For the Record

“Plenty o’ them know, yaknow.”

The obnoxious god of betrayal has been sitting smugly across from me making snide comments for the entire – albeit brief – time that I’ve been here.

“If you’re a proper example of this crowd then I’m not at all surprised. I shouldn’t have expected any kind of help from the dark pantheon, or any god to begin with. You’re all wrapped up in your own childish games,” I snap back.

He shrugs. “Can’t be an example if ahm not even a member, yeah?”

I narrow my eyes.

…

So he’s apparently not going to elaborate, which is just as well.

I’d gone out of my way to make an grand entrance, as well as openly declare that I’m not planning to betray my wife, demonstrate my association with Eris and therefore the neutral faction, and subordination of Sekhmet. And then this asshole drops in out of nowhere entirely to destabilize both me and my image.

“So let me make sure of something. What you’re suggesting then is that I go from plane to plane, devouring everything until somebody buckles, or I find her myself…?”

“Woah there,” he gestures placatingly. “No fun ta be had in that, yeah? Although you do put on quite th’ show. An’ ahm pretty sure yer not strong ‘nough to do it. Nah now.”

My eyes narrow even further.

“Hav’ ta comment though. Yer a lot like Lamashtu then, yeah? Showin’ up puttin’ on th’ gran’ performance for th’ crowd an’ then jus’ skulkin’ around the periphery.”

“I wanted it clear that I don’t care about their stupid political games. I do have allies, both in the dark pantheon and elsewhere. I have no intention of being quiet about any of this. All I wanted was to be left alone, and in return I had my home destroyed. I need it absolutely clear that I’m not going to tolerate any more of this stupidity from bored fucking gods or anyone else – least of all you.”

I punctuate my statement by swigging the last of my flute’s contents before satisfyingly setting it on the table to lean back in my chair.

…

Ah, he’s mercifully silent. Far overdue, I’d say.

…

…

Although… I can’t help but have noticed that Eris was suspiciously silent during my exchange with Dolos.

And I can’t help but give her a side eye.

…To which she doesn’t respond, instead going between eyeing her drink and the gathered crowd of revelers who appear to be doing anything but planning a war.

It’s like none of them take this the least bit seriously.

“They’re not actually going to fight, are they?” I finally ask her.

She takes a slow breath through her nose before answering, “No.”

…

“Then why are we even here?” I ask while pinching the bridge of my nose.

“To plan, obviously. But the gods themselves, taking the field in the wargames? No. We don’t. Why would we do that? We have our personal armies for a reason.”

…Is it just me, or does she seem upset?

Not that I could place it. It’s not like I have a bond with her or anything.

“Because we could end mortal conflicts with minimum effort, and it’d be boring to just fight weaklings – trust me, I know.”

Arty gives me a poker face, but it seems she’s not… particularly happy about that comment either.

So I let out a small sigh. “Dear, it’s not that I don’t want to or won’t, showing off for you with a bit of pageantry certainly isn’t boring. If anything, it’s just disappointing that your challengers aren’t actually of a level to be… well, a challenge. I wish I didn’t have to offer so heavy a handicap to every single one.”

Admittedly… on the other hand, I don’t particularly want to share her. She’s mine.

…

Wait.

That didn’t bother me before…

…

Before when? Why does it bother me now?

…

…

I’m going to have to think on that later though… considering the small mob of other divines sashaying up to no doubt annoy me. A sigh absentmindedly escapes me.

***

Silence.

Blissful, unattainable silence.

Peace.

…Or it should be.

Instead I’m haunted by the wails, the pleading voices, the confusion of the mortals.

The ones I’ve killed.

The ones I’ve tortured, for far longer than any mortal should be able to stay alive.

Why?

For what?

Because.

Because Ceto ordered it.

Trespassing, he said. They strayed into his domain, and as a result deserve to suffer.

This is one of the hells for a reason.

…

I stand silently in my usual position… to one side of the carpet in his throne room. The others here are just as dead-eyed as I’m sure I am. How long have they been here?

…

…

How long have I been here? Months? Years?

I don’t know.

I can’t tell anymore. Time has lost its meaning.

I’m losing my meaning. And myself.

How long?

How long can I hold on?

He wants to break me. I can tell that he wants to break me, and leave me as a tool.

A tool like the others, with their dead eyes.

I’m sure he once teased them with freedom too. I’m sure at one point he let the leash slacken, and gave the impression of hope. That we could reach out, ask for help.

But no.

Every time, right as I’m about to reach through my telepathic bonds, I feel them snap shut.

…

All I feel from them is rage. Rage, and despair, and futility, and annoyance.

I know better than anyone that I was my wife’s limiter. Their conscience.

And now I’m gone. There’s no way they’re going to listen to Nyx by herself. They did at one time, but I watched them grow apart – Nyx with her crafting and Nemesis with their domain, and their mortals, and…

And Artemis. And me.

And me.

And now I’m here.

Never trust a god. If I’ve learned anything, it’s that.

They always have an ulterior motive.

Always.

He pretended to be helpful, at first. “Oh, a lost soul? A newborn godling, yes? Sent here, of all the heavens and hells, all because you didn’t have a Vessel ready? But don’t worry, my child! Behold, I have Vessels prepared for those just like you! Borrow one, return to your home, ready your own, and then return this one. All will be well!”

And I foolishly believed him.

Not a second after I inhabited this poor quivering mortal, a golden collar snapped around my neck.

I’d heard before, that there are many ways to trap a god.

This is but one of them.

He has a collection of us, naïve souls, newborn gods all trapped in the same way.

And now I’m here.

Forever.

***

The humans below run in terror.

And so they should.

They’ve heard of the darkening sky, followed by the daggers of ash raining from it. Swarms of wraiths and the undead wash across the cityscape, reducing the once teeming metropolis to a mausoleum.

There is no escape.

I don’t allow them one.

And there’s another district down. The mortals, they truly can’t put up a fight against us. I’d have gained so many levels if my System wasn’t broken… Although I guess gods typically don’t have Systems anymore, not when they reach apotheosis. They don’t need them.

They don’t need anything.

And neither do I, least of all these mortals.

Who did they belong to again?

I don’t care.

I can’t bring myself to, not that it matters.

There was a time that my wife tried to stop me, tried to reason with me.

But reason doesn’t matter either. It’s an alien concept to me, much like all the others I once tried so hard to conform to.

Human things, I silently scoff. More useless, pointless human things, only valuable to the ants as they scurry about their hives.

As they scurry below my feet.

Her worry, her tears… some part of me deep inside feels something for it.

Sorrow, I think. Empathy.

Pointless.

USELESS.

Just like divinity. What is the point of divinity if I can’t even find one single person?

I should kill them all.

Mortals, gods… the planes. All of them.

They all deserve to die. They all deserve oblivion.

…

And so I simply look down from above, the omnipotent force of death and destruction.

The force of their end. The end of life.

The end of rebirth.

And so I Consume them all. Every single one.

The other gods were incensed at first. Why would a god take to the field of battle themselves? Why would a god violate custom, and murder thousands upon thousands upon thousands of helpless mortals?

Because I don’t care.

I don’t care about their stupid, pointless wargames.

Even wars between the pantheons are just games to them. Games to watch, competitions.

Sport.

I tear through another district of the buckling city, hovering above it as a growing storm of swirling ash.

The last thing these mortals will probably see is the pair of eyes watching them die.

My own baleful, blood-red eyes, burning with an eternal hatred for all life.