Headed by a Snake

The Thunder God could not remember a time when he had been so tired.

He thought back to an age... long ago.

Back then, he drew his strength from faith.

The mortal denizens of the Realm... the people...

All peoples, under the sun and clouds and sky...

His people.

For his miracles, they would shower him with endless praise... honest and true, as only their soft, mortal hearts could give.

It was only after that age had past... that he realized he was not a kind god.

On his darker whims, he would strike the clouds with his Storm Axe, bringing thunder, lightning, and hail.

The rumbling roars of the clouds scattered the mortals.

They built shelters. They banded together in tribes for warmth and safety.

They died.

...Yet some did not.

He grew fond of those. He sang with them, dancing and stomping his feet.

The light, summer rains were his gift... watering their crops... rinsing away their fatigue.

For after every storm... through whatever pains and griefs and uncertainties... they would still remember the soothing rains.

And that hope was what made them strong.

But... in the modern age... for the modern peoples...

--the Thunder God had no miracles left to grant.

In the Tree God's Forest... he found the limitations of his Divine Body.

He was exhausted.

He felt as if... his existence was held together by a single breath of mana.

He needed to recover-- and quickly.

It was something he'd never needed to do before.

...He was uncertain how to even begin.

Yet... he had much to lose if he could not.

The Thunder God looked to the heavens to aid him.

There, he saw the sun... the domain of a certain carefree, red-maned god.

Barely a single bell had passed.

He had already sent his prayers.

He commanded, requested... and eventually pleaded for power.

And, of course, the heavens kept their silence.

The other gods did not dare intervene with the calamitous events prophesied by the dragons.

No god wished to die before their fated end.

It was an arrogant request... too arrogant.

The Thunder God would have never dared to make it... if not for his companions.

They who fought under the banner of Sol Invictus...

They... who accepted him... sharing with him the honor of their name...

They who fought... as if they were immortal.

It was they-- not he, who truly deserved favor from the higher powers.

The Thunder God began to chuckle to himself.

How piteous had he become?

Long ago, he was a leader... but nowhere to the extent of Maedar Tycondrius.

The Thunder God was a Mage, versed in both steel and spell... yet he had neither the deadly grace nor the creative aptitude of Tarquin Wroe.

The Thunder God was the most senior amongst them... his reign in the mortal Realm solidified for centuries.

Yet, Krysaos... a fledgling god only weeks old...

He fought with no less brazen courage than the Sun God.

It was... almost inconceivable.

Sol Invictus fought against the Tree God's servants... and those servants were marked with Divine Blessings that brought them infinitely close to godhood.

This, the Thunder God knew... and felt fear.

The mortals knew not.

Every step he took deeper into the Tree God's domain, he risked losing his godhood-- risked an eternity of nothingness.

But besides fear, he also felt... envy.

Could it be called valor-- what his companions had? ...So unaware of the caliber of threat they stood against.

The Maedar, Tycondrius...

The Ivory Prince...

The firstborn son of Rylania, Queen of Stone...

Godslayer...

The Thunder God knew better than to associate with him. The cost of offending him was obvious.

Yet... when he was presented with the chance to observe him, he could not allow it past.

What kind of mortal could be driven into killing their god?

...And why had no god acted against him?

Hades... God of Cunning and Murder...

...carrying the portfolio of death-- that which no god held power over but he.

Why would one of the most powerful gods in the Realm choose to stand openly at that mortal's side?

Maedar Tycondrius... he who was both loved and feared by the gods.

Glowing wisps of light came from the canopy of the Tree God's forest. Not born of the heavens, they came of bright and burning gases and swirling wyld-magics.

The rumbling sounds of horns heralded their unwavering allegiance to the Tree God.

Tycondrius called forth a Shadow Lord... an existence anathema to the radiant fae.

The Shadow did not question his orders.

Its mere touch proved poison to the light. Those creatures fell... their life-force drained and dead.

An Undead Forest Witch, her body and magic ancient and terrible, emerged from the marshy soil.

Tycondrius called forth Tarquin Wroe.

The blue light of that man's eyes... held not an onze of hesitation.

The sword he wielded-- its metal the bones of a cursed dragon god... it melted the hag's flesh like a blazing fire against a house of wax.

The discordant roar of century-old vinebells caused the ground to quake. Shaped like church bells, boasting maws of flesh-rending teeth... the abyss-born florae were incited only more violent and bloodthirsty after drinking of the Tree God's curses.

Tycondrius called forth Krysaos, the Sea God.

The half-god's trust in the Maedar... was ceaseless.

He alone halted the vinebells' advance, summoning a deluge of icy waves, the temperatures of each icier than the arctic depths.

Krysaos' magic... slowed their crushing tentacles and stripped away the divine protections on their black-and-green flesh.

The Thunder God compared his magic to the Sea God's.

His heart was filled with shame.

A hailstorm could ruin fields and villages. Krysaos' crashing waves could level mountains.

"Thunder God."

The Thunder God swallowed his saliva. His mouth was dry. He could hear naught but battle... the screams of the slaughtered... and Tycondrius' call, gentle but irrefutable.

"S-speak... friend-Maedar."

He cursed himself for the weakness in his voice... and for how small it sounded.

So too was his power as a god... accursed... weak.

So too was his courage...

The Thunder God felt two warm hands upon his cheeks.

He felt Tycondrius' forehead press against his.

That man's breath, he felt hot on his face.

"I will not have you despair in our time of need, Thunder God," Whispered the Godslayer. "There is a deadly swarm of insects approaching fast at our 3 o'clock... Lend me your power."

The Thunder God tried to strengthen the grip on his axe... but his weakness was too great.

His fear was too great.

His doubt...

"Maedar... I..."

Tycondrius closed his eyes, "I trust you."

...The Thunder God... took in a breath.

His Storm Axe, he held fast. From where he summoned the strength, he did not know.

"I... shall not betray thy faith, friend-Maedar."

The end of Tycondrius' mouth curved upward, "I know."

The envy in the Thunder God's heart returned anew.

After all that had happened... how could Tycondrius still have such trust?

How could that man... be so certain of his survival and success?

How... could any being, god or mortal... be so strong?