Tell you what, Rythian, I'll cut you a deal. You stay out of the way until my business is concluded, and I'll give you everything you need to turn Lying into a little pile of dust if they bother you again. How's that sound?"

Rythian considered, slipping his katar back into his belt. "It sounds like bullshit," he concluded.

Ridge put a hand to his chest in mock-offense. "What! You don't think I can follow through?"

"It doesn't matter if you can," he answered levelly, "because you won't."

"Oh, Rythian, that's just not true." He put on a compassionate face, extending a hand. "Here's an idea: what would you say if I gave you a . . . trial-run, as it were? No obligations on your end. First taste is always free, you know. What would you say to that?"

"I'd say 'go to hell.'"

Ridge started, his charm rumpled. "The—what? Rythian, come on now, I'm offering you the chance to be a *god*, here. Anything you want, just name it."

"I want you to leave these boys alone," Rythian declared.

Ridge winced. "Anything but that," he amended.

Rythian lifted his chin and met Ridge's eyes. "In that case: go to hell."

Frowning, he stood from his invisible chair, his feet splashing in the water gathered on the roof. He looked down at his shoes, irritated, and snapped his fingers. The rain stopped instantly. Ridge looked up at Rythian, his eyes black and cold.

"Would you like a demonstration?" he inquired. "Because I really don't think you've grasped what I'm offering."

"I'm fairly certain I have."

"This is the deal of a *lifetime*, Ryth," Ridge purred. Rythian bristled at the name, but Ridge didn't give him time to interrupt. "Anything you want, whenever you want it, with just a snap of the fingers. I could give you that. And all you have to do is just . . . take a little time *off*. Go on vacation. Just that, just for a measly couple of days, and you get to keep the powers, too. You're never going to get a better deal than that!"

"The answer is still no."

"Aw, Ryth, why?"

"Because you will never follow through on that deal."

Ridge's eyes narrowed. "Are you calling me a liar?" he asked softly.

"Yes, that's exactly what I'm doing."

His smile went sharp around the edges. "Do you have *any* idea who you're dealing with?"

"Again, yes," Rythian answered. As he spoke, the hatred rose in him until its flames laced his every word. "You're a schoolyard bully who never grew up. You're a spoiled pup who thinks he's a wolf. You are a pathetic, *frightened* little man who's playing at being a *god!*"

Ridge gaped at him for a moment, stunned; and then the darkness came out of his eyes and bloomed across his face, unseating the mask with fluid ease.

"You think I'm playing?" he demanded, his voice low and venomous. "You think *this* is *playing?*"

He flung his arms out to the sides, palms turned towards the heavens; a bolt of lightning lanced down from the roiling clouds and struck him, engulfing him in blinding light and cracking the dome beneath his feet. The deafening crash of thunder slammed against Rythian like a tidal wave, nearly knocking him flat.

Ridge stood, dark amongst the blazing afterimages, clad in cybernetic black armor and holding an obsidian-bladed sword in each outstretched hand. He grinned.

"I'm a *god*, Rythian," he boasted. "Now *kneel*."

He felt the word clench around his heart with an iron grip, felt it kick the back of his knees and drive blades into his spine. He staggered, but he did not kneel.

The unguarded look of shock flickered across Ridge's face again, and then his lip curled and his fists clenched, sending blue-white sparks skittering up and down the length of his swords.

"I said *kneel!*" he commanded. The power of the word crashed down again, but this time he was braced for it, and it broke against him like a wave against a cliff.

Rythian took a step forward, and then another, never taking his eyes from Ridge's. He advanced, slowly, inexorably, and watched the fear on his opponent's face grow with every step.

"I have met gods," he stated softly, though his voice was still laced with fire. "I have bargained with Eternity and played midwife to the birth of worlds. I have lain with Winter, reveled with Madness, and I have looked into the eyes of Death. I have met gods, Ridge, and you are *not* among them."

Ridge let out a wordless roar and swung for Rythian's head, closing the remaining distance between them in a single step. Rythian caught the blade in his palm and held it, and though it had bitten deep into the bones of his hand, he did not flinch. He took Ridge's other sword and tossed it aside, pulling it from a hand gone weak with shock. His eyes remained locked with Ridge's.

"You're fucking *insane*," Ridge spat, his voice shaking.

"Have you ever died, Ridge?" Rythian inquired.

"No, idiot, of course not," he retorted.

"You will," Rythian assured him. "And when Death comes for you—and she *will* come for you—I want you to remember every last thing you have done to these three boys. Because I guarantee you, Ridge: *she will.*"

They stood in silence for a long moment, while blood flowed down Rythian's arm and dripped onto the cracked glass dome, while gears whirred almost audibly in Ridge's head.

He looked away, then, over his shoulder to where Trottimus was slowly uncurling.

"Congrats, Trotty. Your buddy here has just earned you an extra month." He turned his eyes back to Rythian and smirked. "Use it wisely, hm?"

Then there was a flash of golden light, and he was gone.