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The noises as Damian got off the bus were deafening. The silence was one of the rare thing he missed from his time being incorporeal. His ability to go anywhere he had an agent and interact with the world through them was another. The insanity, certainly not.

He watched as an otter argued with a driver, amused at their petty complaints. People were so small. If only they knew how much bigger the world was than what they thought.

He walked through them, pitying their lack of knowledge, but that would change. In time they would all know about the truth of the world. Damian wouldn't remain hidden, like He was. He would go forth and enjoy this world.

"Here," he said to a young woman carrying a child in her arms and trying to pull two suitcase along with her. "Let me help." He reached for the cases.

With a relieved sigh she let go of them. "Thank you. My husband was supposed to meet us, but he had an emergency at work, so now we have to take yet another bus."

Someone's scream came from behind. Damian looked over his shoulder.

"What do you think it's about?" She asked.

He shrugged. "Who knows? People get upset about the smallest things it seems. Maybe a suitcase has been lost." The screaming was climbing toward hysterics. He made out words: police, ambulance, body. "Or maybe something graver." He escorted her to the bus stop. "I hope you'll forgive me for not helping you further, but I do have business of my own to attend to."

She smiled tiredly. "You've been more than helpful. I hate saying that about people my age, but there's all selfish assholes thinking only about themselves never helping anyone. Your generation, they knew how to treat each other."

"We do indeed." Damian turned, wondering if she knew about the numerous wars his generation had started. The violence in most inner cities back in the twenties. If she read some history, she would realize there was no such thing as a 'good generation.' People were assholes, that was the common denominator.

Denver was dirtier than he remembered, he decided. The building he passed were boarded up, covered in graffiti. Of course he hadn't come as a tourist the previous times. His timetable hadn't allowed for it, still, he had a sense a layer of grime add accumulated.

"I do not like this," Sahataan said, appearing at his side. "There is nothing to be gained by seeing the enemy, certainly not by letting him know you are here."

Damian took the earbud out of a pocket and put it in, clipping the microphone to his collar. "He will find out I'm back no matter what I do, when he does he's going to be a pain in our asses. He was chosen for a reason."

"To destroy me," Sahataan seethed.

Doubtful, Damian thought behind the wall, if gods acted against each other the way Sahataan through this one did, violently, the world would be an unending war zone. They'd have to act through agents, the was Sahataan had to act through him, the way he'd had to act when he was incorporeal. At least Sahataan couldn't take forceful possession of him, he hoped.

"By approaching him first, I get to control his reactions. I get the frame the situation in a way he will believe, and that will get him to focus away from why I'm really here."

"He will dest--"

"Destroy me, I know. You said it before." He didn't bother masking his annoyance. Sahataan sometimes acted more like a child than a god. Damian wished there was an alternative to being his champion, his servant, because he could already tell it wasn't going to be a pleasant experience. When he was a god, he would be much more adult about it.

"You picked me because I'm better, didn't you? Because I did more than anyone that came before me. You either trust me to do this, or we might as well turn around and go hide and wait for the end to come for us."

"You should do well to remember your place, Champion, lest I decide to punish you again."

"In public? Sure, go ahead. I'm pretty certain that having me writhing on the ground screaming in pain will do wonders for me going unnoticed among them."

"And that body you left in that vehicle? How will that keep you unnoticed?"

"No one's going to link that to me. The guy wrote a suicide note on his phone, has antidepressant in his backpack and I left enough blood to pool on the floor it'll just look like he slit his wrist. Did you really think I'd spend almost a day and a half on one bus after another and not replenish my strength? If you'd left me whatever it was that let me drain him with a pick of my claws, it would have been neater."

"That power isn't for mortals to keep."

"I can see why," Damian said with a smile. "Still it would have made all of this much easier."

He stopped at a food truck bought a sandwich thick with meats and vegetables. Bit into it and fought the moan of delight that threatened to escape. Moaning would be far too undignified.

"I've missed this," He sighed, earning himself an amuse glance from the woman walking next to him. He smiled at her. "Twenty years without food will make you appreciate taste in a way nothing else can."

He amusement turned to worried, and she picked up her pace. Damian chuckled, amused at people's uneasiness around anything they couldn't immediately understand or make fit in their tinny little minds.

Mortals he how he should start thinking about them. It's what they would be to him, soon enough.

"Another thing you waste time on. You have no need for that as nourishment."

Damien eyed the god next to him. "You're already concerned about one man who died, and now you're telling me I should forget delicious food for the sake of leaving a trail of bodies Denton will notice?" he bit in the sandwich this time he couldn't keep the moan away. He would never take food for granted again. Even eating through a possessed agent hadn't been like this.

"Look, even if my body wouldn't get nourishment from eating this, it would nourish my soul."

"The power nouri--"

"Figure of speech. Pleasure is what I'm talking about."

"The pleasure of our victory is enough."

"For you maybe, but my most optimistic estimate puts that as being months away, I need something to last me until then. Maybe when I have His power, when I'm a god under you I'll be able to think in extended time spans. Until then, I'm still mortal and I need something to hold me until then. Playing Denton like a fiddle will help, but that's also something on a long schedule. So things will be easier if you get use to me enjoying my food."

Sahataan glared at him in a fashion so mundane Damian almost rolled his eyes back at him, then Damian was walking alone. No, he promised himself even once he was a god, he wouldn't work on cosmic time scales. He'd have all these men to enjoy and he would enjoy each and every one of them.

* * * * *

The building Denton lived in wasn't what Damian expected. From his previous encounters, he'd gotten the sense the cheetah wanted nothing to do with the wealth he had. His apartment then had been a small thing in a small building, managed by someone just as small. A quick internet search had told him things had changed. Denton wasn't a police officer anymore, and he'd embraced his wealth enough to use it to start a security firm and assert his possession of Denver, which Damian thought was good.

The Society had a habit of being lax in how they dealt with their cities. They'd seen how the Orrs had stood up to the gray church, so why hadn't they done the same? Instead they kept to the nooks and crannies and manipulated things in the background, as is they were insects, instead of chosen by a god.

This building was tall, large, gleaming. Something new and expensive. Denton had to have embraced his wealth fully to live here now. Good. Maybe as a man of power their interactions would be easier. Or at the very least more entertaining.

He noted the security in the lobby, the cameras, the guard behind the counter, the sign-in screen. He expected sensors were scanning him. He felt for magic, but if there was anything here, it wasn't of a type he was in touch with anymore. Another thing to miss from his incorporeal time. There had been so much magic around Denton as he tried to kill him. His god's power, the Cormoran protection.

Something that had been kept from his family, from him.

He pulled his thought away from that. It was in the past. He would have his revenge for the wrongs that god had committed on him.

The guard watched him with a bored expression on her face as he walked to the desk. "Hi, I'm going to need you to unlock the elevators for me."

The antelope plastered an insincere smile. "Please sign in and write who you're coming to see."

Damian tapped the screen to turn it on and read the last name. He pushed a small amount of power through the proper mark and when he spoke his words had a heaviness to them.

"I've already signed in, I'm here to see Christian Wales."

Her eyes glazed over as the words slipped into her mind, bypassed every filter in there to lodge themselves solidly into her memory.

"Oh, of course," she said, her gaze regaining focus. "My apologies." The elevator doors opened.

"Think nothing of it. Oh, can you tell me Denton Brislow's apartment number? I need to see him too."

"Mister Brislow is in 1622."

"Thank you so very much." There was an ease to manipulating people now, which helped when things needed to be done quickly, but it lacked fun. Fortunately he wouldn't be able to use this on Denton. Even if he wasn't protected from his power be his god, all it would take was a moment of inattention on Damian's part and he'd make an enemy of Denton far earlier than he wanted.

The door opened on the sixteenth floor to an inviting hall. A pale blue carpet cushioned his steps, the salmon colors walls soothed his eyes. He could imagine the weary working coming home after a long day of work and already relaxing before he entered his home.

Number twenty-two was a gray door, like all the others. The lock was electronic. Keycard, biometric and numbered pad. He wondered if all three were needed to enter or if they were backups in case one failed.

It also had an 'announce' button, which he pressed.

He pushed power into a mark and raised his hearing past what mortal people could hear and didn't hear anything until the door handle began turning. He reduced his hearing and opened his mouth to greet the cheetah, only to look at a gray wolf his fur damp and wearing only underwear that hugged his body, revealing a nice bulge. Along with the muscular body and intelligent eyes, it made him very appealing.

Once he was a god, Damian would visit this man. But that was for later.

"Hello." He smiled. "I'm here to see Denton Brislow, is he home?"

"Yeah, he's in the shower."

Damian tilted an ear. "Alone?"

The wolf relaxed at the comment. "Yeah, I was getting food ready." He motioned for Damian to enter. "I'll tell him you're here. It might be a few minutes. What's your name?"

Damian stepped in and gazed at the living room, immediately disappointed by what he saw. "Tell him Mister Orr is here to see him," he answered, deciding vagueness would be better for the time being.

The furniture was old and worn. Utterly out of place with the modern elegance of the room. It was the furniture of someone who didn't want to be here. Of someone protesting the luxury surrounding him.

So Denton hadn't embraced his wealth, his position. This place was just him playing the role forced on him. Damian sighed. This might end up being more complicated than he'd hoped. He might still be dealing with the shortsighted police detective. The mortal who thought this battle was between the two of them, rather than the god they represented.

He smiled, well, at least this should be entertaining.