give him his prizes and happily send him back to Portland with best wishes, so on and so forth. Now isn’t the time for other actions. We’ll wait until we’re ready to deal with him. Good thing he lives on the opposite coast,” he said. “I think that’s all for this morning. Don’t hesitate to get in touch if anything new pops up. You all know your responsibilities. Now that the championships are officially over it’s time to celebrate!” he smiled. “I’ll be at my castle if you need to reach me.”
The Slaver King already had too much on his plate prior to the chaos of the previous night.
He had some prisoners to interrogate.
I’ll have that hard word with Don—, he thought. After my party, he amended. Yeah, I worked hard to pull this off. I deserve to relax and let loose for a week or three. It’s not like Don’s going anywhere. And I’ve got that woman chained up in a cell. She’s neutralized for now.
----------------------------------------
Malcolm King.
Gladiator.
King’s Champion.
Undefeated Champion of the Hard Rock.
That last one was on his mind.
After what had happened in the final… was it going to change?
How could he be a champion of a place that was basically destroyed?
He stood at a tall, round table by himself.
He picked from a plate of hor d’oeuvres and sipped from a flute of champagne.
The convention hall was filled with Gold Division competitors and their assorted groups enjoying the post-awards night party.
Things were peaceful and he wondered how long that would last.
These people had fought each other. Dished out real damage. Took real damage. Sure, they got healed, but that was a recipe for grudges.
He had to give it to the king for being able to keep them all under control.
How long was that going to last?
Perhaps that concern was why the back of his neck felt tight.
Too many threats milling around him.
He was plotting his exit when a cocky-looking white girl sauntered up to him.
“Sup,” she gave him a head nod.
“Hello?”
“You’re the king’s champ?”
She leaned on the table in such a way that presented the scar across one cheek.
“Yeah. No autographs.”
“Heh… not unless I go back to your place?” she raised a brow.
“Ah, I’m not interested in anything like that.”
“Is it the scar?”
“No. I’m married.”
“I wasn’t interested anyways. Just testing you to see if you were one of those,” she nodded sagely. “‘Punchy’,” she held her hand out.
The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.
“I know,” he shook it. “You should get it fixed,” he gestured to the puckered line running from the corner of her mouth to nearly her ear. “Or go full Joker… if you’re one of those.”
“Those?”
“Some gladiators lean into the scarring stuff for the intimidation factor.”
“Nah. Not for me. I’ll get it fixed after this is all over. Yo, so, I’m gonna cut to the chase. I’m not good with the talking. What would you do if someone offered a way out of this place for your family?”
Eyes widening, he hissed, “don’t even joke about that here. They’re listening and watching. Skills, spells, anything else you can think of.”
“Oh, I know,” she waved her hand dismissively, “all that stuff isn’t working right now. Trust me. As far as they think they know we’re just swapping fight stories and tips. So, how about it? You and your family can leave this place and move to a better one. All the same safety and conveniences, minus the slavery and other bullshit you have to do.”
Eyes narrowed.
“No judgments from me. I get you doing whatever you have to so that your family doesn’t have to. These nobles are a bunch of degenerate shits,” Punchy said.
He had other duties beyond fighting in the arena and fighting monsters.
These he kept buried deep inside.
He didn’t want his family to know.
Despite himself. Despite the fear of the king’s hidden watchers he found himself wanting to hear more.
So, he asked for details.
Punchy’s explanation was quick and to the point.
“Anyways… that’s most of it. You can get more details after.”
He couldn’t quite believe his ears.
They thought they were going to kill the king and destroy the collars.
He told her as much.
“That shit’s going down… er… both shits. Trust me.”
“You see why that’s a problem? I don’t know anything about you. You just come up to me talking treason—”
“Whoa! Hold up. Treason for you, maybe, but not for me. It’s more of an act of war. Or maybe subversion? Sabotage?” she shrugged.
“Whatever you call it leads to you getting killed or worse,” he hissed.
“Pffttt… we’ve dealt with scary things,” she chuckled.
“Could you please lower your voice.”
“Why? Told you anyone listening is just going to hear us talking shop. One fighter to another.”
“What’s stopping me from warning the king? For all I know this is another one of his tests.”
“You won’t.”
She didn’t elaborate.
They couldn’t kill him.
It would be noticed.
They must have another way to ensure his silence.
Magical means most likely or another sort of leverage.
“You stay away from my family.”
“Listen, between you and me, even if you say ‘no’ to helping rid the world of slavery, you’re family’s still going to get help. I’m just thinking that it’d be better if you and them were on the same page. Less chance of some stupid misunderstanding leading to tragedy. You know, like your family drinking fake poison to make them look dead, but they’re just basically in a coma, but then you don’t know that was the plan, so you go on a suicide quest to kill the king, which actually screws up the actual kill quest. Stuff like that.”
“That's—”
“Terrible, I know.”
“I—”
Another woman approached their table.
This one looked Asian of some sort.
She stalked forward like an animal on a hunt.
“Hello, fellow Gold Division contestant. I am known as ‘Punchy’. You may recognize me from the three versus three winning team, the ‘Heartfuries’. I believe I recognize you as ‘Rino’ from the one versus one tournament.”
He stared at the young woman’s robotic delivery. A stark contrast from her earlier casual insolence.
Rino regarded the shorter Punchy for a moment before turning to him.
“You should do what she says. It’s the best chance your family has to stay safe.”
“You’re both in on it!” he gaped.
“I don’t really know her that well,” Punchy frowned, “just by bitchy reputation. Anyways, it’s too suspicious if the both of us are talking to you. So… bye,” she sauntered back to her team.
“She’s not giving the situation the seriousness it deserves. Things are going to happen in a couple of days. It’s going to be dangerous for everyone in the city. You—” she stopped, sniffed and turned.
Gator stomped by, glaring at him. “Pussy ass, bitch,” the wild man grumbled.
Rino scowled at the dirty man’s broad back all the way across the hall.
“Oh, great,” he sighed.
“He wasn’t talking or looking at me,” Rino said.
“I beat him.”
“So?”
“I went for his balls. Don’t feel bad. He deserves worse. The three of them aren’t better than monsters. The king lets them get away with… things.”
“I know and you fight on the same side,” Rino said.
“To keep my family safe.
“Punchy told you that can change and all you have to do—”
“Is risk my own life? Not that I’m not already doing that. So, I have till tomorrow to decide and someone is going to visit me at home to get my answer and give me all the details?”
Rino nodded.
“And there is no way that the king’s going to find out before?”
“No one’s grabbed us yet.”
“You know, you people are terrible at recruitment pitches.”
“I guess it’s cause we don’t really need you,” Rino snorted. “It’s more like a bonus to have you on board. It’s pretty simple. Whatever you do, we’re going to try to help your family in a general sense that we’re trying to help everyone that deserves it. Not everyone living here is a piece of shit slaver. Your help gets your family priority. They’ll be taken care of either way.”
“I’ve sworn oaths to the king. Everyone living here did. Do you understand what that means? Even if—”
“Those can be countered or weakened.”
“That’s a lot to take on faith. Since, neither of you have actually said how,” he shook his head.
“You’ll get more tomorrow. If you accept,” Rino strode away.
The fancy food bites tasted like ash in his mouth.
The champagne like piss.
He hated himself for knowing what that tasted like.
“Might I have a moment of your time?”
He blinked at the voice.
He had a Skill that gave him great situational awareness.
An older woman with twelve eyes stood on the other side of the table.
It was very hard to catch him by surprise.
“Magus of the Ten Eyes,” he nodded warily. “Congratulations on coming in third. You didn’t hear this from me, but there were discussions about having you and Rou fight for the championships before the king ultimately decided to go with the judges’ scorecards.”
“That doesn’t concern me. I have more important matters to speak to you about,” the magus said.
“Just how deep is this conspiracy,” he put his head in his hands.
“Quite and I couldn’t help but note the other two lacking in persuasiveness. If you’ll allow me to share my own experiences it may prove helpful in your decision.”
“Sure… why not? I’m not being hauled away by the king’s secret police, so, by all means…”
----------------------------------------
It was a bright January morning when an unwelcome knock sounded on her door.
Mouthy already knew who it was thanks to their own surveillance methods.
“Relax, we don’t fucking start blasting first… we let them start it,” she said to the handful of rangers in the motel room.
She greeted the Slaver King’s representative with a scowl.
The representative opened his mouth then shut it when he noticed the hole in the motel’s wall.
“You gonna kick us out of the city this time?” she smirked.
“You’re going to pay for that. Literally. We will bill you!” the man snapped.
“Yeah, okay, not like I don’t have fat stacks of cash laying around. The fuck do you want now? Freedom Championships are over.”
“An invitation,” he handed her a fancy envelope.
She tossed it over her shoulder.
None of the other rangers made a move to catch it before it landed on the floor.
The representative let out a long breath. “Since, I’m not sure you’re going to read it,” he sighed. “All Rayna’s Rangers competitors are invited to the main banquet hall for the celebration at the King’s Castle. You may bring two additional guests. Your tickets are in the envelope,” he pointed.
“Thought that was only for winners if you weren’t in the Gold Division,” Mouthy frowned. She didn’t like this change. Someone had gotten suspicious.
“The king decreed it.”
“I don’t know. Seems like it’d be lame stuff and full of bullshit being spewed around, what with all the noble fucks all over the main hall. Like trying not to step on piles of shit in a cow field… I mean that the nobles are piles of shit, in case you didn’t get—”
“I get it!” the man snapped.
“We humbly decline. We’d rather dine outdoors with the rest of the proletariat,” she grinned.
“The king has decreed—”
“Not my king,” she made to shut the door.
The representative actually threw his shoulder against it.
The large group of armed people, most in collars, standing in the parking lot shifted their grips on their weapons.
“The king demands your presence. He will provide an escort on the night of to take you straight to his hall. One way or another you will attend,” the man hissed.
“Jeez, no need to be a little bitch about it, we’ll be there, you little fuck suck,” she smiled.
The man’s eyes widened, he sputtered, trying to recover, but she slammed the door on his face.
“Well?”
“Slaver fucks trying much harder to pierce the wards with spying spells, but they’re holding,” Babyapple said with a grimace.
“Electronic countermeasures working as intended. Anyone with enhanced hearing Skills are getting nothing but noise,” Molds said.
“The invite?” she held out a hand.
Bootleg Jesus flipped it with his foot and kicked it into her hand with the skill of an expert hackey sack-er.
“SwannyP, Neckbeard, Chandra, Wichita, Tuxedo Cake and, for some reason, X-Ray. You’re all special. Dickless King’s wanting your presence,” she said.
“Can we just… not?” Neckbeard said.
“Sure, if you want to start a fight before scheduled,” Hardhat said.
“I say we go, get us in on the real show,” X-Ray flexed.
“We have a plan for a reason,” Aims said. “Others have the king and his castle. Our primary is to secure the kids and pregnant women. Secondary is to backup Ghost Sorcerer.”
“You forgot the third and most important bit,” Dastardly said. “Stay alive. This is obviously some kind of trap.”
“Boss hasn’t said anything, so the fucker clearly doesn’t have a problem or doesn’t care enough to do something about this shit,” Mouthy said.
“It’s early,” Aims said.
“We wait for word, but I want plans anyway,” she said.
“Do you think this has anything to do with Hanna’s capture?” Swan Princess said.
Mouthy knew that the young woman knew the swordmaster from annual training seminars, so she chose her words carefully. “No idea. Seems like it, though,” she shrugged.
That was a bad bit of news.
One couldn’t help but think about what the slavers were doing to the woman and others they took alive.
Still, it wasn’t her responsibility.
Cal would take care of it.
“Terrible timing that,” Aims said lightly. “Just as we were getting all our pieces into place.”
“I could call Big Dad and Big Mom now that they made contact. They can easily deal with the soldiers, while we go do what we’re supposed to,” Molds said.
“We’re supposed to avoid killing the enslaved unless absolutely necessary,” Timber said.
“Yeah, I know. Big Mom can just trap them in one of her forcefields,” Molds countered.
“They have their own roles to play, whatever that might be,” Aims chided.
“So, I guess that rules out asking Captain Butcher,” Neckbeard muttered glumly.
“Listen up, bitches. We’re on our own on this until the boss says otherwise, so use those passably smart clumps of goo in your heads and start storming up some brains, fuck. Unless, I got to do everything around here, like you were little babies with your little peckers pissing while I’m trying to change your shit-filled clothe diapers,” Mouthy said.
“That was oddly specific,” Babyapple whispered to Molds.
“I think I heard stories about that,” Molds shrugged.
Mouthy left her rangers to the planning session while she strode to the window to open the curtains wide enough for the slavers to see her giving them a two-fingered salute.
----------------------------------------
“This is far enough. I can no longer see land?” Bitterman groused.
“Dude, you’re like my son. We go fifty miles in, like, seconds and you’re going ‘are we there yet’,” Cal shook his head. “He’s six, going on seven, by the way. What I’m saying is, you, rain god, have the patience of a—”
“I understand your words, contemptible person!” Bitterman snapped.
“Good thing we’ve got common cause or I’d be concerned about you punching me,” he eyed the old man’s raised fist. “Then again, do you pack the same kind of punch in this… form?”
Bitterman didn’t answer.
“Relax, man. Same team. Saving enslaved. Getting rid of slavers. Remember?”
“Yes, finally. The day draws near.”
Cal flew them out over the Atlantic to the east of the Florida coast.
Dark shapes of varying sizes swam beneath the turbulent waters.
“You doing that?”
Bitterman ignored him.
All creatures great and small dwelt in the ocean.
The malicious intent he sensed caused him to fly a bit higher.
His brother had told him about a kraken.
And he remembered his other encounters with things from the deeps.
“Hey, man, remember that sharktopus?”
“The monster you threw me at,” Bitterman said flatly.
“Yeah, good times. I ever tell you about the Deep Azure.”
“You know you have. You don’t forget.”
“And that’s why you can’t let the fishmen live.”
“I’d kill them regardless of your warnings. They earned their deaths by attacking my people.”
“Damn shame they couldn’t be as cool as the bat people… well, we’re far enough, I think. What do you think?”
“Finally.”
Bitterman reached into his shirt and ripped a small obsidian object from his chest.
Cal shook his head.
So gruesome.
Blood dripped from the tiny, black axe while the red spot on Bitterman’s shirt grew.
“You didn’t bring a change of clothes.”
Bitterman ignored him.
The old man held the obsidian axe to the sky and chanted something the Universal Translation System didn’t translate.
Cal floated away, surrounding himself with a telekinetic shield while maintaining the invisible platform the old man stood on.
The sky was clear. Until it wasn’t.
Dark clouds gathered as if from the aether.
They swirled above Bitterman.
Rain began to fall.
Winds whipped.
A bolt of red lighting struck.
The flash of light obscured Bitterman.
When it cleared, Tlaloc stood in all his towering glory, enormous obsidian axe in hand.
“That’s why you wear those spandex shorts!” Cal shouted over the raging storm.
Tlaloc ignored him.
The rain god spoke and waved his axe.
The storm answered.
Cal, protected by his telekinetic shields, flew above it for a better view.
Tlaloc had formed a hardened platform of water to stand on as he directed the storm on a path directly west.
It was something to watch a man create a massive weather event and direct it toward a specific place.
He returned to Tlaloc’s side, pointedly floating higher so that he could look the giant in the eye.
“Insecurity is a weakness,” Tlaloc said.
“I just don’t want to strain my neck looking up at your face.”
“Believe what you will, contemptible person.”
“That won’t become a hurricane, right?” he pointed to the storm.
“I made it weak. It may strengthen or weaken depending on the environment. I don’t know enough to say which.”
“Yeah, I kinda thought you would, cause I didn’t check ocean temps. Can you adjust it when it gets to Miami?”
“I’m the god of rain, of the storms!” Tlaloc boomed like thunder.
“That’s a yes?”
Tlaloc nodded.
“Good, good, good. It should hit land at the right time. You sure it’ll do what it’s supposed to?”
“Stop doubting me, contemptible person!” Tlaloc snapped. “I’m more concerned about your role. If you fail to destroy the slavers’ machine…”
“I worry about my thing. You… yours.”
“Yes, I control the storm. The rains will strengthen our allies and weaken our foes. However, the effect will be muted because of the number of people and the size of the area.”
“Alright, all according to plan. Let’s head back. Uh… you going to transform? C’mon, man. You’re giving off power. I can’t keep you hidden on top of all the obfuscation I’m already doing, do you see this vein?” he pointed to his forehead. “That means I’ve got already got a gorilla banging on drums in my brain. Don’t want to add another big ape like you.”
“Weak,” Tlaloc snorted. “I will transform when we get closer. I want to guide the storm for as long as possible.”
“Damn it… fine… but you can’t laugh when I start bleeding from my head holes again.”
Tlaloc’s laughter boomed like thunder. “No,” he said flatly.