RE: QUIETUS [S!5] [Round 1: Godsworn Valley]
02-18-2014, 01:15 PM
The ancients did not look into the sun. They believed in a vengeful god of solar sphere, one that did not suffer to have his visage stared at: anyone so presumptuous as to look on the face of a god were blinded, obviously, by his wrath. Later, men of science knew better: the eyes would burn, retinas fried, if one stared too long at the sun; it was equally obvious that overstimulation of the rods and cone cells would kill them. Cause and effect. Justice is blind, and very dead (The Battle of Capers Gorge, where Raxis first broke the rules of war).
In the Godsworn Valley, however, things were not so obvious (Obviata, goddess of the obvious, died at the Taking of Mole Hill. Fluorescent green safety vests: not good armor).
A while ago, there had been Kohl, God of the Sun. It was he that drove the sun across the sky - in first a chariot borne by phoenix, then a carriage drawn by stallions with flaming manes, and eventually, a rather flashy red racecar with flames and ‘Solaria’ stencilled on the side. “To make her go faster,” he used to say, flashing a brilliantly white smile, “everyone knows flames make her go faster.” In Solaria he scrawled the passage of the day across the sky, pursued endlessly by the Night Sisters and their mother Selena. Time went on (Kairos, god of the Supreme Moment, had failed to consider the moment after. Or his sister, Chronos).
Vocatur hadn’t meant to kill him. In a cruel twist of Fate (Inevitably betrayed by Evita, Goddess of Destiny), he had been spared the horror of war. Exiled from the Valley, from Malhaven, his followers dispersed, killed, and forgotten, he had simply disappeared from the world, or into the world, depending on one’s point of view. Occasionally news from the patchy wastes and fields beyond the valley would report of a half-hearted party, or a mass orgy-suicide, but it was infrequent and no one felt the need, or desire, to know more. There had been hesitant proposals, later on, that perhaps his nature would combat the despair (Nihilos killed himself eight years into the neverending conflict) that seemed to drag it all on and on, but nothing came of it. No one would risk weakening their forces over a folly (HÅ҈ŌˆÍÔ´ÍŘÇı”∏, the God of Silliness, died in the very first days, having not taken the war at all seriously), not even to find out if he had died out there somewhere on a cocktail of his own shame and cocaine.
For their own part, gods did not die - in the traditional sense. They did not subsist on a quiet diet of belief; they simply were, and demanded worship from their constituents purely for their own satisfactions. But for the battles and machinations amongst themselves, they would have lived forever.
They would have lived forever.
-=-=-=-=-=-=-
Mad laughter in Obscura’s Labyrinth. Soldiers, their camouflage grey tattered, ran up the myriad stairs into the strange, broken temple. Somewhere, deep within, the tunnels were collapsing, closing like capillaries. Shadowy summons poured from them along with the soldiers, too afraid - if myths could be afraid - to stop and prey on stragglers.
And behind them came Obscura. Perhaps it was Obscura. Maybe it was Obscura. It was hard to tell; what burst from the darkness bore as much resemblance to the black and silver goddess as the whole of the night sky to pinpricks poked into black construction paper. Power, black and gleaming, rolled off of Her in waves and earthed itself in shadows - then She was the shadows, flitting back and forth in the corners of Her temple, flowing like a dark, sinister fog between the members of her congregation.
Without fanfare, She may have appeared on the altar. But not as they might have known Her: the Obscura they knew was ever so human, with her petty hatreds and propensity for little tortures. This Obscura was maybe something more like what She must have been before the war - the Goddess of Subterfuge, her minions Misinformation, Doubt and Denial. This Obscura might have worn a cloak that perhaps hooded Her face and maybe shadowed Her body; when this Obscura spoke, it was like writing traced out in the roiling fog.
“Desolo is dead.” Her voice rang out - but maybe the sound hadn’t happened at all - then faded. The masses shifted uneasily as the shadows lengthened, darkening the spaces in between the stones of the walls. The chandelier above them flickered, as if beating back against the dark. “I took of his power what I could. In the end, he stood with certainty, and the unknowable won out after all.”
A consensual query born from Her soldiers’ thoughts: “What of the Labyrinth, your Tenebracity?”
“The Labyrinth is dead.” To accentuate Her point, blood began to ooze from the stones before her: the remains of those that had not escaped her closing, collapsing maze. “We have more power than we have ever have had in that pale imitation of what we can do now. What further need do we have for those tunnels and warrens under the earth? Let others take the ones that are left; we can travel in the spaces between shadows. The gaps amidst the sunbeams.”
“But Desolo is gone. His forces scattered.”
“So who shall we battle, my troops?” There might have been laughter, if laughter were hewn from shards of white ice and black obsidian: an auditory flickering, like the shadows of a kinematograph. “Do you remember Desolo’s spy?”
Silence, palpable, then - “The girl?”
“Clad in metal. Endless light.” An angry whisper may have tainted her voice, rippling the shadows at their feet. “I found her once. I found her again after she broke into and out of my Labyrinth.” Gauzy tendrils caressed the shadows and birthed strange and terrifying cryptids. “She escaped me twice. No more shall we be so foolish.”
“Your Tenebracity.” As one, they knelt.
“And the magpie. The singing wing of the black, without eyes; it should be mine. I would have it mine or have it destroyed.”
“We await your command.”
“My orders? Be the dark edge to the wind. Be the shadow under every leaf. Blind the plain seers and muddy the clear waters.
Find them.”
As one, they, too, may have stepped into Her shadows and vanished.
-o-o-o-o-o-o-
Fury.
Firey.
If you cut her, does she not bleed? Only insofar as Rachel and the human race she left behind both bled plasma, of two different sorts. She trailed it now, wisps of electron sea and free nuclei coalescing into mere fire and flame as she traipsed amid the disappearing woods. She almost felt her consciousness fill the trees, beyond the burning trail she left behind her, past the sparking, twitching war machines that chased her still, limping as they were, on the scent of her, the tang of free hydrogen in the air. Her little sun sputtered a little, recalcitrant, reluctant to give up more of its life for its walking host - yet it was unwilling to let her give up the ghost.
She thought she heard singing; and some part of her knew it was very likely she would meet Sonora again, and soon, the copycat crooning melody as speech into her ear where she could never get the songs out, true earworms in the sense that they were perhaps more like the memories of long-dead singers and victims - perhaps even perfectly true in those circumstances where both singer and victim were one and the same. Perhaps it was just her imagination in the woods, singing among the screaming.
The gods are dying.
She didn’t even stop to acknowledge the grey voice, nor the white-robed figure standing by the side of her burning path. If the war machines were still after her, they wouldn’t matter soon anyway.
Do you hear me, girl? The gods are dying! The figure raised a hand, and doves flew from her sleeve and circled her laurel-garlanded head. Will you not listen?
“The gods seem to be far too interested in my death to be worried about their own,” Rachel muttered into the air, not looking at the newcomer, “and you’re one of them too. Leave me alone!” A neat jolt of plasma leapt from her palm and fried a dove, which evaporated without a trace. She trudged on, only to be stopped short by the white-clad woman suddenly standing in her path. “What are you, goddess of conjurers? Going to pull out some handkerchiefs next? Pull a rabbit from a hat?”
No, that would have been Zaklínání. He was killed several years ago, by his own believers. They discovered he’d been palming the coin the whole time. The garlanded goddess smiled, and as grim a smile as it was, it seemed to calm the world. I am Tawn. The goddess of love and peace.
Rachel snorted. “Really? Then do tell,” her voice cracked as it rose, “where the fuck-”
-have I been? I placed - sealed, rather - myself away when this all started. I wanted no part of this endless war.
“Should’ve stuck around, goddess of peace. Maybe the war would have been less endless. Look at it! Look at it!” She pushed past the goddess, who offered no resistance.
There was a minute hesitation as Tawn considered, speckled with the sound of gunfire, burning wood and screams. The thought had crossed my mind.
“God forbid you act on your thoughts.” Pause. “Hell, maybe they did.” A laugh then, a little hysterical laugh.
No one forced my hand. She replied, aggravating in her serenity.
“I don’t care! I don’t...care!” The sun-girl screamed, not in anger but in helplessness, pain and bewilderment, “You could have helped and you didn’t!” She tried to dash away - but still the goddess of peace kept up with her, not even walking or running. She was simply there, as unintrusive as a shadow and just as inescapable.
You do not know war like I do. I could have brought peace for a while, but it would have meant disaster. There would have been worse war than this - and I have seen war worse than this.
She turned around then to face her, angry sparks arcing between her fingers. “Then why are you here? Why now? Why?”
Because a long time ago, I decided that enough was enough. But it was too late. There wasn’t anyone left. But now...Traiya’s prophecy is coming true, I hear.
Rachel stumbled back from the goddess, scattering doves. “What? Who- what- I-I don’t have time for this, this - I don’t have time for you. I’m being chased. I can’t stop. I literally, can’t, stop.” She would have cried if she could have cried. “They’re chasing me and I can’t stop them either and I’m going to die-”
Shhh... A dappled light played across the burning clearing, as Tawn unfolded sets of moon-white wings. The ravaged sounds of war faded from around them, muffled by the gentle wingbeats of a flying dove. For a moment, a tiny corner of a shrinking forest of a crumbling valley of a dying world knew peace.
-x-x-x-x-x-x-
Shout! Shout! Let it all out! A new river graced the forest where there had been nothing of interest before - well, there had been a camp, perhaps of some description, but the torn, half-dissolved banners were stained black by the tarry waters carved into among, between, above the trees, as much above the ground as in it. Behind her there was only more of the same. Before it were the fleeing forces.
These are the things I can do without! Come on! It cared not for blue or black or grey, it simply killed them, effortlessly, just to see it done. The joy of the hunt? I’m talking to you! Come on!
Here and there, bodies rose again from her, riding along with her; her generals, her servitors, her toys. They spoke aloud in more voices with her - preaching to the choir. No more gods. No more worship. Only dissolution. Sometimes goodbye’s the only way. A shattered bouquet floated downstream. Lilies. Orchids. A rose.
“I can feel the cold hand of death and the end drawing near. I’ve seen gods of the men and all which they fear.”
-~-~-~-~-~-~-
The Strategists shakily sighted their weapons - but a slow, unexpected sound stopped them in their tracks: Onscreen, Raxis was giving the intruder a slow, sarcastic applause.
“I applaud your tactical innovation. Obviously, you have a weapon or a plan on your side more powerful than the defenses I could give these useless cowards.” He stressed the last part, his countenance breaking into a fractional smirk for a fractional moment.
As one, the Strategists looked up fearfully at the screen depicting their deity. “C-Commander?”
“I would spare my best protection for those who do not participate in my war? Not likely. But enough time wasted on you.” The wargod turned his attention to the diminutive figure at the door. “You fools can’t even hold a weapon straight. This one breached the Temple, and that is no easy matter.”
Under the collective gaze of god and men, gelatinous bluestuff shifted uneasily. The same could not be said of the little adventurer. Please don’t say anything stupid, Anila.
Don’t worry, wizard jelly! I got this allll under control. “Ahem. Greetings, noble personages and other important-lookin’ guys! Salutations unto you all.” She accompanied her introduction with an equally dramatic bow, complete with flailing arm special. See? Perfect. Look at how awed they are.
...I. I suppose they are. In a way.
“Where’s your bathroom? That big war-thingy I rode in on didn’t really seem, uh, equipped for that sorta thing. I mean, there was this super weird hose needle combo package attached to a bottle, but I don’t think that really was for that stuff.”
The following silence stretched on a while.
A white cage lamp set into the wall flashed into life, accompanying an urgent beeping on every console. In an instant, each screen in the War Room exploded into activity.
“One-one-beta-Jansson.” A Strategist read, half-relieved to be back in familiar territory. Then, hesitation. “One-one-beta-Jansson. I don’t know that code.”
“You wouldn’t.” All present looked up at the screen in surprise. The war god’s voice had stratified, somehow; instead of the usual harsh order-barking tone, it had grown an edge of steel and a hardened surface - yet buried underneath were undertones of sadness, loneliness - even pain. As if where there had been merely anger before, hot but ultimately shallow, there was now a quenched blade of purpose tempered by a gamut of complicated emotional states rarely seen in the wargod: shame, helplessness, betrayal, fear, anxiety. “One-one-beta-Jansson was a code set from the very beginning. I...I had never thought I would ever see it read. It...it could be said...I hoped I would never see it read.”
Haltingly, a Strategist spoke up: “But what does it mean, Commander?”
The rage flickered back into life. The blade burst into flame. Onscreen, Raxis spat at the bullet-blasted ground behind him and shouted, his voice ascending to a roar, “You cowards are there and not here because you know what things mean. Here’s a test for you: you tell me!” He slammed a fist on the console before him, ending the communication.
There was silence in the War Room for a moment - broken by one of the more important-looking Strategists, a woman wearing a highly impractical lab coat over shiny combat fatigues. “Well, come on, you lot. Raxis wants us to tell him something he already knows to prove our worth. Again. Let’s not keep him waiting or he’ll sic the Tacticians on us. Again.” She turned in her swivel chair to the display at her station.
Around Anila, the Strategists leapt into activity, examining monitors and reading printouts in a very businesslike way. No one seemed to care about her much.
“Um…” What do I do, Wizard Jelly?
Well, I’d probably try and go out the way we came. Let’s get out of this madhouse and find- oh. Oh, come on Anila, do you always deliberately do the opposite of anything I say?
Maybe! In a few bounds, she closed the distance between herself and the Strategist who had spoken. “Hi lady!”
The woman glanced up at the adventurer momentarily, then returned her gaze to the screen. “You’re still here?” She spoke quickly, not looking at her audience. “I’d get out there and find Raxis, if I were you. He seemed impressed that you broke into the temple.”
“How’ll I do that?”
She glanced back at Anila again, and then leaned in confidentially. “You didn’t hear this from me, but try and steal another Megáli. Here.” A printer beside her chattered into life, spitting out a thin plastic block. At a touch, a map appeared embedded inside, with flashing waypoints indicating Raxis and the vehicles hangar, as well as a temporary access card - “so you don’t have to break down as many doors,” she indicated.
Fifteen minutes later, when the experimental hovercraft attack platform prototype Fäe sped out of the hangar, setting off another round of security alerts on her screen, the Strategist couldn’t honestly say she was surprised.
-o-o-o-o-o-o-
The Unraveling is upon us.
The voice of Tawn broke into the silence - a silence, Rachel realized, had been going on for far too long. Without understanding why, or how, they were away from the burning forest - though, she realized, the crackling sound of fire was still out there, not near, but yet not far. The smell of smoke was faint, but very much there. The burning was coming. Yet the woods around them were thicker than thieves: it would take some time for the flames to arrive.
A chill wind blew amongst the branches, fanning the faraway flames. The trees around them began to tremble, as if in fear.
Malhaven will rise before she falls.
-~-~-~-~-~-~-
An army marching across the plains. An army that recycled its dead as they fell to SCIENCE bullets, SCIENCE lasers and SCIENCE grenades. The forces that still flew Inderigo’s banner marched on - ahead of them Visindi’s part-time temple, full-time SCIENCE laboratory, led by a dead necrologist inhabiting the body of a girl that could not help but talk to ghosts, all of which were disillusioned with the concept of gods in general. They marched on.
-=-=-=-=-=-=-
A plastic cup of water fell from a crowded desk and bounced, splashing its payload across the dirt floor. That was how it began.
The ground shook uncertainly, as if it wasn’t quite sure what to do with the motion imparted to it. The Temple of Obscura, however, knew perfectly well what it could do, and that was to resonate wildly with the earthquake. The wireframe chandelier trembled, what little crystal it still had tinkling madly. Under it, Obscura could have risen from what may have been her seat. She maybe stood in the slanted doorway that demarcated Her place of worship. She might have looked out towards the epicenter of the rolling ground, and She may have dreaded what She was going to see.
-s-s-s-s-s-s-
Vísindi’s laboratory had a balcony that overlooked the vast woodlands of the Godsworn Valley. It was here the SCIENCE god stood now, peering into the woods as the ground below shuddered like jelly maracas. His Temple, of course, stood steady as a rock in a storm, being based on the best principles seismology, meteorology, nuclear physics and (ugh) engineering could devise. Because of this, Vísindi had perhaps the best view of what was transpiring at Malhaven.
What the God of Science saw was this: The squat little structure that was the doorway unto the gods’ meeting court rose into the air, borne on a rising hill that quickly grew above the woods it lay among. On top of it stood two figures - one Vísindi didn’t recognize, and one he recognized all too well as long-gone Tawn. Delighted, he began to wonder - as was his nature. What was Tawn doing now? Did it have to do with the Unraveling? Had she, too, come to know of Traiya’s prophecy, or had she always known? And where did all that dirt come from?
It was almost preoccupying enough to forget the marching Inderigan army headed for the gates of his Temple.
He would have to do something about that.
-~-~-~-~-~-~-
The trundling Megáli were on the move. The roving Heléin, the slow hovering Kæls, the roaring Proioxes of Raxis’ personal squadron all pointed towards the risen hillock Malhaven now occupied, and the two figures at its summit, mere smudges at this distance and only distinguishable with magnification.
Raxis stared at the image on the small screen before her. In the cab of her Megáli she drew a pair of field binoculars from the glove compartment, staring through them towards Malhaven.
“One-one-beta-Jansson.” She intoned, at once without emotion and with heartfelt feeling. “Tawn.”
-+-+-+-+-+-+-
At once, the army that flew Inderigo’s sigil split in two as the first SCIENCE construct struck. Blood spewed everywhere as the clockwork eagle descended in a shower of gears and springs, finally falling to a hail of bullets - but not before it disemboweled its bloody way through the ranks, bronze talons slicing into flesh. The second wave came as grenades began flying over the battlements of the Temple, marking their landing with explosions of vaporized flesh. These were followed by fusillades of blaster fire from autocannons mounted in the walls, scattering the forces further. Even so, the Inderigan army recycled its dead as it pressed on towards the gateway, firing back at the gunners on the battlements and the chimerae that descended upon them.
In the beginning, Vísindi had not been considered an entirely serious god in the battles for supremacy, yet the gods that had dared to violate his space found their forces turned back by overwhelming defensive power. A frontal assault on his Temple was nothing short of tactical suicide, and the Inderigans knew it.
Which was why Robin, still in Florica’s body and hence still High Priestess of the Inderigans, had opted to take a smaller contingent - with Robin’s body still stored with them - around the back to find another entrance.
“Oldest trick in the book.” Robin smiled to herself. Under cover of the trees above them, there was no sign that Vísindi’s forces had noticed their detachment. The necrologist checked her notepad, on which a hastily-scrawled diagram shone in luminescent ink - “There’s the back entrance. We should be coming onto a patrol soon. Any ideas?”
“E-excuse me, High Priestess-” An Inderigan soldier/adept/mechanic volunteered. “We could perhaps leave this body here to attract their attention, then ambush them?”
Robin turned to him, gaze and voice steely. “We don’t risk this body, adept.”
The offender lowered his eyes. “Yes, High Priestess.”
Trying hard not to rustle the branches around them, all turned once more to the cleverly-concealed back gate. “Now, as I was saying-”
“Max, did you hear that?” The quiet voice came around the corner of the Temple, followed by two Visindan soldiers in strangely shimmering fatigues. “I could have sworn there was something.”
“I do believe I picked something up with my SCIENCE hearing, Private Tenes! But I couldn’t make it out over the sound of your improperly addressing a superior officer!”
“You know, Max, you turned into a real wanker once you got promoted with those implants.”
“I still can’t hear you, Private Tenearrrrrrrrghargharghargh.”
It was over in a few seconds. Lithely, Kedemonas rose from the mutilated bodies, and spat out two glittering objects into the the grass. He stepped on them; a silent crunch were the last things they heard. Out of the woods behind him came a pack of his own. Leg numbers were variable.
“Vísindi is mine.” He snarled at them. “Take their uniforms. Cloaking cloth. Won’t hide your shape but might hide your intentions. Find the genetic monstrosities he creates and put them down.”
“Genetics?” Robin’s contingent stepped from the bushes, provoking a chorus of bared teeth and flicking safety catches. “Relax. Relax. We’re not enemies. You say you’re looking to take on Vísindi’s genetics systems? I can help with that. I’m a sci-- a doctor.”
The God of the Hunt growled. “Inderigo’s flock. What use is your dead flesh to us?”
“Inderigo? Not anymore. We stand on our own now.”
For a moment too long Kedemonas hesitated. His eyes flicked to the risen hill not far away.
Instantly, Robin seized her chance - and the uniforms. “That comes later. We’ll need these. Cover our flank and bring up the rear.”
The god bristled. How dare this...unaffiliated...squad of mere humans take charge of his troops? Yet the prophecy nagged at him. He would not be the first to fall. But alpha status insisted he not defer. “We shall lead the assault. You bring up the rear, or pay the price.”
“As you like.”
-=-=-=-=-=-=-
Out of the blasted hills and the scrublands, soldiers may have risen from shadows, searching, shooting, then perhaps descended back into shrouded umbra and penumbra. When survivors shone light into the crevices and corners there was no one there. Myths running, chasing, ripping apart hapless victims in impossible ways with impossible limbs and impossible numbers of teeth and jaws, death out of a nightmare. They searched for their prey and prize, sun and song, light and darkness, life and death.
-o-o-o-o-o-o-
Kohl’s death was regrettable. It tore us apart. The Goddess of Peace bustled before a stone altar. It bore no sigil nor sign, nor did it seem worn from the ages, and the Rachel madly blasting plasma at it every few seconds before lapsing back into a druggedly peaceful state made no dents in its smooth surface at all. Please don’t do that, dearest sun-child.
“You...you bitch,” she screamed, “I knew it-” she let fly a bolt of flame, which dissipated a neat pace from the goddess’ calm visage; waves of narcotic peace flooded through her a moment after, sapping her will.
Please stay calm. Tawn’s serene face, for ages the source of reason and rationality among the broiling tempers that were the pantheon, showed no real expression now. Time was that a smile from her would signal the end of a conflict, or a frown a sign that the present argument was no longer acceptable to continue. Now Tawn’s features, while still the same as they ever were, had lost a fire behind their eyes. These were the eyes of a beaten god, trapped in a world of constituents that no longer believed in peace, or in the possibility thereof. With nothing to lose and Traiya’s prophecy at her side, everything - everything had become allowable in the name of peace.
Above the clouds, noontime approached. None of them had forgotten about the pronouncements Kohl used to make, to mark the highest part of his daily journey. It was usually something crude about Selena’s tits, but still, the regular silences reminded each and every deity of the war that raged among them, and the unending losses it had brought. Yet they did not stop, could not stop. How could they ever claim an end to this war when it would mean their destruction?
Do you hear that, little sun? Feel it burn above you. Does it not bring you peace to know you will take your rightful place in this world?
“What?!”
This war shall end. I will see it end. I will dissolve the conflict that brought it life.
“What?!”
Traiya was right. The wellspring of our power has broken its banks. It pours into this world and this war. This is an age of champions and heroes, an age of old gods and the new. The Goddess of Peace cast her eyes upon her captive, a look of almost envy meeting Rachel’s gaze. I will make you anew with the power all about us. We will have a deity of the sun again. And everything is going to be - just - fine. Her voice cracked, as if she were trying to convince herself.
“What.”
Death is peace, of a sort, Tawn intoned, though you shall not truly die. Some mortal part of you will burn away, perhaps, but gods don't need those anyway.
In an instant, the clouds above them parted, covering the stone altar in dappled golden light. Noon.
It’s time. The Goddess of Peace took her place before the altar, her hands upon the smooth stone by Rachel’s side.
The trees around them burst into splinters, leaving Malhaven bare upon the hill.
A tremendous whip-crack of energy lashed the air a moment after, resolving into a solid, jagged thrumming beam of light that poured its pain into both of them, enveloping them in an aura of screams and power, and a pure-white stream of - something, something so far removed from matter or energy or even space and time that the air around it stopped so much as existing - shot up into the sky, into the gap in the clouds, into the sun.
-x-x-x-x-x-x-
Pouring out of the dying forest, a river of black tar - if tar could leap and stretch and kill of its own volition. Coldness followed in her wake. Bodies sank under her glossy surface and disappeared forever. Other bodies propped up at the fore, screaming and chanting and singing with her. Sing to me songs of the darkness.
Lithe, liquid and lethal, they poured towards the hill before them. Legends had aggregated about Malhaven amongst dead ravings. Farewell to heaven, my friend. She almost stopped as its peak exploded into blazing, incomprehensible light.
But for once she did not change direction before fire and the flame. She knew that fire. “You are my sunshine...my only sunshine…” It was not the fire that pushed on somewhere behind her. And Malhaven could still be hers. The gods would have nowhere, then, and they would come to her in time. Come to me, bury your sorrow. The fire ahead of her could be ended. The fire behind would have only to burn itself out those beyond it would hear her song. Temptation to the condemned.
She would go ahead.
Hold on, hold on to yourself
Because this is gonna hurt like hell
They would all go ahead.
And the shadow of the day,
will embrace the world in grey…
And the sun...will set for you…
In the Godsworn Valley, however, things were not so obvious (Obviata, goddess of the obvious, died at the Taking of Mole Hill. Fluorescent green safety vests: not good armor).
A while ago, there had been Kohl, God of the Sun. It was he that drove the sun across the sky - in first a chariot borne by phoenix, then a carriage drawn by stallions with flaming manes, and eventually, a rather flashy red racecar with flames and ‘Solaria’ stencilled on the side. “To make her go faster,” he used to say, flashing a brilliantly white smile, “everyone knows flames make her go faster.” In Solaria he scrawled the passage of the day across the sky, pursued endlessly by the Night Sisters and their mother Selena. Time went on (Kairos, god of the Supreme Moment, had failed to consider the moment after. Or his sister, Chronos).
Vocatur hadn’t meant to kill him. In a cruel twist of Fate (Inevitably betrayed by Evita, Goddess of Destiny), he had been spared the horror of war. Exiled from the Valley, from Malhaven, his followers dispersed, killed, and forgotten, he had simply disappeared from the world, or into the world, depending on one’s point of view. Occasionally news from the patchy wastes and fields beyond the valley would report of a half-hearted party, or a mass orgy-suicide, but it was infrequent and no one felt the need, or desire, to know more. There had been hesitant proposals, later on, that perhaps his nature would combat the despair (Nihilos killed himself eight years into the neverending conflict) that seemed to drag it all on and on, but nothing came of it. No one would risk weakening their forces over a folly (HÅ҈ŌˆÍÔ´ÍŘÇı”∏, the God of Silliness, died in the very first days, having not taken the war at all seriously), not even to find out if he had died out there somewhere on a cocktail of his own shame and cocaine.
For their own part, gods did not die - in the traditional sense. They did not subsist on a quiet diet of belief; they simply were, and demanded worship from their constituents purely for their own satisfactions. But for the battles and machinations amongst themselves, they would have lived forever.
They would have lived forever.
-=-=-=-=-=-=-
Mad laughter in Obscura’s Labyrinth. Soldiers, their camouflage grey tattered, ran up the myriad stairs into the strange, broken temple. Somewhere, deep within, the tunnels were collapsing, closing like capillaries. Shadowy summons poured from them along with the soldiers, too afraid - if myths could be afraid - to stop and prey on stragglers.
And behind them came Obscura. Perhaps it was Obscura. Maybe it was Obscura. It was hard to tell; what burst from the darkness bore as much resemblance to the black and silver goddess as the whole of the night sky to pinpricks poked into black construction paper. Power, black and gleaming, rolled off of Her in waves and earthed itself in shadows - then She was the shadows, flitting back and forth in the corners of Her temple, flowing like a dark, sinister fog between the members of her congregation.
Without fanfare, She may have appeared on the altar. But not as they might have known Her: the Obscura they knew was ever so human, with her petty hatreds and propensity for little tortures. This Obscura was maybe something more like what She must have been before the war - the Goddess of Subterfuge, her minions Misinformation, Doubt and Denial. This Obscura might have worn a cloak that perhaps hooded Her face and maybe shadowed Her body; when this Obscura spoke, it was like writing traced out in the roiling fog.
“Desolo is dead.” Her voice rang out - but maybe the sound hadn’t happened at all - then faded. The masses shifted uneasily as the shadows lengthened, darkening the spaces in between the stones of the walls. The chandelier above them flickered, as if beating back against the dark. “I took of his power what I could. In the end, he stood with certainty, and the unknowable won out after all.”
A consensual query born from Her soldiers’ thoughts: “What of the Labyrinth, your Tenebracity?”
“The Labyrinth is dead.” To accentuate Her point, blood began to ooze from the stones before her: the remains of those that had not escaped her closing, collapsing maze. “We have more power than we have ever have had in that pale imitation of what we can do now. What further need do we have for those tunnels and warrens under the earth? Let others take the ones that are left; we can travel in the spaces between shadows. The gaps amidst the sunbeams.”
“But Desolo is gone. His forces scattered.”
“So who shall we battle, my troops?” There might have been laughter, if laughter were hewn from shards of white ice and black obsidian: an auditory flickering, like the shadows of a kinematograph. “Do you remember Desolo’s spy?”
Silence, palpable, then - “The girl?”
“Clad in metal. Endless light.” An angry whisper may have tainted her voice, rippling the shadows at their feet. “I found her once. I found her again after she broke into and out of my Labyrinth.” Gauzy tendrils caressed the shadows and birthed strange and terrifying cryptids. “She escaped me twice. No more shall we be so foolish.”
“Your Tenebracity.” As one, they knelt.
“And the magpie. The singing wing of the black, without eyes; it should be mine. I would have it mine or have it destroyed.”
“We await your command.”
“My orders? Be the dark edge to the wind. Be the shadow under every leaf. Blind the plain seers and muddy the clear waters.
Find them.”
As one, they, too, may have stepped into Her shadows and vanished.
-o-o-o-o-o-o-
Fury.
Firey.
If you cut her, does she not bleed? Only insofar as Rachel and the human race she left behind both bled plasma, of two different sorts. She trailed it now, wisps of electron sea and free nuclei coalescing into mere fire and flame as she traipsed amid the disappearing woods. She almost felt her consciousness fill the trees, beyond the burning trail she left behind her, past the sparking, twitching war machines that chased her still, limping as they were, on the scent of her, the tang of free hydrogen in the air. Her little sun sputtered a little, recalcitrant, reluctant to give up more of its life for its walking host - yet it was unwilling to let her give up the ghost.
She thought she heard singing; and some part of her knew it was very likely she would meet Sonora again, and soon, the copycat crooning melody as speech into her ear where she could never get the songs out, true earworms in the sense that they were perhaps more like the memories of long-dead singers and victims - perhaps even perfectly true in those circumstances where both singer and victim were one and the same. Perhaps it was just her imagination in the woods, singing among the screaming.
The gods are dying.
She didn’t even stop to acknowledge the grey voice, nor the white-robed figure standing by the side of her burning path. If the war machines were still after her, they wouldn’t matter soon anyway.
Do you hear me, girl? The gods are dying! The figure raised a hand, and doves flew from her sleeve and circled her laurel-garlanded head. Will you not listen?
“The gods seem to be far too interested in my death to be worried about their own,” Rachel muttered into the air, not looking at the newcomer, “and you’re one of them too. Leave me alone!” A neat jolt of plasma leapt from her palm and fried a dove, which evaporated without a trace. She trudged on, only to be stopped short by the white-clad woman suddenly standing in her path. “What are you, goddess of conjurers? Going to pull out some handkerchiefs next? Pull a rabbit from a hat?”
No, that would have been Zaklínání. He was killed several years ago, by his own believers. They discovered he’d been palming the coin the whole time. The garlanded goddess smiled, and as grim a smile as it was, it seemed to calm the world. I am Tawn. The goddess of love and peace.
Rachel snorted. “Really? Then do tell,” her voice cracked as it rose, “where the fuck-”
-have I been? I placed - sealed, rather - myself away when this all started. I wanted no part of this endless war.
“Should’ve stuck around, goddess of peace. Maybe the war would have been less endless. Look at it! Look at it!” She pushed past the goddess, who offered no resistance.
There was a minute hesitation as Tawn considered, speckled with the sound of gunfire, burning wood and screams. The thought had crossed my mind.
“God forbid you act on your thoughts.” Pause. “Hell, maybe they did.” A laugh then, a little hysterical laugh.
No one forced my hand. She replied, aggravating in her serenity.
“I don’t care! I don’t...care!” The sun-girl screamed, not in anger but in helplessness, pain and bewilderment, “You could have helped and you didn’t!” She tried to dash away - but still the goddess of peace kept up with her, not even walking or running. She was simply there, as unintrusive as a shadow and just as inescapable.
You do not know war like I do. I could have brought peace for a while, but it would have meant disaster. There would have been worse war than this - and I have seen war worse than this.
She turned around then to face her, angry sparks arcing between her fingers. “Then why are you here? Why now? Why?”
Because a long time ago, I decided that enough was enough. But it was too late. There wasn’t anyone left. But now...Traiya’s prophecy is coming true, I hear.
Rachel stumbled back from the goddess, scattering doves. “What? Who- what- I-I don’t have time for this, this - I don’t have time for you. I’m being chased. I can’t stop. I literally, can’t, stop.” She would have cried if she could have cried. “They’re chasing me and I can’t stop them either and I’m going to die-”
Shhh... A dappled light played across the burning clearing, as Tawn unfolded sets of moon-white wings. The ravaged sounds of war faded from around them, muffled by the gentle wingbeats of a flying dove. For a moment, a tiny corner of a shrinking forest of a crumbling valley of a dying world knew peace.
-x-x-x-x-x-x-
Shout! Shout! Let it all out! A new river graced the forest where there had been nothing of interest before - well, there had been a camp, perhaps of some description, but the torn, half-dissolved banners were stained black by the tarry waters carved into among, between, above the trees, as much above the ground as in it. Behind her there was only more of the same. Before it were the fleeing forces.
These are the things I can do without! Come on! It cared not for blue or black or grey, it simply killed them, effortlessly, just to see it done. The joy of the hunt? I’m talking to you! Come on!
Here and there, bodies rose again from her, riding along with her; her generals, her servitors, her toys. They spoke aloud in more voices with her - preaching to the choir. No more gods. No more worship. Only dissolution. Sometimes goodbye’s the only way. A shattered bouquet floated downstream. Lilies. Orchids. A rose.
“I can feel the cold hand of death and the end drawing near. I’ve seen gods of the men and all which they fear.”
-~-~-~-~-~-~-
The Strategists shakily sighted their weapons - but a slow, unexpected sound stopped them in their tracks: Onscreen, Raxis was giving the intruder a slow, sarcastic applause.
“I applaud your tactical innovation. Obviously, you have a weapon or a plan on your side more powerful than the defenses I could give these useless cowards.” He stressed the last part, his countenance breaking into a fractional smirk for a fractional moment.
As one, the Strategists looked up fearfully at the screen depicting their deity. “C-Commander?”
“I would spare my best protection for those who do not participate in my war? Not likely. But enough time wasted on you.” The wargod turned his attention to the diminutive figure at the door. “You fools can’t even hold a weapon straight. This one breached the Temple, and that is no easy matter.”
Under the collective gaze of god and men, gelatinous bluestuff shifted uneasily. The same could not be said of the little adventurer. Please don’t say anything stupid, Anila.
Don’t worry, wizard jelly! I got this allll under control. “Ahem. Greetings, noble personages and other important-lookin’ guys! Salutations unto you all.” She accompanied her introduction with an equally dramatic bow, complete with flailing arm special. See? Perfect. Look at how awed they are.
...I. I suppose they are. In a way.
“Where’s your bathroom? That big war-thingy I rode in on didn’t really seem, uh, equipped for that sorta thing. I mean, there was this super weird hose needle combo package attached to a bottle, but I don’t think that really was for that stuff.”
The following silence stretched on a while.
A white cage lamp set into the wall flashed into life, accompanying an urgent beeping on every console. In an instant, each screen in the War Room exploded into activity.
“One-one-beta-Jansson.” A Strategist read, half-relieved to be back in familiar territory. Then, hesitation. “One-one-beta-Jansson. I don’t know that code.”
“You wouldn’t.” All present looked up at the screen in surprise. The war god’s voice had stratified, somehow; instead of the usual harsh order-barking tone, it had grown an edge of steel and a hardened surface - yet buried underneath were undertones of sadness, loneliness - even pain. As if where there had been merely anger before, hot but ultimately shallow, there was now a quenched blade of purpose tempered by a gamut of complicated emotional states rarely seen in the wargod: shame, helplessness, betrayal, fear, anxiety. “One-one-beta-Jansson was a code set from the very beginning. I...I had never thought I would ever see it read. It...it could be said...I hoped I would never see it read.”
Haltingly, a Strategist spoke up: “But what does it mean, Commander?”
The rage flickered back into life. The blade burst into flame. Onscreen, Raxis spat at the bullet-blasted ground behind him and shouted, his voice ascending to a roar, “You cowards are there and not here because you know what things mean. Here’s a test for you: you tell me!” He slammed a fist on the console before him, ending the communication.
There was silence in the War Room for a moment - broken by one of the more important-looking Strategists, a woman wearing a highly impractical lab coat over shiny combat fatigues. “Well, come on, you lot. Raxis wants us to tell him something he already knows to prove our worth. Again. Let’s not keep him waiting or he’ll sic the Tacticians on us. Again.” She turned in her swivel chair to the display at her station.
Around Anila, the Strategists leapt into activity, examining monitors and reading printouts in a very businesslike way. No one seemed to care about her much.
“Um…” What do I do, Wizard Jelly?
Well, I’d probably try and go out the way we came. Let’s get out of this madhouse and find- oh. Oh, come on Anila, do you always deliberately do the opposite of anything I say?
Maybe! In a few bounds, she closed the distance between herself and the Strategist who had spoken. “Hi lady!”
The woman glanced up at the adventurer momentarily, then returned her gaze to the screen. “You’re still here?” She spoke quickly, not looking at her audience. “I’d get out there and find Raxis, if I were you. He seemed impressed that you broke into the temple.”
“How’ll I do that?”
She glanced back at Anila again, and then leaned in confidentially. “You didn’t hear this from me, but try and steal another Megáli. Here.” A printer beside her chattered into life, spitting out a thin plastic block. At a touch, a map appeared embedded inside, with flashing waypoints indicating Raxis and the vehicles hangar, as well as a temporary access card - “so you don’t have to break down as many doors,” she indicated.
Fifteen minutes later, when the experimental hovercraft attack platform prototype Fäe sped out of the hangar, setting off another round of security alerts on her screen, the Strategist couldn’t honestly say she was surprised.
-o-o-o-o-o-o-
The Unraveling is upon us.
The voice of Tawn broke into the silence - a silence, Rachel realized, had been going on for far too long. Without understanding why, or how, they were away from the burning forest - though, she realized, the crackling sound of fire was still out there, not near, but yet not far. The smell of smoke was faint, but very much there. The burning was coming. Yet the woods around them were thicker than thieves: it would take some time for the flames to arrive.
A chill wind blew amongst the branches, fanning the faraway flames. The trees around them began to tremble, as if in fear.
Malhaven will rise before she falls.
-~-~-~-~-~-~-
An army marching across the plains. An army that recycled its dead as they fell to SCIENCE bullets, SCIENCE lasers and SCIENCE grenades. The forces that still flew Inderigo’s banner marched on - ahead of them Visindi’s part-time temple, full-time SCIENCE laboratory, led by a dead necrologist inhabiting the body of a girl that could not help but talk to ghosts, all of which were disillusioned with the concept of gods in general. They marched on.
-=-=-=-=-=-=-
A plastic cup of water fell from a crowded desk and bounced, splashing its payload across the dirt floor. That was how it began.
The ground shook uncertainly, as if it wasn’t quite sure what to do with the motion imparted to it. The Temple of Obscura, however, knew perfectly well what it could do, and that was to resonate wildly with the earthquake. The wireframe chandelier trembled, what little crystal it still had tinkling madly. Under it, Obscura could have risen from what may have been her seat. She maybe stood in the slanted doorway that demarcated Her place of worship. She might have looked out towards the epicenter of the rolling ground, and She may have dreaded what She was going to see.
-s-s-s-s-s-s-
Vísindi’s laboratory had a balcony that overlooked the vast woodlands of the Godsworn Valley. It was here the SCIENCE god stood now, peering into the woods as the ground below shuddered like jelly maracas. His Temple, of course, stood steady as a rock in a storm, being based on the best principles seismology, meteorology, nuclear physics and (ugh) engineering could devise. Because of this, Vísindi had perhaps the best view of what was transpiring at Malhaven.
What the God of Science saw was this: The squat little structure that was the doorway unto the gods’ meeting court rose into the air, borne on a rising hill that quickly grew above the woods it lay among. On top of it stood two figures - one Vísindi didn’t recognize, and one he recognized all too well as long-gone Tawn. Delighted, he began to wonder - as was his nature. What was Tawn doing now? Did it have to do with the Unraveling? Had she, too, come to know of Traiya’s prophecy, or had she always known? And where did all that dirt come from?
It was almost preoccupying enough to forget the marching Inderigan army headed for the gates of his Temple.
He would have to do something about that.
-~-~-~-~-~-~-
The trundling Megáli were on the move. The roving Heléin, the slow hovering Kæls, the roaring Proioxes of Raxis’ personal squadron all pointed towards the risen hillock Malhaven now occupied, and the two figures at its summit, mere smudges at this distance and only distinguishable with magnification.
Raxis stared at the image on the small screen before her. In the cab of her Megáli she drew a pair of field binoculars from the glove compartment, staring through them towards Malhaven.
“One-one-beta-Jansson.” She intoned, at once without emotion and with heartfelt feeling. “Tawn.”
-+-+-+-+-+-+-
At once, the army that flew Inderigo’s sigil split in two as the first SCIENCE construct struck. Blood spewed everywhere as the clockwork eagle descended in a shower of gears and springs, finally falling to a hail of bullets - but not before it disemboweled its bloody way through the ranks, bronze talons slicing into flesh. The second wave came as grenades began flying over the battlements of the Temple, marking their landing with explosions of vaporized flesh. These were followed by fusillades of blaster fire from autocannons mounted in the walls, scattering the forces further. Even so, the Inderigan army recycled its dead as it pressed on towards the gateway, firing back at the gunners on the battlements and the chimerae that descended upon them.
In the beginning, Vísindi had not been considered an entirely serious god in the battles for supremacy, yet the gods that had dared to violate his space found their forces turned back by overwhelming defensive power. A frontal assault on his Temple was nothing short of tactical suicide, and the Inderigans knew it.
Which was why Robin, still in Florica’s body and hence still High Priestess of the Inderigans, had opted to take a smaller contingent - with Robin’s body still stored with them - around the back to find another entrance.
“Oldest trick in the book.” Robin smiled to herself. Under cover of the trees above them, there was no sign that Vísindi’s forces had noticed their detachment. The necrologist checked her notepad, on which a hastily-scrawled diagram shone in luminescent ink - “There’s the back entrance. We should be coming onto a patrol soon. Any ideas?”
“E-excuse me, High Priestess-” An Inderigan soldier/adept/mechanic volunteered. “We could perhaps leave this body here to attract their attention, then ambush them?”
Robin turned to him, gaze and voice steely. “We don’t risk this body, adept.”
The offender lowered his eyes. “Yes, High Priestess.”
Trying hard not to rustle the branches around them, all turned once more to the cleverly-concealed back gate. “Now, as I was saying-”
“Max, did you hear that?” The quiet voice came around the corner of the Temple, followed by two Visindan soldiers in strangely shimmering fatigues. “I could have sworn there was something.”
“I do believe I picked something up with my SCIENCE hearing, Private Tenes! But I couldn’t make it out over the sound of your improperly addressing a superior officer!”
“You know, Max, you turned into a real wanker once you got promoted with those implants.”
“I still can’t hear you, Private Tenearrrrrrrrghargharghargh.”
It was over in a few seconds. Lithely, Kedemonas rose from the mutilated bodies, and spat out two glittering objects into the the grass. He stepped on them; a silent crunch were the last things they heard. Out of the woods behind him came a pack of his own. Leg numbers were variable.
“Vísindi is mine.” He snarled at them. “Take their uniforms. Cloaking cloth. Won’t hide your shape but might hide your intentions. Find the genetic monstrosities he creates and put them down.”
“Genetics?” Robin’s contingent stepped from the bushes, provoking a chorus of bared teeth and flicking safety catches. “Relax. Relax. We’re not enemies. You say you’re looking to take on Vísindi’s genetics systems? I can help with that. I’m a sci-- a doctor.”
The God of the Hunt growled. “Inderigo’s flock. What use is your dead flesh to us?”
“Inderigo? Not anymore. We stand on our own now.”
For a moment too long Kedemonas hesitated. His eyes flicked to the risen hill not far away.
Instantly, Robin seized her chance - and the uniforms. “That comes later. We’ll need these. Cover our flank and bring up the rear.”
The god bristled. How dare this...unaffiliated...squad of mere humans take charge of his troops? Yet the prophecy nagged at him. He would not be the first to fall. But alpha status insisted he not defer. “We shall lead the assault. You bring up the rear, or pay the price.”
“As you like.”
-=-=-=-=-=-=-
Out of the blasted hills and the scrublands, soldiers may have risen from shadows, searching, shooting, then perhaps descended back into shrouded umbra and penumbra. When survivors shone light into the crevices and corners there was no one there. Myths running, chasing, ripping apart hapless victims in impossible ways with impossible limbs and impossible numbers of teeth and jaws, death out of a nightmare. They searched for their prey and prize, sun and song, light and darkness, life and death.
-o-o-o-o-o-o-
Kohl’s death was regrettable. It tore us apart. The Goddess of Peace bustled before a stone altar. It bore no sigil nor sign, nor did it seem worn from the ages, and the Rachel madly blasting plasma at it every few seconds before lapsing back into a druggedly peaceful state made no dents in its smooth surface at all. Please don’t do that, dearest sun-child.
“You...you bitch,” she screamed, “I knew it-” she let fly a bolt of flame, which dissipated a neat pace from the goddess’ calm visage; waves of narcotic peace flooded through her a moment after, sapping her will.
Please stay calm. Tawn’s serene face, for ages the source of reason and rationality among the broiling tempers that were the pantheon, showed no real expression now. Time was that a smile from her would signal the end of a conflict, or a frown a sign that the present argument was no longer acceptable to continue. Now Tawn’s features, while still the same as they ever were, had lost a fire behind their eyes. These were the eyes of a beaten god, trapped in a world of constituents that no longer believed in peace, or in the possibility thereof. With nothing to lose and Traiya’s prophecy at her side, everything - everything had become allowable in the name of peace.
Above the clouds, noontime approached. None of them had forgotten about the pronouncements Kohl used to make, to mark the highest part of his daily journey. It was usually something crude about Selena’s tits, but still, the regular silences reminded each and every deity of the war that raged among them, and the unending losses it had brought. Yet they did not stop, could not stop. How could they ever claim an end to this war when it would mean their destruction?
Do you hear that, little sun? Feel it burn above you. Does it not bring you peace to know you will take your rightful place in this world?
“What?!”
This war shall end. I will see it end. I will dissolve the conflict that brought it life.
“What?!”
Traiya was right. The wellspring of our power has broken its banks. It pours into this world and this war. This is an age of champions and heroes, an age of old gods and the new. The Goddess of Peace cast her eyes upon her captive, a look of almost envy meeting Rachel’s gaze. I will make you anew with the power all about us. We will have a deity of the sun again. And everything is going to be - just - fine. Her voice cracked, as if she were trying to convince herself.
“What.”
Death is peace, of a sort, Tawn intoned, though you shall not truly die. Some mortal part of you will burn away, perhaps, but gods don't need those anyway.
In an instant, the clouds above them parted, covering the stone altar in dappled golden light. Noon.
It’s time. The Goddess of Peace took her place before the altar, her hands upon the smooth stone by Rachel’s side.
The trees around them burst into splinters, leaving Malhaven bare upon the hill.
A tremendous whip-crack of energy lashed the air a moment after, resolving into a solid, jagged thrumming beam of light that poured its pain into both of them, enveloping them in an aura of screams and power, and a pure-white stream of - something, something so far removed from matter or energy or even space and time that the air around it stopped so much as existing - shot up into the sky, into the gap in the clouds, into the sun.
-x-x-x-x-x-x-
Pouring out of the dying forest, a river of black tar - if tar could leap and stretch and kill of its own volition. Coldness followed in her wake. Bodies sank under her glossy surface and disappeared forever. Other bodies propped up at the fore, screaming and chanting and singing with her. Sing to me songs of the darkness.
Lithe, liquid and lethal, they poured towards the hill before them. Legends had aggregated about Malhaven amongst dead ravings. Farewell to heaven, my friend. She almost stopped as its peak exploded into blazing, incomprehensible light.
But for once she did not change direction before fire and the flame. She knew that fire. “You are my sunshine...my only sunshine…” It was not the fire that pushed on somewhere behind her. And Malhaven could still be hers. The gods would have nowhere, then, and they would come to her in time. Come to me, bury your sorrow. The fire ahead of her could be ended. The fire behind would have only to burn itself out those beyond it would hear her song. Temptation to the condemned.
She would go ahead.
Hold on, hold on to yourself
Because this is gonna hurt like hell
They would all go ahead.
And the shadow of the day,
will embrace the world in grey…
And the sun...will set for you…
----
So very British / But then again | People are machines Machines are people | Oh hai there | There's no time
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Superhero 1920s noir | Multigenre Half-Life | Changing the future | Command line interface
Tu ventire felix? | Clockwork for eternity | Explosions in spacetime