Sleeping Deities

Chapter 3

He thought that it would be enough.

He thought that becoming the thing they sought to see would allow him peace. And for a while, it did.

The second visit occurred months after the first. And once they left, Phil was greeted with a welcome silence that lasted a few years.

So when they arrived without warning in his vast fields of wheat, he couldn't help but groan, understanding that perhaps this was his torment now; a babysitter of the divinities, for the beings who perhaps didn't learn their lesson the first time.

And after the third, the fourth came soon after. Then a fifth.

What once was a rarity became something that occurred once or twice a year. Appearing in the worst of circumstances — no matter if it be in the middle of the night or on his travels thousands of miles from home — they came to disturb him. Sometimes covered in dirt and grime, and other times stained red from battle, they followed him around like ducks for hours as he did the tasks he set out for the day.

Phil learned quickly that any attempt at ignoring them was futile. For of course, they had power over the realms, and the universe created specifically for him was no exception.

An annoyed Techno might aggravate the pigs and hogs surrounding him, and would laugh as he watched his army of sacred animals chase and attack, only calling them off once the man gave in and provided them attention.

An irritated Wilbur could provide silent neverending jingles of music that wormed its way into his ears, catchy and pleasing until they began to loop and linger, finding entertainment in watching the mortal slowly go mad. Only when the man turned and finally listened to them did he let the music dissipate, fading from the world as if it were never there.

And a majority of the time, Phil found no mind in it.

He took their fits of anger in stride, in the same way he took the godly punishments that once frequented him in the past. The pigs he would capture — to the dismay of the War God — and give back to the villagers who rewarded him with food, materials, and currency to keep him safe and well on his journeys. The music he would hum in camps around the fire, attracting merry men who would keep him company for however long the dark skies lasted, parting ways once day breaks and allowing him to make new friends.

Only have there ever been two occasions where the twins had gone too far.

The first time, it was the fault of the Travelling God.

Or, perhaps to call it a gift would be more precise, though still an unwanted one at that.

It was an unusually warm spring afternoon when it happened, as if the weather too desired to greet the divinities with brightness and positivity.

And as it often so happened to be, Phil got the barest of warnings, as they materialized behind them with an eerie silence that dared not to disturb the air around them.

Yet still, the man could tell when they arrived: With them they brought the smell of dark winter nights, of a world that equaled a stranger to him, when once they were perhaps the best of friends. With them they brought the smell of smoke and gunfire, of pain and anger and conflict; Things he had not seen in a long time.

"And where have you escaped from today?" He asked, cocking his head to the sound of their clothes shuffling in the still air.

"We do not escape—" Techno began vehemently, but with a cheerful laugh, Wilbur cut him off.

"A battlefield!" He said, and the man could see him sitting on the storage chests scattered about the room out of the corner of his eye. "One so grandiose and full of terror, of soldiers crying out to those who will feel their loss the hardest, with aching hearts and poisoned minds... And when I bloom the memories of those left behind—" He sighed, turning to the exasperated God of War. "Their motivation is like a flame, and I am the spark. Is that not so, brother?"