Greg stood in the chamber of metal-veined stone, the air pressing down on him like the weight of a mountain. Vulkar appeared not as a giant Titan or a gleaming god, but as a balding, middle-aged man with a thick, compact frame and the kind of eyes that made Greg feel like he was under a hammer. The god's presence was heavy, and his expression was already one of irritation.
"Your choice of friends is very interesting," Vulkar said, his tone soaked in sarcasm.
Greg answered simply, "Yeah. They are interesting."
Vulkar's scowl deepened. "You really are thick. That was sarcasm."
"I know. But I meant it. They are interesting. They are my friends. They have things no one else has, and I am not going to turn my back on that."
