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[INDENT][INDENT][h3][sup][sup][color=red]Issue 1.03 –[/color] [color=aqua]Building Churches in the Wild Pt. 3 -My Name is My Name[/color][/sup][/sup][/h3][/indent][/indent]
[h3][b][sup]New York, 10 Minutes Before the "Crisis"[/sup][/b][/h3]

[h2]Crack![/h2]

A burst of light from an alleyway in the Upper East Side signaled Baal’s appearance. He righted himself, preparing to dust himself off until he remembered the state of his clothes. “Ugh. [i]Mortals[/i].” Baal took a deep breath and inhaled the metallic air like cigarette smoke. 

The sequence of car alarms blaring at his arrival let Baal know he needed to work on his landing impact. A clatter of glass from an opening window drew his attention.

[i] [sub]“Fucking gods and their.. [/sub][/i] Oi! You haveta knockout my power [i]every[/i] time you visit? I mean, [i]right[/i] in the middle of AbFab?”

Baal shrugged. Was he supposed to apologize for appearing? The sky god at least had the decency to place himself in a more insulated area when he arrived via lightning. But, he noted the radius of charred cement around him. 
 
Jeroen Thornedike, "The Doctor", sighed. “Damn divine wanker is what you are.” He disappeared from the winding before popping his head out again. “You coming up, or what?”

“You know, I typically don’t push back appointments. Even a few moments. However, I made an exception with you because…”

“I’m a god. I know.”

Jeroen snorted. The involuntary reaction sent drops of tea flying, spreading hints of lavender throughout the room. “Yeah. Right. [i]That’s[/i] the reason.”

Baal stared at The Doctor. Did this mortal really want to try his patience? 

“Oh come off it already. You’re not the first god I’ve met, real or proclaimed, and you certainly won’t be the final one. You’ve seen one godly ego, you’ve smelled them all. ‘s boring. No, I made the exception because well, you’re so divinely [i]broken[/i].
It took a moment before, through set teeth, Baal asked “Don’t you have a teapot to tend, [i]doctor[/i]?” Wrinkling his nose at the burning smell now hanging in the air.

Jeroen tilted his cup back, draining the remaining contents. “No,” he let the clatter of porcelain on plate punctuate the air. “But you have a new couch to buy me, [i]god[/i].” 

Baal started, jerking his hand up. The ox-blood red of his suit, dust-laden as it had become, was now Rorschach-ed with a splatter of melted leather. With a growl, Baal stood and ripped the arm of his suit off. The dim light of the Doctor’s apartment flickered as Baal surged electricity through the sleeve. The ashes listed to the hardwood floor before he spoke again. “That was unintentional.” He didn’t have wherewithal for two apologies.

“Hmm,” The Doctor responded as he stood. He made his way over to a shelf of books. “This routes rather nicely to my initial point: you’re broken. I mean if your world’s Baal Hammon is anything like the lore of ours, you were never one for good temperament to begin with but, your emotions are even more out of balance. Your music, while still profound, centers on pain and rage. Your patience, even more quick to deflate since you first came to me 2 months ago. You’re grieving, Baal. God or not. What’s interesting is, besides not realizing that you are, you don’t know [i]what[/i] you’re grieving over: the death of Inanna, the potential death of your world, [i]your[/i] death—because isn’t this just a new type of life? Your old one left behind. And in this new world, you can’t grieve because no one knows who you are. You need your identity but here, you don’t know where to start looking for it, because it never existed in this world in the first place. But! Enough on that, because you don’t have much time.”

Baal massaged his temples. “The buzzing here is deafening. So much energy I can feel. Was never this bad in my world’s New York. I don’t want to stay here longer, but I don’t have any other plans for the evening.”

“Heh, like that matters. Carrying on. You asked for answers. Well, you tried to [i]demand[/i] answers initially. But all that aside, in terms of my theories about you getting home—I was completely wrong.”

Baal’s fists met the coffee table. The scorched ovals contrasted against the sandy finish of the table. He took a breath before looking up, blinking back sparks. “[i]Don’t[/i] fuck with me, seer.  I’ve had a day. And this…[i]buzzing.[/i] The current of this city. So much energy I can feel, pricking my mind. My New York was never this bad.”

“Ah yes,” Jeroen commented, “[i]that[/i]. Don’t worry, if you and the others aren’t completely daft, you’ll take care of ‘em. Or you won’t. New York’ll be destroyed. Machine domination, all that loveliness.” The Doctor placed a finger on the coffee table while he stared into the distance. “For the new table, make sure it’s mahogany. I rather like mahogany.”

Baal stood, creaking the hardwood of the loft. His hands splayed and blue traces of electricity spiraled down each finger. Thornedike waved him off, turning his attention to his glass front armoire. He rifled through the collection or relics. “See? This is why you should listen before you act. Hear me once more, sky god: I was wrong about my theories concerning you getting home.” The Doctor reached further in, balancing on his toes. “Care to sift through your rage enough to tell me what I said the first time you barged in here?”

“That I wasn’t able to go home. There was no way to go back.”

“Ah-ha! Exactly. But, I was [i]wrong[/i]. After consulting with the other Doctors, it’s clear that your destiny—as of now—does not terminate in this realm. Now, as for [i]when[/i] and [i]how[/i] you get back. That, I have no idea of. I have other theories, but not information.”

“Tell me what you need.”

“Wonderful,” the not-mortal-mortal pulled his head out, trailing his hand, “I thought you’d never ask.”

In praise of the Doctor, Baal didn’t expect the man to move as fast as he did. In an instant, he’d taken Baal’s hand with a grin. “I’ve [i]always[/i] wanted to do this.”

“Do what?”

There was a glint of light and a knife running down Baal’s palm before the god could react. 

“Now then, best not to ask what I’m going to do with this. You won’t like the answer.” The Doctor pulled back his jacket, slipping the glowing relic into the darkness of one of his pockets. He checked his watch. “Besides, you don’t have time for the detailed explanation.”

“Blood—the fuck do you keep saying that for?”

There was a crash outside. The sound of metal falling over metal in a cascade. Screams followed, before the sound of sirens pierced the chaos like a dollop of whip cream. 

“Right then. Like I said. We’ve both got things to do, people to see and egos to check.” Jeroen crossed to his window, opening the French bays. “Off you go! Don’t worry, place is magically insulated.”

Baal nodded, his eyes dancing with sparks. Pops of light on his lips. He charged the window, focusing on the night sky, the cityscape. The buzzing. He dove, smelling the surge of ozone, hearing the snap of air rapidly collapsing. The brightness of pure energy. And he was gone.