Page 35 - SMITE Magazine Issue 33

FICTION

simply a mistake-- Often times when I wander Finally she managed to croak

about through the greek areas - much like my out; “Sobek. Sobek is dead.”

roman areas - many of the parallels cause--” There was a few seconds of silence

“What he means to say,” Cut in the blue man, before the blue skinned woman spoke.

whose braided hair swung after every step, “Is “No one dies there. Nearly impossible to,”

that a battle required a new weapon. Your soldiers Disdain and displeasure dripped from her voice in

seemed to fit such-- Though several of your deities droves. Her arms unfolded, upper arms stretching

came with it. Some on purpose,” There was a above her head while her lower arms plucked

glance given to the automaton, “Others not so up a trident and incense container. “Even with

much. We’re here to explain and offer a glimpse weapons that can destroy entire worlds, people

of what the battle is so that you all may better come back. There is no need to cradle her.”

understand what we did and why we did it.”

A deep hum left the beetle, who looked over

the group with subdued interest. “Thoth would

know much more than me,” His left forearm

tapped at his carapace, “I push the sun through

the sky. He keeps a book,” His forearm came

back to the sand, causing a small dust cloud to

rise from the impact, “Than I would know.”

He paused, compound eyes turning this way

and that over the group. “Neith,” Their turning

stopped as the tanned woman’s face was reflected a

hundred times over in his eyes. “You’ve been quiet-

Uncannily so.” The group - whirring man, blue man

and woman included - looked at the weaver. Her

shoulders drooping, her eyes downcast and puffy,

her hands rubbing endlessly against her shoulders.

The beetle stepped closer, sinking into

the sand until his stomach was half buried.

His head - the size of her own torso - leveled

with her own. “Did something happen?”

Neith’s eyes drifted to the beetle’s head. She

mumbled at first, incomprehensible noises of grief

and sadness, while her palms rubbed against her

shoulders. Bouts of silence filled the air between

her ramblings, which only stopped when the

beetle’s forearm raised and opened it’s claw, which

gently tapped the weavers head. Pat, pat, pat.

The Official SMITE Magazine Issue #33 The GameOn Magazine 35