That is not to say that there aren't those who deserve to die. There are...

And so is there any being better fit than a god to execute those mortals unworthy of life?

And what of the gods unworthy of their immortality? Who to execute them?

Wallowing in irony, Tenpou thought of his other self. Why, a mortal of course.

He took a moment to indulge himself in a strange vanity, that the mortal man he will become will be unordinary, that part of humanity chosen from the rest because he is of celestial background...

"I only believe in my leading idea that men are in general divided by a law of nature into two categories," Tenpou once read. It still held a certain, egotistical truth with him. "inferior (ordinary), that is, so to say, material that serves only to reproduce its kind, and men who have the gift or the talent to utter a new word. The second category all transgress the law; they are destroyers."

But if such a one is forced for the sake of his idea to step over a corpse or wade through blood, he can, I maintain, find himself, in his conscience, a sanction for wading through blood.

"But I hate blood."

"What a coincidence," someone said behind him. "So do I." A cold hand brushed over his hair, causing the clinging snowflakes to shimmer down, only to disappear as the wind whisked them away to nothingness. "So does he. But he's used to it- seeing it every time he looks at me. And I'm used to it- seeing it every time I look in the mirror. Which leaves you." Gojyo settled down behind Tenpou until they were back to back. "Apparently you haven't been looking at me enough to realize that I'm not-"

"Of course you aren't." the marshal cut in. "Nor did I ever expect it of you."

"Ah, then why cuddly moment?"

"I was making sure. And now I am sure that you are not Kenren Taishou."

"How so?"

"You simply aren't."

"Does he smoke?"

"Yes."