Morgan lay at the bottom of a ravine, marinating
in a pool of bodily fluids. Gods,
apparently, do not adhere to the subtle approach to inference. Morgan had had the audacity to say no to
their recruitment. They'd been
gentle. The ravine was only two hundred
feet deep. As he lay there naked and
broken, they asked again. He again
refused. A boulder came pitching down
and landed on his chest. He heard the
ribs on his right side crack in unison.
Another fell immediately after, pulverizing his shoulder.
Morgan coughed out blood through his mouth and
nose. His consciousness did not haze
from the pain. Nor was he spared the
agony of vultures and vermin picking at the wounds. He mentally went far from where he was,
remembering the feel of his father's arms about him as he carried him away from
the mortal world. The powers that had
thrust him there watched aghast as he fell asleep with a serene smile on his
face.
He awoke from sleep with ants and beetles crawling
on his suppurating wounds. Pain washed
over his body freshly as the sunlight slanted over him. He sensed other sentient beings, but felt no
movements and smelled no trace of bodies.
“Surely, you cannot think that mortal pain will bend me to your will,”
he croaked, dehydrated from blood loss.
“Would you not want it to end?” a perfect voice
asked, gentle and calm.
“I can continue to say no, and you can continue to
pummel me until I die again. Or you
could give up, and I will die of exposure.”
As could be expected, they registered
indignation. Morgan spat out a clot and
drummed the fingers of his left hand on the ground. “Impasses end when negotiations begin,”
Morgan quoted.
“Why would we deign to negotiate?”
“Because it is obvious,” Morgan whispered to the
ground, “that you want me for something; you should try to be more
appealing. Neither god nor demon will
buy my soul cheaply and your sales pitch, frankly... it sucks.. Give me a good reason death is not preferable
to serving you.”
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