Mother, May I
Uriel says, “not on the schedule of shameless imitators.”
The laughter and conversation die instantly as every deity present turns to stare them down.
“Brave words, when you’re so outnumbered, god-slave,” Rod, the Slavic god-king, growls.
Lightning flashes, thunder cracks, and the earth groans as the archangels flex their power.
Odin literally yawns. “Neat trick. Twenty of us here can do the same.”
“I suggest we stop measuring dicks and get to the point,” Poseidon mutters, waving his hand to conjure chairs for the angels.
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