by M J Marstens
“Val! I’ve been arrested!”
4
Raiden
For the fifth time, I circle the jail grounds, searching for the ass-kisser who worships our boss, Ra. The last four times, the little brown-noser wasn’t at his post. What the hell? I round the corner to find that Khepri has finally returned to his station.
“Where were you?” I boom in a thunderous voice.
The Egyptian god barely spares me a look as he fiddles with his golden arm bracelet. He’s so arrogant, does he think he’s that far above me? I want to punch him in his perfect nose and bruise his face until his blue eyes are swollen shut.
“Ra asked me to do something for him. Something special,” he taunts.
I feel my lips twist into a grimace and lightning crackles under my skin. As the Japanese god of thunder, lightning, and storms, I control the weather. My people worship me to bring rain for crops. I am a fair god, but I have very little patience for humans and their foolish ways. I can stave off drought, but anger me, and I will drown you in a monsoon. Every time I interact with Khepri, this stupid asshole who gave up being a sun god in order to be a pathetic God of Shit, I want to start a hurricane.
Why does this shithead get to be head guard?
“Special?” I sneer. “I knew it. You’re sucking Ra’s cock, huh? At least I can pride myself on doing honest work.”
I’ve been searching for this asshole for the last hour so I can report the news. But does this fucker care about protocol? No … he just slinks off. That’s the third time this month he hasn’t been at his post. And though I added extra areas to my rounds this afternoon, looking for him, I didn’t see him. Suspicious.
Khepri snorts.
“Mommy and daddy got you this job— don’t delude yourself and your self-righteous sense of honesty. As for what Ra wanted, that’s none of your fucking business. It just makes you sound like a jealous little bitch. Besides, you don’t get to question the head guard. Now, back to your post.”
My eyes narrow into slits.
Every damn word out of this man’s mouth is a lie; I can feel it in my bones, but the smug fuck is careful to cover his tracks. He truly is Ra’s ‘Golden Boy,’ and, until I have irrefutable evidence that he’s doing something shady when he sneaks off, I have to follow his orders. But, eventually, Khepri will fuck up and when he does, I’ll be waiting to nail his ass to his ankh. That will be a glorious day. I’ll have an artist make a sculpture of his humiliation so it can sit in a museum and stupid humans can ponder it for a thousand years.
I turn to do as ‘ordered,’ but call out nonchalantly, “I had to secure a new prisoner without your help. Son of Dionysis. He’s been placed with the Demigodling for disrupting the peace and intoxicating the other prisoners.”
This gets an immediate reaction from Khepri as I knew it would—I fucking knew it. The Egyptian god has an unnatural fascination with the Child God. The boy is no longer a kid, but it’s what Ra calls him, other than Demigodling. The boss-man refuses to call the half-human by his given name—nor should he. Names are a privilege and anyone in this prison doesn’t have a right to one. They’re nothing but animals who have tried to tarnish the honorable names of the gods.
“Ra placed someone with the Demigodling?” Khepri asks incredulously, dropping his superior act for a second.
I raise a sardonic brow. “Didn’t Ra tell you? Or was he too busy stuffing his dick down your throat to remember?”
Khepri’s face turns red with anger and I feel supremely satisfied to have gotten under his skin. He might act like the poster guard of the year, but he’s more rancid than curdled hippo milk. And I plan to expose him.
Actually, I plan on massacring him—figuratively.
When I finally discover the truth about Khepri’s mysterious disappearances and reveal his secret to Ra, the insect deity can kiss his posh existence good-bye. And I can embrace my new position as head guard. It galls me to admit that my parents did pull some strings to get me this position at the Black Hole—a specialty prison for half-breeds who have committed heinous crimes against the gods.
Izanami and Izanagi are two of the most important primordial deities in the Shinto pantheon and, as such, I must live up to and serve our prestigious family name. By working at the Black Hole, I am helping to ensure that these prisoners are contained properly so that they cannot harm more gods. As such, this job is an honor and a service to protect my family from demigods. It would seem that their half-human nature makes them unstable and irrational in their conduct toward the divine.
In fact, it’s my personal belief—and Ra’s—that these prisoners are part of a network outside of the Black Hole that is specifically targeting major gods and goddesses. These traitorous fucks want to kill us all, but can’t if we can get to them first.
“Raiden-Sama!” Khepri snaps, bringing my attention back to the present.
He stomps over to stand toe-to-toe with me. Another thing that galls me—Khepri is taller. Only by an inch or so, but he seems to use this to his advantage. He has the typical Egyptian looks, but his skin is a deep chocolate brown and he wears his dark hair bluntly against his head. His eyes have a bright blue hue that is accented by the kohl that rims them. I’ve never seen an Egyptian god or goddess without their eye make-up, making me wonder if they draw it on every day or if it’s literally a part of their skin.
In contrast, my skin is many shades lighter, but still very tanned. My hair is just as black, but I grow it long and wear it in the traditional warrior bun of my people. My eyes don’t need any kohl to enhance them— their almond slant is another unique feature of my heritage. My shoulders are broader than Khepri’s and I am much more muscled, a fact I know the female prisoners all appreciate. The catcalls when I do my rounds are enough to let a lesser god believe it’s worship, some of the other guards do think it’s worship. I let those fools look and admire all they want, but they can’t touch. So, while Khepri is tall, I’m positive that I could kick his ass and win easily—something I hope to eventually prove.
“I told you to go back to your post. Now!” Khepri growls.
He whirls around and marches off in the direction of the Demigodling and the new inmate’s cell. The Egyptian god’s preoccupation with the Child God borders on fanaticism. As he walks away, I catch the stench of shit wafting from him.
“Ugh—did you leave the jail to go roll in shit? Is that your secret—you have a crap fetish?”
Maybe I was wrong about the cock sucking … maybe his mouth was kissing Ra’s ass instead.
Who knows? He’s a dung beetle after all.
Khepri freezes, his shoulders tense. The air between us is thick enough to cut with my katana. Just as suddenly, Khepri relaxes and even lets out a chuckle.
“You caught me,” he drawls humorously. “I just love scat-play, but we all have our own little fucked-up secrets, don’t we, Rai-Rai?”
He didn’t!
This time, I don’t try to stop him when he walks away because I’m too busy holding myself back as my face contorts. I’m a whole new level of pissed-off. The nickname alone would set me off, but for this bastard to insinuate that I have a secret is fucking unspeakable.
I am honorable.
I am godly.
I am Raiden-Sama.
And Khepri is a piece of shit that I am going to decimate.
5
Val
I'm back at the most abhorrent event known to demigod-kind—family dinner.
Dad has also invited a couple of snooty Greek gods over this week. Something about Aphrodite being down about the lack of human love matches or some kind of bullcrap. He just wants in her skirts. Everyone wants in her skirts—even I watch her ass when she walks out of a room and I am strictly interested only in the D.
a.k.a Dev.
The only saving grace for this dinner is that I plan to use it to my advantage. I plan to commit a crime the gods find so heinous, they’ll throw my ass in jail right next to Asteio’s. And then I’ll
bust him out. (Oh, and the fact that I smuggled Dev into Asgard and hid him in my room so he can help me. That’s the other saving grace.)
This week, with Dev’s hacking skills and my demigod connections—okay, fine, mostly Dev’s hacking skills—we discovered Ra’s evil plan to keep demis locked up in the Black Hole for ridiculous infractions against gods. Slander. (As if the gods don’t do that to one another every day.) Throwing away offerings to a deity. (That’s just petty, who can tell the difference between a bag of cheese puffs left on the side of the road as an offering for the god of travel and litter? No one.) Heresy. (One dude got tossed in the pen for mixing up the names of two Chinese deities: but really for anyone who doesn’t speak Chinese, Tianhuang1 and Tiangong2 are easy to confuse.)
Ra is an ass.
Dev is currently admiring my shelf full of Animaniacs figurines. He puts his hand out and strokes the back of one of the Goodfeathers pigeons. I leap forward and violate the ‘no touching’ rule that I have with him.
"Stop!"
"Sorry!" He immediately takes a step back. I quickly grab the figurine and cradle it to my chest.
"This was my sister's," I explain.
"Your sister?"
I hold out my arm and show him the tattoo of the smiling blonde woman there.
"She was a pure human. My half-sister. Dot. She and mom died in a car accident."
I try not to let my emotions take over and drown me. It happened twenty years ago and I hadn't been in the car, but the trauma of that moment still makes me ache decades later.
I still remember Dad showing up on our farm, trampling through mom's garden, pulling open the back screen door, and slamming me into a fierce hug.
He had sobbed himself into silence before he was able to tell me what was wrong.
I stare down at the little pigeon trio—who are marching along down a shit-stained sidewalk.
"Goodfeathers were Dot's favorite. They gave shit but wouldn't take it. Slappy the Squirrel was a close second for her. She also loved that a character was named after her, of course."
Dev shuffles closer and puts an arm around my shoulders in a gesture of comfort. I stare up at him, the sound of my heartbeat throbbing in my ears.
He's hugging me.
I carefully set down the figurine, so as not to scare him off. Gently, with all the caution that I can muster, I wrap my own hands around his waist. Something in his pants pokes my stomach and I jump back.
"Ow! Dev, you really have got to stop carrying around pencils in your pocket."
Dev clears his throat and turns red, as per usual.
"Sorry. S-s-sorry," he stutters adorably.
I roll my eyes. The boy is too cute for his own good. Just then, Dad's familiar pounding on the door starts. I shoot Dev a look.
"You remember the plan?" I whisper.
He nods.
I fluff my hair and Dev just stands there, staring at me. Do I have something on my face? I reach up to check and, then, jerk my head at him, signaling that he needs to hide. Dad might approve of mortal mates for himself, but if he knew what a crush I have on Dev … his lightning bolts would make daddies with shotguns look like toddlers with kitchen spoons.
I fling open the door once Dev’s hidden under the pile of Animaniac stuffed animals in the corner.
“Greetings, sweetest of all fathers!”
Dad narrows his eyes and peers into the room before looking back at me suspiciously.
“What is it you want? Or, has Loki3 been in here, scheming with you again?”
I gasp indignantly in mock offense before shooting him my most innocent smile.
“Whatever do you mean?”
His voice is gruff when he commands, “Not tonight, Sigrdrifa.”
I sigh, like I’m letting him get his way and he’s ruining every ounce of fun that I’ve planned. “Alright,” I offer in pretend supplication.
Unfortunately, Dad knows me better than that—and Uncle Loki and I have been known to pull off some epic stunts in our day.
“Empty your pockets.”
My eyes widen and I cross my arms.
“You don’t trust me?” I ask rhetorically.
My father snorts.
“You bet your ass that I don’t. Your history requires I verify that you’re telling the truth.”
I roll my eyes but pull out the pockets on my jean shorts. I come up with four pennies and a Kleenex. Dad squints at the pennies in annoyance. It really chafes the gods that human heads are put on coins and not theirs anymore. I’ve heard drunken dinner rants about how dad’s hammer belongs back on a coin at least two dozen times.
“Leave it all behind,” he orders.
I toss the pocket detritus onto my nightstand and follow him out, trying not to smirk. Joke’s on him—I’ve already taped the Visine I plan on using as my biological weapon underneath the dining table at my seat. I walk amicably down the echoing marble hallway with Dad, cool as a cucumber on the outside, but giddier than a human kid on Christmas.
“How’s your week been?” I ask, trying to be friendly.
Dad shakes his head in concern.
“The goats—I worry about them. They were exhausted the other day and I have no idea as to why. I’ve had to keep a steady stream of servants checking on them. I wish you’d come back to tend them, daughter of mine.” He lays a huge hand on my shoulder and pulls me into his side. “They never received better care than when you watched over them.”
A trickle of guilt enters my stomach because I know exactly why his goats were worn out—but I quickly squash it because it’s not outweighed by the importance of breaking my only childhood friend out of Ra’s eternal torture chamber.
All week, I’ve been asking around about the Black Hole. It seems like nobody’s ever been released from there. Ra, the bastard Egyptian god, is setting up demigods and then raw dogging them in the fart box— and that’s not okay.
Not in any universe.
So, guilt or not, I’m moving forward with my plan.
I sit down at dinner and pretend to eat, but all I really do is wait for the gods to get sufficiently drunk. Aphrodite is sitting next to my father at the end of the table, leaning over so that her breasts nearly spill out of her top as she tells a hilarious story about how the swans that draw her carriage once pecked her husband, Hephaestus, and chased him through the house after he yelled at her for attending an orgy in her honor—a story I’ve only heard every single time she’s come to our house.
Poor Hephaestus isn’t here to defend himself or add to the story because, well, how else is Aphwhoredite supposed to seduce my father?
Once everyone is sufficiently drunk, I reach up and carefully open the boxes of Visine I’ve taped under the table. I open the flaps and slide out the little bottles. I tuck those into my pockets surreptitiously, using my napkin to hide the lumps. Then, I grab my goblet, because Dad has never adapted to modernities such as cups, and head for the drinks table. There’s wine there, and also a huge punch bowl filled with a special apple cider.
Idunn4 makes a batch of this cider from her apples of eternal youth. Without the cider, my family dinners would look like cafeteria hour at a nursing home. Idunn keeps all the gods young and eternally glorious, bless her vanity-soothing heart.
I linger near the wine, using a giant bottle to hide my hands as I unscrew the little vials of Visine. I hope Dev’s done his part toward this grand scheme. Technically, mine’s enough. But, if you’re going to deliberately humiliate a bunch of gods, it’s better to take it the full nine yards.
Go big or go home, right?
Loki, the cheeky troublemaker, taught me that.
Once I have the Visine open, I pour some wine into my goblet and move along down the table. I walk slowly, watching the gods. When Aphrodite stands up to tell a story full of gestures and one of her breasts pops out of her draped Grecian gown à la Janet Jackson at the Super Bowl, I know it’s my moment.
I quickly empty five vials of Visine into the apple cider.
I grab the ladle and give it a quick stir before returning to my seat, where I find Aphrodite has decided not to tuck her boob back in and to sit on Dad’s knee.
My stepmothers are furious.
Good, I smirk smugly.
Karma’s a bitch and my favorite goddess, right now.
It only takes a few minutes before one of my family members shoves away from the table and heads toward the cider. Another soon follows and, over the next half hour, every immortal in the room dips into the cider bowl to imbibe. They immediately look twice as attractive—even my horrid stepsister, Skeggjöld the Skank, and her current shag. I think that he’s some god or other from Antartica who was prayed into existence by a ship that got lost there centuries ago.
Enough said, right?
I excuse myself when people around the room start to kiss. It looks like Aphrodite’s attempting to turn our family dinner into an orgy ... classy.
Oh, and by classy, I mean freaking gross.
I try not to laugh like a loon as I skip down the hall. This will probably be the most memorable orgy in all of Aphrodite’s existence. I doubt she’s ever had one interrupted by an immortal case of the runs.
Operation Chocolate Thunder is officially underway when I hear the first, horrific fart rip through the dining room behind me.
It’s a true ass-plosion.
Sorry, this isn’t punny.
Oh, wait, yeah it is!
I clap my hands together in childish glee. I decided, along with Dev, that this was the ironically perfect crime to get me tossed into the Black Hole, or the Back Hole, as I’ve learned that the prisoners call it. I mean, I am violating the back holes of at least ten gods in that room back there.
Someone rushes past me for the bathroom. It’s my sister’s date. The door on my left slams shut. I stop walking and wait, listening to a horrid squelching noise coming from inside the room.
