Divine Misfortune

“Excuse me,” said Lucky, pointing to a robed figure standing beside Gorgoz. “Hate to interrupt, but who is that?”

The actors in the memory kept chanting, but the director raised his head.

“That’s Gorgoz’s First Disciple,” he said.

“You didn’t see his face, did you?” asked Lucky.

“Sorry.”

They resumed their chant.

Lucky picked his way across the stage, avoiding disturbing the ritual. He circled the First Disciple.

“Morph,” said Lucky, “I suppose that since this guy didn’t see the face and this is just his memory we can’t see his face either.”

After a moment’s hesitation, Morpheus said, “No. It doesn’t work that way.”

“Why did you pause?”

Morpheus half-paused. “No reason.”

“Don’t tell me you’re holding out on me, buddy. You have to know a few extra tricks, right? Some kind of dream god cheat code.”

“Maybe there is something I can do, but there are certain risks. Things can go wrong.”

“What can go wrong? You’re Morpheus, god of dreams, master of the realm nocturnal, the big kahuna. Quick and I will stand aside and leave it in your able hands.”

“Okay. Fine.”

Morpheus waved his hand at the hooded assembly and spoke in hushed, reverent tones. “Right now, this is only a memory, a dim recollection of past events seen through one set of mortal eyes. But all memories, no matter how distant, no matter how distorted, have the shadow of truth underneath. Even the most imperfect memory is a window-”

“That’s terrific,” interrupted Lucky. “Love the metaphysics. But we’re a little pressed for time.”

“Basically, I just reach back and use my powers to re-create elements of the memory that the director couldn’t know.” Morpheus cracked his knuckles and clapped his hands. The lights snapped on bright and clear as everything was illuminated with the absolute light of truth. The scene froze.

Lucky hopped back into the set and walked over to the First Disciple of Gorgoz. He pulled back the hood.

“I have no idea who this guy is,” said Lucky.

“What did you expect?” asked Quick. “A major movie star?”

“Would’ve made things easier.” Lucky searched the disciple’s pockets, but he came up empty. “That was a waste of time.”

Morpheus snapped his fingers. “Check his pockets again.”

The second search turned up a wallet.

“How did you do that?”

“It’s a dream. Who is to say that the guy didn’t have his wallet on him?”

“Morph, I like your style.” Lucky found a driver’s license. “Can I keep this?”

“Sure. What do I care?”

The phantasmal player of Gorgoz chuckled coldly. “You are as ridiculous as ever, Luka.”

“Easy, big guy,” said Lucky. “Don’t get lost in the part.”

Gorgoz stood. He pulled back his hood. The actor’s face was gone, replaced with the twisted true visage. It’d been a few centuries since Lucky had seen Gorgoz face-to-face. He hadn’t gotten any prettier.

“Easy, Gorg, ol’ buddy.”

“Always with the endless obnoxious chatter,” said Gorgoz. “You blather on like a sideshow barker rather than a true god. It’s no wonder the mortals have lost their fear of us.” He roared, spewing slime and spit into the air. “You dare violate my domain, in the soul of one of my followers!”

“I don’t remember him being so eloquent,” said Lucky.

“He’s a manifestation of the director’s unconscious,” explained Morpheus. “Not an exact copy.”

Gorgoz pounced, seizing Lucky by the throat.

“Gorg, Gorgie, Gorgster,” choked the god of prosperity.

“Quiet, you babbling fool,” hissed Gorgoz. “Prepare to suffer the consequences of your trespass.”

“Uh-oh,” said Morpheus.

“Uh-oh, what?” asked Quick. “What’s gone wrong?”

“I warned you it would be dangerous. The simulation is out of control.”

“Uh, guys,” squeaked Lucky. “Could use a little help here.”

Quetzalcoatl sprang across the soundstage. He was batted aside with an offhand slap from Gorgoz, who chuckled with a low rasp.

“Look at you, god of blood and death. Look at what they’ve made you into. Luka was always a fool. But you… you were worshipped by an empire.”

Quick rubbed his jaw. Being immortal didn’t make him immune to pain, and Gorgoz, even in this form, packed a mean backhand.

Lucky transformed into a hulking beast, forcing Gorgoz to release him. The set broke into chaos as the phantasmal players scattered in all directions.

“Okay, Gorg!” roared Lucky as he pounded his huge fists together. “You asked for this!”

He pounced on Gorgoz. The two gods tumbled through the set, smashing their way through the faux brick walls. The shudders and booms of their titanic struggle shook the soundstage.

Quick and Morpheus waited a few moments. Neither god was terribly concerned. Immortality made even the most savage combat between deities an exercise in idiocy.

“Should we intervene?” asked Quick.

“This is my set!” screamed the director. “I’m in charge here!”

Lucky flew through the air, colliding with the overhead scaffold lighting. It all came crashing down. Lucky, back in his shorter, Hawaiian-shirt form, crawled from the wreckage. Patches of fur were missing here and there, and half his tail had been sheared off.

“For a simulation, he packs a helluva punch.”

Gorgoz tore his way through the set. He leveled a finger at the director. “This is your fault. Not only do you fail me, but your weak mortal mind reveals secrets unfit for these fools to know. Now you shall suffer the consequences of your failure.”

“He’s really into seeing people suffering consequences,” observed Quick.

“Some things never change,” said Lucky.

The director cowered behind the gods.

“There’s nothing to worry about,” said Morpheus. “He can’t hurt you. He’s just a phantasm playing a part. A bit too well, perhaps, but it’s still just a part. But you’re the director of this subconscious. You’re still in charge. You just have to remember it.”

“Yes, that’s right. I am.” The director pushed his way past the gods and confronted Gorgoz’s enraged dream duplicate. “You’re fired,” he said smugly. “Okay, people. Strike the set. Let’s take a quick lunch break, then we’ll set up for sex dream number eight. Y’know, the one with the naughty librarian and the whipped cream. I think we’ve earned it.”

Gorgoz decapitated the director with one swipe of his claws. The head rolled to Morpheus’s feet and glared.

“Thanks for the advice, asshole,” grumbled the director before fading into oblivion. In the waking world, his physical aspect fell over dead.

Lucky and Quick stepped away from Morpheus, as if to avoid any guilt by association.

“That shouldn’t be possible,” said Morpheus.

Gorgoz chuckled. “All things are possible to me. While all of you were belched forth from the primordial at the dawn of existence, I was already here. I am the ultimate embodiment of the chaos that birthed the universe, and when all this is dust, when every mortal life is snuffed, when every soul is crushed, when every lesser god is returned to the nothingness from which they were spawned, I shall remain. Only madness endures. Only entropy is endless.” He narrowed his orange eyes and gri

“So piss off, you little shits.”

Gorgoz snapped his fingers. The soundstage exploded, consumed by a screaming blast of white fire.

The gods were blown out the door and into the hall.

Lucky shook the gray ash off his scorched flesh. “What the hell was that?”

Morpheus wiped soot from his face. “That is a problem. But it’s not my problem. I’m done. I’m out.”

The door opened and Gorgoz stepped out. Lucky and Quick braced themselves for another attack, but the phantom was back to his harmless original actor. He rubbed his temples and moaned, wandering off.

“I was never here. Messing with Gorgoz is bad news.” Morpheus started walking. Lucky and Quick ran after him so as not to get lost.