Iricah knew she would have just a fraction of a second. What she called a “tick” of the clock that her father had once hung in her family’s work room. The place where she had begun to learn of the world. The place, where a lifetime ago, she had learned about the Dread Isles.
“Father,” she had asked. “What lives there?”
“We don’t rightly know, Iricah. Nor does anyone in Celn Lands. They are a new land. Newly discovered.”
“I want to go there someday!”
“Of course, Iricah. Of course, my darling.”
The voice of the goddess brought her back to her senses. It was more than a voice. Each word felt like a command, as if each utterance held power over her. Iricah, who stood at the mercy of a being incapable of mercy, used the only split second she could have ever hoped for, and threw the bag aside.
It’s contents, which consisted of Thrak, Zy’an and Frank, spilled out and grew until they were of normal shape and size. Wrath pointed a finger at the bag, and a sizzling beam of energy zigzagged through the air, obliterating it!
“Hey! Nobody screws with my handbags!” Iricah shouted. The goddess, who was over 50 feet tall, swiveled her head around to glare at her.
“I am going to feed on your flesh, mortal fool. I am going to rend your bones while you beg me for mercy. I am going to feed off of your pain!”
“Ok, that sounds a bit terrible, Wrath,” yelled Frank. “Woo hoo! Over here! Yeah, I think you may wish to consider a few other virtues you know. I mean, has anyone ever told you, that you have a sweet disposition?”