I'm going to kill that god of yours, next. Then we'll see what you can do, and what you can't.

I'm just a weapon of the god.

Gods are nothing without their worshipers; they act on the affairs and the passions of men.

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

And as for death - we get what we expect.

Everyone prepares for battle in his own way.

Now the Fates are here on the beach, three shadows blacker than black, walking through the dunes and looking for their own. Just shadows, lamb-white hands beneath black robes spun of tears, glide among the celebrants on this night wherein the spirits of Thebes have found a home, if serendipitously.