As the flash, heat, and mushroom cloud bloomed behind him, Maxwell stepped forward into the arms of Deborah, his deceased wife, and smiled.

- - -

Maximilian looked around at the gray plain, and sighed. The expanse was limitless, nothing to see, nothing to do; for the first time in his living memory, there were no voices of worshipers begging for things, no demands, just blessed silence. He fell to his knees, and wept.

- - -

Time had passed, and Maxwell was content. He smiled at his wife. When they came to visit, he smiled and laughed with his children, old friends, and even some old enemies.

One day Deborah looked at him and asked, “Why did you not take another wife?”

“What!?!” Max dropped his coffee cup, “Why would I do that?!?”

“I tried to tell you, when you would appear on the other side of the river.” Deb gave him a stern look. “Mr. Wellington down the street had three. They were all very happy to finally meet each other!”

Mouth agape, Max stared at her.

“Mrs. Johnson next door has five husbands! Very handy to have around the house, I must say.” Deb gave Max the side eye. “I was not thrilled when I found out you had a child by a whore. A lovely woman, by the way. Of course she has four other children, but still, not staying around to help him grow up? The shame.”

“I...I...I didn't know!” Max's eyes bulged from his face.

“Oh yes. Apparently the little bugger wouldn't take the 'hint' from the medicine.” Deb then laughed, and almost fell to the floor. “He is a sweet one tho. Didn't have any children. And his mum died when he was twelve.”

“But...but...but...” Max mumbled, shock and fear covering his face.

“And how many proposals did you turn down?” Deb gave him a stern look. “Dozens? Hundreds? I heard there was even an elvish princess that tried?”

“...yes...?”

“So I ask again, why did you not remarry?” Deb's eyes flashed a steel gray, “And what is this about you and a Pixie?”

- - -

Maximilian sat, arms and legs folded, and meditated upon the meaning of being a god.

- - -

Max met his relatives, children, and grand children. He spent time thinking, as he and his boat sailed the undead sea. He fished, he sailed, he even occasionally swam. He learned to master the wind and sail; the clawed hammer of the builder; the pick of the miner. He spoke to sages, and wizards; witch's and warlocks. He followed his passions, and learned.

Until one day, Deborah hugged him and said goodbye. “Goodbye my love. Safe travels. I want a sister wife or two. Maybe another man around the house?”

Maxwell cocked an eyebrow, and simply nodded to his wife's odd request.

- - -

Maxwell's Dell, Capital city of 'Heretic's Kingdom'.

12th of Kusha, the month of harvest.

2289 years since the new gods came.

Maxwell awoke groggy in the morning, his back hurt like he had been sleeping on the floor. There was light coming from a fire in a fireplace. He stood up, and looked around, then cursed, “Gods damn it all!”

- - -

Something grabbed Maximilian by the back of his shirt, and tossed him through a dark spot in the plain. He landed on his rear, in a familiar place. I wonder how many sessions I have missed?

- - -

Maxwell busied himself with a broom and dustpan for a while, before deciding to just throwing most of the rubbish that had accumulated in his cabin out the front window. Why is so much of this garbage under glass? He looked out the window for the first time, and stared at the skyline. Buildings, dozens of them. Four or five were square towers of metal and glass, that must have been six or even seven stories tall! Stories of the heroes' world, come to life! He opened his chest, not bothering to knock the rust off the hinges, got out some eggs, bread, and coffee, and started to make breakfast.

A short while later, coffee in hand, he heard heavy footsteps outside. He saw a uniformed man glance in the window, and then run away. Meh...How long was I gone? I should probably start writing stuff down again. He bent over his chest and retrieved a notebook, and began making note of his time in the afterlife while eating his over easy eggs on toast, and sipping his fresh coffee.

Moments later someone started pounding on the door, and yelling. “City Watch! Open up! Cooperate, and you will be treated well!”

Maxwell rolled his eyes, and continued to chew, before responding with, “Meh. Go away, I'm having breakfast here!”

They pounded on the door AGAIN, “I will count to five. If you don't open this door, we will open it ourselves, and beat you into submission!”

Maxwell got up from His spot at the table, poured himself more coffee, shuffled to his box, and opened it, the rusted hinges creaking loudly. He retrieved his old friends, and cocked them with a very satisfying 'Ka-Click' and spoke so the 'officers' outside could easily hear him. “You can try.”

He sat down and returned to his meal. When he was done, he stepped to the sink, and began washing the dishes when, with a louder than loud “BOOM” sounded, and a screaming pixie slugged him in the face. He reacted on reflex, swinging the cast iron skillet at the wee beastie, and with a resounding 'GONG' launched it back out the window from which it had come. Wait, was that Brandywine? Shit! She's going to be so mad!

He dove for the chest, and started throwing things from it, trying to find one of his special bottles. He grabbed it just in time, as the rather angry pixie flew back into the cabin, screaming obscenities to make the most vulgar of gods blush.

In the midst of the screaming Bjorn walked in, closing the door behind him. “Nice to see you again, Maxwell! How was your vacation in the afterlife?”

Brandy and Max stopped screaming at each other, and stared at Bjorn for a moment, then Max said, “It was good, actually. I met a lot of old friends, and egged a few old enemies.”

“Splendid!” Bjorn replied.

The door opened again, and a man wearing a familiar crown entered, followed a moment later by a large bear with a pink ribbon on it's tail. The bear chuffed a greeting while kicking the door closed behind it. Brandy flew over and gave it a hug. Max looked at the crown, then the man wearing it, and sighed. “I ain't taking the crown back.”

King Michael's eyes bulged. Bjorn laughed, “Don't worry lad, Max won't bite. But in all seriousness, don't offer the crown back to him. He might shoot you in the foot.”

“So...I'm back in this hell. I was hoping I would be done with this place for good.” Max groused as he uncapped the bottle he had recovered from the chest and waived it around. “Who wants a shot?”

Brandy swooped over, the bear chuffed an assent, Bjorn placed five glasses on the table. Michael stared, for a moment before dropping into one of the antique 'holy' chairs. Maxwell poured a drink for each of his guests before settling down in his own chair, lifting his drink in the air and said, “A toast to the return of...me, I guess?”

The assemblage clinked their glasses together, and began to drink.

King Michael was late for his speech, even though it was to be made just outside the door of the cabin. His wife gave it instead, stating that the king was attending to “Other more important duties of the crown.”

Later that night Queen Dana was introduced to the assemblage, and the drinking extended long into the night.