Soul Food

<Ahem. > said Manajuwejet, floating on a cloud of pink smoke that leaked cotton candy.  Because dream logic.

<You have no power over me.> the Black Spider told him.

<Yeah.  Thanks for bringing that up.  YOU have no power over him.>

<He is sworn to Anansi.>

<In the future.> Manajuwejet said.  <Specifically, about sixteen years in the future.  Touch him now, and you'll owe Sobek his cost Shen coins.>

Shen coins are a form of primal currency.  Think of little bits of distilled faith, condensed to levels where gods would treat them like copper coins.  A single erg of Primal Power, distilled into a physical object.

<I have enough to make… this… twice over.  His soul is mine do with as I please.>

<Uh, no.>

<NO? >

<Uh-uh.  You damage that little mortal, and you owe Sobek Sekhmet the value he'd have grown to in intervening years.>

<Arrogance.  You are neither of those gods.>