Headed by a Snake

Tycondrius sipped on the hot coffee, swirling the liquid around in his mouth.

The poison granted it a distinct flavor... but not one that was particularly pleasant.

"So uh... how... f*cked are we, LT?" Krysaos asked.

Tycon felt his jaw drop. He was so surprised, he nearly gasped aloud.

It seemed that Krysaos had realized that the coffee was poisoned. Though mundane poisons were ineffective against gods and Gold-Rank snakes, it was nice to see the improvement in the Captain's general awareness.

Or perhaps the man had noticed that everyone in the small diner exuded killing intent towards them?

While still laudable... the fact was almost insultingly obvious.

"I mean... overall," Krysaos clarified.

"Overall?" Tycon frowned, "Ah. Concerning recent events in the Tree God's Forest... we have reached 'end of the Realm as we know it' levels of... f*cked-- so to speak."

Krysaos loosed a slow whistle in response...

Tycon took that as a signal to continue: "Unless my eyes have deceived me, the florae of the Tree God's Forest are... twisting into winged-lizard chimeras."

The Captain tore off a piece of his toast... only to stare at it blankly... "But we uh... we don't know if they're bad guys, right"

"According to Tres Leches, the Tree God has fallen."

"Isn't that a good thing?" Krysaos asked-- "that no one's controlling those things?"

"That may not be accurate," Tycon shook his head, "Recall that almost immediately after, Tres' connection to the Lone Shadowdark was abruptly severed."

"Yeah-- definitely not good... but what are you trying to get at, LT?"

Tycon leaned back in his seat, crossing an arm in front of his chest while placing his hand on his chin.

"In that gods-forsaken place are the Divine Resonant Energies of both the Tree God and whatever ancient Elven parasite resided within the Swords of the Forgotten King.

"We can reasonably assume that a third-party has taken advantage of the situation, thus hastening the lizard god's rebirth... and partially fulfilling the terms of that stupid lizard prophecy we keep hearing about."

"The lizard god," Krysaos grit his teeth, "That's what the Thunder God was talking about before he..."

Tycon saw the Captain's hesitation and decided to interject.

"He sent us away after judging that we would not all survive, otherwise."

Krysaos blinked several times. The toast he had in hand fell impotently onto the filthy table surface-- butter side down.

"No way," He said, staring at the table... "LT... are you saying he... No, come on. Haha... What the f*ck, LT?"

"Think, Krysaos," Tycon ordered in a firm voice. "By what means did we make it to Whitehearth?"

The Captain lightly recoiled in shock... but immediately adopted a grave expression.

"Big... beefy magic. It was something... that pro'lly only a god could use."

Tycon motioned for him to continue, "Go on."

Krysaos looked away, his gaze losing focus. "But... how? He was out of mana. I mean-- he had to use... to *burn*... something else, just to keep up with our pace?"

"And that 'something' was?"

Krysaos' eyes widened, "He sacrificed his life force."

"Life force," Tycon mused, "would be... inaccurate."

"His... god-juice," The Captain declared, his face deathly serious.

"Indeed," Tycon nodded.

He would have used the term 'God Essence'-- or 'Divine Resonant Energy'... but Krysaos' chosen verbiage had a charming pragmatism to it.

Tycon sucked in air through his teeth... "However, as you know... that fellow did not have much... 'god-juice' to spare."

Krysaos placed his elbows at the edge of the table, steepling his fingers, "I feel like you're about to say something really f*cked, LT."

The Captain always did have a good sense for that.

"That fellow's dissolution has begun..." Tycon explained, "Not even a full sun has passed, yet, already, his name begins to elude me."

"F*ckin' coral shite!?" Krysaos scowled, "How could you forget something like that?"

Tycon took another sip of his poisoned coffee, "Tell me what is it, Krysaos."

"Psh, easy sun," Krysaos scoffed. "It's..."

The Captain's eyes widened... then slowly narrowed as an uncomfortable realization set in.

"Son of a... This... this doesn't make sense. I just... you-- LT, you literally JUST told me his name! We... we made fun of it!?

The panicked Captain stood out of his chair, his hands clutching the side of his head.

"Sit down, Krysaos," Tycon waved nonchalantly. "You'll alert the assassins."

"The what?!"

Tycon waved to their nervous waitress. Unfortunately, they ignored him, retreating to the relative safety of the kitchen.

It seemed their empty coffee pot would not be refilled anytime soon.

Krysaos sat back down in a fluster.

Leaning forward, he spoke in a hushed voice, "Are... are you telling me we've just been poisoned?"

"...I sincerely thought you noticed."

"Am I gonna die?"

"No."

"Should we-- y'know? Leave? Like right now?"

"What?" Tycon was taken aback by the audacity, "Nonsense. I'm not yet finished with my meal."

"But I just drank like three mugs of poison and... my stomach is starting to rumble?"

"It's the caffeine in the coffee," Tycon explained. "It stimulates your intestinal--"

"Tycon, please. We're f*cking surrounded."

Krysaos was... honestly concerned.

Tycon had forgotten just how quickly the man had amassed power.

"...Worry not, Brother-Captain. I am a Gold-Rank combatant more than capable of challenging higher ranks. You, Krysaos, are a Sky-Rank combatant with a God-Rank physique.

"There are less than a dozen bipedal sentients in the entire Realm that can threaten our lives... much less in this continent-- much less in this nation-- and even less in this City-State."

To be more specific, there were two... maybe three-- and none of them were present.

Krysaos sat back in his seat, "Then... why do we keep getting in life or death situations?"

How ridiculous. The current situation was a far cry from actual danger.

"Brother-Captain, you have killed literally hundreds, if not thousands, of sentients in the past few weeks. You and I are forces equivalent to multiple thousand-strong companies of trained men-- to an entire team of Divine Armors..."

"--to... a hundred-cannon Juggernaut?" The Captain suggested.

"A fitting analogy," Tycon chuckled... "People like you and I don't die easily."

Krysaos bit his upper lip, "Until they do."

Tycon closed his eyes and nodded, "Indeed..."

Krysaos compressed his leftover toast and tossed it into his mouth before washing it down with the rest of his poisoned coffee.

It was a fitting display of accepting one's fate.

"...Was that the toast that fell on the table?"

'Meh," Krysaos shrugged in response... "So you're telling me they can wait?"

"They can wait," Tycon responded with a light chuckle... then he loosed another deep sigh.

He needed another drink...

Glancing glanced over at his empty coffee cup, the feeling of disappointment in his heart grew ever deeper.

He'd thought it bothersome enough that a majority of the restaurant's patrons were unable to hide their killing intent. But besides that, the the service was *excruciatingly slow.*

He did not plan on returning.

"Hey, LT..." Krysaos twisted his lips to the side, "We're gonna murder all these people, aren't we?"

It was a simple question... but the timing of it made it seem like the man had more to say.

"...Yes."

"We killed... a lot of people-- like you said. And a lot more folks're gonna die."

"...Also, yes."

"You ever feel... guilty?"

Tycon furrowed his brows, "For what reason would I have to feel... *guilty?*"

"Well..." Krysaos bit his upper lip... "That's how you're supposed to feel when someone bites the dust."

"Tss. Is that so?" Tycon scoffed. "I feel... thirsty. I'm annoyed, frustrated-- something along that line. But guilty, Brother-Captain? The crushing weight of guilt on this sun feels no heavier than the sun prior."

The Captain waved to their waitress, recently emerged from her hiding spot, "Refill on coffee, please."

Tycon nodded in thanks before continuing.

"Under my command, I lost a literal god. Prior to that, one of my closest friends reincarnated into a metal stick. And, of course, the woman whose life we risked to save had the insides of her head turned to figurative mush by high-level magic...

"No, Krysaos... I do not feel guilt over these matters. And if I did, it would not help me, in the least."

It was not guilt that eroded his psyche.

Disappointment was more appropriate.

Anger and indignation, too. Compared to guilt, those emotions were far more useful and would serve to creative fuel for his future plans.

To Tycon, feeling guilt was unacceptable-- an emotional state reserved for those who had more to give, yet refused to do so.

"And how about you, Brother-Captain?" Tycon reclined in his chair, "Do you feel... guilt over what happened?"

Krysaos shut his eyes... then slowly shook his head.

"No... No, I don't.

"If anything... I feel kinda guilty that... I don't *feel* anything.

"Like... when someone dies, you're supposed to be sad or some shite, right?"

Krysaos took scratched at his head... "But I... you and me, LT... I guess we're not normal people."

Tycon took care not to laugh at the Captain's words. Krysaos was the Sea God. It was an understatement to say he wasn't a normal person.

"Hmph... *Normalcy* amongst sentients is largely a lie," Tycon shook his head. "Worry not. Neither you, nor I, are *lesser* beings for our lack of empathy or appearance thereof."

"Yeah... That's... a way to look at it," Krysaos admitted.

"And I suppose it must be stated that death is no stranger to us," Tycon smirked. "We've met the god of death. We've shared a table-- shared food and drink."

Krysaos sat and stared, quietly... "Yeah... he's a good guy."

The coffee refill finally came.

Tycon lifted his cup for a somber, if unorthodox, toast.

"Let us honor the lost by living in their stead."

The Captain nodded slowly, "Doesn't this stuff taste weird, though?"

"Drink the damn coffee, Krysaos."

"Aye aye," Krysaos sighed, "Lieutenant."

Tycon downed half of his drink in a single pull. The heat of it scalded his tongue.

It was still poisoned, of course. But despite the poison concentration being higher, its potency remained the same.

...But with the repeated attempt on their lives, not even the waitress would be spared.

"Brother-Captain," Tycon smiled politely. "First, we kill everyone in the restaurant. Then we deal with the group waiting outside."

"Aye," Krysaos reached for his rapier, "Blood and thunder?"

"Aye aye," Tycon nodded. "Victory at sea."