While Gressila was out playing with her mortal friends, Lifera was plotting something new. He often was inspired to create objects or plot out intricate castles or pyramids. This was a complex revenge that he was making. Slow. It would have to go very slowly indeed.

Slower than any of her human companions could live through, that was certain. He'd bring her to his side, knowing that she would be spouting more mortal whining - and then he'd lower the hammer.

A long, darkly pleased smile crossed Lifera's thin lips. He'd heard about other human encampments on this dirtball. Perhaps they would offer the proper tributes to his greatness where these 'cultured' folk would not.

He could be revered as a god, and indeed he deserved to be. And when he was one culture's god, he'd reign terror on others because they didn't *have* living gods, did they?

Could their gods produce fire out of water? Could they bring blood from a marble wall? Miracles such as those were simple processes for an experienced mage such as himself - and of course Gres would see through it instantly. The trick would be to isolate himself long enough in this other culture, whereever he found it, and keep the secret to himself.

He'd tell her he was leaving the world. More fertile places to be, anyway. Out there, in the stars.

The grin on his long face grew wider, more sinister. "Oh yes, my sister, my blood, my queen... You'll regret keeping to the gutter when you could be gazing from the parapets..."

Lifera looked down again, from his own tower's narrow balcony, and kept the smile. It fit him perfectly.