And as for death - we get what we expect.

A wise one determines his own fate.

Each soul has its appointed doom. How is it you dare to raise a mortal boy so high - high enough to flout the gods? Bring godhead where a man may reach out and take it? growls Enlil, and lightning splits a clear blue sky.

I see ranks ready for battle, stretching out. Five, six horses across, ranks in formation. Endlessly.

It's all the same - no good without evil, no balance...no maat. If we lose one, we lose the other. It's just life, that's all.

We fouled up. I did. He got hurt. Badly, maybe. And the god...is not helping him today.

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.