The Gods Caused the Massacre

The bright sun knew not what had happened ove the night, but what it saw when it rose over the field was a massacre. Not a soul still stood on the blood filled grass. Weapons were strewn every which way, rarely held within the hand of their fallen wielders.

"And who's going to clean all this up?" Madame Zandor stood regally in the bright sun, arms stiffly on her hips.

"Um, well, you see, the thing is, when I had my training, the temple really reserved the use of, um, well, the mops, for, uh..."

"For those less important than thy mighty self?" The older woman sneered at him. "You started it all, after all, I think you're old enough to take some responsibility for your own actions."

"Isn't that the point of being high in the pantheon? You're not responsible for what your followers do anymore." Tobias shook his head as he surveyed the scene of carnage.

"What we really need here is a god of Rotting Flesh."

"I could do that," Madame said, striking a pose. She waved a hand and her face began to decay and fester.

"Brava!" cried Tobias. "Go forth and grow your flock. Bring us some worshippers who would fight themselves to death to clean up the carnage."

The Flesh Goddess grew more.

"Hey..." boomed the voice of Tobias's brother Zanthar. "What are you doing having all those worshippers? I"m the one who does all the work, I deserve those worshippers!"

"Well, nyeeh!" Tobias retorted maturely. "If you don't shut up, I'll summon the god of beating up bratty little brothers!"

Zanthar rolled his eyes. "Like you could! Everyone knows you fail at summoning."

"Well, you fail at life!"

I am, he said, the god of rotting flesh. It was not clear who was speaking but then it hit me that it didn't really matter — we were all different aspects of the god of rotting flesh.

There were too many gods standing around in a field of dead bodies and collapsed souls arguing about custodial care. Beezle, watching with his seven league vision from a hill outside the massacre zone, shot off a bowling ball bolt and knocked at least nine of them down. "Split, damn."

Tobias picked himself up and brushed gore off his robes. "Who dares?"

Beezle shrugged. "It is I, oh high and mighty, etc., etc."

Tobias frowned. "We have important business to discuss. There's no place for bowling here."

Madame Zandor sniffed, trying to straighten her beehive hairdo. Zanthar was flicking body parts at her and managed to land most of a hand right in her hairsprayed mountain of hair.

"This wouldn't do. Gobbits of flesh simply did not go with her robes. She picked up her 12-pounder and hurled it as his head, angrily exclaiming, "Take that, you oversized dingleberry!"

Zanthar ducked, but not in time before the shiny marblized ball took out part of his spleen. "Damn you!" he cried, and as he was a god — or at least an aspect of one — his words took immediate effect: the earth opened beneath her and she vanished below, her cries of anguish lost amid leaping flames.

Tobias laughed. "Well done, little brother! She is going to be mad when she gets back!" He slapped Zanthar on the back. Zanthar looked a little stunned, and a little nervous. "How mad, do you think?" he said.

From his perch on the hill, Beezle smiled and picked up another ball.

"He he he he he," he cackled, tossing it at a tree. The tree exploded.

"Oh dear," Tobias said, rather calmly despite everything.

"How mad did you say, again?" Zanthar squeaked.

The others just laughed.

"She's not one to forgive easily," Tobias told him.

"Um... I think... I don't think I want to be here when she comes back," Zanthar said. He didn't wait for a reply before disappearing.

Above them all, the sun had had enough of the gods below and turned its attention elsewhere. There was only so long it could listen in before they just got too weird.

Really, it was surprising this world could even function with them running things.