Knives to a Gunfight

We lift up the knife, the being before us aware of our actions. With a heavy sigh and faint smile, we thrust it forward, plunging through the god’s spine. Our hands pull the knife down his back, towards his tailbone. The being before us collapses, his head filled with ideas hits the ground with a thud.

The blood spreads in every direction, bubbling like a pot of water left on the stove. His breaths are quick, erratic. We position ourselves over his body, and lift the knife again. Again, with a smile, we plunge the knife deep into his heart. The god’s breathing slows to an eventual stop. The blood soon evaporates into the air.

His body never rots.

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