Magic Murder Cube Marine

Eventually Francis managed to cheese the fight between himself and the zombified gods by smacking them with his staff, then circling out of reach. Between that, and the phosphorus burning holes and in them, the fight was over with surprisingly little drama.

Zombie Neko still managed to stab him a few more times. But thankfully none of them were crits. He sat down on the road and called for a pickup.

Chuck trotted over and gave him the side eye. “Um, where is Hades?”

“I don't know, and I don't really care.” Francis stood up and limped over to his mount. “He's probably doing some sketchy shit. I figure we'll find out what exactly goth boy is cooking up when he dumps it on our plate.”

They rode in silence for a few seconds before Chuck spoke up. “Francis, I'm sorry for picking a fight with Hades. It wasn't my place.”

“No. It wasn't,” the Marine let out a sigh, “I knew Hades was full of shit. I was trying to kick the can down the road until the refugees were settled in. But you weren't wrong about him.”

Mac appeared on Francis' shoulder. “I'm with the rainbow racer on this one. Letting Hades get a foothold in the city, even for a little bit, would have been bad news.”

The ground beneath them began to quake. The Marine looked around and spotted a very dejected Titan approaching. Stompy's head was hanging down low and his tail lacked its usual vitality.

“Hey Stompy, what's up?” Francis called out through their telepathic link.

“Hades kicked me out. He says he doesn't like me anymore.” Stompy sat down on the road with a thud that shook the trees. “I think he's mad at me.”

Chuck, who could not hear either side of the conversation, looked up at Francis questioningly. “He and Hades broke up.” explained the Marine.

“I think we might have a place for you.” Francis wasn't one to look a gift Titan in the mouth. “How does that sound?”

Stompy considered this, perking up at the prospect of finding a new home. “Will there be fish? I like fish. Hades used to give me fish when I was good.”

Francis figured there were bound to be enough fish in the river to keep even a Titan fed. “Sure, Stompy. But first, let's go over a few very important ground rules…”

***

“I don't know how the hell he manages to do it,” Jack said. Somehow Francis had gone off to fight and come back with a new friend. He watched the Titan stomp up and down the river bank.

Willow shrugged. “Some people are just lucky, I guess.”

“Apparently,” the hound replied, still not sure what to make of the day’s events. There had been surprisingly little collateral damage. As per the plan, he had continued to help the refugees while the battle between the gods raged on above the city.

Reports were already filtering in through the Adventure Guild that Hades had lost control of three cities while he was distracted fighting Francis. Jack couldn't imagine the god of death would let something like that go unpunished.

Hank was obviously frustrated that he hadn't gotten to fire his Arcane Annihilator. But he didn't mind a little edging, now and then. His crew of kobolds were hard at work making sure the homes were safe and habitable.

Evandrel had also appeared, his followers hauling woven baskets of fruit and food stuffs for the refugees. They even had brought a few people that were tired of “forest mafia bullshit” and ready to rejoin civilization.

“So, where is the man of the hour?” Jack asked.

Willow shrugged. “I'm sure he's around here somewhere.” She knew where he was, it was one of the perks of being a High Priestess. But he needed some time to decompress and think things through.

***

Francis, Locke, and Wilbur sat around the kitchen table, shooting the breeze. A pan of cornbread rested on the counter and a pitcher of fruity drinks sat next to it.

The Marine considered his words carefully. He was uncomfortably aware that Locke was much more powerful than he let on and Wilbur was some kind of world ending being. Jack had refused to explain the full details, but his fear made Francis cautious.

“How can I protect Brexis from Hades?” he asked.

“You can't.” Locke replied, “She's a tough nut to crack, with some great defenses. But Brexis is just a city, and all cities fall eventually.”

Wilbur nodded in agreement. “Welcoming in the other gods might help make it a less appealing target. But I'd be careful about that too. Some of the younger ones can be real troublemakers.” He winked at Francis and let out a raspy chuckle.

“But how do I know I'm making the right decision?” the Marine asked, “I'm just a grunt. I'm not cut out for this god shit.”

“Nobody is. I wasn't, and neither was Locke. That's why we retired.” Wilbur sipped his pink cocktail and rocked in his chair. “At least, that's part of why we retired.”

Locke shrugged, “Godhood is a shitty job at the best of times. You get a whole big load of responsibilities, very little actual power, and a much shorter life expectancy. It's absolute crap, if you ask me.”

Francis frowned and looked at the lich, “What exactly were you the god of?”

Locke leaned over and whispered the answer in his ear. The Marine tried to hide his surprise. It made sense with Locke’s whole vibe and aesthetic. But it was still unexpected.

Fishing! The mad bastard used to be the god of fishing!