Magic Murder Cube Marine

Francis watched with amusement as the situation rapidly degraded. This wasn't the first Paladin he had seen since Brexis reopened for business. They seemed to have strong ideas about how he should run his city, but weren't able to come up with any good alternative solutions.

With a raspy chuckle, Wilbur flicked the demonic tabby over to Jim. The Paladin caught Mac and let go of it immediately. He could sense raw demonic power radiating off the creature.

“Oh, you drop me like garbage?” Mac the demonic cat scolded, “You Paladins are so judgmental.”

“Be nice to the poor boy,” called out the larger god, “He's still figuring things out.”

Jim took a step back and contemplated his future. These were obviously powerful entities. Even demons heeded their control. The city itself was a wonder as well, with clean running water and strong walls. Lastly, and most magnificent of all, their gods walked among them.

What a thing it would be to serve a god that knew your name, Jim the Paladin thought. The closest he ever got to speaking with Lord Ramboo was that one time he took a war hammer to the face. (Apparently, he had almost crossed over.)

Seeing the familiar look on Jim's face, an attendant appeared. “Sir, if you will follow me. The line for Paladins from a great and noble order that are rethinking things is this way.” They took him by the arm, “We have counseling services available, if you need them, and some brochures for you to look over.”

The Marine watched as Jim was led off. “It looks like Julia was right. It doesn't take much to turn these fuckers, does it?” he asked.

“Yes. Quite,” Mac replied as it teleported back onto the grill. It snagged a piece of chicken and scooted away before Wilbur could smack it with the tongs. “You must be getting so many alerts from System.”

Francis groaned. He felt like he needed to read every blue box so he didn't miss anything. But, that was impossible. There were too many alerts. At very best, he had time to read one out of ten.

The new followers were streaming in to Brexis, and each conversion came with its own System alert. Many of them didn't even know what Francis was the god of. All they cared about was the fact he was actually present. Very few gods stayed on the mortal plane. Even fewer met with their followers regularly.

Willow had said that the followers of the other gods were “touch starved”. They got relatively few affirmations of the connection between themselves and their chosen deity. The best they could hope for was a bolt of lightning when they did wrong and maybe, if they were very lucky, a place in their chosen afterlife.

The Marine had very little desire to increase his following, even though the god knew it was a vital part of his job. In Francis' mind, more followers meant more people to protect and care for.

Willow, his High Priestess, had moved on despite his hesitation. She was currently doing her best to grow the Cult of Francis Francis Francis from a small, relatively unknown religion, to a regional power. And she was very good at her job.

Off in the distance a silent bell tolled the hour. Five waves of silence crashed over the city, killing all noise for a second at a time. It was part of Brexis' silent alarm system, something they had only recently managed to get back up and running.

The Marine let out a sigh. “It's time to go do the god thing.”

Wilbur gave him a look of sympathy. “Don't worry, you'll do fine. It's only your first official appearance since Hades attacked. It's not like it will set the tone for the rest of your tenure here. Or influence your reputation as a god.”

Francis laughed. Then he thought about the crumpled piece of parchment that contained the notes for his speech. The Marine hadn't been able to memorize the words, no matter how hard he tried.

Oh well. I guess I'll just have to wing it, Francis thought.

***

When Francis got back to the palace, all hell broke loose. One of the new gods was on the verge of throwing a chair at the receptionist.

Carteel, the god of smuggling, swore as the improvised weapon was plucked from his hands. But he quickly quieted down when he saw Francis’ expression.

“Hey buddy,” Carteel said as he came fact to face with the dominant power in Brexis, “I was just about to leave.”

The Marine turned god leaned in menacingly. “Were you now?”

“Yes!” The god of smuggling tried to push past Francis but found himself being backed into a corner. “Actually, I have places to be.”

Janice, the receptionist, looked up at her boss from behind a pair of half-moon reading glasses. She had gray hair tied up in a no-nonsense bun and a yellow cardigan. “He was throwing a fit about not being able to see Willow without an appointment. I believe he is upset about some ships going missing.”

“Wonderful!” Francis boomed as he picked up the smaller god by the scruff of the neck, “I actually just had a spot open up in my schedule. Let's go see her now.”

Carteel embraced his fate and let himself be carried like a misbehaving puppy down the palace halls. “This is not very dignified.”

The Marine nodded, making no move to put the smaller god back down. “I know.”

The god of smuggling decided not to press the issue. Francis had appeared on the scene fairly recently, having been chosen as a champion of the Glorious Murder Cube. But his rise to power had been incredibly swift. Within a few days of arriving he had killed Zed, the lich in charge of Brexis, then went on to found his own religion.

In a frighteningly short amount of time the former Marine had gone on to befriend a world ending death god, open diplomatic relationships with the Dark Forest, and kick Hades’ pale ass out of Brexis. If anyone doubted the last part, there was a very enthusiastic Chthonic Titan of Devastation named Stompy that was living proof of the Marine’s victory.

Stompy had served Hades’ champion for hundreds of years, but was much happier working for Francis. The titan patrolled the Silver River, a deep body of water that flowed from the mountains, through the Dark Forest, then down to the nation’s capital.

Brexis was an independent city state that had lay dormant for centuries, having fallen victim to internal politics and walled itself off from the rest of the world. Its resurrection, and the reopening of the lucrative river trade route, had inspired Carteel to set up shop there. Taxes in Brexis were incredibly low, but it was the principle of the thing that mattered. Unfortunately, the god of smuggling hadn’t counted on a particularly powerful titan patrolling the river.

Several lost cargoes later, Carteel had come to the temple on top of the mountain to make a complaint. And now he was here, hanging by the scruff of his neck like a rat in a dog’s jaws. They approached an imposing black door engraved with skulls, flames, and marked with a tasteful bronze nameplate.

Willow Wisp

High Priestess of the Cult of Francis Francis Francis

“Um, should we knock?” Carteel asked, “I would hate to disturb her.”

“That’s a good idea!” Francis said as he shifted his grip and cradled the back of the smaller god’s skull with his massive hand, “I’ll let you do the honors.”