The mountain shook.

Zogrusz came awake, his awareness returning sluggishly. He lifted his head from the floor of the cavern and looked around blearily – he had no memory of falling asleep, just a rising exhaustion that had made it harder and harder to focus on his work. Yet now here he was . . . how much time had passed? And had he truly felt the shiver of stone beneath him, or had that only been in his dreams? Surely if there had been an earthquake –

Another trembling, and in the distance he heard the grinding and clattering of rocks as they shifted. Zogrusz climbed to his feet, glancing up at the ceiling in apprehension. Could he survive having a mountain fall on him? Maybe. He was in truth more concerned about the mosaic he had painstakingly arranged coming tumbling down. What he had created here was supposed to be immune to the ravages of time, but perhaps that had always been a foolish conceit.

He frowned, something occurring to him as it finally worked its way through his sleep-fogged mind. There had been something strange about that last vibration. Earthquakes welled up from deeper underground, but he could have sworn that this one had emanated from outside the mountain, and the faint sound of falling rocks had almost certainly come from the tunnel leading to the surface.

He had to go see what had happened.

Zogrusz hurried up the passage, staggering as the strongest tremor yet struck and dust sifted down from above. He could sense that he had again changed after waking, but at this moment he could not take the time to explore the new power coiling inside him. That would have to wait until after he understood what was going on.

If there was an after. A cold fear gripped Zogrusz as he imagined an enormous Eldritch Horror straddling his mountain, mouth-tendrils dangling from the clouds that wreathed its great head. His true form had grown ten times by the end of his second cycle as a Sower . . . how much larger would a fifth-cycle Reaper be? Large enough to stride these lands like a colossus and tread kingdoms beneath its clawed feet?

As he suspected, the elaborate entrance he had made at the cave mouth had collapsed, light trickling through the gaps between the tumbled blocks and bits of shattered masonry. He certainly could clear the way in his true form, but that would take some time, and Zogrusz desperately wanted to know what was happening outside. So instead, he donned his man-cloak and wriggled his way through the rubble.

Zogrusz emerged into the brightness of the day, expecting to see Ycthitlig the Crawling Dread’s shadow covering these lands, but there was nothing. He turned slowly, wondering what could have happened – the great statues of Eldritch Horrors had been pulverized into dust, the mighty pillars he had set beside the entrance knocked down like saplings in a storm. The rest of the mountain seemed intact, as if it had just been his hard work that had been the target of this destruction . . .

Zogrusz blinked in surprise. One of the pilgrims had ascended the mountain and was picking her way across the rocky slope. She was young, barely a woman, and the hood of her golden robes was thrown back to reveal a shock of bright red hair.

Oddly enough, she didn’t look pleased. She was scowling and her hands were bunched into fists as she stomped towards him.

“Excuse me,” Zogrusz said when she drew closer. “Did you see what happened –”

A blur of movement, and he was suddenly flying backwards, the breath driven from his chest. Zogrusz slammed with tremendous force into the side of the mountain, the rock crumpling beneath him. He lay there for a moment, dazed, then a hand closed around his ankle and he was dragged out of the crater he had just made.

“What –” he slurred, trying to focus on the girl who was hauling him across the stone.

“How dare you!” she cried, cutting him off, then spun around in a circle while still holding onto his leg. His fingers scrabbled helplessly as he was lifted from the slope, and when she released her grip he went spinning into the ruin of the collapsed entrance. Zogrusz bounced off a plinth where once a statue had stood, his head striking its edge hard enough that he knew his skull would have broken like an egg if he truly had been a man, and then he landed awkwardly in a heap amidst the devastation. He sprawled there, staring up at the lip of the cave mouth curving above him, unable to form a thought coherent enough to attempt to understand what was going on.

As he did this, a familiar face thrust itself into his field of vision, blocking his view of the cave’s ceiling.

“Rhas,” he croaked, wondering if the sharp little feline features staring down at him in what looked like mild disappointment was a hallucination produced by the tremendous blows his head had just sustained.

“Zog,” the moon-colored cat said. “You look terrible.”

I feel terrible he wanted to respond, but before he could do that, his leg was yanked hard again and he was thrown violently against the rock wall.

He considered shifting into his true form, but that would probably collapse the cave mouth and then even less of his work could be salvaged. Instead, he staggered to his feet, and drawing upon his power he crystallized the shadows to form a wall of gleaming blackness between himself and the rampaging girl.

Who was very clearly not just a girl.

“You think this will save you?” she scoffed, now reduced to a vague blur on the other side of the barrier. “From me?”

“Who are you?” Zogrusz yelled, momentarily distracted by the feeling of warmth running down his scalp. He reached up and then was shocked to see that his fingers were stained red. She had made him bleed!

“As if you don’t know!” the girl snarled, and then the wall started shuddering as she struck it again and again, cracks spidering across its surface like it was made of glass.

Zogrusz gaped, shocked at what he was seeing. “Are you . . . Ycthitlig?”

The battering ceased. “Yickthlig?” the girl said incredulously. “What in the hells is that? It sounds like a dog retching!”

Light erupted on the other side of the barrier, as if something had suddenly burst aflame. Then the hazy shape of the girl reared back, and Zogrusz frantically tried to reinforce his shadow-weaving for what he expected was coming.

It did not matter. A wave of force pummeled the wall as the girl lunged forward, and it was shattered into slivers of darkness. She stepped through these dissipating fragments, her long red hair writhing like it was alive and a sword of flame roiling in her hand.

Zog sighed in resignation, preparing to adopt his true form. Clearly, he was not winning this fight in his man-disguise.

The girl stalked forward brandishing her burning blade, but then halted abruptly as Rhas suddenly materialized in front of her.

“Out of the way, cat,” she snarled, glittering embers tracing the passage of her sword as she slashed the air.

Rhas watched these motes wink out of existence without any apparent concern. Then its tail flicked about in what Zogrusz interpreted as mild annoyance.

“Oh, calm down, Anecoya,” it said. “You’re embarrassing yourself.”

Anecoya?

“You’re that bird?” Zogrusz blurted.

“I am a goddess!” the girl fairly screeched.

“Right now a petulant goddess,” muttered the cat.

“He stole my people,” she said angrily, gesturing with her flaming sword at Zogrusz. “And he must be punished for such audacity!”

Anecoya attempted to move past Rhas, but paused when a threatening rumble emanated from the cat. “You always said I had to protect my flock!” she fairly whined, now addressing Rhas directly. “Well, how can I protect them if I allow them to be stolen by another shepherd! This is my world!” Anecoya stamped her feet, and Zogrusz felt the mountain tremble.

“Behave yourself!” Rhas spat. “So far, Zog has shown impressive restraint, but I have no doubt that he will fight if you continue this behavior. And what happens when beings such as yourselves brawl? Floods! Earthquakes! Cataclysms! No one can worship either of you if they are dead.” The moon-colored cat rose from its haunches and began pacing back and forth in front of the fuming goddess. “I thought I taught you better than this, Annie,” the cat muttered, its voice softening. Rhas sounded almost disappointed, Zogrusz thought.

Anecoya flushed at Rhas’s admonishment, but anger still blazed in her eyes. “Then what,” she said with cold sharpness, “am I supposed to do? Meekly relinquish the people I raised up from fledglings?”

Rhas twisted around to face Zogrusz, who had watched this exchange in mute astonishment. The cat looked tired, he thought, as if it was finding this situation absolutely exhausting.

“Do you have a more comfortable place for us to talk, Zog?”

For a moment the unexpected question made his mind go blank. Then he swallowed, running a hand through his bloody, dust-coated curls.

“Uh, yes. Yes I do.”