Feud

It was late at night when Angelo flipped his book open to the two hundred and seventy third page, which contained the instructions for constructing a summoning catalyst for one the five gods. A simple procedure, one which would only call upon the god for a short period, but if he could obtain some kind of answers to his questions, he would be ecstatic. There were many things that he had begun to learn in his readings - things that he did not understand, that contradicted everything he had ever known and learned throughout his life. As he read the deeper scriptures, reserved for the higher positions within the church so that they might be able to lead the masses, he only seemed to become more lost.

Three candles he set out before him, the first lit just as the match was, the second as the match was halfway burnt, and the third only moments before it burnt his fingers. A surprisingly delicate procedure, and one which he had had to practice a great number of times, as clearly evidenced by the burn marks on the fingers of both hands. They had been painful - especially when he had to hide them and read the pages during services the next days - but he could now reliably light his candles. From there, he cast a mixture of herbs amongst the candles, watching them spark and burst into flames in the air before their ashes fell to the ground. And all the while, under his breath he muttered a prayer to the gods, asking for their help and guidance.

There were dark clouds in the sky overhead, and as Angelo prayed, those clouds began to swirl and build together, circling a point just over the spot where he stood. The gentle smoke from his candles and herbs rose into the sky to meet them, and though he could not see it, when the smoke touched the center of the swirling clouds, a single lightning bolt broke free and struck the ground just before Angelo's feet. The abruptness of it, the sound, and the heat, sent Angelo staggering back, falling to the floor.

And in front of him stood a man, his body built as though carved from stone, dressed not in clothes but covered in dark blue tattoos with sharp edges, as though threatening to leap off of him and strike down those who opposed him. The god looked down at Angelo, a calm smirk on his face, as though he had come prepared to deal with the man who had summoned him.

"Oh, God on highest," Angelo proclaimed, scrambling to his knees and bowing deeply, "one of the Five on high, please, grant your wisdom upon this small and confused man."

Angelo felt a hand on his back. He expected it to be warm, perhaps even soothing, but it was as cold as ice. "Well," the god spoke, his voice laced in poison, "there's your problem. There aren't five gods. There are six. And you chose poorly."