Prologue

One was there to witness, just as before when the last god had died.

Emerging discreetly from his screen of trash, he crept near to the cinders and cruor of fallen Akasha, draped over by a glaucous, low mephitis.

No member was left of her - of them - and her killer was without trace. Only Elesarp remained as his invidious companion; spavined and sere, incapable of tongue but the gutter and growl of slow cremation.

Strange, he thought, that the Godqueen's blood was so lustrous. Fulgent, as if still hot with the souls she had amassed.

He knelt, dabbed it on his fingertips, and tasted it to his lips.