Godhood XIV - Usurper [Honey Edition Turn 3]

"HEY YO. TEENY-WEENY. I MADE THE PLANTS AND THE CONTINENTS AT LEAST I DESERVE SOME MENTION."

I am known as Suki. My friends Mia and Amelia are chasing down some of those singing worms and looking around the planet over there respectively. If you need me I'll most likely be somewhere in the star. If your name suggests anything about your preferences for creation then I would suggest talking to Amelia. Assuming you aren't bothered by her cold personality.

With that Suki flew off back to Esmeralda, diving in and out of the star in a green streak. She was liking this universe so far. At least none of the gods were openly acting superior to them because they were spirits and not full fledged gods. That was always irritating.

Nice to meet you, Suki!

Craft turns back to the God of Booze.

Sorry, I didn't mean to offend. I haven't had any interactions with you yet, to any particular degree, so ignoring you is just unnecessarily rude.

Yes, I do believe you deserve some credit. It's very impressive, everything you've done so far - the river-ring, the plants, the start of the ring world - it's all a very good firmament for the fantastic, and very lucid for one who lives in a permanent state of drunkenness.

I just have one tiny grievance with you, however.

"WELL WHAT IS IT."

Nash-Marr lopes back to Olmolm's side again. Bacardi's roaring and bellowing and grandstanding and ass-pinching is still all a bit much for him.

"What are your plans for the beast in Seriba's underground?"

Craft takes a deep breath, as if to steady himself. It doesn't seem to be working, judging by the way his internals are starting to spin out and how he's twitching like that.

It's just a tiny *twitch* little *click* grievance. Well, not tiny on my side, it's actually a great big grievance with bad history behind it, but so far you've only caused a small transgression.

Look.

I don't like being called tiny.

Yes, my comfortable size in the divine plane is significantly below average. Yes, I could easily switch to a much larger size - I could tower over everyone here if I so chose - but I am very comfortable at my usual size, and it helps my work. I would much prefer it if you didn't point it out.

So far, it's clear you mean no harm with your comment of *twitchclickWHHHHHHIRRRRRRRR* "teeny weeny" but I still very much hate the implications. Hate them. *Click* Hate them, Hate them, Hate them. *Clickclickclickclickclickclickclick* I hate them with the fury of a million swarms, with the rage of a thousand beasts, I hate them more than *CLICKCLICKCLICK* I hate them *CLICK CLICK* I HATE them *CLICKCLICKCLICKCLICK* I HATE THEM, I HATE THEM, I HATE THEM.

Craft leaps up onto Bacardi's front, eyes aglow like worlds of magma and death.

I BLOODY HATE BEING CALLED TINY. IT MEANS *CLICK* THAT THEY BELIEVE I MY SIZE DICTATES MY RIGHTS. *CLICK CLICK CLANK* IT MEANS *WHIRRRR* THAT I AM LESSER THAN THEM. IT MEANS THAT I SHOULD STEP ASIDE AND LET THE QUOTE UNQUOTE *CLICK WHIRRCLANK* "BIG GODS" HANDLE THINGS. IT MEANS THAT I AM WORTHLESS, A TOY, JUST SOME LITTLE TRIFLE TO BE BLOODY TRICKED AND TOSSED AWAY, A NOTHING*CLICK*, A SPARE, *CLANK* A BLOODY FUCKING CARD MAGICIAN COMPARED TO THEM, EVEN THOUGH I AM JUST AS STRONG.

Craft's gaze is here for now, but it's looking somewhere in the past. The Water god is getting the brunt of it at this time. Whoever that hatred is tied to is clearly in for it, the next time his path crosses Craft.

The mantis's voice drops to a whisper. All the clicks and whirrs stop, very suddenly, before his voice quickly crescendos.

So don't call me "the Smallest".
Don't call me "teeny-weeny".
Don't call me "the tiniest god you've ever known".
Don't call me a midget,
Don't call me half-pint,
Don't claim I only do the intricate stuff because I can't reach the big stuff,
DON'T CALL ME SHORTY, AND DON'T YOU EVER
FUCKING
DARE
TO CALL ME "PIPSQUEAK", YOU STUPID,
RUSTY,
FLEA-RIDDEN
BRASS FURBALL!

"My plans, oh Hound? My plans are simple. I shall create a race of creature capable of burrowing with ease, yet one that chooses lives on the surface. They will be fascinated with the depths they have come from once, especially when they find the bones of their ancestors that never existed. They will live beneath the stars, but will be fascinated by the pits, constructing many a fancy tombs beneath the crust. Oh, for they will enjoy uncovering the secrets beneath them. And when- hmm..." As Olmolm's speech slowly turns into a monologue, he is interrupted by the yelling of the mantis god. For a small one, he is loud.

He shakes his head. "But I wandered off. I apologize." He gazed at the newly created moon. "This moon is of great craftsmanship young one. A work well done."

For some reason, he seems to be worried by the crystalline globe.

"But for now, I have to follow through with my words."

Olmolm creates a species of Ursine Beasts, that fit the bones of the fake fossils. (2 acts)
They are blessed with claws to burrow. (1 act)
They are cursed with an itch to find out what is beneath the earth (1 act)
Their mind is made sharper, but not too sharp yet (1 act).
They'll need something to eat, so Olmolm creates a kind of plant, called Moontubers, which are potatoes that look similar to the new moon, and spreads them around the world. (1 acts)
He also spreads glowing truffles. (1 acts)

Olmolm is tired. He is unsure why he made the plant a tribute to moon. Maybe he just found it pretty.

Bacardi blinked, not sure whether he remembered something trivial or forgetting something important. It was taking a few minutes for his brain to register on the fact that there was a very small and very annoying mantis-robot in front of him considering Craft was stupid-small. If he had an expression (which was hard to tell anyway), it was an expression of a truck driver finding a very large moth splattered on his recently clean windshield. Then, he burst out laughing.

"WELL, WELL , WELL. HOW INTERESTING FOR A LOGIC-ALIGNED GOD TO COMMIT SUCH AN IMMATURE OUTBURST AT A PLAYFUL INSULT. I WOULD FEEL EMBARRASSED FOR YOU EMBARRASSING YOURSELF. YOUR BONES MAY BE MADE OF THE STRONGEST GLASS BUT YOUR TEMPER IS MORE FRAGILE THAN THE EPHEMERAL EXISTENCE OF A HIGGS-BOSON. SHAME, I EXPECTED MORE FROM YOU."

The God of Alcohol lowered his torso down. Gears churning in the background. Clanging pipes echoing in the distance. Banner flapping nosily in the distance. Bacardi's face was eternally cloaked in the choking steam but somehow, it managed to accurately convey bemusement.

"IF I MAY DEDUCE THROUGH MY HOLY INEBRIATIONS, I WOULD SAY THE ISSUE YOU HAVE IS NOT WITH BEINGS LARGER THAN YOU, BUT RATHER YOUR STRENGTH, IN WHICH YOU SUBCONSCIOUSLY ASSOCIATE WITH SIZE. IT IS OF NORM TO CORRELATE THE MAGNITUDE OF SIZE IN PROPORTION OF STRENGTH AND YOU REALIZE THAT NORM. DO YOU? AND YOU HATE IT. IN DEFIANCE TO THAT STEREOTYPE, YOU MAKE YOURSELF SMALL. A PHYSICAL CUSHION GUARDING YOUR MENTAL INSECURITIES THAT IS YOUR FRAGILE PORCELAIN EGO. HOW SIGNIFICANT."

Bacardi roared into laughter. The noise that came out of his mouth was like a churning boiler.

"I SEE YOUR GAZE, INSECT-GOD. I SEE YOUR GAZE AND I SAW REVELATION, ARMAGEDDON, AND GOMORRAH. I SAW INFERNOS BURSTING OUT OF THE EARTH. LIQUID ROCK MELTING INTO THE WATERS. STEAM BILLOWING INTO SKIES AS POISONOUS SULFUR FILLED THE LUNGS OF INNOCENTS. I SAW MAGMA AND DEATH, BOY. TWIN BINARY STARS BOTH RADIATING VENDETTA AND REVENGE. MY GOD THERE IS A LOT OF HATE IN YOU BOILING INSIDE THAT PRETTY LITTLE BODY OF YOURS. I WOULD BE INCREDIBLY IMPRESSED IF I WAS NOT A PERPETUAL HOLY HANGOVER."

The unseen winds of the universe blew open a small hole in the steam. The hole was exposing Bacardi's mouth. Bacardi's mouth was holding a grin. A really wide grin.

"I AM A FAN OF STORIES. KEEPS MY MIND OFF OF THE PAST AND MY EYES INTO THE FUTURE. FROM WHAT I REMEMBER, EVERY GOD HAS A STORY. AND I SUPPOSE IT WOULD NOT BE ARBITRARY GUESS TO ASSUME THAT YOU HAVE A STORY. A SAGA BEHIND YOUR SIZE. YOUR BIGGEST GRIEVANCE, NO? TELL ME IF YOU WANT."

Craft sighs, a huge sag in his entire being.

Glass may be strong, but it's brittle. When it breaks, it shatters. Me and my brothers all embody our ingredients. And I've always enjoyed being this size, even before it happened. It's not size, it *Whirr* it's more like the one thing everybody does that reminds me of him.

Look - I don't really want to talk about this right now, but if I don't, I'll never get it off my chest. Maybe, Bacardi, you'll understand why I'm so angry after this - the wound is definitely very fresh.

But this story is long. I have quite the peroration when I start talking stories, so you might want to find a seat. I'm only telling this once.

Despite the fact Bacardi still scares the shit out of Nash-Marr, the prospect of a story is far too enticing for the godling to ignore. He inches round to some point which could be considered "in front of Craft" while still giving Bacardi a wide berth.

It's not easy, nor is the compromise especially elegant. Nash-Marr kind of hovers and looks even more ungainly than usual.

Amelia fought the urge to point out to Craft that, as a spirit made up of static metal plates and gears, she was actually stuck to her height of ten feet. Partially because she didn't like discussing her limitations to other people, and partially because intruding on that conversation would have put her into a conversation with the crass science god.

Mia, hearing the word story, rushed over to listen as well. She made a conscious effort to put the god of stories between her and Bacardi. She took out a scroll of paper from somewhere in her robes as well as a brush. Already she was writing and drawing, depicting the image of Craft and Bacardi talking, and the audience gathering for the tale that Craft was beginning.

"FABULOUS. ANYWAY, IT IS TOTALLY OKAY THAT THE STORY IS ONE OF THOSE LONG-ASS ROMANGRECIAN EPICS THAT HAS A TENDENCY TO MAKE A GOD ASLEEP. PLUS I TECHNICALLY DON'T REALLY HAVE AN ASS IF I DON'T NEED IT (ALSO THANK YOU FOR THAT VERY SEXY BUTT-MUSTACHE, LORD RACK. I SHALL WEAR IT WITH PRIDE UNTIL IT WEARS AWAY OR I DECIDE TO GET LASER-SURGERY REMOVAL)."

Bacardi excitedly sat down, well a close approximation anyway. His place was very close to Craft, Lord of Midget (close enough because after all, Bacardi was talking to him) - yet also rather close to Nash-Marr. Not super close to the point the God of Alcohol was breathing down his furry hackles but close enough to make things even more uncomfortable and awkward.

Bacardi is not a master of empathy.

---

Or he just likes to goad people. I dunno. Even my omnipresent third-person narration has limitations.

Well, Craft, I don't like to reveal an ecosystem until it's most of the way to good working order, but...

Craft? Oh.

Kahtrak sits down, behind the rest. Then he realizes that he's still coasting on that ridiculous cloud, discards it and sits down again.

Craft adjusts his position for all of the new listeners. Partly because everyone placed themselves close to Nash-Marr, who was only barely in Craft's original line of sight.

Like I mentioned, I have a "Family" of sorts. We're all brothers, we're all made of different materials, we've all got verbs for names, we all have a different letter at the start of our names, and we all resemble different creatures.

We were all created by one god, a deity who thrived on Sets, on Variety, and on Inorganic Life of all things.

His name was Alpha, but he was Dad to the lot of us. He just made us each, one by one, and taught us how to be gods. His universe was a solo project up until then - and wow, was it impressive. Each of us was a representative from one of his worlds, part of a race that built it's offspring, rather than gave live birth to it.

I was his second pick, from a world of sands. I don't remember much of my mortal life, but I do know why that is - he picked those who were suffering poor lives, wiped their pains from their minds, and then gave them his love and power.

His first pick was his poorest. The brass cat, who took the moniker of Break. Break - Break was - Psychic Powers, Treachery, and a main sphere of Destruction were his powers. I don't honestly know where that combo came from, but I do know I should have been more cautious when I finally met him. He ran off quite quickly after ascension, while everyone else stayed and got to know each other.

Alpha never told us what made Break run off. We all just assumed he wasn't getting enough power from Dad's ordered universe - certainly the rest of us were much more reasonably accounted for. We also wondered why there were 23 of us, B through to W and Y if the alphabet he was basing our names off had 26 letters. We assumed he just didn't want to have to manage another 2 worlds, or that he couldn't think of any X or Z names.

I should have known better. Some God of Deduction I am.

So, eventually, we all parted for our individual universes. That was a long time ago in fact - this is my two- hundred-and-fourteenth unique universe visited.

I met Break in my hundredth one. We were the only two.

Brass - only a fool thinks it's gold, but it's sounds great, and is good for blowing your own horn. He was as stuck-up as they came, really, but he seemed friendly enough.

We created a really good universe, methinks. It had everything you could possibly hope for - EVERYTHING. And they all used psychic powers the way most talked and breathed.

We called the universe Psionica, and all was good. A bit more violent than my tastes, but still good.

But then it all went to hell.

We had two planets, his Sapnis and my Fantazija. They were linked by space travel, and had good relationships from what I saw. Eventually, I decided to mix it up, and created a third planet. I put a lot of effort into that planet – golden fields, blue skies, glowing crystal paths that extended all across the world like my brother Glow – same material, in fact, but I’m only talking about one of my brothers here. I called it S- I’m getting sidetracked, sorry, let me refocus here.

I had exhausted all my acts when he came over to look at it, but he hadn’t used any – we were getting fifty apiece at that point. He gazed at it for one second, he smiled, he complemented me on my work.

Then he grabbed my two planets, one in each hand, smashed them together and threw the pieces in the sun.

Fantazija diplomats were rooted *clickclick* and grabbed all across Sapnis at the same time, and his leading race, the Murgs, *click* killed each and every one. There was a forceful cut*click*back on artisans, on rational thinkers, on ANYTHING that could possibly give me power.

So when power came again, it only came to him, in a great gulping burst thanks to everything he had destroyed. I was left helpless, starving. He stood over me and gloated, calling me *clickclickwhirr* puny and pathetic. A *WHIRRRRRR* pipsqueak, I believe, was his favourite moniker for me.

I was quite surprised when he left right afterwards. Thought he was going to stay longer. I was too weak to bail, to run to a new universe, so I had to stay and watch his Murgs destroy everything I had done. When he finally came back, after a thousand waves had passed to no effect... he had hundreds, if not thousands of Acts.

So we have a weak and starving god on one side, and what was basically an insane destroyer on the other. Yeah, you can guess how that went.

He turned me*CLICKCLANKCLICK*into a fucking LANTERN. He grabbed me, prepared a little Lantern, then stuck me in there. And then he sealed it shut with a fairly hefty level of acts.

And then I was his little prize. He hefted me around, showed off his brand new light source, for the next hundred and thirteen universes. Few could see me in there, none could hear me except Break himself. His favourite taunt was that if I wasn’t so small, he couldn’t have done it to me, so it was my fault for being *CLANK* weak and frail and TINY AND PATHETIC AND *WHIRRR* ahem. Those who could see me were just told I was a projection, and never knew I needed help. They all were tricked, like I was, into losing all their power. But he left many of them behind. He only ever opened his lantern when one of his younger brothers was there – he got about 7 of us, although they’re barely important to the story.

The only reason we ever got out of there was because little things in each of the universes we visited gave us power. We got little drips and drabs, over one hundred and thirteen universes, before we had enough to break free.

I managed to communicate outside of the lantern, to the other residents of my 213th universe. I begged them for their help, and they were incredibly kind. They successfully hampered Break long enough for me to free myself and my brothers from the inside. I’m not sure if any of our heroes survived – we all panicked, and universe hopped in every direction until we thought we were safe. I backtracked through my universes as quick as I could...

And learnt where he had gotten all those acts in the process. The worlds were all destroyed, the suns split, the moons powderised. He had ruined everything I had ever done, and gotten all the more powerful for it.

I still haven’t seen what happened to my home, and what happened to Dad. I suspect that Break destroyed the X and Z planets at home, though. Maybe why he was thrown out. I don’t want to know what happened if he got that far in his destructive rampage.

Instead of going home, I just took a different direction about halfway through my backtracking. I ended up here.

And, um... here we are.

Yeah. That's everything.

Craft finally sits back. He's still for a moment, off in his own little world of memories and fears.

Mia finished writing out the story in her scroll. Looking over the multicolored pictures and text for any gaps she had to fill in.

What form did Alpha take normally?

The gaunt god stands up.

So, uh, do you want to make a parasite?

Or something.

Lord Rack shimmied over to Mia pronto. Facing her, he pointed urgently to his face, making an expression of exaggerated horror to warn her of the social faux-pas. This probably wasn't the right time to put the mantis god through a detailed interrogation for one's story-writing purposes. First you'd have to express sympathy for the no doubt highly personal and traumatic tale of Craft's past he had just exposed to all of them, right? You know, at least a moment of silence, or a word of "wow being imprisoned in a lamp for that long must have been terrifying I don't think I would have lasted that long good on you for surviving that ordeal with sanity intact?!" He knew Mia wasn't heartless- far from it, but sheesh, since when was everyone so socially awkward? Lord Rack shot a glance at Bacardi, not expecting him to drop the whole 'tiny' thing from his speech despite how obviously off-limits that now was. Not entirely his fault, what with perpetual intoxication. Lord Rack would have to move fast before Bacardi could chime in.

With heavy concern in his voice, he spoke to Craft. "I have seldom heard of such cruelty and deliberately prolonged suffering, my friend. Should the deity Break ever appear to us, your warning tale may serve to save our very lives and those of our mortal children- and for that, we must thank you."

"A fantastic story, Mechanical One. This should be written down, nay, etched into stone, for all the Soon To Be to see." He paused for a second. "If you allow me to do so, I'll create a monolith for you, carved in an elder tongue of your choice."

That must be a joke right?
Amelia had flown closer to the cluster of gods having gotten bored exploring the planets surface.

Amelia. Relax.

He tells a sad story and someone offers him a monolith.

It's not a big deal.

It's insulting. The idea that a sad story is justification for some sort monument.

It isn't charity if it falls under his spheres.

Whatever.
Amelia goes to examine the planet closer to Esmeralda.

Ignore her. She's grumpy and has a thing against charity for some reason.

"I- I can help with a monolith or the like. I'd like to, even."

Nash-marr glances at the other gods.

"If, if Craft wishes it."

"Very well, if you want to do it, and Craft agrees, you shall be the one performing this feat."

"EXCELLENT STORY, MY LITTLE GREEN FRIEND. LIKE MORPHINE TO MY METAPHYISCAL NERVES. LIKE THE LULL BEFORE SLEEP."

Bacardi rose up with his massive shining wings. His many hands clapped noisily, making an ungodly clanging noise. Somehow in the din, there was a smidge of insincerity.

"IT WAS PROSAICALLY CLASSICAL, A STANDARD MILQUETOAST OF A HERO'S JOURNEY. MY GOD, EVERY WORD OF YOUR STORY HAD A DROP OF THAT MIND-NUMBING PREDICTABILITY. IT IS REALLY AMAZING IN THAT SORT OF WAY. CONGRATULATIONS ON YOUR IN-COMING MONOLITH FOR SUCH A MAJESTICALLY MONOTONOUS SOB-STORY."

Craft twitches at Bacardi's comments, but says only yeah yeah, it's an obvious betrayal and an idiot protagonist, he reminded me many times I should have seen it coming...

Alpha... took the form of a string of coloured lights, each descending in heat and brightness. Like the Rainbow, but I distinctly remember a white light, above the red, serving as his head.

Urgh... I'll be fine, as long as we can just move on from this.

Amelia is right. A monument for me is a ridiculous idea. Just... I kind of want to forget my involvement in that whole thing, and it'd probably bring up the whole size... thing. I'd rather be known in here as what I really want to be, as a God - not the time I spent as a light source.

Break is a threat though. If you ultimately decide to build the monument, make it in whatever tongues you think we should teach this world's mortals, and make it serve as a warning about him, not as a pity prize for me. Really, I'd prefer to avoid being very much focused upon in it; I may have been the first of his brothers caught, but I highly doubt I was his first victim.

Craft is quiet for a moment, then suddenly back into his normal, polite demeanour. The shattered glass is repaired, and only those who know where to look can see the cracks.

Kahtrak. What exactly are you planning, with your parasite?

"Wait."

The gears are turning again, doors in Nash-Marr's head opening to gaze upon a higher level of reality he's not used to thinking about. One he wasn't really aware of. The godling's voice quavers

"He could come here? You gods can chase each other across universes?

This demon could appear with- with no pomp, no warning, and you instead concern yourselves with common beasts?"

Nash-Marr is panicking, hackles rising, bedraggled claws rubbing at his blind eye as if in disbelief as he stares at one god after the other. He squeals, looks at the black smear on his paw, running from a glistened claw and across the back in a dirty smudge.

"We- we should find a way to protect ourselves - shut this place off before it finds us-"

"OH MAN, DON'T WORRY, DOG-GOD, GOD OF DOGS." Bacardi bellowed above. "THE UNIVERSE WE ARE VANDALIZING AND ASSERTING OUR POWER IN IS ONE OF THE MANY IN THIS SANCTUARY WHICH WE CALL REALITY. THERE IS MANY UNIVERSES, BUBBLES OF EXISTENCE, THAT ARE CLOSE AS THEY ARE FAR. THEY SPRAWL LIKE URBAN ROT, LIKE RADIOACTIVITY FROM A SUPERNOVA. TO FIND THIS VERY UNORIGINALLY NAMED DEMON GOD (BREAK? REALLY? IS HE TRYING TO START A GARAGE BAND OR SOMETHING) IS, PARDON MY CLICHE, LIKE FINDING A NEEDLE IN A HAYSTACK. ONLY THE HAYSTACK IS THE SIZE OF INFINITY."