Post-War, Pre-Truce

Jim Stitzel

I dabble a little in a lot of things — writing, webcomics, gaming, photography, web design, music, and more. I write code full-time and words in the gaps in between.

"The bargain is this," I began. "A truce. An end to this petty war that began with my ancestors, that has led to so much death."

"NEVER!" the god roared, cutting me off. "WE WILL HAVE OUR VENG--"

I held up my blade again and said nothing. The god's mouth snapped shut with an audible click. It knew it had no real power here. This was my domain, and it knew it all too well.

"A truce," I said again.

"I'm listening," the god said slowly, cautiously. The hatred it held in its eyes was almost a physical force, would have been, in fact, if it still lived in its original body. Instead, it was merely an ember of its once-devastating power, a fact that was not lost on the god itself. The knowledge seemed to fuel its rage ever further in a never-ending cycle of hatred and impotence.

Inwardly, I smiled, though I was careful never to let the emotion reach my face. Sometimes, these gods could be more petty than the Men they pretended to rule. Here, though, the power was mine, and I was about to wield its full force.

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The thing that spoke to me had the face of a dead god but used the voice of my father. I had known t…

Bargaining Post

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