From time to time, Millagua questioned reality, threatening to wake himself up from his endlessly long tapestry of dreams. And every time he came close, there came Bagua, the Were-Bat.

One time, Millagua was floating through a field of gently twinkling metal flakes on a planet made of gold. The flakes rolled lazily, the sun winking off them as they went.

Millagua felt totally calm and serene, at peace with himself. He was all alone, and that was fine. A light breeze blew in from behind him, nudging the gold flakes along. All up in the sky, distant stars twinkled cold silver.

Millagua felt deep contentedness and tranquility. Feeling peaceful was so strange for the god of stasis that he suddenly questioned everything. Who was he to be happy? What had he done to deserve this? This couldn’t be real.

Then and suddenly the only real thing was Bagua’s hideous face–his folds of leathery skin, his round, upturned nose, his folds of ugly flesh, his grin of sharp teeth, the foul stench of his unwashed fur, the rattling wheeze of his hot breath, and, worst of all, the dark malice Millagua saw deep inside the creatures dead, beady eyes.

In a normal setting, old enemies might greet with an exchange of hostilities. They might insult each other, for example, or perhaps state (and restate) old grievances. Some old enemies might boast or brag, while others might beat their figurative chests, toss figurative leaves in the air, and hoot, figuratively, in the general direction of each other.

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But not Bagua, and certainly not Millagua.

At the very sight of the were-bat, the god of stasis acted after his namesake: he froze, petrified. There he would stay–on the Gold Planet, before the star-eating dragon, and in a hundred hundred other scenarios amidst a hundred hundred different dreams–and suffer in silent horror.

Under normal circumstances, being frozen in time for years wasn’t so bad, because Millagua wasn’t really even there. But this–this awareness of his own lack of movement–it was the most terrifying thing of all.

Under normal circumstances, the very thought of Bagua sent a cold shiver down Millagua’s spine. But now, here, in front of this audience, in real life, for this was reality, here was his tormentor, his demon, his were-bat, his Bagua.

Even as his enemy, Ziph, fell back in surprise, saving Millagua from being bludgeoned, the god of stasis fell to his knees. He put his hands on his head.

Bagua only looked on with his black, gleaming eyes.

Millagua screamed.