Finally, he could stand it no longer. “Who are you?” he asked in thought, for he had no mouth to form the words nor was there any true medium to carry them.
“I am Baal, who challenged even great Satan for the throne of Hell, little one,” thundered back the response.
Another shape, another question.
“I am Sauron, the Eye of All, Darkest Lord of Middle-earth,” the shape responded, and he had the distinct impression of some huge eye, near him, sightless but intelligent.
“I am great Cthulhu who sleeps forever beneath the Sea of Dreams until one day I shall waken once more and desolate the cosmos!” a third said.
And there were more, many more, existing together yet in splendid loneliness, each too powerful and too much a god even to acknowledge the others.
Esmilio Boquillas floated there, suspended between Heaven and Hell, between nightmare and reality, and thought about them all for a very, very long time. As powerful and as evil as he had been, he couldn’t hold a candle to any of them, and they knew it. And that, oddly, placed him in a unique position, as he came to realize. As the lesser of all of them, he was the only one they would all acknowledge.
And, finally, he thought he had something.
“Hey, look, Cthulhu, baby! You’re the greatest evil god of all, but we have to face it—we’re stuck here. Now, if I can coordinate the others, get them to pull together with you, we might actually breakout of this place. Once free, you could then easily deal with them, right?”
“I listen, little one.”
And the next…
“Hey, look, Sauron, baby! You’re the greatest evil god of all, but we have to face it… ”