God of Song's Path of Resistance

Mephistopheles had indeed noticed.

Though this guy was famously arrogant, that did not mean he was stupid.

And since he dared set his sights on the Magic Weave, he naturally had to beware of Mystra and her allies.

But Mephistopheles lowered his head to look at this God of Song. How long had this bard-looking fellow been in the world under his rule?

Even the Elves were willing to come out and fight alongside Milil. It definitely had not been a short time!

Why had he never sensed anything?

He was nearly roaring with fury. "Milil! When did you come to this world? Damn it! You really have devoted yourself heart and soul to that bitch Mystra!

"You're a true god, no matter what! Have you grown so accustomed to sneaking around?

"You lucky bastard! If I'd found you sooner, I would've skinned you alive and pulled out your tendons!

"A drum made from your skin would surely sound wonderful!"

Milil did not say a word. He had no intention of giving up his song just to answer him.

After all, the angrier Mephistopheles became, the more successful he was.

His decades of lurking had not been in vain after all. The God of Song sang, danced, and played his lute with light, nimble movements.

Though he had already been in this world for thirty thousand years, the forces of resistance had been slow to organize.

He had arrived too late.

He had originally thought he could join forces with the native gods, only to discover that the only one still alive was the half-dead Silver Moon.

But there was nothing he could do about it.

If he had not always been so inconspicuous, he would never have dared send an avatar into this world.

Crossing between worlds was dangerous