A wise one determines his own fate.

"Godling? Demigod?" Lysis nearly howled. "You'd be beaten black and blue in Thebes, and staked out overnight for claims like that. In Sparta, the secret police would ambush you, violate you, skin you alive and use your skull for a drinking cup."

Reasons never matter, once Death comes cold and bold and takes the living by the hand. You count up your dead, every one.

Here and now was always where Tempus was, not off somewhere in the realm of Greater Good or Mortal Soul or Eternal Consequence. He'd lost the ability to determine greater good, if there was one; his mortal soul he'd given up on long ago. And as for eternal consequence - he was its embodiment.

Tempus wanders eternally, bringing death to whomever loves him and being spurned by whomsoever he shall love.

Gather the shards of your courage. Patch together what resolve you can. We'll find this thing - and kill it.

I must decide if you deserve to die.