>>1088137
Propane and Divinity
Hank Hill had always prided himself on being a man of order. Propane, the noble gas of civilization, followed rules — clean, efficient, and honest. So when the sky above Arlen, Texas split open like a blue flame gone wrong, Hank’s first instinct wasn’t fear. It was confusion.
“Now what in the Sam Hill is that?” he muttered, setting down his spatula as a pulse of pink light surged across his backyard. The air shimmered. The propane tank began to hum.
Then came the voice — bright, playful, and otherworldly.
“Yo, did I just get summoned into a barbecue zone? That’s kinda lit, not gonna lie!”
When the light cleared, there she stood — Suzuka Gozen, in her celestial armor, sword gleaming like liquid neon. Her fox ears flicked curiously as she looked around the neatly trimmed lawn and rows of propane tanks.
Hank blinked. “…I sell propane and propane accessories.”
Suzuka tilted her head. “Okay, boomer spirit, what class are you? You got that calm, collected aura, but your outfit says… commoner NPC?”
“I’m—” Hank hesitated. “—just a man who respects safety and proper fuel management.”
She laughed, a melodic sound that somehow echoed with divine power. “You’ve got some serious vibes for a human. Guess I’ll hang around until I figure out which Grail War this is.”
When she noticed the grill, her eyes sparkled. “Is that… fire? Primitive flame tech?”
“It’s propane,” Hank said proudly. “Burns clean, efficient, and doesn’t leave that charcoal taste that ruins good meat.”
She squatted next to it, fascinated. “A pure flame… with no curse or impurity. That’s holy fire!”
To Hank’s horror, she drew her sword, channeling magical energy into the grill. The propane hissed, flared, and for a second, the flame turned gold — pure mana.
He stared, jaw slack. “I tell you what…”
By the time Peggy and Bobby came out, Suzuka was sitting cross-legged on the porch, explaining Shinto spirituality while Hank adjusted her understanding of combustion physics.
She smiled at him. “You know, Mr. Hill, your devotion to this ‘propane’ reminds me of the old shrine keepers back home.”
“Well,” Hank said, scratching his neck awkwardly, “propane is kind of like a religion, if you think about it. Brings light, warmth, and… brings people together.”
The wind carried the scent of grilled steak and divine incense.
A fox goddess and a Texan everyman shared a quiet understanding — both servants of sacred flame.