The door slowly shut behind me, though neither he nor I had pushed it closed.

It shut with a clank, and locked, as I watched what appeared to be a frail man slowly walk over to the table he had recently conjured from thin air.

"Do you like alcohol? Or tea? Sweets maybe?" the man asked as he turned to smile at me. I blinked at him, and suddenly the table was full of food and drinks.

Damn. I hadn't even noticed him move his fingers or hand. Was a lack of facing these bastards causing me to become sloppy? Get it together Vim.

I didn't answer the god as he looked away from me and grabbed one of the large pitchers. It was made of metal and the bottom half of it looked wet and iced, as if it had just been sitting in a chest of cold ice. It likely had been.

He had a cup in his other hand, one I'd not seen him grab, and he went to pouring the contents of the pitcher into the cup. The dark swirl that poured from it was unmistakable. It was one of those hard liquors I had never been able to figure out how to replicate, even after all these years.

"I've not drank in hundreds of years. So forgive me if I become a tad sentimental," the man then said as he raised the cup to me, as if in toast.

I shifted as I then watched the old god take a drink. He drank slowly, as if to savior the drink, and then once he was done he released a great sigh of relief.

"Ah… I've always wondered why I didn't desire this stuff like I used to. Especially when it still tastes so good," he said with half closed eyes.

What the hell was going on…?

Was he trying to trap me? Play out some kind of scheme…?

Did it matter…?

I slowly stepped forward and glanced around. At the house around me. It really was small, though it was as flawlessly made as the outside of it. Not a piece of wood had a sliver out of place. The light fixtures were fashioned of gold and silver, and the lights dimly glowing were doing so with electricity not oil, gas or with wicks. I heard the soft hum of divine power in the air, but it wasn't so thick that it made me nauseous.

If there was some kind of trap lying here in wait, it wasn't a big one. Great power made my hair stand up on edge, yet I felt somewhat normal.

The fact the house actually looked somewhat lived in made me even more wary. Why was his bed only half made? And why were there dirty plates and cups on the kitchen countertop, near the sink?

Was someone else here? A god could just snap their fingers and handle such slovenly problems… unless he was like some of the others who enjoyed such things, making them feel more normal because of them.

It was obvious this place was made by a god, for a god, but those tiny little oddities made me hesitate. There was even a fireplace with a tiny fire within it. A fire of divine power, burning without any fuel.

After another once over of the small house, I found a soft smile upon his face.

"You haven't aged a day."

"I don't remember you," I stated.

The god's smile turned into a small frown as he nodded. "I know. We've never officially met. But I have seen you, or rather been showed you, by others. Your image, even a few of your fights with some of our less fortunate friends. I suppose by now that had been over a thousand years ago…" the god said as he blinked a few times in thought.

Right. I knew what he spoke of. Very well.

"It has likely been that long since I'd last seen one of you," I admitted to him. There was no point in lying, since he likely knew already.

"Of that I have no doubt. If any of us are left anymore, they're like me. They'll not show themselves to you ever again… until they're ready, at least," he said as he glanced down to his cup.

It was empty. He had not drank quickly, but had drank it all earlier.

Half expecting him to refill it with a snap of his fingers, I was a little surprised when he actually reached over and grabbed the pitcher again. "You honestly look the same as you did back then… which is rather surprising, because I don't think I do!" he said a little happily, as if it was funny to him.

My eyes narrowed at him as he filled up his cup. "I've never met one of you who looks so frail and old either," I said.

He laughed at me, and it sounded unnatural. It was a youthful laugh, unlike his appearance, but I could hear the strain in it. As if his body was hurting him, like an actual old person's body would. "Most undoubtedly!" he agreed as he gestured at me with the cup.

As he finished laughing, and went to shaking his head at me, I noted the way he breathed. It was… somehow strained.

Was he sick…?

Could a god get sick?

Impossible…

"Don't mind if I drink, do you?" the god then asked.

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I blinked and frowned at him. What? Hadn't he just asked me that?

"No…?" I answered him, since I hadn't earlier. Maybe he had simply wanted me to give him a genuine and vocal answer.

He smiled and nodded, raised his cup to me in cheers and then took his second drink.

Shifting a little, I noted the floorboards beneath me didn't even creak or strain even though I knew I wasn't being careful at all. If I had been in any other house, I would have just shattered half the floor.

What the hell was going on…?

I tried to collect myself as he finished his drink again… and, just like last time, he sighed loudly in relief as he finished. He stared down at his once again empty cup, and had a sudden look of sadness on his face. As if he wasn't someone capable of snapping his fingers and filling a whole ocean with the stuff he was drinking if he wanted to.

For a few moments there was silence, and then he looked back up at me and gestured at the table. "You sure you don't want anything to eat or drink, Vim? I can make you anything you want, you know? Anything you desire," he offered.

"I do not want anything."

"Hm… here I thought you'd have attacked me on sight. Maybe, although appearance wise the same, you are different? Older? Wiser?" he asked.

"I'm only stunned for a moment. It will pass."

He grinned at me. "Because you're not sure what to make of me. Right… well, before your clarity returns, let me say a few things if you'll allow it," he said as he nodded.

He coughed and put the cup down. He waved a hand above the table, and I clenched up.

Here it came!

Yet the next moment came and went without any pain or shock. Instead… all that had happened was the table had changed a little. What had been a square table was now a lower one. A circular one, and there were now chairs before it. Larger chairs with cushions, ones to be sat in for extended periods.

There was now also less stuff on the table. The pitchers and cups remained, but the food was gone.

"Please," the god invited me to sit with him as he himself took one of the chairs. He sat slowly, as if he really did have old and weathered bones… as if exhausted. When he sat down he even slightly slumped forward, as if his aching back was contorted with an old injury.

Had he been standing oddly before? I had not noticed. Maybe he had.

For a small moment I debated my next action.

Should I just attack him? I wasn't foolish enough to believe he was actually frail. Even if his body was, that didn't make him any less dangerous. He only needed to snap his fingers or wave a hand to hurt me. To destroy me, almost. One didn't need youth for that.

But…

Glancing at the chair as the god reached for the pitcher once more, I felt strangely apprehensive.

I've talked to gods, of course. Though never for long. Never for good reason.

But as far as I could remember… not a one had ever invited me to converse like this.

Not in this way.

Not since what happened, at least.

I gulped and stepped forward, and knew I was likely going to regret it… but I pulled back the remaining chair and sat in it anyway.

"My name is Carson. I was much younger when I first heard of you. Since then I, amongst others, have been on the run. Had been, I suppose. In hiding. From you, of course, as I'm sure you know," Carson said with a small grin as he filled up his cup for a third time.

"Okay…" I whispered, unsure of what else to say to that.

"Not too long ago I noticed I had started… aging. And forgive me, Vim, because I don't remember when I first noticed, but my mind has too," Carson said with a point to his head.

"Impossible," I said flatly.

"Ah, so I had thought too. Regretfully I think it's actually been happening for a long time. I remember having suspicions a long time ago. Maybe even before I separated from all the rest. But it was only recently that I had begun to accept it, to admit it. Odds are I've known for a long time… and well…" Carson went quiet as he leaned forward, resting his arms on the table. He held his cup with both hands and slightly shrugged, as if trying to tell me it was what it was.

For a long moment we sat there in silence, as I stared at a god claiming to be dying of old age.

If this was his attempt at tricking me, or getting me to show mercy, he was probably one of the stupidest gods I'd ever met. And that was saying something, since I had met a few who were no wiser than a rock.

Yet…

There was something in the way he was staring at his cup. Something in his eyes… and…

About to say something, to ask a question, I was cut short as Carson gulped and lifted his full cup. "Would you like a glass, Vim?" he offered again.

I didn't allow even an eye to twitch as I turned him down. "No thank you."

He frowned, but nodded. "Don't mind if I do, do you? I gave it up all those years ago, since I no longer felt the need… but I soon expect to pass and I would really like one last glass before I do, if it's all right," he said as he lifted his glass, as if to ask for permission. Not in cheers.

"Go ahead," I said softly.

Carson gave me a gentle smile as he nodded, and then closed his eyes as to enjoy his third drink.

The god drank slower this time compared to the first two, and did so in several small gulps. He let out a small sigh of relief once he was finished, and he winced a little as he nodded. "Strange, Vim," he then said.

"What is…?" I asked. You were, obviously, but I wasn't going to say it aloud. I was afraid to, almost.

"I remember my first drink. It had burnt my throat. I had thought it would have burned going down like that time, since it's been so long since I'd had a drink. I wonder why it hadn't? Maybe it's the quality…?" he asked.

By my parents he wasn't faking it at all, was he?

Stunned in silence, I watched as the god frowned at his now empty cup. He looked coherent, but it was very obvious now.

He didn't remember taking those earlier drinks. At all.

Unless he was faking it. But why? For what reason?

Was it an old injury…? Maybe some kind of power gone wrong? A few of the gods I had hunted back in the day had hurt themselves, or their fellows, on accident. Collateral damage from their strange and powerful abilities. But what could have caused this? Was something stuck in his brain or something?

Carson lowered his cup and glanced at the pitcher. I half expected him to ask, once again, if I'd like a drink with him… so before he did, I cleared my throat and shifted in my chair.

"What is it you want, Carson?" I asked carefully. Almost gently, in fact.

The god before me tilted his head and frowned at me. "Hm…? Didn't I tell you already?" he asked.

"No, not yet," I said softly. He was genuinely surprised. He really thought he had already.

Carson smiled. A sad one. One that somehow matched his, supposed, broken mind.

"I want to die, Vim. I'm hoping you'll help me do so."

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