Krysaos steadied his breathing... his gaze locked with the god he had sworn to kill.
They circled each other on the deck of the Sugar-Titted Siren.
Round and round they went-- watching... waiting.
The grizzled bastard's eyes... they were serious.
It was a little disappointing.
Krysaos was hoping he'd be underestimated.
He rotated his wrist, taking a small bit of comfort from the weight of his trusty rapier.
There was a lot... going on in his body.
He had a f*ckload of mana and, through the delivery system that was the Heart of the Ocean, enough postage to mail it straight up the sea god's arse.
A regular human can't kill a god-- that much was obvious. So he borrowed some power from something neither human or... regular.
Krysaos had... *appropriated* it from the cultists' Divine Guardian.
