The next problem on Francis' list was how to transport an unknown number of unstable magical bombs across the city towards the horde. Willow volunteered to have some of her undead minions carry the explosives, but he was concerned that someone might take a potshot at them.

  “It's a skeleton carrying a bomb,” the Marine said, “Some freaked out citizen is going to think it's their lucky day and shoot it.”

  “Fair point,” admitted the Death Cleric, “Undead are pretty slow anyway. By the time they got there and back, the horde might already be dispersed.”

  Francis felt another spark of inspiration. Stompy was upriver protecting the city from any orc raiding parties that might show up to cash in on the confusion. But he had other allies.

  Hey buddy, the Marine messaged his favorite opossum, I've got a fuck-ton of feral skeletons runnin’ wild, and I'd like to drop a big ol’ thunderbird egg on them before they get out of hand. Can you help me out?

  Evandrel’s reply came through a few seconds later, Fuck yeah, good buddy. The bird is on its way.

  ***

  Hades was having a great time. There was something cathartic about sitting on his couch and watching Vahnis burn. All across the globe people were discovering the downsides of keeping dangerous pets and unstable magical substances together in the same building. And it was glorious to behold.

  “Oooh… that one looked expensive,” Hades said as another city was vaporized by overlapping waves of pink lightning.

  The alchemists had probably prepared safeguards to prevent their ingredients from going critical. But all bets were off when a new cataclysmic age was on the horizon.

  Hades popped another cheese and honey stuffed date into his mouth while he watched another disaster unfold. The wards had failed in an iron foundry, and the fire elementals there were taking out their frustrations on the humans that had kept them prisoner.

  The god of death reached down for another date, but the plate was empty. He looked up to see Eris finishing off the last of his snacks.

  “Oops,” said the goddess of discord as she delicately wiped her lips with a napkin, “I thought you were done.”

  “What do you want?” Hades asked.

  “Chaos,” replied the goddess, “But I'll settle for watching Brexis burn.”

  The god of death shook his head. Hades knew better than to trust her. He knew that anything she said would be some form of manipulation. A trick to bend him to her will. But even lies could be revealing, sometimes.

  “Why do you hate Francis so much?” he asked. “First you gave me that apple. Now you're here reminding me of my little vendetta. That can't be a coincidence.”

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  “I don't hate Francis,” Eris said, “In fact, I very much enjoy watching him work. But Brexis.” The goddess repressed a shudder. “Let's just say that there's a little too much order there for my liking.”

  Hades laughed. “And we both know how much you hate order.” He took a second to think as a plan came together in his head. “You know, if we both worked together, we could bring him down.”

  The goddess gave him an appraising look. “Aren't you afraid that I'll stab you in the back? I am a creature of chaos, after all.”

  Hades had learned his fair share of lessons over the centuries. One of which was that if someone tells you that they might betray you, believe them. It was in Eris’ nature to destroy everyone and everything around her, even if she suffered the consequences with them.

  As he looked into her golden eyes, Hades was reminded of an old story about a frog and a scorpion. In one version of the tale, the scorpion stings the frog as they cross a river, dooming both of them. But that wasn't the only version.

  The god of death shrugged. “I can't blame you for following your nature, any less than you could blame me for following mine. So, are we doing this thing, or not?”

  Eris digested Hades’ words, trying to find any hidden meaning. But her mind was already made up. The sooner Francis was out of the way, the better. And if she could take out Hades in the process, then why wait? Eventually, she nodded.

  Hades summoned his bow and stood up. “Come on then, my dear niece. We've got a god to kill.”

  ***

  The orcs were somewhat suspicious of water, but Spot was doing his best to reassure them. He was a sailor, after all.

  As the hound guided their boat down the river, he couldn't help but notice the change in their demeanor. Jack suspected that none of the orcs had a combat class, and the way they were nervously fidgeting with their weapons wasn't doing much to convince him otherwise.

  It was like traveling with a bunch of anxious teenagers. Nearly two meter tall axe wielding teenagers, but teenagers nonetheless. He almost felt sorry for them.

  The Silver River was full of dangerous creatures, and the orcs would be lucky if half of them made it past Brexis. There were freshwater krakens, electric eels, dire otters, and all number of beasts looking to make a snack out of anyone traveling downstream.

  “I almost forgot,” Spot said as he fished around in his bag for some beeswax. “You need to put some of this in your ears.”

  Leslie looked at the glob of wax with suspicion. “What's this for?” the orc asked.

  “It makes pretty decent earplugs,” Spot explained. “This whole river is infested with sirens, and you don't want to get drawn in by their song.”

  The orcs shared a look of confusion. “I haven't heard anything about any sirens,” Leslie said.

  The hound frowned. “Surely you must have. This river is crawling with them.”

  The orc shook his head. “None of the scouts have reported seeing or hearing them. And also, please don't call me Shirley.”

  Spot looked down into the water as he tried to unravel the mystery. Either the sirens were killing every scout that spotted them, or the river had a new apex predator.

  He got his answer as their boat abruptly came to a stop. At first Spot thought that they had hit a rock. But then the hound saw two eyes the size of dinner plates looking up at him from beneath the water. Two very familiar eyes.

  “Ah, fuck,” Spot said as he recognized his former co-worker, “We just hit Stompy.”

  “What's a ‘Stompy’?” asked one of the orcs.

  He got his answer a few moments later when the Chthonic Titan of Devastation stood up to its full height. Stompy took a deep breath, then roared out a challenge that made Spot’s blood run cold.

  “Hello new friends! It's time to plaaaaay!”

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