CHAPTER TWO
INTRODUCING, YOUR VILLAIN FOR THIS EVENING...
MEANWHILE, somewhere else - and by 'somewhere else', I mean several hundred miles away, inside the mantle-core of a massive fire-spitting volcano - a certain fire-loving god sat in his throne room, reading.
"AH!" cried Elias, the God of Fire, as he saw and felt the book slip from his immortal fingers and onto the brimstone floor below. It landed awkwardly on its spine, wobbled once, before tipping over and closing face-down on the steaming rock.
"AH!" he cried again, feeling a new height of frustration. On a frustration scale of 1-10, dropping your book only lands about an 8 or 9, but dropping your book and then losing your page scores a definite 28. However, it could have been worse. Luckily for him, the book had managed to land on an un-burning patch of brimstone. Elias didn't want to think of the emotional consequences he would face if it had landed on one of the flaming sections of brimstone. (Re-buying books is a fate worse than death. I should know.)
He leaned over the armrest of his carved brimstone throne - which was padded with fireproof cushioning material, of course; brimstone might be naturally warm, but that doesn't stop it from being hard and uncomfortable - and reached for the book, cursing when his fingers curled and grasped around the empty air just above it. Too far.
"DRAGON!" he yelled, with a voice like exploding fireballs. Then he remembered that he had sent Dragon on a death-mission a few hours ago, after it had failed to stop annoying him. Although, in Dragon's defence, it hadn't done anything reasonably annoying except just existing, which, unfortunately, annoyed Elias very much.
Cursing again, the God of Fire stepped off his throne, swore at whoever decided to place it so elevated off the ground (himself) and picked up his book, feeling the full pain of manual labour. He plunked himself back down on the throne and continued reading.
Elias didn't have a throne because he ruled over anything. He might have aspired to rule over everything, but the main reason why he got the throne was because he saw it in a one-day sale at Royal Furniture Co. and couldn't resist himself. Not only was it a great bargain at $799.99, but he figured it might come in handy when he actually ruled the world. The trouble with thrones is that when you want them, they cost an arm, a leg, two armies and a soul; but when you don't want one, they are so cheap that the owners may as well be throwing them out the window at you. Elias thought that it could only be smart to buy one in advance, and plus he had practically ripped-off the shop at that price. Enchanted fireproof leather isn't cheap, you know.
His long fluid hair - flame red, of course - draped around him and the book like a curtain as he hunched over, reading each word with intense concentration. The book he was reading was the bestselling 'The Immortal's Supreme Guide to Dominating the Mortal Realms' by Winktor Dewilde. An entertaining and informative read, according to Elias. From it he was learning lots of new things, including 'how to save yourself from embarrassment by taking care of the contemporary heroine early', and 'why having cliché evil catchphrases is never a bad thing'.
Not that Elias was bad at being a super-villain god. Of course he wasn't! In his opinion, he was the best evil and world-destroying god ever! However, even an omnipotent universe-burner like him wouldn't be harmed by taking the time to improve and refine his talents.
Just as he was starting to get really into the current chapter, a knocking sound rung throughout the throne room. Something or somebody was banging on the door. Damn them! He continued to read, ignoring them.
But they continued to knock, and his reading mood was broken. Elias thought they must have been a being of great stupidity. Nobody dared disturb the Great Fire God! Except for this idiot.
Growling under his breath, he carefully placed the book down on the throne's arm - gently, so as to not lose its place - before he stood up and grabbed his sword from its ornamental stand, in the middle of the room. It was a stunning and damn powerful-looking weapon; made from a metre-long piece of blood-red steel, its blade was thin and sharpened to a dangerous level of sharpness, so sharp that Elias used it to shave when he was in a good mood (and didn't mind having the occasional face impalement.) Strips of gold decorated its hilt, along with a few black gems; and embedded in the pommel was a small, barely noticeable rune: a symbol similar to the letter 'O', but with an assortment of curved lines and dots inside. Even the God of Fire himself didn't know what it meant, but he assumed it probably had something to do with the sword's wicked-awesome power.
He strode to the thick stone door that was the only entrance to the room - yes, it was also made of brimstone - walking nonchalantly through several pillars of flame and shallow puddles of lava on his way. As the room was underground and naturally had no windows, the flames and lava served a practical purpose as lighting features (and death traps, of course). An interior designer might have shaken their head at the unorganized and rather quite chaotic placement of the lava-pools and flame-pillars; and they have also disagreed with the overuse of brimstone as a building material, as well as the lava rolling down the walls and the fountains that squirted it across the room. But as far as Elias was concerned, they could shove it. He was the fire god here. He made the rules. He held the bigger and more-powerful sword. Plus, his damage per second was at least five times the total of their entire health-level. He didn't see why such an inferior being would bother to voice their opinions to a god like him. Unless, of course, they liked the idea of an instantaneous and quite fiery death.
Reaching the door, he kicked it open and pointed the tip of the blade at the knocker.
"Master!" Dragon cried, before he saw the sword pointed at him and ducking on reflex. "Please, master, don't point that thing at me. It is only I: Dragon! I am your faithful servant. I pose no threat."
Elias grinned like the ruthless maniac he was, before tilting the point towards Dragon's nervous face. They both watched as the blade began to glow a deep, pulsing red. Dragon whimpered and Elias rolled his eyes, aiming the blade downwards at the last second. A bright red beam of fire shot from the end of the sword, blasting a metre-square crater into the brimstone between their feet.
"I love this sword!" Elias squealed, laughing madly; his eyes growing wide with excitement. He had used the sword many times before, but its destructive powers never ceased to amaze him. No longer feeling annoyed with Dragon, he grinned at the beast, which was curled-up on the ground, trying to hide under its claws.
"Get up, you wimp."
Dragon obeyed.
"Why did you try and hide? I wasn't actually going to hurt you. Anyway, what did you interrupt my reading for?"
Dragon looked up at him and swallowed nervously. "Dragon was wondering if master would read him a bedtime story."
"Wait! No! I'm currently ranked number one on the 'most destructive and chaotic beings in the universe' list. Why would I do that?"
Dragon opened his eyes as wide as possible and puckered his lips, trying to pull as much patheticness and innocence into his expression as possible.
Elias saw this and sighed. "Fine. This is the last time, I swear. One story, then master has to go back to reading and planning for the final act of his world destruction."
Dragon grinned in victory.
"Oh, and you better not tell anyone. I have an evil god-villain reputation to withhold."
THE Dying Rooster Tavern is a two-storeyed venue set on the outskirts of Heart City's market district, and is famous for its golden ale, average food and good eavesdropping environment. Over four generations old, it has seen a lot of strange beings and groups pass through its doors, and most of them would have been a lot stranger than the trio currently gathered around a table in the shadowed back-corners of the room.
It didn't really surprise Florence that they had chosen to come back to the tavern, after the events at the market. The Dying Rooster Tavern was the go-to place for pretty much any type of gathering, from political gossiping to meeting a 'client' to gambling to starting a quest to just plain-old drinking - it was all done at the Dying Rooster. Shady back-alleys were a thing of the past.
Opening her mouth, Florence decided that this was as good a time as any to ask the pair the question that had been on her mind for the last while. "So... that dragon..?"
"What about it?" replied Menka.
"Well, what did you do to the God of Fire to make him send his dragon after you?"
"Oh, yeah. About that." He chuckled and Andy rolled his eyes from his stool beside him. "We had - well, we still do have - unfinished business with that guy."
"He's trying to destroy the world," explained Andy, nodding as if that single line made everything make perfect sense.
"Wait... what?" She asked, raising an eyebrow.
"The God of Fire is going to destroy the world as you know it. Actually, he already is."
Florence gave Menka a blank stare and raised the other eyebrow.
"The drought." Andy sighed when Florence's expression didn't change. "It's his doing."
"But..." Florence's face took on a perplexed hue. "Isn't the drought just the God of Weather punishing us for not delivering his quota of virgin-sacrifices or something?"
"Nope," said Menka. "If only. It's all Elias, the God of Fire."
"But how? And why?"
"In short words," answered Andy, "he has a really powerful sword that is boosting his power, and he is using all that power to pretty much place the entire world under a giant furnace."
"Okay..." Florence said, trying to take everything in. "But why would he want to destroy the world?"
"Because he is evil. Duh," Andy and Menka answered simultaneously.
"I... see." Florence frowned. "But that still doesn't explain why he sent a dragon after you two."
"Well, to be honest, I'm not actually sure." Andy sighed. "One possible reason is because we have decided to kill him."
Florence nodded, almost beginning to understand.
"But because we only decided that last night, it's pretty unlikely that he would know by now. Another reason why he could have sent that dragon after us is because we have the sword."
"You have his über-powerful sword? Is that why he's mad at you? How did you get it?"
"Ha. If only," Andy said. "No, we have the other sword. But if we did still-- I mean..." Andy shot a side glance at Menka who ignored his look and proceeded in trying to appear really interested in the dirt under his fingernails. "If we did have that sword, it would solve a lot of problems."
"So what sword do you have? I wasn't aware you guys had a sword, apart from the rusted one that talks."
"That's the sword." Andy grinned. "Ask Menka about the sword. He absolutely loves--"
"That's enough," Menka interrupted. "I will do the explaining here. Unfortunately, the sword is actually quite important. It's annoying and I would have thrown it out years ago, otherwise. Apparently, it can kill a god, even though nobody has tested that theory, and that's the reason why the God of Fire is scared of it... and us."
"So..." Florence scratched her forehead. "You think the sword is the reason why the God of Fire sent his dragon after you?"
"Well, it could be... but I don't think so," said Andy.
Florence moaned, wishing for at least one straight answer.
"Elias isn't that stupid. His dragon didn't have a chance at killing us, and he knew it. He probably just wanted to get rid of the thing."
"Even if it was a proper dragon, though." A sly smirk had crossed Menka's face. "It still wouldn't have stood a chance."
Florence raised her eyebrows. "A dragon couldn't kill you?"
"Nah."
"What about two dragons?"
"Nope. Not even."
"Three dragons?"
"Pfft. Never."
"That is a bit egotistical," Florence remarked, feeling amused as well as slightly perplexed. "Four dragons?"
"Okay." Menka sighed. "Define the term 'kill'."
Andy raised an eyebrow and gave him a questioning look: a 'what-are-you-doing?' look.
Menka caught his gaze and returned it: a sly 'I'll-do-what-want' smirk.
Florence stared at the pair with vacant eyes, wondering what the hell was going on. They continued this staring match for half a minute, perspiration forming on each of their foreheads. After another minute, Florence was over it. "Guys!" she cried, drawing both of their attentions.
Menka let out another sigh.
"What?" she asked, clearly confused by the man.
"I..." Menka shot a careful glance at Andy before he spoke. "I need to use the men's room."
"You do?" Andy asked, while Florence moaned in frustration.
"Yes, and so do you."
"I do?"
"I would appreciate if it someone told me what was going on!" Florence cried.
Menka ignored her and looked back at Andy. "Yes. You do."
"Really?" Andy scratched his chin. "I'm not sure if I do."
"Damn it, Andy!" Menka shouted, leaping from his stool and grabbing Andy by the arm. "We will be back," he said to Florence, whose mouth was set in the lowercase 'o' of annoyance and confusion.
Sighing in defeat, she shrugged as she watched Menka drag Andy away. It was probably just a male 'thing'. Nothing to be worried about.
"WHAT are you doing!" cried Andy, as Menka dragged him around a corner, away from Florence and their table. He looked around, seeing that Menka had taken him to a storage room at the back of the tavern. A small civilization of crates and storage boxes surrounded them, some stacked as high as the ceiling. A few barrels were scattered around: most empty, but a few still were half-full with the Dying Rooster's famous golden ale. Andy raised an eyebrow at Menka. "This isn't the men's room."
Menka rolled his eyes. "We need to talk seriously, Andy."
Andy winced at the very idea. "Aw, man. Do we have to? You know how much I hate serious topics."
"We need to talk about Florence," Menka stated, leaning back on the wall behind him.
"What about her?"
"Well." Menka sighed, thinking of solutions. "What are we going to do about her? She is a mortal, and we are two gods about to attempt the impossible: trying to kill another god. We can't bring her with us."
Andy shrugged and sat down on one of the barrels. "I don't see why not."
"Are you kidding me? She's a mortal. I don't wanna have to deal with feeling bad or something - after a few hours, when she gets herself killed or whatever."
Andy moaned. "Have some faith. She does look like she is very capable of handling herself. Did you see that sword? That massive thing on her back?"
"Sure, but it looks out of place on her. It is almost like a king's sword."
"Yeah, but I swear I've seen that sword before." Andy scratched his forehead, trying and failing to remember. "Anyway, I think a few hours might be a bit of an understatement."
"Okay." Menka ran his fingers through his hair. "But I'm still not sure if we should bring her with us."
"It's kind of funny." Andy grinned at the observation. "You not wanting to bring her now. Seeing as you were the one who told her she could come with us."
"She was gonna follow us anyway!" Menka sighed at the idea. "Like she will if we leave her." Then rolling his eyes, he added: "We may as well bring her with us."
"That's the best option." Andy nodded to himself, agreeing with himself. "I don't think we should tell her we are gods, though."
Menka raised an eyebrow at the idea.
"If you want her to do anything but hate us, or worship the ground we walk on, anyway..."
"Mortals we will pretend to be, then," Menka moaned. "Oh, man. This world-saving thing just gets worse and worse..."
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