Once every millennium or so, a god dies, and the cosmos holds try-outs to fill the spot. It’s anyone’s game.
Nero Tadziki Gamwich was born on a stormy night in a sprawling estate that served as the seat of power in The County of New Gampshire, Canderra. At the precise moment of Nero’s birth, his father Gyro Gamwich was fifty or so miles away, which isn’t really important. What’s important is that his mother Sharma was completely by herself when it happened, though the reason why would not be discovered by scholars and prophets until many years later, not long before Nero’s untimely death. Nero’s life has always fascinated scholars of the cosmos because, at one point, the young halfling wizard was the metaversal odds-favorite to become a new god during The Age of Audition.
When he died, Nero’s chances plummeted to near-zero. (Note: I should write a new song titled “Near-zero Nero.” Later, though.) I suppose his demise doesn’t fully take him out of the running; he’s gained a lot of power over the dead along the way. Maybe he’s been granted some kind of new advantage.
But I doubt it: Death sucks ass when it comes to goals.
And, to be fair, I don’t know if godhood was ever really a goal of Nero’s, given his last words alive were, “Damn, wish I was on drugs for this.” Because, above all else, Nero Gamwich was a self-professed burnout who just wanted a nap or two. Fate–as usual–had other plans, the stupid dick hole that it is.