The Mad God’s hands made a soft, percussive slap as he slowly clapped them together, the sound somehow contriving to echo throughout the vastness of the Crescent. “Marvellous,” he said, letting his hands fall to his side. “How sad our scholarly friend over there isn’t alive to write it down.”

His smile abruptly disappeared and, in the space of an eye-blink, all trace of humanity slipped from his face. Pilgrim could see shades of this thing’s true nature roiling beneath its skin, thorn-like spines rising, the muscles of its neck bulging as two small, growing red dots appeared in its eyes, burning like coals in a furnace.

“Do you imagine there are rules here, mortal?” he enquired in a voice that combined an animalistic growl with a rush of heated air. “Your kind summoned me from the Infernus in the midst of my madness and made me their god, thinking they had cleansed me of my nature, naming me the Absolved in their naivety.” He advanced towards them, his voice building as he spoke in time with each step. “They…made…me…into…an ABOMINATION!”

Pilgrim was forced to shield his face from the blast of air that accompanied his final shout, hot enough to blister the back of his hand.

“This is my domain,” the Mad God continued, his eyes burning now and flame licking around his lips. “Subject to my wants, my desires. I desire a new voice for my chorus and I desire your sword. I’ll sunder it from you, as you wish. Lakorath can serve me once more, as he did in the Infernus. And you, Your Highness, can take the place of my Crucible. You killed him so it seems only fair. Pilgrims will still come, regardless of whether any remnant remains of the Church of the Absolved. They will walk beneath your gaze and you will judge them. Won’t you enjoy that? It’s what you were always good at, after all.”

A shrill, desperate cry came from the voice then, all surety and humour stripped away and replaced by simple terror and panic. Kill him! I’ll not be his slave again! KILL HIM!

It seemed to leap into his hand as he reached for it, the blade like a curtain of white fire as he brought it down, intending to cleave the Mad God from crown to crotch. It was like striking an anvil, the blade rebounding from its target without leaving as much as a scratch.