Lleyol Thrice-Damned just can’t seem to get the Chaos Gods on his cell lately. “Message 503,” chirps his handset. “Σκατά συνοψίζεται στις αÏτηÏίες σας!” Lleyol slaps it closed and stomps the gas in frustration, but his ’89 Nova accelerates only by a whimper. Car issues really are the worst of the Three Damnings.
Koprakan’s waiting in the alley. “Well?”
“I told you I wouldn’t get ahold of them,” says Lleyol. “Try again on the Unsolstice.”
“I need that clean urine today! Damn you four times!”
Lleyol consumes Koprakan’s soul with his accurséd blade, naturally, but his heart’s not in it.