MARS MOUNTAIN AND THE FATE OF THE GODS

A NOTE FROM THE NARRATOR (ME)

THE following has been translated from far too many languages to even begin listing them all. Or maybe I'm just too lazy. Hard to say. Time to "phone in" another tale, eh? Some words of warning, dearest reader: The Elhu no longer exist, so don't bother praying to them tonight before bed; when you enter the lottery draw; or when you want a certain douchebag politician to get hit by a bus. Sadly, the Elhu became a sterile race, and thus they died out -- one by one -- like the dinosaurs did before us, and the aquatic overlords before them. But we can still remember them, right? So, let's honour the fallen, whomever they may be, and read this tale, too. Don't forget that. Enjoy.

1: VIKING FANTASY

BLIZZARD winds numbed the faces of three intrepid Nordic men, who were slowly marching in the wake of some red-headed jackass with a pointy chin and a perpetual dopey grin plastered above said chin. Thankfully, these three Nordic men all had big blond beards, so that slightly helped matters. Oh, and they also readily slurped down steins of mead and ale and even mead mixed with ale -- and I don't need to tell you how that crap warms the blood, do I? No, I don't. Because you've got experience with that sort of thing, don't you? Yeah... You maybe imbibe just a tad too much of what we like to call "the Devil's dinner," yeah? You wish you could change, but you can't, so you won't, and so on, and on, and on. Pathetic.

Where was I? Oh, right -- the story.

Yes. So the Vikings trailed the ginger, because this ginger was actually their god. Well, one of their gods. You see, they were looking to divert their focus, give their collective attention to some other heavy-hitting deity. Everyone needs a change of pace sometimes, even worshippers of gods. So they'd decided to swap all their faith over to this other one. What was his name again? Ah, yes. His name was Loki, and he was a bit of a clown.

"Yo, Loki," one of the Vikings, Erik, said as he panted, coughing up foamy white phlegm. He was up to his nipples in snow, which was quite a feat, considering he actually had two more nipples right around where his shoulders met his neck. "Slow down a second, bro."

Ignoring his would-be devotee, Loki snapped his fingers and suddenly he was sitting upon a mule. The mule struggled to walk under the burden of a god (they weigh a ton). So Loki snapped his fingers again, and now he and the mule sat on a horse. The horse galloped onwards, carrying its cargo with ease, and Erik and the other two chumps were left in its dust... Snow.

I don't need to tell you how -- for a second, because one must only feel such an irreverent impulse for merely a second -- how annoyed they were with their new draft pick. Odin was quite wise and had taught them much. Thor was very strong and had helped them get big muscles. Frigg was friggin' hot and had posed nude for them on many occasions. But Loki... So far, Loki proved to be quite elusive. It was as if he didn't want them to worship him.

The three travellers trudged onward, birds tweeting beautifully and such, big black moose crapping and squirting hot piss all over the snow. They were led to an even more windy clearing. Massive, snow-covered green trees stood tall and surrounded them from afar, like sentinels of the land, the gods' own private army of nature. Night was beginning to fall, and with it came spooky-looking shapes of shadow and downright scary noises that stimulated the darkest recesses of the human imagination.

Laughing, Loki jumped off his mule-on-a-horse and snapped his fingers to kill the two creatures. They disappeared into the snow-blanketed ground, leaving red stains and hooves behind. He booted away a hoof, which then cracked off a tree. The tree went crashing to the ground, and an avalanche started somewhere off in the distance, which had the effect of moving a family's cabin south to what is now Germany, where they were then forever free of the once-local, now-international debt collector. Gods work in mysterious ways, usually resulting in things even a mystery to themselves.

Holding each other up, Erik and the other two were breathless and exhausted from the long, seven-hour journey. They hadn't slept all day. The snow during their trip had curiously all turned yellow, and they'd found it'd obtained a rather funny taste. The only thing they'd had to eat was their own body fat.

"W-Wait up, Loki."

"Y-Yeah, Loke -- hey, can I call you 'Loke'? -- hold on. Got a stitch."

"Let us rest a sec so we can, like, worship you afterward."

"Fools!" Loki shouted, grinning and laughing, which were his three favourite things to do. "I am the trickster!"

"Bummer, man. We thought if we worshipped you, you would, like, reward us, or something."

"Yeah, like, with chicks and stuff."

"That we can, like, do."

"Chicks, you want, is it?" Loki smiled mischievously, flaring his nostrils in a very evil manner. "Well, then, my devoted followers, chicks you shall have." He snapped his fingers.

Numerous blonde bimbos of Scandinavian blood -- much to the Vikings' approval -- appeared out of thin air. They were totally naked and ripe for ravishing, even going so far as to spread themselves for the hairy, horny, virgin men. They didn't seem in any way affected by the winter winds, nor the snow being blown with it.

Eager to lose his virginity, Erik tore off his furs. He hopped on one of the bimbos and got to humping, looking like a dog mindlessly having a go at one's leg, his tongue hanging out and flopping with the rhythm.

The illusion wore off for the other two. They cringed.

"Hey, Erik, you might want to knock that off."

"Yeah, Erik, that's probably going to hurt in the morning. Or, like, now."

Loki only laughed, clapping how dainty ladies at auctions clap, after they've won an antique wardrobe and find it's packed full with bags upon bags of delicious, yummy prunes.

Erik was turning blue, naturally -- what with him being buck-naked, exposed to the gusts, and banging a smiling snowman. The carrot fell out of its face. Then the eyes and mouth went plop-plop-plop. And the still-smoking pipe dropped, sinking into two feet of melting snow. And finally the snowman itself collapsed into a watery grave at Erik's feet, turning to ice in nearly an instant. He was left holding his frostbitten manhood, his hand frozen to what now, upon closer inspection, resembled boyhood. Shivering and crying, he collapsed in front of Loki.

The god kicked the foolish mortal aside. Now was the appropriate time. Loki was hungry. It was time to feed.

What happened next is traditionally left out of your average, run-of-the-mill Norse mythology. You won't find this in your fancy-shmancy university classes (Fundamental Abstractions Of Indo-European Myth Vis-À-Vis Psychological Embolism Of Spiritual Confinement 101). This is the real funky stuff. Classified material. In preparation of your coming enlightenment, you may now consider yourself to, effectively, be a part of society's élite.

Loki started changing, transforming, shapeshifting. His snow-white, soft, unblemished skin developed rough-looking green-black scales. His annoyingly boyish face elongated at the nose and mouth, becoming more of a snout than anything. Perfect white teeth became yellowed, sharpened fangs, bacteria-laden drool hanging and oozing from such a fearsome maw. He grew larger, his reptilian body tore through his clothes, left tattered rags at his clawed feet. And those eyes. Dear gods, those blue eyes -- more colourful than a whole field of bluebonnet flowers -- they went yellow, and the pupils lengthened vertically, turning into serpentine slits.

Reptilian Loki, laughing and hissing to himself, slapped at his own genitals and advanced on our three poor adventurers.

They backed away, together. But one of the nameless ones -- let's call him Sven, just to humanize him a bit before he gets offed -- got offed by the monster. You see, he'd tripped on his own two feet and had fallen into the snow, throwing his hands out behind him, digging deep down into the cold below. And then the god attacked. Ripped out his spine and played Hacky Sack with his head. Drained him of his warm Nordic blood and feasted on raw organ meat.

Now the other two -- including, yes, Erik -- were scared shiteless. They couldn't move, wanted to but just couldn't get their legs to work. They thought surely they'd die, that this was the end, and a truly terrible way to go. So, naturally, and I'm sure we've all been here -- had a nasty flu, anyone? -- they prayed to gods. Not to Loki -- he'd proven to be a huge jerk -- but to Odin, and to Thor.

What happened then is something that, from my own experience, doesn't really happen today: They answered.

And, not only that: They came.

Riding a ball of red-orange fire, tails of black smoke and blue-white lightning, the Allfather and his bodybuilding son -- though they weren't really father and son; more on that later -- descended to Midgard from Asgard. Like a meteor on steroids, the vessel of the gods hit the snow and a flash of blinding light was unseen.

And there they were.

Odin: the one-eyed old-timer; wisdom seen in every wrinkle on his skin, in every scar on his face, in every arthritic joint in his weary body; carrying a spear which doubled as a cane, because being old doesn't have to mean being immobile, because sometimes a guy has to viciously stab somebody and then go hobbling off like a helpless geriatric.

Thor: that jock in high-school who you hated, times a million plus two; blond and beautiful, in both a manly and girly kind of way; big muscles with smaller muscles sitting on top, involuntarily flexing every other second because he'd just finished bench-pressing the Sun; carrying a giant hammer he'd actually given a name (Mjölnir, or 'My Darling'), supposedly too heavy for mere mortal men to lift, but in all actuality he'd just gotten Daddy to cast a spell on it.

"What appears to be the problem, mortals?" Odin asked, his pair of pet ravens perched on his shoulders.

"He killed and ate our friend!" Erik pointed first at Reptilian Loki -- who was kicking the snow with his claws behind his back, in a bashful, aw-shucks kind of way -- and then to the grisly remains of Sven, who was now being picked at by Odin's birds.

Odin nodded to Thor, who grabbed his adopted brother in the universal way bouncers at clubs grab unruly drunks and other human trash: aggressively, and with enough force to leave bruises by morning.

"Let's travel back to Olympus and discipline him," Thor said, recognizing his error only after the words had left his mouth. "I-- I mean, Asgard. We're going to Asgard," he assured Erik and the other one.

Slapping his forehead, Odin then blinked.

The three gods were gone. Even their footprints from the snow.

2: OLYMPUS/ASGARD/MARS

CONTRARY to popular belief among the uneducated Greeks of the time, Mount Olympus, the supposed dwelling place of the gods, wasn't a mountain to be found on Earth at all -- and, no, that measly mountain in Greece doesn't count -- it was actually one found on Mars: Olympus Mons, aka Mars Mountain.

And don't get me started on what the Norse believed. There was only one reason why they thought Asgard and Midgard -- or, more correctly, Earth -- were connected via the 'world tree' known as Yggdrasil. And that's because they were too stupid to properly understand the concepts of planets and outer-space. Asgard was just Mars, people. You better believe it.

And this goes for all those other mythologies of the time, and even the religions that followed. Say it with me: Mars, Mars, Mars, Mars, Mars.

So Odin, Thor and Loki didn't travel to Asgard. They'd merely teleported away to Mars, emerging in an Elhu temple atop Mars Mountain. Twenty-foot-high silver-coloured pillars stood tall and mighty, spaced five feet apart and shouldering an arched roof etched in numerous dazzling rocks, glittering gems and shimmering metals. There were no walls, so the gods were given a breathtakingly empty view of the red planet's ancient, dead and barren landscape. Olympus Mons is the largest mountain in the Sol System, so if you've got a fear of heights, I'm truly very sorry. There was nothing as far as the eye could see, so much emptiness that that second can of Coke you just finished has more to it. A smattering of smaller mountains. An unimaginably deep, vast chasm. Some underground temples scattered here and there. The coolest sight, however, was the supposed Face of Mars, a magikally manipulated slab of mountain in the Cydonia region, which also housed -- you guessed it -- a temple.

The two gods in charge wasted no time appreciating the view. Thor threw Reptilian Loki towards the massive gold throne. Tossed some thunderbolts his way, too. The trickster was shackled with psychomagikal arcs of electricity, the lightning wrapping around his wrists, ankles and abdomen. He attempted to escape his bonds, squirming and wriggling and shapeshifting between his natural form and his slightly smaller, humanlike god form. But it was all to no avail.

"No eating the humans!" Thor roared like thunder, wagging a fat and veiny finger in the trickster god's face.

Loki giggled and hissed: "But they're so succulent and juicy!"

"Daaaaad, tell him to stop eating the humans!"

Odin stepped forth, pondering the implications of Loki's transgression, and of the events that had been set in motion. "I am not our father, Gadrean. You know this."

"Yeah, but you play Dad very well, I must say."

With a blink of his eye, Odin's empty socket filled in with another eyeball. He shook away the beard and grey hair. He shrugged off the wrinkles, the scars, the arthritis and the ravens. Now he was blond, standing strong and freakishly tall, wonderfully unblemished. "You made an error."

Thor -- or Gadrean; let's call him Gadrean from now on -- nodded and smirked at Loki. When no other reprimand of the God of Mischief followed, he turned to his brother Godrean. "Who, me? Look, I'm sorry for saying Olympus before. It was an accident. I've got a lot on my mind these days, and sometimes playing about fifteen different gods takes its toll on my memory."

"It is understanding."

"Believe me, I wish I had the capacity to lie like you, or like Yak'kobu here." He cocked a thumb back at the grinning Loki, who was just happy the heat was off himself.

"It is a learned trait, and a necessary one."

"But sadly I can't keep all the lies straight. Why do we need to pretend to the Normals that we're gods, anyway. It's not doing much for their intellectual development, that's for sure. I dunno about you, Godrean, but I Foresee a great deal of stupidity over religion, in generations to come."

"It is only for the time being, brother."

Gadrean flexed his muscles and swung his hammer around, testing its heft against his thoughts of destroying another dinosaur. "When are we going to Greece? Being Thor for too long gets my blood pumping, makes me hotheaded. I gotta stop taking those steroids."

Odin -- or Godrean, as his brother called him -- was used to his twin brother's emotional blowouts. He'd experienced them firsthand for over a trillion years, after all. "After we properly rebuke Yak'kobu."

"This is why all gods should be Elhu."

"Do not be prejudiced."

I mentioned a strange word before -- Elhu. That's the real name of the gods' race, but I guess I better drop another knowledge bomb for you, too, dearest reader: Gods don't exist. Shocking, I know. Odin and Thor (and most of the other 'gods', for that matter) were just Elhu, a race of aliens who hailed from the now-destroyed planet Elhulu, which used to be in between Mars and Jupiter, where the Asteroid Belt now resides in, around and about.

You may be asking about Loki -- or Yak'kobu. What is he? Why, he's a Nibiruan. They're another alien race, but their wandering planet is a toxic wasteland, even to them, so they came to Earth. Their regular form is reptilian in nature, but they're prone to shapeshifting and masquerading as man or god. Historically, they were the sworn enemy of the Elhu -- the dark to the Elhu's light, the mayonnaise to the Elhu's whipped cream -- but the majority claimed to be decent, and so a treaty was established with them serving as 'gods' alongside the Elhu.

"So, Yak'kobu," Godrean continued, pacing left and right. He put his hand to the trickster's forehead, held it there for a moment, took it away. "As punishment for your transgression, of which you have been repeatedly warned -- though, to your credit, you have been on remarkably good behaviour as of late -- you will have your complimentary powers taken away--"

Yak'kobu hissed and spat, attempting to free himself of his restraints so he could slash and maim.

"It is only temporary." Godrean turned to his brother. "Now, Gadrean, if you will adopt your proper identity, we shall travel to Greece. From what I understand, today is the start of this year's Olympic Games."

Gadrean nodded, removing a jingling-clinking bag from his pocket. "That's right! I've got a lot of money riding on this one!" He closed his eyes and his appearance changed. His straight blond hair lost its yellow, turning grey and curly. The smooth skin of his face grew a long beard in just a second. He'd traded in his armour for a thin white sheet draped scantily over his body. And his hammer became a three-pronged spear. He thrust his trident upwards, showing it off, feeling its power, and a great groan was heard on the horizon -- the massive chasm grew just a little larger. "Damnit, sorry about that. Happens every time."

"Poseidon," Godrean said, now wearing his Zeus appearance -- curly grey hair, beard and, of course, the sheet tied around his waist. He carried a scepter that could shoot lightning -- or that's what he'd told the humans; in all actuality, the scepter was merely a prop, and held no more power than those old yellow toenail clippings you've got scattered all across your floor.

"Zeus." Poseidon nodded.

"Coming, Hermes?" Zeus asked Yak'kobu. "The Olympics would not be the Olympics without your mischief and trickery."

"It'll give you an opportunity to go streaking," Poseidon added, waggling his eyebrows, hinting at the Greek god Hermes' love for being in the buff.

"I'll catch up with you guys," Yak'kobu said, shapeshifting to his Hermes form: roughly twenty-five, beardless, naked, packing more junk in his front end than a particularly blessed stallion. "I've got some pet projects I'm working on..."

"Fair enough. You have been granted the use of transportation." Zeus blinked, and he and Poseidon teleported away from Mars.

"...Like killing a god." Free of his bonds, Yak'kobu giggled and pranced.

3: WHERE SERPENTS LIE

i

SOMEWHERE in Sumer, deep underground.

Surrounded by walls of golden sandstone, shrouded in darkness aside from a single burning candle made from the fat of asses, two Nibiruans hissed together, then kissed each other. They weren't gods, though they strove to be, hoped their plans -- if they were successful -- would result in them moving up in the world.

They were siblings, and, being reptilian in nature, prone to making sibilant sounds. Though I suspect these two played-up the s sounds just a bit, perhaps it was a fetish of theirs. There are weirder fetishes, after all. Some people get off to women's feet being put into sticky situations, like a puddle of mud or a small pool of honey; others find the smell of feces from a lactose-intolerant person to be an aphrodisiac. So, really, when you take all that into consideration, a simple letter-S fetish is rather tame, and -- let's be honest here -- lame.

Rarely having the opportunity to meet face to face -- what with their jobs on separate sides of the country, each looking after their own herd of asses -- they weren't completely up-to-date on everything.

"Ssssso, Ssssi'irai, how goesss the plan to asssssasssssinate Utu?"

"Ssssswimmingly, Ssssuudi'in. I ssspoke with Ssssin yesssssterday while ssssacrifice-sssing ssssome sssscorpionssss in hisss honour, and he sssaysss he can sssmuggle usss in."

"Ssssexy..."

Suudi'in stroked his sister's scaly skin. "Yessss, you isssssssss..."

"I wassss sssspeaking of you."

"I ssssusssspected assss much."

They started screwing like snakes.

ii

YEAH, Loki/Hermes/Yak'kobu was also Sin, God of the Moon (the lunar lunatic), in the Sumerian pantheon of gods. Well, technically Sin was Babylonian. Now you might be able to understand why Gadrean/Thor/Poseidon was having such a tough time keeping all his lies straight. The Elhu were low on numbers, lessening with every century. Yak'kobu knew this fact, knew it was why he'd been recruited into the ranks of gods, knew it was why any of his kind had been. Though the Elhu could live for a vast amount of time, a time so vast it made the Nibiruans' own lives seem as short as but one minute to the Elhu's one day, the Elhu were now sterile, and they were dying off. Even the youngest of them would be dead and gone by the end of the sixteenth century -- a time, to Yak'kobu, that seemed so far away and yet couldn't come soon enough.

Anyway, Yak'kobu had business with a Phoenician blacksmith who dabbled in toxicology and had aspirations for blasphemy, and, while doing so, battled delusions of grandeur. Baalyashart, the blacksmith, lived in a run-down, clay-fashioned hellhole. He had twenty kids, all of them with different mothers, most of whom were sisters, some of whom used to be men. Gods were quite liberal-minded back then.

When Yak'kobu arrived outside of Baalyashart's home, he was greeted with screams. A hole appeared in the side of the hovel, and a split-second later a child came flying through it, shrieking his head off. Another child was walking around the perimeter of the property, making a territorial line with his own urine. Two of his daughters -- twins, and teenagers -- were propositioning passing old men, attempting to sell their bodies for the prospect of better lives. One of the ex-wives came crawling out of the house, through the line of pee, obviously intoxicated, and joined the two girls in their venture. And behind the house, working in a small patch of clear space, hammering the dents out of a bronze shield while two other kids of his took turns tasting each other's crap, Baalyashart stood.

Was it any wonder why Baalyashart was insane? Yak'kobu found the man's resolve to be unbelievable. For a human.

"Howdy, human."

Baalyashart, with his long black beard, looked up, down, did a double take with his wild brown eyes. "Yarikh! Yarikh, come on in. Come, come, into my office." He waved the God of Mischief away from the house and off to an open stretch of land that wasn't his. Scanning the horizon for any nosy people, he kicked away some of the red-orange sand, bent down and pried loose from the ground a metal ring. He tugged on it and lifted up a wooden trap door, ushering Yak'kobu down into his secret bunker. "Watch that you don't knock over that jar."

"Which--?" Crash. "Oops!"

"I should slay you and take your place among the gods, where I rightfully belong. Okay, okay, just don't step in it."

"What is it?"

"You don't want to know. Okay, I'll tell you. It's poison. And not only that, it's acid. And not only that, it's alive, and, baby, you better believe it, it's hostile to you and the rest of the gods."

Avoiding the life-form, Yak'kobu spied the spear that the blacksmith had fashioned for him. It was lying on the little table, under a bright light, and a heavenly choir was singing like angels must sing.

"Damnit, Jambalayashart! Shut up and get out of here, you little devil!"

A little boy stopped singing and ran out of the bunker, chased by Baalyashart, who smacked his bottom with a hammer.

"Little freak. Anyway, that's the work of art. Should grant me passage into you gods' delicious, too-rich-for-my-blood, fun-time bashes, eh?"

"Is it dipped in that living acid-poison?"

"Gods, no. I've imbued it with something even better. I can't tell you what. Okay, fine, I'll tell you. A proprietary blend of all-natural herbs and spices -- gluten-free, lactose-free, celiac-friendly, completely organic, rich in antioxidants, low-fat, heart-healthy, full of digestive enzymes and probiotic action. It'll help keep you regular, and then it'll drop you dead. I've even applied for a patent on it."

"Perfect, Baalyashart. You've done well... Now, I'll just be taking this--" Yak'kobu snatched the spear, making sure to avoid the pointy tip, which dripped a thick green syrup. "Yoink! And I'll be seeing you later." He hurried for the stairs, eager to be rid of the human.

Baalyashart slid in front of him. "Eh, eh, eh! Not so fast, Yarikh! What about the payment we agreed upon? You were gonna get me into the inner sanctum. Oh, how I've dreamed of blaspheming the inner sanctum..." Affectionately, he patted a jar filled with brown goo.

"Oh, sure. Right." Tempted to stab the blacksmith, right here and now. But who knows how much venom this spear has within? Best not to risk it. Play along. Though he was also tempted to control the fool's mind some more, but he was feeling charitable. "Yeah, I'll get you into the inner sanctum. Yeah, okay. But I've got to kill Baldr first, right?"

"Baldr?" Baalyashart, being Phoenician, didn't know that name.

"Uh, I mean-- Shapash, Goddess of the Sun."

"Oooh, she's a sexy god. Wouldn't mind getting a piece of that... Kill her hard for me, okay?"

"Will do."

Baalyashart moved out of the way. "B'bye, Yarikh, God of the Moon!"

"Uh, bye."

"Maybe we can go out for lamb tongue, one day. Gods bless!"

No reply. Yak'kobu was already gone from that foul place.

iii

THE desert in this part of Sumer felt like an endless stretch of time. Given the similarity of the surroundings, and the utter banality, one could walk for an hour in each direction and still feel as though they hadn't made a single foot of progress. Mirages were common. Acute insanity was even more so. But if one knew what they were looking for, this desert wasn't so bad, wasn't so difficult to traverse. And gods found it far easier to keep their minds intact.

Yak'kobu knew what -- or who -- he was looking for. He'd met with them before, after all, though only sparingly. The two he was meeting with were rarely able to forego their other duties, so when opportunity came a-knockin', well, he just had to use that time wisely.

With his spear in hand, he'd exited the once-great city of Ur, passing destitute ex-gods whoring themselves out just to make a quick buck. Times were tough these days, especially in Sumer, expressly for former gods. He'd seen one god -- might've been the one who'd portrayed Utu before being dispatched, before Yak'kobu had taken his place -- helping a family move. Move! It was unthinkable. Gods didn't help the mortals move their stuff from one home to the next. Gods struck mortals dead. Gods rained fire and brimstone down onto the heads of mortals. Mortals were the playthings of the gods.

The Great Ziggurat of Ur at his back, Yak'kobu wandered further into the desert. There was a mirage just past a lone acacia tree, which was currently in a state of near-death. The mirage was always present there. Yak'kobu didn't know if everyone saw the same illusion he did, but for him it was the same thing every time. A massive spacecraft, with a bird's hooked beak for the prow of the ship. As he neared the dying acacia tree, the ship glimmered and sparkled as if studded with exotic minerals and gemstones. And then it faded from sight, the illusion worn off.

The hideout was somewhere under the sand. It was easy to find, because he saw heat sitting above the sand in wavy lines, everywhere but where the hideout was located. It was simply a matter of walking to the coolest location in the desert. One could physically feel the difference in temperature.

And feel it, he did. And, to be honest, I'm feeling a little hot under the collar, too. Let me get my shirt off. My pants. Ah. Better.

Very careful not to poke his eye out, or to even graze his flesh with the spear, Yak'kobu used the end that wasn't pointy to shift around the sand. After enough shifting, the tunnel to the roost was plainly visible, a hole wide-open to the air.

He threw the spear in, then clambered in after it.

Armed with the spear, darkness all around. He took a few moments to let his eyes adjust. Maybe sixty feet through the system of winding tunnels, he came across a lit candle and two of his fellow Nibiruans -- peasants, though they were -- getting freaky with each other. All bark, and all bite. One of them nibbling the scaly neck of the other while they got down to some truly ballsy business.

"Ahem," Yak'kobu said, clearing his throat afterward for greater effect.

Surprised and soaking with sweat, the two reptilians slithered off one another and each gave him penetrating stares.

"Ssssssin!" the female hissed.

"Sssssssssssin!" the male also hissed, not to be outdone.

"Yes, yes, that is me! And look what I've got!" He waved the spear around, making sure to catch the flickering light of the candle. "The God-Killer! The Spear of Destiny!" Feeling marvellous once again, the trickster giggled and pranced.

"Sssssoooo..."

"Can we sssssee it?"

"Yesssss, may we sssssee the sssssspear?"

Don't do it...

"Why not?" Yak'kobu said, feeling untouchable, invincible, and even impervious. He held out the spear -- pointy end facing himself -- and the female reptilian came over and grabbed it.

She examined it, felt the exquisite craftsmanship with her own two hands. Those humans, they could really do some things right, couldn't they? Looking to bring it back to show her brother/companion, she--

A chilly breeze went through the passage.

--she tripped on her own two feet, fell forwards and impaled herself on the spear.

My bad.

"SSSSI'IRAI!" the male screamed. Sobbing, he cradled his serpentine sibling in his scaly arms, watching her spasm as the last legs of life left her forever. Along with her final bowel movement. He suddenly shot an evil stare Yak'kobu's way. "You!"

Yak'kobu rushed over, feigning concern for the girl, actually concerned for the spear. "Wasn't my fault," he said. "She's the one who can't walk properly. Maybe you shouldn't have gone to town on her cloaca and she would've been capable. Jerk." He tugged on the spear. Wouldn't give, so he put one foot on the corpse for leverage and gave it a more forceful jerk. With a slippery, wet sound, the spear slid out of its victim and was in his grasp once more. He looked at the sharp end, saw a gushing of the green syrup, raised his eyebrows in surprise. He wondered just how many stabs one might get out of the stuff, saw a perfect patient on which to test his speculations.

"I'll sssslay you!" the male screamed, outraged by the lack of respect shown to his beloved, to his dearly departed lover.

He was promptly stabbed in the gut, making that comical "Oooooh" sound we all know and love. He dropped to the ground, his guts -- wriggling like snakes on the floor -- trying to relieve themselves of their body prison, along with whatever they'd had digesting in the tank.

Yak'kobu tried not to laugh, but couldn't help himself. He checked the spear, saw the poison unleashing another flow, squirting up into the air and running down the edge of the sharpened head. He grinned and did a little Irish jig. "I guess I need to find a new patsy for my plan!"

4: DEWEY, GOD OF NOTHING, REALLY

i

NUMEROUS people were gathered in a circle around a fire, all wearing identical purple robes. Some wore masks made to resemble -- hideously, I might add -- a pudgy, boyish face. Others waved intoxicating plants and then threw them into the fire, where skunky-smelling white smoke promptly puffed out into the air. Those who indulged in that sort of thing filled their lungs with said smoke. Those who didn't... Well, who cares about them.

The Speaker stood. He was positioned at twelve-o'clock in the circle, so everyone could see him. Really, twelve-o'clock could be anywhere in the circle, but his seat was considered more official, because he was the Speaker, after all. And no matter where he chose to place his seat in that circle, everyone would still be able to see him. That's the beauty of the circle. It's round. All you have to do is turn your head, if at all.

The Speaker made eye contact with his fellow Servants of Dewey. Some held the eye contact, staring -- vain, arrogant. Others broke it, glancing down -- weak, cowardly. "We are gathered here tonight, as we gather here every night, to further express our dedication to the One True God of this world, and of any world. The One True God of all worlds, as a matter of fact. Dewey."

"Dewey," the other Servants of Dewey said as one voice, bowing their heads in unison.

The ones who were stoned tried not to giggle.

"Dewey is our protector, Dewey is our saviour, Dewey is the harbinger of justice to a world so rife with crime, misery and misfortune. Dewey will bring peace to this land and love back into the hearts of humanity. Dewey."

"Dewey."

"Everything happens for a reason."

"Hell yeah!"

"We all stem from the Creator Himself, the One True God. Dewey."

"Dewey."

"There are other worlds than these."

"That's right!"

"All things serve the Beam, Brothers."

"And Sisters!" shouted one of the women present. She gave the Speaker a critical stare that said, "I don't like you, but in many ways I'm attracted to you, and so I'm conflicted, so instead of seeking a healthy, therapeutic release for my feelings, instead I will bottle them up and then unleash them, every so often, in a tidal wave of subtle, confusing rage directed your way."

"And Sisters," the Speaker added. He gave the woman a lecherous look, fully equipped with lip licking and teeth clicking, that said, "Baby, all I wanna do is get up in your ugly side. 'Cause, honey, I swear, if you gave me just one chance to make some magik happen, I could show you the stars and make you scream -- no; howl -- my name into the night, like the caged animal we both know you are." He coughed to himself, tugged the collar of his robe.

"The end is just the beginning," the Speaker said, back on track in his proselytizing.

"Mhm."

"And the beginning is merely the end of what came before."

"Mhm."

"If Dewey says it is so, then so it shall be."

"Dewey."

"Remember the face of Dewey, and remember the face of your Heavenly Father."

"Woooooooooooooh! DEWEEEEEEEEY!"

"Dewey is love, Dewey is life."

"Dewey. Dewey. Dewey."

ii

DEWEY was about four-foot-five and had a figure akin to a plump pumpkin perched on top of a decomposing pear. Though he'd been around for at least a trillion years, he looked like he was twelve, didn't need to shave, and would almost certainly die a virgin. He wasn't particularly bright. He wasn't strong. Some said he'd only been given the job of God of Nothing, Really because the others felt sorry for him. Others said his dad, (Name Removed Due To Concerns For Our Own Safety), who was considered a bigwig among the Elhu, had pulled some strings for him.

Yet for some reason Dewey, God of Nothing, Really, had a huge cult following. He didn't understand why. He didn't actually do any of the things they said he did. They said he created the universe -- Dewey couldn't even create simple sugars. They said that anything he said was the ultimate truth -- Dewey didn't have a good enough memory to keep his lies straight; that's why he only played one god, and he wasn't even officially recognized in any legitimate pantheon. They said he would bring peace to the land -- Dewey couldn't even bring peace to his litter box.

You can, therefore, imagine that Dewey, God of Nothing, Really, was quite an easy fellow to trick.

And that's why Yak'kobu decided to invade Dewey, God of Nothing, Really's one-man game of Battleship.

Dewey was sitting where he could always be found sitting: in his Martian bunker, located below Pavonis Mons, one of three shield volcanoes manipulated by the Elhu's psychedelic magik to resemble Orion's Belt -- also, the three main pyramids of Giza, Egypt were, too. Yak'kobu walked into the empty bunker and saw the sorry sight: Dewey sitting on one side of the table, deep in thought, making a move, before hurrying over to the other side of the table to make an opposing move.

"You know, that's a two-player game, right?"

Dewey looked up, startled. He generally didn't associate with other gods, Elhu or otherwise. "I have more fun by myself." His eyes darted around, self-consciously. "Wanna play?"

"Sure, kid."

"I'm older than you."

"Sure you are, kid." Yak'kobu set his spear on the floor, sat down and looked at what he had to work with. Dewey had practically sabotaged him. You see, Battleship (no relation to the Milton Bradley game) was a strategic guessing game involving Elhu space cruisers. You had to get into the head of your opponent, figure out -- based on their psychology -- where they would place their ships, and then sink them. Not only that, but you had to out-think them in placing your own ships. Dewey, bless his soul, had just placed all of Yak'kobu's ships in the upper-left corner of the gameboard. Perhaps remarkably, Dewey had actually missed, and on multiple occasions.

"So..." Yak'kobu started.

"So." Dewey's face was contorted with concentration.

"Not attending the Olympic Games?"

"Oh no. I never get invited to those things."

"Why not? You're a god."

"Yeah... No. Not really."

"Sure you are! You have worshippers. If you have worshippers, then you're a god."

"Some of the humans have worshippers," Dewey pointed out, "but they're not really gods, are they?"

"Humans are stupid, though," Yak'kobu also pointed out.

"Yeah, I dunno. Parties aren't really my sort of thing. I'm more of a lone wolf. A stallion. A bull."

"It would be fun," Yak'kobu said. He pretended to have a brilliant idea, face lit-up with enthusiasm. "You know, I'm supposed to go... Why don't you come as my plus-one!?"

Dewey scratched his hairless chin. "I dunno... Is that allowed?"

"Sure it is, Dew. Can I call you 'Dew'?"

And that's how Yak'kobu found his brand-new patsy.

5: THE GOD-KILLING GAMES

WELCOME to Olympia, a sanctuary to the gods in the Peloponnese peninsula of Greece. As you might be able to tell -- unless you're as dumb as you look -- the word 'Olympia' looks a lot like the word 'Olympic'. Yes, the Olympic Games were originally hosted in Olympia. Good job!

That semi-tall mountain over there, freckled with leafy green trees and kinda looking like a giant's thighs while he's laying down? That's Mount Kronos, named after Zeus' dear old dad. The douche tried to eat him and his siblings, so the story goes. Now, because I like you, I'll let you know that that never happened. It just sounded really cool, made you think Zeus was a huge badass, made you want to root for him, respect him -- all that crap.

Red-pink flowers grew here, there and everywhere. Little birds went tweet-tweet, flying from tree to tree, both annoyed by and curious about all the sudden action. People were laughing, cheering, yelling, talking and just plain watching -- all around the Olympic grounds. Some sat in the stands, waiting for the festivities to truly begin. Others were walking around, trying to score a conversation with -- or an autograph by -- their favourite god.

The athletes were stretching and praying away their nerves, just hoping they wouldn't make fools of themselves and get turned into a pile of black, bacon-scented ash with a pair of still-smoking sandals poking out the top.

Hades, having taken a short vacation up from the underworld, was out and about, looking for customers. He had a cart filled with cheap, knockoff black robes; miniature scythes, and even some hitherto unseen inflatable ones for the younglings to hit each other with. His three-headed dog Cerberus was barking its heads off at passersby. "Get your death here!" he shouted, high-pitched like a carnival barker. "We got your death! Long death! Short death! A death right between the eyes! Death up your ass! Death in the back! A death to your side! Death when you least expect it! Death when you're expecting it the most! Death with sunshine! Death with flowers! Death with showers! Death with snow! We got the death, you want the death, come get your death! Half-price death! Buy one death, get one free death! Death, death, death! Business is booming, people! Drop dead while it's hot!" He was just kidding, of course. It was part of the morbid persona he was playing. Chicks dig it, kids love it.

In another area, Poseidon was flirting with a group of beautiful human women. "You know," he said, "this trident of mine has three prongs... and there are three of you..." They giggled with hands covering their mouths.

Zeus was putting on a fabulous display with a pair of Nemean lions, brought in from the nearby area of Nemea. The god showed his strength by tossing them into the air and spinning them in circles. He showed his invincibility, too, as their furious swipes and slashes did him no harm, not even causing his skin to break. He also taught the lions how to dance and bounce around on their tails.

A few young punks were following the goddess Hera, trying to coax her into showing them her boobs. She vanished into her temple, where a muscle-bound bouncer stood outside, flexing and looking angry. The kids got the message pretty quickly.

That exchange caught Zeus' eye. He told the lions to allow children to ride on them and not to eat said children afterward, then headed inside Hera's temple.

"Hera?" he asked, seeing his wife/sister gobble up a pound of the psychoactive substance known as warranon (space-weed). Remember Frigg, the Norse goddess who Erik and his brethren found friggin' hot? Say hello to her(a). Her. Hera. Get it? No? Oh, go to hell.

Hera's features were distorting as the drug took effect. Her feminine beauty was an illusion, giving way to a rugged, masculine appearance. Black beard, little black hairs attempting to escape the nasal passages and ears, unibrow. The Goddess of Women and Marriage -- the role being performed by a man -- belched and shook off the feel-good goose chills working their way up his spine. "Damn male humans. They're so easily aroused, and so easily fooled. I almost wish I were a woman so I could at least feel as beautiful as I pretend to look."

"Well, you are due to play my wife today," Zeus said, "so you best grab ahold of yourself. We cannot have your magik fade when we need it most."

Hera nodded. He cracked his back, neck and fingers, dropped to the floor and did twenty push-ups (with a quick double-hand-clap in between each one), grunting and farting, then reapplied his magikal make-up. Once more, Hera was a beautiful woman.

The pair left the temple and rejoined the party. The young punks trailed them, bowing like hunchbacks to try and hide their ever-growing frontal titillation.

Apollo, being a poet and artiste extraordinaire, was playing a pandoura -- a sort of stringed instrument -- naked, while wailing a poem he wrote. The poem dealt with all the problems that a god faced in his daily life, and isn't that ironic, don't you think. Apollo was actually the original Alanis Morissette, with all the warble and none of the woman.

Watching all this was Hermes -- remember, he's Yak'kobu! He stood naked with Dewey beside him. Apollo -- or Baldr, as the Nords knew him -- was practically taunting him with his flagrant showiness. Dancing, singing, playing an instrument. His curly blond locks bouncing to and fro. It was repulsive. Mister Perfect. Hermes wanted to stab him. Their rivalry went all the way back to a younger time. Hermes had had his sights set on Olabisi, a young Egyptian woman -- flowing raven-black hair, eyes as dark as the night sky. Of course in Egypt he was known as Set, God of Chaos and War (among other things), while Apollo was Horus, the golden boy. And who did Olabisi prefer? Why, Horus, of course. They screwed like rabbits and he left her, saying his role as the God of the Sky required him to become a falcon and fly across it so the Sun and the Moon would continue to do what they do. Foolish girl believed him. But when he, Set, attempted to tell her the truth, she called him a liar, a jealous liar, and said she never wanted to see him again, said he disgusted her. Set, Hermes, Loki, Yak'kobu -- whatever you want to call him -- hated Apollo.

The God of Nothing, Really felt out of place at this extravagant event. It was his first Olympics, and it was a bit out of his element. He liked quiet evenings at home, eating peanut butter sandwiches and struggling to beat himself at board games, while this was action-packed and over the top. So much movement. It seemed like there was always something new happening wherever he looked, whether it was in plain sight or just a flicker from the corner of his eye. He saw a group of Servants of Dewey cultists walk right by him, not even giving him a passing glance. They were talking about the One True God possibly making an appearance.

"How will we know it's Him?" one asked, eyes rolling around, trying to catch a glimpse of the One True God Dewey.

"Oh, we'll know," the leader assured him. "Remember the scripture. The Good Book of Dewey says: 'Yea, know this -- the One True God possesses eyes able to withstand the Sun's brightness; a height so vast that the tallest peaks of Olympus are dwarfed; muscles so big and veiny He could lift Olympus and throw it out into space, where it will then orbit the Sun as its own planet.'"

"B-But that's blasphemy! Everyone knows the Earth is the centre of the universe!"

The leader turned, brows raised. "Do you doubt Dewey?"

"N-N-No."

"Then do you doubt The Good Book of Dewey, as written by Dewey Himself through me?"

"N-N-No."

"Then obey me, and in turn obey the One True God and His book."

The doubting Thomas nodded quickly, then raised his gaze to the sky. The Good Book said Dewey was taller than Mount Olympus, after all.

"So here's what we do, Dew," Hermes said, bringing the focus back to the task at hand. "We get close to Apollo. We give him the spear-- Uh, the sharp part first. And that's it. It's a gift."

Dewey saw the two bouncers flanking Apollo. One of them eyed a little kid standing nearby. The kid was licking a frozen milk-rice treat that had been brought over from China. The bouncer booted him away when he licked too menacingly. "How are we gonna do that? Those guys look mean."

"Leave that to me." Hermes giggled like a girl.

They joined the crowd watching Apollo's performance. Hermes attempted to get near, reached out--

A third bouncer appeared out of nowhere, growling. "Hey! No touching the dancer!"

"I'm a god, you oaf."

"Oh, sorry, god-sir. It won't happen again, god-sir."

"Begone, peasant."

"Yes, god-sir. Right away, god-sir."

Apollo stopped playing. "Do mine ears play tricks on what lies betwixt? Hermes? Is that you, dear old friend?"

Hermes shuddered. "Yes, Saint Apollo, 'tis me. I've brought you a present." He forced the spear into Dewey's hands, then stage-whispered to him: "Give him a playful little poke with it, Dew."

Dewey looked at the spear, then at Apollo's rock-hard abs.

"Who might this delightful rapscallion be? Oh, deary me, if Heaven were a human, this sweet little bumpkin would be a marshmallow man crossbred with a buttermilk pie. He's so cute!" Apollo gave Dewey a poke to the belly.

Laughing, Dewey dropped the spear. It clattered to the ground and snapped in two.

"NOOOOOOO!!!!" Hermes shrieked, down on his knees, hands cupping his skull at the temples. He picked up the pieces, tried to fit them back together -- first gently, then forcefully -- but when that didn't work, he threw away the dull piece and kept the piece with the sharp point that still oozed green syrup. He rushed towards Apollo and stabbed him in the side.

"That tickled," Apollo said with a giggle. He wiggled his fingers and attempted to tickle Hermes under the armpits.

Hermes wasn't laughing now. He looked at the sharp point, the poison, the unwounded spot that should've been gushing blood, the god who should've been wailing on the ground while he died. He did what any hysterical individual dead set on murder would do: He kept on stabbing.

"Hehehe, stop it, Hermes. You know I tickle easily."

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH! DIE! DIE! DIE!"

"Wait-- Did you say 'die'?" Apollo snapped his fingers.

Bouncers appeared and tackled Hermes, wrestled the tip of the spear from his grip.

"Daddy! Hermes was trying to kill me again!"

6: THE ROGUE LAWYER

ON Mars Mountain, the gods were all gathered in a circle, surrounded by the pillars that supported the temple's roof. Loki was in the centre, bound and gagged by the entrails of his least-favourite son, whose reptilian corpse sat outside, being picked at by Odin's ravens. Though Loki hadn't been victorious in his attempts at assassinating Baldr, he had still broken the law the Elhu and Nibiruans vowed to live by. His least-favourite son had tried to win his respect by defending him -- you can see how well that worked.

Forseti, the God of Justice, cleared his throat. "Loki, you are being accused of the following crimes: One count of Disturbing the Peace; two hundred counts of Attempted Murder; one count of Attempting to Solicit the Assistance of Our Undercover Agent in Illegal Activities--"

Dewey waved, blushing and smiling shyly to himself.

Loki spat out a bit of intestine. "You snake!"

Forseti cleared his throat again, louder this time. "--and two hundred counts of Trying to Kill My Dad!"

A round of boos, tsk-tsks, head-shakes and other disapproving looks and sounds made its way around the gods' circle.

"How do you plead?"

"GUILTY!" Loki laughed his head off.

"Shut up!" Thor thundered, veins throbbing from his forehead. "Shut up, or I'll smash your head with My Darling--" He kissed Mjölnir passionately, even using his tongue. "--and then I'll make you eat it!"

"The hammer, or my head?" Loki asked, batting his eyelashes innocently.

Thor roared: "Both!"

"What a hero you are." He directed his attention to the other gods. "Do I need to remind you all that I wasn't even successful in murdering Baldr?"

"No," Odin said, "but the other crimes still stand. You have broken an age-old agreement between our two species. You have been warned and reprimanded many times before this. You are not some innocent lamb, Loki. You are well-aware of what you do, of the choices you have made, and their consequences."

"Let me break all his bones," Thor said, running Mjölnir through the grinder, sharpening each side of the hammer. "Let me crush his body to so much mush, then tie him to a tree and set him on fire. Let's send his ass to Hel."

Loki laughed. "That reminds me of that time when we were younger--"

"Don't you dare say it!" Thor warned him. "I'll rip off your face and wipe my ass with it!"

"--when you allowed yourself to be my daughter's pisspot."

"Ugh, you bastard!" Thor made to strangle Loki, but was held back by the other gods.

Grinning, Loki continued: "Yes, noble, heroic Thor. Having my daughter Hel urinate into his mouth."

Týr, God of War, chuckled.

Loki turned to him. "Shut up, Týr. I banged your wife and had a son."

Týr stopped laughing, looking to his wife Cisa, a Nibiruan. She shrugged.

Skaði, Goddess of Winter, felt it was now time to chime in. "Loki, though you appear to be enjoying yourself, you really shouldn't be laughing."

"Oh? Why is that?"

"Because," Skaði continued, "soon you'll be out there with your ice-cold son, bound to a rock with his guts, being picked apart by Odin's ravens."

A chorus of "Oooooh," and "You go, girl!"

Loki laughed to himself, softly. "You know, Skaði, you were so kind to me before, when you asked me to bang you."

Skaði went red in the face, sat down way in the back.

"Enough of this!" Odin bellowed, silencing the chatter. "Loki, you must be punished. You shall spend eight of our years as a human woman, milking cows, and birthing children. These will be the hardest years of your life, I can assure you of that. Forseti, close this court, please."

"Please let me smash his skull," Thor begged.

"No."

7: RAG-NO-ROK (OR, THE FATE OF THE GODS)

SO there we have it. The fate of the gods. That's how it really happened. I know you've probably read the Norse version of these events -- what led to Ragnarok. But that's just because they thought it made a better story. I mean, the death of the gods? That's pretty cool. They all lived happily ever after until they died of old age? That's not very cool at all.

But perhaps Ragnarok did happen.

After all, we're no longer ruled and watched over by the gods. After all, the Elhu did die off, though it wasn't a dramatic battle of good versus evil -- it was a sickness, slow and painful, where one by one they dropped out of life, never to be seen or heard from again. And the Nibiruans? They've blended in with the rest of us, in some cases they've even bred with us. You can find the purer ones in positions of power. You yourself may even have some of their blood in you, diluted by the ages.

But there is a final battle of good and evil coming. You better believe that. And maybe one day I'll tell you that story, too.