Justice and Retribution.

The gray hood of the cloak hid his face, and in his hands was the very sword from the Temple. The whole figure shimmered with silvery reflections and breathed power. The fog swirling around entwined into two armchairs and a table. The deity invited me to sit down and leaned back comfortably on his back. Two smoky crystal goblets appeared on the table. Instead of wine, they splashed something like liquid silver. I took a sip, fresh, sweet, bubbling, refreshing. Dose of vivacity. Glass of courage.

“They call me Da Ki Ne,” he said in a low sonorous voice, in which the clang of heavy metal and...