*An incautious observer would assume that was the end of things. But a more careful one would notice that light still leaked between Locaha's palms -- faint, blocked by the vast size of the god, but there and growing brighter, multiplying, building...

A brilliant flash of orange and gold would blind the first observer, a terrible clap of thunder deafen the second. Locaha's hands are forced apart by a wave of terrible pressure and heat, and, limned in gold, a figure remains in their wake.

Josh has changed. His golden armor is gone; instead he wears a black leather cloak, his hood cast back. His left hand is gone, replaced by a scythelike hook. And he smiles as he looks up at the god, though there's nothing of humor in it.*

My turn.