"People needed hope," Carter replied smoothly. "And I gave it to them."
"You pissed on them and told them it was raining," Tank drawled from near the door. "And now you're doing the same thing here."
Carter shifted on the mat. "The gods—"
"Are dead," whispered Dante, the smile on his face promising pain. "We killed them. Ripped their hearts out and the jungle ate what was left."
He stared at me, swallowing hard. "Impossible. They gave me visions. They told me—"
"No," Dante cut in, his voice like a blade even as he barked out a laugh. "You are so pathetic that you actually started to believe your own lies. You're not a prophet. You're a leech. You stole the memories and ideas from something you didn't understand, and now you're clinging to whatever scraps are left, hoping these people won't notice you're a fraud."
