Lord Shiiva Yang, ruler of the Land called Great Heart (the place would later be called 'Earth' by primitive beings in the future), is in a torture prison for what the High Lords called 'immoral crimes'.

In a realm of outer darkness he must fight the fiercest demons and warlocks for an undefined period of time. Basically, until the gods are appeased.

Hand to hand combat with as many as 7 formidable warriors at a time, kept him on his toes. A single battle could last for weeks.

Blood spills, bones break, sweat pours.

When the battles are over, he receives 7 days of rest.

He spends this time recovering from his injuries, which doesn't take long as he is a god. He gives ample time to contemplate the entire battle; How could he have won more easily, or more quickly? What mistakes had he made that he'd be sure not to make again? And most importantly, how to best prepare his mind and heart to worship Allgod, the giver of all life, in sincerity.

The purpose of his punishment is to teach him humility and utter adoration. The lesson is that he is nothing and his Creator is all.

If he is successful, if his worship is deemed pleasing, then his life and strength is renewed. Blood is replenished, bones mend and the refreshing breath of life cools his being to the core.

If he is unsuccessful, his worship not deemed pure and true, he will die.

Not death in the sense that mere humans are familiar; A closing of the eyes to commence eternal sleep. The sudden and permanent extinction of life breath.

No. That would be as a gift in comparison.

What happens to an eternal god when a higher god commands death upon it?

I'm glad you asked:

The slow, rotting away of the entire being initiates. Spirit, soul and body degrade into something hideous.

Shiiva, fresh from a brutal fight with a demon called Wolu, breathes deep with his eyes closed. His left arm is partially severed but he ignores it. It glows from the opened flesh as healing begins.

Wolu, in his overconfidence, arrived alone 2 days prior. It wasn't often that a brave soul entered the dark realms without help. He taunted and spoke insults for hours before he actually threw a bunch.

It was Shiiva's practice to remain as patient and as peaceful as possible through the whole ordeal. Usually remaining silent. He harbored no ill will toward his - would-be murderers. Always allowing them to initiate the action.

He took a certain strange interest in giving his foes the upper hand at the start. Shiiva figured that since he could possibly be doing battle for the rest of eternity, he might as well pace himself. Refusing to let the gods see him suffer, he learned to take pleasure in his own pain. For some reason, it was harder to take pleasure in inflicting pain on others.

Not so hard with his most recent opponent. He was to cocky and talked too much.

Shiiva watched Wolu's form slowly fade from his realm to a denser one. Parts of his nose and left eye embedded in brain matter. Full recovery from his beating could take a thousand years.

At fifteen feet tall, 700 lbs. of iron-like muscle, Wolu caused great damage before meeting his demise.

But Shiiva was closer to 1,000 lbs. Although a full foot shorter. Not only was he super strong, but his speed was almost timeless.

His surroundings were rocky mountains and deep valleys. Open pits that went deep and bubbled lava that hissed as snakes do. Sometimes Shiiva would go to valleys when the silence of solitude was overwhelming. Listening to the lava pits as if they were actual people communicating with him.

Sometimes, he could hear a voice. Or was he going mad? Who knew?

No grass, trees or vegetation could exist in such a harsh environment. The heat could be unbearable at noon. At midnight, the freezing cold was harsh beyond reason.

With no need for food or sleep, his mind avoided torment with forced serenity.

Before he began his sentence, he was in love and planned to marry the Goddess Shakti Yin. Daughter of Lord Brahm.

Their love was so great, and their bond so strong, that they kept in constant contact on a level that neither fully comprehended.

On the other side of the forbidden galaxy, Shakti sits on the highest mountain range. She meditates continually as her enemies search for her. Hidden in unspeakable bliss, she and her love Shiiva share pure unbroken communion with serenity.

How long before their bond is broken and destroyed? They'd shared this 'love' as they called it since the beginning of Shiiva's imprisonment.

A million years later...

In a world unfamiliar to the ancient Gods, tiny beings with weak and feeble bodies dwell. Their life span is as a vapor that appears and is gone when compared to that of the Gods.

They play an essential role in the destinies of the Gods. However, it is unknown to them. Rather than live life of destiny and honor, they exist and survive in a primitive state.

What follows is the story of two such beings.

"I just don't see how anyone can like Prince better than Michael Jackson that's all I'm saying. He's called the King of Pop for a reason you know." Hank looked at his long time friend with a puzzled look on his face awaiting a rebuttal.

"Are you kidding me? Prince is the King of Music my friend. He crossed all the boundaries and changed the face of genres across the board." Herman responded thoughtfully.

"Yeah, he crossed boundaries alright; You couldn't tell if he was a man or a woman, black or white..." The outburst of laughter that followed, made Hank cough. He smoked too much.

Herman ignored it. "And what's so bad about that? Why do we feel the need to fit neatly into society's little boxes anyway?"

Hank, finally covered adds, "You got somethin' you wanna tell me? 'Cause I won't judge you. We been friends almost 60 yrs. Seems like I'd have had a clue or something," He's giving Herman an overly suspicious look.

"I'm more than secure in my manhood. You can ask your wife about that if you want to." Grabbing at his old, worn out manhood. Devilish grin on his face.

Hank shrugs.

"I ain't gotta ask my wife shit! Your wife called me jus last night beggin' for me to let her come over jus' one mo'e time." Hank's laughter is contagious.

They look at each other and laugh hardily.

Hank and Herman have had this and similar debates since they were 6 years old. Now, they were 66 and neither was budging on their respective positions.

They hardly agreed on anything. But they managed to stay friends throughout the years. They'd even had a fairly successful commodities business they ran together. Actually, they hauled away unwanted junk from people and sold it to others. It kept them busy.

Maybe they just enjoyed arguing with one another. In any case, they'd been best friends since first grade.

Hank and Herman were on their way to deliver a vase to a lady when Hank gets a call:

"Hello! Say Handymen 3 times and we'll appear at your door! Hank Simmons at your service." He smiles at Herman who gives him a disapproving look.

The phone call: "Huh. Yes. My name is Terri Waters? I got your number from a Cedric Fisher? He said you pick up unwanted things and I had a bunch of old stuff in my basement that I need to get rid of. Can you help?"

"Well, if you're talking about washers and driers, we don't do that. We've got a crew that handles such items. We specialize in rare oddities."