Gorgoz pounced, seizing Lucky by the throat.
“Gorg, Gorgie, Gorgster,” choked the god of prosperity.
“Quiet, you babbling fool,” hissed Gorgoz. “Prepare to suffer the consequences of your trespass.”
“Uh-oh,” said Morpheus.
“Uh-oh, what?” asked Quick. “What’s gone wrong?”
“I warned you it would be dangerous. The simulation is out of control.”
“Uh, guys,” squeaked Lucky. “Could use a little help here.”
Quetzalcoatl sprang across the soundstage. He was batted aside with an offhand slap from Gorgoz, who chuckled with a low rasp.
“Look at you, god of blood and death. Look at what they’ve made you into. Luka was always a fool. But you… you were worshipped by an empire.”
Quick rubbed his jaw. Being immortal didn’t make him immune to pain, and Gorgoz, even in this form, packed a mean backhand.
Lucky transformed into a hulking beast, forcing Gorgoz to release him. The set broke into chaos as the phantasmal players scattered in all directions.
“Okay, Gorg!” roared Lucky as he pounded his huge fists together. “You asked for this!”
He pounced on Gorgoz. The two gods tumbled through the set, smashing their way through the faux brick walls. The shudders and booms of their titanic struggle shook the soundstage.
Quick and Morpheus waited a few moments. Neither god was terribly concerned. Immortality made even the most savage combat between deities an exercise in idiocy.
“Should we intervene?” asked Quick.
“This is my set!” screamed the director. “I’m in charge here!”
Lucky flew through the air, colliding with the overhead scaffold lighting. It all came crashing down. Lucky, back in his shorter, Hawaiian-shirt form, crawled from the wreckage. Patches of fur were missing here and there, and half his tail had been sheared off.
“For a simulation, he packs a helluva punch.”
Gorgoz tore his way through the set. He leveled a finger at the director. “This is your fault. Not only do you fail me, but your weak mortal mind reveals secrets unfit for these fools to know. Now you shall suffer the consequences of your failure.”
“He’s really into seeing people suffering consequences,” observed Quick.
“Some things never change,” said Lucky.
The director cowered behind the gods.
“There’s nothing to worry about,” said Morpheus. “He can’t hurt you. He’s just a phantasm playing a part. A bit too well, perhaps, but it’s still just a part. But you’re the director of this subconscious. You’re still in charge. You just have to remember it.”
“Yes, that’s right. I am.” The director pushed his way past the gods and confronted Gorgoz’s enraged dream duplicate. “You’re fired,” he said smugly. “Okay, people. Strike the set. Let’s take a quick lunch break, then we’ll set up for sex dream number eight. Y’know, the one with the naughty librarian and the whipped cream. I think we’ve earned it.”
Gorgoz decapitated the director with one swipe of his claws. The head rolled to Morpheus’s feet and glared.
“Thanks for the advice, asshole,” grumbled the director before fading into oblivion. In the waking world, his physical aspect fell over dead.
Lucky and Quick stepped away from Morpheus, as if to avoid any guilt by association.
“That shouldn’t be possible,” said Morpheus.
Gorgoz chuckled. “All things are possible to me. While all of you were belched forth from the primordial at the dawn of existence, I was already here. I am the ultimate embodiment of the chaos that birthed the universe, and when all this is dust, when every mortal life is snuffed, when every soul is crushed, when every lesser god is returned to the nothingness from which they were spawned, I shall remain. Only madness endures. Only entropy is endless.” He narrowed his orange eyes and grinned. Not easy with his messy arrangement of teeth and tusks.
“So piss off, you little shits.”
Gorgoz snapped his fingers. The soundstage exploded, consumed by a screaming blast of white fire.
The gods were blown out the door and into the hall.
Lucky shook the gray ash off his scorched flesh. “What the hell was that?”
Morpheus wiped soot from his face. “That is a problem. But it’s not my problem. I’m done. I’m out.”
The door opened and Gorgoz stepped out. Lucky and Quick braced themselves for another attack, but the phantom was back to his harmless original actor. He rubbed his temples and moaned, wandering off.
“I was never here. Messing with Gorgoz is bad news.” Morpheus started walking. Lucky and Quick ran after him so as not to get lost.
“But I thought he wasn’t even Gorgoz,” said Lucky.
“He wasn’t. He was just a phantasm. But Gorgoz must have left something behind, some seed of power. That was real fire-and-brimstone stuff, right out of the Age of Legends. And it was just a leftover. It wasn’t even the real him.”
Morpheus stopped and wheeled on Lucky.
“I know you and Gorgoz have a thing going on. We all know he’s an asshole, and I feel for you. But if you’re thinking about going head-to-head with him, I’d advise against it. Just keep on doing what you’re doing. Keep your head down and wait for him to get bored.”
“It’s been over a thousand years.”
“So give it another thousand. Lay low. Don’t push your luck, Lucky. That’s all I’m saying.”
He transformed into a swarm of butterflies and flew away, disappearing into the bustling hallways. Lucky and Quick pressed against the walls to avoid the crowds of phantasms and props being wheeled past.
Lucky pulled out the driver’s license and stared at it.
“Don’t tell me you’ve changed your mind,” said Quick.
“No, I guess I’m still in.”
Lucky pocketed the license and glanced around the maze of corridors. “Do you know the way out of this place?”
“I was hoping you did.”
Lucky pointed down a random hall. “That way then.”
“Do you know that’s the right way?” asked Quick.
“Hey, I’m a god of fortune. Odds have gotta be pretty good.”
20
There was a line to Bonnie’s apartment. When she tried to enter, a man grabbed her by the arm.
“Hey. No cuts.”
“I live here,” said Bonnie.
“Yeah, right.”
“Yeah, right!” She pulled from his grasp and pushed her way inside.
“You just made the list!” He pulled out a notepad and pen. “What’s your name?”
She pushed her way past the crowd, squeezing past the door-jamb. People threw her dirty looks, but she was in no mood to explain herself.
Her apartment was jammed. She had to fight every step of the way, but she was pissed off enough that she had no trouble throwing elbows. After she bit someone who got too grabby, no one else dared stand in her way.
The line ended in her kitchenette. Syph sat at the table, drinking tea with a woman whose hair was too blond and skin too bronze, making her look like a middle-aged Barbie doll who had invested just enough in plastic surgery to almost look human but who was an operation away from crossing the point of no return.
“This is my turn!” said the woman.
“This is my kitchen,” grunted Bonnie. “What the hell is going on here?”
“I’ll explain in a moment,” said Syph. “We’re almost done.”
The woman flashed a condescending smile as Syph continued.
“Mortal, your story has moved my heart. Your ex-husband and his new wife shall be smote with boils that shall exude a foul stench. In return, you shall offer tribute of animal sacrifice and self-flagellation.”
“Yes, about that,” said the woman. “I’m not really big on animal sacrifice.”
“It doesn’t have to be a cute animal. It can be a snake or a frog or some other loathsome thing.”
“I like snakes.”
“You like snakes?”
The woman nodded slightly as if admitting a crime.