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Take just what I came for It was the same as before. They were reminded that they were nothing – little specks of dust, granules of earth, ripe for the plucking, for dissection, for ruin, for abominations. Somehow, someway, they always have to be told that they were ruled and reigned over by another – first their own Gods, and now this one, a beast made from fallen deities. He wanted to shout and yell about how they’d killed celestial beings before. He’d watched them fizzle, burn, yield, and eventually succumb. He wanted to scream, all fury, all might, about how they couldn’t be cowed so easily. He wanted to ignite an everlasting wave of glory and triumph over the cretins, over the creatures, who thought they could manipulate, control, and devastate them time and time again. Because weren’t they all more than that? Didn’t they have power? Didn’t they have courage? Didn’t they have bravery? Weren’t there more of them than him? The once-prince swallowed it down though, far into the back of his throat, felt the rage, felt the rancor, twist and bellow between his ribs. He stifled, he corroded, he coiled, all fire and muscle and brimstone. It wasn’t time. It was the only notion that stopped him from ricocheting in every direction (from falling apart from the inside out; too much irreverence, too much sedition, too much rebellion carving out his lungs, his heart, his soul) and invoking each semblance of his invocations. He’d been witness to his friends, to his kin, to his companions die, collapse, and fade into nothing too – and they weren’t strong enough now, but lord, one day (he promised, he begged, he pleaded), one day they’d be able to take down every part of that ridiculous fiend in front of them. They would bide their time. They would wait. Then, they would strike.

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