A hard invitation to refuse

Derrek knew ruthlessness. He knew the depths people would stoop to see their work done. He had seen some of the deepest firsthand. He had grappled with a cannibalistic ghoul. He had survived single combat with a hunter obsessed with taking his head. He had even stood face to face with a Reaper, and had killed that Reaper to boot. But he had never laid eyes on people with more bloodthirsty a look than his board of directors.

“With all due respect, Mr. Snowe,” began the head of accounting, Bill Barnes, in yet another in a long list of contrarian assertions, “it would be in the company’s interests to put a suspension on ecological survey excursions for the foreseeable future.”

“Oh?” Derrek asked, feigning surprise, “And why might that be?”

Barnes’ eyes narrowed, “Considering the costs of housing, transportation of personnel and equipment, security, not to mention the political red tape we have to cut through in every foreign country we travel to, I believe the numbers speak for themselves.”

He then turned his head to the projected screen at the foot of the table and clicked the remote in his hand, changing the slide.

“In the seventy-six surveys we have embarked on, we have not turned a profit on a single one. In fact, we have accrued no less than two hundred million in pure losses. I simply cannot justify continuing under our circumstances.”

Derrek raised an eyebrow as the board's attention drifted back to him, Barnes with a smug look in his eye, even though his mouth stayed locked in a permanent frown.

“Circumstances? Why you couldn’t possibly mean the recent change in leadership, could you? Cheryl,” he shifted his gaze over to a plump woman with curly brown hair, “could you please read out the stock growth over the first three quarters of 2035?”

“Yes sir, let’s see…” she shuffled through a large folder of papers, “Ah, here we are. Profits dropped by 6.12% in the first quarter, recovered it and earned an extra 3.55% in the second, and even further in the third with another rise of 7.2%.”

“Thank you, Cheryl. Now, would you be so kind as to read off the quarter since I took charge?”

“That would be a sharp increase of 12.74%, a welcome departure from our predictions of losses if I do say so myself.”

“Interesting,” Derrek said as he looked back at Barnes, “it would seem the numbers speak for themselves. In fact, I’d like to propose an increase in excursions from the usual three a year to five, as well as increasing their budget by 5% all around.”

“Seconded,” said Samantha to his left.

“Wonderful. All in favor?”

Sam wasted no time raising her hand, nor did Cheryl or Kenith, as was to be expected. Shortly afterward, he saw the hand of Isabelle, then Carter, and finally Ian rise in agreement. Ever the pragmatist, Barnes begrudgingly followed suit, never wanting to be the odd man out.

“Then it’s settled,” Derrek said as he checked his watch, “and just under the wire, it seems our time is up. As always, it's been a pleasure, and I’ll see you in two weeks. I’d love to give proper farewells, but I have a meeting scheduled for five minutes from now, and I pride myself on my punctuality.”

He rose from the head of the table, straightened his tie, then made his way to the door. As soon as it closed behind him, he let out a long sigh.

“The madhouse taking its toll yet, young buck?”

He looked to his right and was greeted by a man with a thick set of glasses and a mug of coffee in his hand.

“Jenkins, what brings you up to corporate?”

He gestured to his mug, “They’ve got better coffee up here.”

Derrek smiled warmly and waved over to him, “I’ve got a meeting to get to, walk with me.”

“Yes sir,” Jenkins said with an exaggerated salute.

“I think I prefer young buck to sir,” Derrek said as he started down the hallway, Jenkins struggling to keep pace with his aged knees as they passed through the buzzing swarm of people, all rushing to get their work done.

“Some things never change,” he said, short on breath, “always keen to do some work or another.”

“It’s called a work ethic, Neil.”

“Sounds rough, I’d much rather keep my head down and live comfortably.”

As they reached the elevator at the end of the hall, Derrek looked at him slyly, pushed the call button, then said, “And that's why I’m your boss now.”

Jenkins chuckled, “If that's all it takes, maybe I’ll be your boss before it’s all over.”

“Stranger things have happened,” Derrek said as the door opened. The men boarded, and he pressed the button for the top floor, “How’s the family? Did Shannon’s recital go well?”

“Honestly,” Jenkins said with a grimace, “I don’t know why I pay for her lessons, she still plays the oboe like it’s some kind of baritone snake. I’m proud as hell that she got up and performed, but still.”

“I’m sure she’ll get better with time,” Derrek said with a smile as the elevator stopped, “This is me, why don’t you go do some work?”

A smile crawled across Jenkins’ face, “Reckon I’ll take it easy, don’t want to dethrone you anytime soon!” And burst into laughter. Derrek smiled and let himself share in a chuckle.

“It’s good to see you, Neil,” he said as he extended his hand.

After catching his breath from all the laughter, Jenkins straightened himself and grabbed Derrek’s hand.

“It was good seeing you too, young buck. Swing by your old stomping grounds sometime, I’d love to see Hanes’ face when he sees you.”

“I just might.”

The men let go, and Derrek left the elevator, making his way to his office.

The waiting area outside his office was empty for once, save for Janice, his secretary, who was packing her desk up for the night. She perked up when she heard Derrek walk toward her.

“Your six o’clock is waiting for you, Mr. Snowe.”

“Thank you, Janice,” Derrek said without breaking his stride, “Don’t forget to clock out before you leave, payroll had a hell of a time when you stayed clocked in on your last vacation.”

Janice gave a short laugh, then went back to packing her purse, “Sure thing, have a good weekend!”

“You too,” he said, opening the huge door to his office, “see you Monday.”

As he entered the spacious room, well-lit from the setting sun, he closed the massive door behind him, the loud click as it latched comforting as always. He stood, facing the door for a brief moment, running a hand across it, admiring the woodwork that had once been Shale’s childhood home.

“Gotta admire good craftsmanship,” came a cheery voice from behind him. He turned to see a familiar face, draped in the same red coat he always wore, sitting in Derrek's chair, with his feet on his desk and a glass filled to the brim with what looked to be from the bottle of whiskey he was saving for a special occasion.

“Discord,” Derrek said it with a smile, “get the fuck out of my chair.”

“Fine,” Discord sprung up, sauntered around the desk, and slumped down into one of the chairs opposite, “can't be the boss without a big chair all to yourself, right?”

“But of course,” said Derrek as he took his chair, “What's the point of being in charge if you don't get the best seat in the house?”

“Sure can’t beat that view.”

Derrek swiveled his chair around and looked at the city below, the sun hanging low in the sky as the day was coming to a close. The hustle and bustle never seemed to let up, never seemed to slow, a sentiment that had always resonated with him.

“No, no you can’t,” Derrek turned back around, “Would you be so kind as to fill me in on some of the details of what you have planned? There’s only so much I can make of, ‘I wanna introduce you to some friends.’”

Discord smirked, “Honestly, that was kinda the point. You would’ve had some major doubts if I said we were gonna meet some Warrior Spirits.”

Derrek blinked, then stared at Discord in silence for several seconds.

“Warrior Spirits.”

“Yep.”

“Like you.”

“Uh-huh.”

“With the instinct to, as you put it, ‘murder the shit’ out of me on sight.”

“Those are the ones.”

Derrek leaned forward over his desk, rubbing his temples as Discord threw back the entire glass in one gulp.

“I have a lot riding on me now, Discord,” he said, looking the red-draped man in the eye, “if you’re going to lead me to my death from now on, I need a heads up.”

Discord let out a groan and flamboyantly rolled his eyes, “Fine, whatever you say,” then, out the side of his mouth, muttered, “Killjoy.”

“Call me a killjoy all you want, but I need some real information.”

Another groan and an even more exaggerated eye roll later, he set down his glass and met Derrek’s eye.

“They’re three of the people I trust the most, and they largely trust me. If I ask them to come unarmed, which I did, it’s safe to assume they’ll do so.”

“Are you just incapable of giving a straightforward answer?”

A smile crept Its way across Discord’s face, “I think you’ve known me long enough to know the answer to that one.”

“When I asked for info,” Derrek said as his brow furrowed, “I meant something along the lines of their names, their stations, anything that might actually be useful.”

“Come now,” Discord said, producing a flask from his coat, “you know how I feel about spoilers.”

“And you know how I feel about my continued existence.”

“Oh come on, I’ll be there, you’ll be fine.”

“Forgive me if that doesn’t inspire confidence.”

“Apology accepted.”

It was now Derrek's turn to groan as he closed his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose.

“Where are we meeting them?” He asked after a brief moment.

Discord’s smile grew a hair wider, “Some run-down bar an old buddy of mine used to own. Nice place, all things considered.”

Derrek sighed and opened his eyes, “We may as well get going, then,” he said as he retrieved his pistol, Lilith, from a desk drawer.

“Leave her.”

“What?”

“I asked them to come unarmed, so you should too.”

“And what if they don’t?”

“Then you’ll have the moral high ground.”

“What about you? Your coat is full of guns, are you leaving that behind?”

“Come on, I make the rules, I don’t follow them.”

“Have I ever told you you’re an asshole?”

“Once, back at that cave.”

Derrek remembered waking up in the depths of that cave, blindly stumbling around in the darkness, being chased by that ‘cave monster,’ as Discord called it. He looked down at the small, circular scar in the meat of his hand and shivered.

“Fine,” he said, putting the pistol back in its place and locking the drawer, “But if they kill me, I’m going to haunt you.”

“That's the spirit!” Discord took a long swallow from his flash, tucking it back into his coat before he sprung up from the chair, “Let’s go, the bikes are idling out front.”

“Can’t we just take my car?”

They stared at each other for several seconds before they both broke out into laughter, and made their way to the elevator.

Wherever Derrek and Discord rode, they raced, and this was no exception.

Rush hour traffic was winding down, but the roads were still relatively packed, just enough to make keeping up interesting. The road stretched before Derrek as he sped past the buildings that lined the streets like trees, the only constant image being the red motorcycle just ahead of him, the same color as its riders’ flowing coat.

In his helmet, he heard a split second of static followed by, “Breaker breaker, this is Red Ranger two-two calling for Ghost Rider. Ghost Rider, do you copy? Over.”

“Ghost Rider? That's the best you could come up with?”

His helmet was silent for several seconds. He let out a sigh, then begrudgingly added, “Over.”

Immediately, Discord replied, “Worry about it later, we’ve got company. Over.”

Derrek caught a blue flash in the corner of his eye and looked in one of his mirrors. Behind him were two police cars, sirens blaring and lights flashing bright in the low evening light.

“What do we do?” He asked, squeezing the throttle tighter, “Over.”

“They’re just beat cops, they won’t chase us if they can’t justify it.”

“You didn’t say over.”

He saw Discord, no more than twenty feet ahead, turn his head and smile at him, “Neither did you.”

“What, it doesn’t count when you end your sentence with ‘over?’”

Discord laughed and looked back to the road, “Nope. Try to keep up.”

“What are you-”

Before he could finish his question, the black and red motorcycle ahead of him sped up and took a sharp turn. He only had a split second to do the same, leaning so far he could feel the asphalt scrape against the side of his leg. He righted himself just in time to see the police cars rush past in his mirror, their brakes squealing. He followed Discord through several more turns, narrowly dodging traffic, getting a better feel with every bend.

When the pace finally slowed and Discord stopped making turns, Derrek realized where they were. Some time in the last few turns, they had wound up in Pigeon Park. The further they went, the fewer working streetlights he saw; after a few minutes they were relying on their headlights alone, reflecting back at him from the broken windows of run-down buildings

“Do you make it out this way often?” Discord asked over the radio.

“I used to, but it's been a while.”

“Have you been since the pigeons came to roost?”

“No, it was still Brooklyn then.”

“You ever heard why they did it?”

“Would you stop beating around the bush and tell me how you caused it?”

Discord turned to face him, a look of injured innocence on his face which quickly faded into a smirk, “Alright, you got me. An old druid buddy of mine had to go into hiding a few years back. I set him up in a Null Dome on one of these abandoned buildings, plenty of wards to stay out of people's attention. Has a fondness for doves. I swear, all he does is bake bread and grow pot.”

“Do you ever have any downtime? Where you don't do anything at all?”

“I-,” he was suddenly silent. For several seconds all Derrek could hear was the roar of his engine. He was about to ask if he was still there when Discord spoke up again.

“I haven't done nothing in years. I've been too busy doing everything.”

There was something about his voice, something missing. His words were flat, emotionless, as though it was some grim realization. Their ride was silent for several more seconds until Derrek spoke up.

“Take a day off then.”

Discord straightened slightly, easing off his throttle until he and Derrek were side by side.

“A day off from what? Pissing off governments and doing favors for gods? Or vice-versa?” he laughed, “I barely have any ‘on’ days, I don't need a day off. Oh hey, we’re here.”

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They turned into the parking lot of a small, unassuming building. If it weren't for the neon sign in the window reading, ‘The Drunken Bastard,’ he would've written it off as abandoned. They parked their bikes and disembarked.

“Nice place,” Derrek said as he removed his helmet and tossed it to Discord, which he promptly tucked into his coat.

“It's got character, that's what counts.”

Derrek nodded and followed Discord through the door, a small bell ringing above their heads. They went down a long hallway along the length of the building, which Derrek noted cut off almost all natural light. Discord turned the corner and disappeared from view. When Derrek followed suit, he was nowhere to be seen.

“Typical,” he thought as a handful of people looked at him.

There were four people at the bar, three patrons and a bartender. One of the patrons stood out from the rest, chiefly due to their size; even with their slouching posture under their gray hooded cloak, they were still a full head above everyone else. To the giants’ left was a man dressed in a heavily decorated police captains’ uniform, and to their right a man with a wide-brimmed stetson and a poncho, an empty holster at his hip. The bartender was the strangest of all, but only because it was clearly Discord wearing a fake mustache and a clip-on bowtie.

“Uh…” Derrek said as the group stared, “Hi.”

The cowboy grabbed the bottle in front of him by the neck and smashed it on the bar, turning it into a jagged weapon. He and the giant stood up, their stools squeaking on the tiled floor, and rushed at Derrek.

‘God damn it.’

The cowboy was on him first, waving the broken bottle wildly as Derrek narrowly avoided the barrage of attacks. He went for a big thrust, and Derrek dodged to the side, grabbing the man's wrist with one hand and the back of his neck with the other, stuck his leg out to trip him, and slammed the cowboy to the ground, flat on his face, his hat slowly coming to rest on his backside. The bottle was reduced to useless shards of glass in the struggle.

Derrek let go of the man just in time for the giant to be upon him, moving quickly and deliberately. Their cloak opened to reveal an extremely muscular man stripped to the waist, his dark skin crisscrossed with scars, reaching out toward him. Derrek ducked under the huge pair of arms and tried to get around the hulk of a man, but the giant caught him with the swat of one massive hand, knocking the wind from Derrek's lungs. He slid across the floor, upturning chairs and shattering a table to splinters as he came to a halt.

“Ouch,” Discord said to the officer as he refilled his drink, “that one had to hurt.”

“Think James will mind the furniture?”

“Probably. You good, Havok?”

Derrek let out a groan in the affirmative as he lurched to his feet. He stretched his neck then rubbed his sore ribs. The cowboy was back up as well, securing his hat atop his head as he fell in line with the giant, who was brooding under his plain gray cloak.

Derrek took a fighting stance, “Round two?”

Once again, the cowboy rushed him while his cohort stayed behind, going for a tackle. Derrek waited until he was close, then dropped to a crouch, wrapped his arms around the man and threw him clean over his shoulder, using his momentum to fling him across the room. He crashed into a table, and Derrek focused back on the giant.

For all his size, the man moved like lightning: Derrek hadn't even heard his approach, but there he was, looming over him, less than a foot between them. He only just managed to duck as the giant swung, missing his head by a hair's breadth. Before he could throw another punch, Derrek swung his leg into the back of the man's massive knee, bringing him down to a kneel, giving him the chance he needed.

He slammed his fist into the side of the man's cloaked head, and it was like punching a brick wall. The giant hardly seemed to even feel it and managed to get his hand around Derrek's throat, lifting him in the air as he rose back to his feet. A memory of being forced into the same position by Bernmore flashed in Derrek's mind, and his body acted on it's own. He swung his body and wrapped his limbs around the man's arm, pushing inward on his elbow with his legs while prying his fingers away enough to keep breathing. With a sickening sound, the man's arm bent backward at the elbow, and Derrek was free once again.

He fell flat on his back, but sprung to his feet, still ready to fight. He could hear the cowboy behind him getting up, but his groans of pain were a good sign he wouldn’t make too much more trouble. The giant barely looked bothered by his injury, despite the unnatural angle of his right arm, but Derrek knew the tables had been turned in his favor.

“What the hell is this?”

All five men turned to a doorway at the end of the bar, where a stout, balding man holding a case of liquor stood.

“Sorry, Jimbo,” Discord said, wiggling his fake mustache, “the fellas had to get that out of their systems. Fellas, you square?”

“I’m good,” the cowboy wheezed out as he limped to the bar.

The giant grunted, then grabbed the wrist of his injured arm, and pulled it straight with a cacophony of pops and cracks, much louder than when it was bent. He made not a sound throughout the process, and flexed the fingers on his now uninjured arm, as good as new. Without another word, he went back to his stool and slowly sat down, the metal creaking under his weight.

“Pull up a seat, Havok,” Discord said as he hopped over the bar and landed in the stool next to the officer, his mustache and bowtie nowhere to be seen. Reluctantly, Derrek took the seat to Discord’s left.

“I put up with a lot of your shit,” the man said as he went around the bar and set down the liquor, “but wrecking my furniture? I can't abide by that.”

“Yeah yeah,” Discord reached into his coat and produced a roll of twenty dollar bills, which he tossed to the man, “you say that every time like I'm not your best customer.”

The man grumbled under his breath, but pocketed the cash, went to the tap and started pouring two beers.

“This is Jimbo’s place,” Discord said to Derrek, “kept trading hands, but he’s held onto it for, how long now, Jimbo?”

“First off,” Jimbo said as he placed a beer in front of both men, “it's James, and close to seventeen years now.”

“Seventeen years!” Discord tossed his beer back like a shot, then slammed the glass on the bar upside-down, “Hell of a long time to do a thing if you ask me.”

The officer, who had just finished what looked to be a glass of tomato juice, spoke up, “Not everyone has your endless drive, Discord. Some of us have lives we've settled into.”

“Where are my manners?” Discord jumped up and extended his arm to the three patrons before him. “Introductions are in order!” He gestured to the cowboy. “Here we have the fastest gun in the west, none other than the avenging angel of Tombstone, Jericho Wilcox!”

Jericho glared up at him from under his hat with piercing green eyes, then looked over to Derrek, “Howdy. Sorry about trying to stab you and all.”

“It's fine,” Derrek said, “Sorry about throwing you into a table and all.”

“Seems we’re square, then.” Jericho looked back ahead and sipped his beer.

“Next up,” Discord resumed, gesturing to the giant, “The terror of the transgressors, the straightest edge of all, Justice mononym.”

Justice, as expected, did not speak, but grunted a greeting and took a sip from his ice water. Derrek responded in kind with a nod.

“And finally,” Discord continued, pointing his arm to the policeman, “We have-”

“I’ll introduce myself,” the man firmly said, “thank you.”

Discord put his hands up and stepped aside smiling, “Aye aye, captain.”

The man cleared his throat. “Hello. I'm captain Harvey Sizlack of the forty-sixth precinct. I've been with the NYPD for some twenty years after transferring from Chicago, following an incident stemming from my initial meeting with Discord. A sentiment I'm sure you can appreciate.”

Discord seemed like he was about to protest, but instead nodded agreement.

“It's a pleasure to meet you, captain. I appreciate you not attacking me.”

Captain Sizlack chuckled. “Self-control is essential in my line of work.”

“See?” Discord said, elbowing Derrek in his bruised ribs, “They're not so bad. They barely even tried to kill you.”

“I'm just glad everyone came unarmed like you said,” Derrek said, waving to the ravaged dining room, “This could have gone horribly wrong.”

“Eh,” Jericho said, looking up from under his hat, “Discord would’ve stepped in if we had you in a tight spot anyhow.”

“It's not him I was worried about,” Discord said, now back behind the bar. James glared at him, but sighed and went back to stocking. “Now that we're all introduced, it's time we get down to business.” He reached under the bar, produced a large cardboard box, and placed it on the bar with a loud thump. “Networking.”

Derrek blinked. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me, we've got to get you introduced to all the big players. You're a new face in a weight class that's had almost zero wiggle room in over a thousand years. Not to mention they’ve explicitly been trying to avoid the whole Devourer situation until now.”

“And why wouldn’t avoiding them in kind be better?”

“You avoid them, nothing is gained. You meet them, worst case scenario you’ve got a shiny new nemesis. There’s no downside!”

Discord held his hands outward like a magician who just pulled off a difficult trick, a wide grin on his face. Captain Sizlack cleared his throat and then spoke, Discord still maintaining his pose.

“What he’s trying to say is you will need allies. It’s best to act swiftly and establish yourself as friendly before anyone decides you’re an enemy. And if one decides you’re an enemy, you’ll need more people at your back. Your actions in Germany did not go unnoticed.”

Derrek choked on his beer. “What? How would anyone know I was involved?”

“Oh come on,” Jericho said, “Bernmore storms the Schadenfreude and, according to eyewitnesses, gets killed by a ‘Hauch Von Tod’ the day before an up-and-coming white-haired twenty-something takes over a massive corporation? Even I made the connection, and I don’t use the internet.”

Derrek silently looked straight ahead and took a long, silent sip from his beer.

“Don't worry,” Discord said, still holding his pose, “it'll work for you more than against you. Not much gods like more than a grand debut. Well, maybe a good flood, but we’d need a bit more time for that.”

Time? Derrek thought, looking up from his beer.

“You’ve already got a schedule, don’t you?”

Discord smiled even wider and raised his arms in a touchdown gesture. “Sharp as ever! Glad that desk hasn’t dulled your senses!”

Derrek sighed. “Let me guess: we’re going to hop around the world, making the rounds and stating my case for all the ‘big players’ you keep alluding to?”

“I like where your head's at, but there’s no need for something so labor-intensive.”

Discord opened the box before him with a burst of confetti, revealing it to be filled to the brim with papers, folders, packets, and notebooks. In one fluid movement, he flipped the box over, slamming it upside-down on the bar, then slowly removed the box, leaving the stack of paper and paper products neatly stacked up, specked with the multicolored confetti. He placed his hand atop the stack, then slid them out like a dealer at a casino.

“We could spend upwards of two months straight meeting everyone individually. Even if we met each pantheon all together, there are still too many outliers to get it done in a timely fashion, and it would just tear me up inside if I inconvenienced your work life.”

Discord picked a thick packet from the middle of the flushed-out stack and handed it to Derrek. He found it to be a long, comprehensive list of names in no order he could discern. He read a few at random.

“Hestia, Kvasir, Seth-”

“The H is silent on that last one.” Discord interrupted.

He kept reading silently. Odin, Hera, Masamune, Zeus, Jupiter, and dozens of others just on the first page. He looked up at Discord.

“What is this?”

Discord’s grin grew a touch wider. “It’s a guest list.”

“To what? Godcon 2036?”

It wasn’t quite a laugh, but Derrek could have sworn he heard a quick exhale from under Justice’s hood.

“Close,” Discord said as he screwed the top off a cheap bottle of tequila and stuck a long swirly straw inside. He took a long sip, the $15 a bottle booze flowing in loops, then continued. “That’s the guestlist for the biggest trans-pantheon party in two millennia. Barring Y2K, of course.”

“What happened on Y2K?” Jericho asked before Derrek could.

“What didn't happen on Y2K?” Discord replied, his bottle now half-empty.

“A party?” Derrek asked, “It would be a good way to cast a wide net, but how do we get invitations?”

“Invitations!” Discord said with a bark of laughter, elbowing at Captain Sizlack’s arm, sloshing his second cup of tomato juice, “Invitations, this guy says!” He erupted into peels of laughter and dropped his bottle. It bounced on the padded floor behind the bar, but he didn’t seem to even notice, though James did give him a dirty look. All at once, the laughter stopped, and with a straight face, Discord resumed, “We won’t be needing invitations.”

Derrek closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “I take it you’re throwing it?”

“Close.”

All was silent for a moment, until Derrek finally asked, “I’m throwing it, then?”

Derrek’s eyes shot open as Discord shot a plastic confetti cannon into his face, throwing him completely off balance. He waved his arms wildly in the air, trying to regain his stability, but he and the stool came crashing down onto the worn hardwood floor. He winced from the pain, and when he opened his eyes, he saw none other than Discord looking down at him, a party horn hanging out of his mouth which extended with a sound that resonated in his ringing ears.

“You see?” Discord asked as Derrek dragged himself to his feet and righted his stool, “I’m not that hard to talk to if you just ask the right questions.”

Derrek slumped into his seat and groaned. “There's no way out of this, is there?”

“Completely non-optional,” said Captain Sizlack, “Invitations have already been sent off. We've even received two-thirds of the RSVPs.”

Derrek pinched the bridge of his nose. “Why is it that I'm the last one to know about the party I'm throwing?”

“‘Cause you work best under pressure,” Discord said, once again behind the bar. He picked a folded-up square from the spread stack of papers and brushed the rest aside. He unfolded the paper several times, revealing it to be a set of blueprints for the first floor of a very large house. Something about the prints looked familiar to Derrek.

“Here we’ll put the chocolate fountain and champagne tower,” he said, pointing to the foyer, “There’ll be a massive layout of shrimp and cocktail weenies here, gods love their shrimp,” pointing at a large living room, “live music here,” pointing at the backyard where a large rectangle was drawn in orange crayon, “ we’ll put speakers inside so everyone can enjoy. Smooth jazz ‘til midnight, to be promptly replaced with a Nordic heavy metal/hip hop fusion until everyone dips out.” He pointed to what looked like a bathroom the size of a large garage, “And here we’ll-”

Derrek put up his hand, cutting Discord off. “This is all well and good, you've put a lot of thought into this, but what about the human factor? I've got a business to run, and unless Hermes is a corporate titan of medical technology, we're going to need more influential guests. That is to say, in the human sense.”

Discord arched an eyebrow then turned to Captain Sizlack, “Sizzle, you mind taking this one?”

The Captain nodded. “In addition to the slew of assorted supernatural entities, the invitation list includes every person with influence comparable to your own in New York. The police commissioner, Mayor Graham, and several prominent mid-level politicians have already sent their RSVPs. We've also invited every CEO, CFO, COO, and CMO of every major New York-based corporation, the entire UN council, and the top twenty broadway stars. For good measure.”

Derrek was silent for a moment, processing the information. “That's very… comprehensive. Are you sure there won't be any clashing of ideals? I’d rather not have whatever venue you had in mind burn in holy fire.”

“Wrong kind of god,” Discord said, sipping from another bottle of tequila, “most of them can't smite anything bigger than a goat nowadays, entropy and whatnot. They’ll blend in perfectly with these business buzzkills, holier-than-thou is second nature for this crowd. Just make sure you don't mix up Zeus and Jupiter, they get super testy about it.”

“Wait,” Derrek said, “Zeus and Jupiter? Weren't the Roman gods essentially copied from the Greeks after they were conquered?”

“God power is based heavily on worship, and when the Romans started worshiping the same set of gods all with different names there was some super wackadoo interference. There was a major split, dividing Greeks into the Romans and the Greeks, leaving the Greeks in relative obscurity while the Romans flourished. Then the Romans got their asses handed to them, the middle ages started, everyone diverted their worship to other deities, and now both pantheons keep mostly to themselves. Now quit setting me up for world-building, we've got work to do.”

“Do we?” Derrek said, gesturing to the papers and blueprints, “What is there left to do?”

Discord stared at him for several seconds, a blank expression on his face. “There’s the venue, for one.”

Derrek blinked. “Venue? You just went on a tirade about the floor plan. With blueprints.”

“Well yeah,” Discord said, tapping the prints before him, “this is where we wanna throw it, but I’m not exactly the decider on this one.”

“Excuse me?”

“You’re excused.”

Derrek was getting annoyed. He took a deep breath and tried to form the right question.

“What do we have to do to secure the venue?”

“All you have to do is ask.”

Derrek's gaze shot to the entrance, or rather, the end of the entrance hallway. There stood an older man, grey hair well-kempt, dressed in a blue three-piece suit. Derrek recognized him immediately, and a lightbulb went off in his head. He looked to the blueprints with a fresh perspective, then back to the man.

“Will,” he said to his adoptive father, “can I throw a party at your house?”

William Shale, CEO turned presidential candidate, smiled and said, “I’ve been waiting for you to ask me that since you were fourteen. Of course you can.”

Discord clapped his hand together with the sound of booming thunder. “Finally! I’ve had the construction crew on hold since Tuesday. Do you have any idea how much it costs to build a stage rated for fifty tons? ‘Cause it’s a lot more than you think.”

“I did offer to cover the expenses,” Shale said as he took the seat next to Derrek Discord had left vacant.

“Chump change,” Discord said, dismissing Shale with a wave of his hand, “A gold idol, a couple of semi-disarmed warheads, and a Rueben with extra kraut. Cash is king, but a good trade always works.” He swiveled his head to James. “You gonna serve him or what?”

James narrowed his eyes at Discord, then begrudgingly looked over to Shale, putting on a smile. “What can I get you, sir?”

“Just a glass of water, thank you.” A request James promptly fulfilled. Shale took a sip and glanced over at Derrek, a certain glint in his eye. A look Derrek had seen many times before whenever he claimed victory over a challenge.

“This was your idea, wasn’t it?”

Shale smiled. “Only the party as a whole, the guest list and actual planning was all Discord. It seemed pertinent to keep my distance from such a thing.”

“Because of your campaign.”

Shale waved his hand. “Campaign feels like such a serious term, makes me feel like some kind of general. I prefer something more down to earth, effort maybe.”

Derrek raised an eyebrow. “‘Presidential effort’ doesn’t have the same ring to it. Speaking of which, should you really be alone around these parts? Your detractors aren’t the only ones who want you out of the race.”

Shale nodded toward the entrance, “My bodyguard is out front taking his smoke break. Part of his contract.”

“Bodyguard?” Derrek asked, confused. “Just the one?”

Shale’s smile widened as a distant bell faintly chimed. “The only one I need.”

He, along with everyone else in the bar, looked to the entrance, listening to the heavy, slightly uneven footsteps heading toward them. When they finally reached the room proper, an imposing figure faced the crowd, his beard bushy and his head bald.

“Hey Derrek,” said Major Jeffrey Reynolds, “how’s it hanging?”

Derrek shot up from his seat and crossed the room to him, hand raised for a handshake which turned into a manly embrace.

“Jeffrey,” He said once they released, “it’s been too long.”

“Only been three months,” Jeffrey said with a crooked smile.

“Feels like a decade. How’ve you been?”

“Pretty good, went and saw Stonehenge.” The men went back to the bar, Jeffrey taking the chair to Derrek's other side.

“Stonehenge?” Discord said, popping up from under the bar. Derrek wasn’t sure what he was doing down there, but based on the look in James’ eye, it couldn’t have been good. “I built that, y’know.”

“Good to see you too, red.”

“Hey!” Discord said, standing straight up, pointing an accusing finger at Jeffrey, “Nicknames are my thing, Jeffy.”

The two stared each other down, the sheer testosterone palpable. A tense moment passed, and the two erupted into laughter, clasping hands and slapping backs across the bar.

“You and I need to spar one day, I’d love to kick your ass.” Discord said as he reached into his coat. He produced a bottle of Brewski brand beer, a fine layer of frost covering the green glass, and passed it to Jeffrey. “Jimbo won't stock it.”

“Because nobody drinks that piss!” James called from across the bar, met with hearty laughter by the men who filled the building.

Jeffrey lined the ridge of his bottle’s cap along the edge of the bar and slapped his hand down hard on the top. The cap flew into the air, and he caught it with one hand while, in one fluid motion, he started chugging his beer with the other. It was empty in seconds, and he slammed the bottle on the bar, gently placed the cap back on top, and gave it a firm slap, sealing the empty bottle.

He let out a bellowing belch and handed the bottle back to Discord. “Much obliged.”

“De nada, garoto barbudo.”

“Eh?”

Shale chimed in. “Portuguese.”

“Ah.”

Discord clapped his hands, commanding the group’s attention. “Alrighty. Time for phase two.” He reached over to the pile of documents and picked up a tightly bound stack of envelopes, which he set squarely in front of Derrek. “Invitations.”

Derrek looked down at the stack, then back up at Discord, a confused look plastered on his face. “Didn't we just go through a whole bit with the guest list? I thought invitations were already distributed.”

“Long-range invites, yeah, but it'd be better if those schlubs who work for you closer to home received them personally.” He gestured to Shale. “Billy knows what I'm talking about.”

Derrek looked to Shale, who looked up with a smile. “Barnes would hold a personal vendetta if anyone but you gave him the invite. More than he already does, of course.”

Derrek nodded. “His pride will be the death of me.” He didn't bother adding that, had Derrek not been promoted, Barnes most certainly would have. They both knew it. Shale nodded, and they both looked back to Discord after yet another of his booming claps.

“Enough work talk, save it for Monday. Now is a time for celebration! Reunions!” He gestured to Shale and Jeffrey, “New friendships!” to the trio of Warrior Spirits,  “Bar fights!” to the destroyed furniture.

Jeffrey looked at Derrek and mouthed, “Bar fights?” Derrek shook his head in a “what can you do?” gesture. Both men looked forward again and found a shot glass in front of each of them, both filled with a clear liquid. Derrek looked and saw the other men with identical glasses. Discord grabbed the one in front of him and raised it high. Everyone followed suit.

“Salud!” he called, and everyone called in kind and threw back their shots, save for Justice, whose glass never seemed to have been full. The clear liquor burned Derrek's throat, the taste of agave stinging his tongue. He slammed down his glass and found a neat wedge of lime next to where it landed. He looked around and saw the rest with slices of their own, biting down on their fractions of the citrus. Derrek did the same.