Sidestory: The Creed Ascendant
* * *
The Unrealm did not know place or moment, and never had. It could not have been.described as crowded or stifling, for it was beyond the bounds of space, nor could anything be new or outdated.
And yet, the paradigm shift had everyone feeling caged, as if unseen walls were closing in on them. The Unbeings, like a microcosm of Creation City's Makers, were not truly separate, as such, but they were not of one mind, either.
What they had said to Mocker of the Zhayvin hadn't been a lie, but it might not have been accurate either, now that they thought about it.
Mocker understood their nature better than most beings, but it was not like them, not fully. No Unbeing had ever been outside their union, for such separation was impossible. They were like particles making up a being. Destroying each other was more likely, and would be easier, than anything resembling secession or exile.
As such, the Unbeings found themselves at a crossroads. For entities that had always been everywhere they'd known, choosing a path was as alien as they must have looked to those they had once destroyed.
The Collective had let them go, without the Unbeings needing to try and break free, and Earth's Global Gathering had decided they could return to their home, as long as they coordinated with Earth's institutions should they return.
Before their Second Revelation, they had lashed out at anything and everything not of the Unrealm, trying to destroy it in a mad hatred born of a cruder instinct triggered by threats. They had been deemed not liable for their past deeds, having been insane by any measure - though they were sure many would have enjoyed seeing them destroyed regardless.
Their timeless minds hadn't remembered, for some things had always been, once they happened. But now, they relived the eons of pain caused by those they had welcomed with open arms, before their First Revelation. That made them brood, just like the reason for this gathering, though for different reasons.
The Unbeings knew, like those bound by gravity knew that things fell when dropped, that DEATH's Keeper was worthy of worship. How could he not be? Had he not persevered, despite everyone arrayed against them, and devised the plan that had both saved and uplifted creation? Was he not, even now, guiding the Idea of Endings, preventing it from annihilating the godless dead in a mindless rampage little better than their past one?
But with faiths often came schisms, and theirs, sadly, was no exception. The problem, obviously, was that - despite being ruthless when those he cared for were slighted - David was a kindly god, who would not accept people so much as insulting each other in his name, much less killing each other.
As such, the Faithful had to settle for grumbling about the heretics' blasphemies as said unbelievers entered hibernation. They had rejected David's divinity, either because they had come not to believe such a thing existed in general, or because they thought him unworthy of adoration.
Poppycock, obviously, but you could not argue with some people. They had believed too, once, before deciding they had the right to judge him, as if they would not have been angered in his place. Pure shamelesness...alas. Perhaps they would return to the light, one day, should they allow themselves to be enlightened once more.
With the faithless crawling up their own navels, the Faithful were left to hammer out the details of their beliefs. Clearly, they needed more work, or the next batch of fools would reject them too, remaining blind to the truth.
To an observer capable of withstanding the sanity-blasting nature of the Unrealm, the conclave (the name had not been capitalised yet, the gathering had not become an insitution) would have resembling nothing more than a maelstrom, colourless but containing all hues at once, shapeless yet horribly-angled, curving impossibly. The debate would have sounded like an infinity of identical voices, all speaking at once, answered by their echoes.
'The Keeper of Endings is a god,' one began. 'He is divine, for he can harm any undead beyond recovery. He is worthy of worship, for he saved us all, not being crushed by despair when others would have broken and died.'
'He cleared our minds, too,' another Unbeing chimed in. 'Broadened them. Made us see as others did. The memories are gone, yet the thought-shapes linger.'
The first nodded, sweeping its eyeless gaze across the endless ranks of its fellows. 'Is there any doubt, then? The Keeper is our god, and will be that of many. We shall spread the word of his glory, and bear the burden of his enemies hatred.'
If only it were that simple. But an appendage rose, twisting in question?
'Yes?' the preacher asked in a geavelly tone.
'What if the Keeper does not want us to spread the word of his glory? What if he does not desire veneration?'
The speaker nodded. 'He is modest, yes. Looks inward, our Redeemer. All he wants is prosperity for all, and to raise build a life of joy with his beloved.' It shrugged. 'It matters not. Even if he forbids us from preaching, he cannot forbid us from believing, for that would be the kind of tyranny he despises.'
'Yes!' an Unbeing said, before launching into an entirely different kind of discussion. 'What of the Lady in Flames?'
But the speaker gestured for it to quiet down. They would speak of her, too, and many others. 'All shall be revealed in time,' it promised. 'Once we lay the groundwork, our minds shall open to the higher mysteries.'
The problem was obvious: David Silva was too humble to feel comfortable being praised, much less prayed to. He would not answer prayers, they knew, for he saw such behaviour as biased, as if favouring his worshippers was anything but admirable.
Any attempts to find loopholes were likely to end poorly. Praying for something David was going to do anyway, either in pursuit of his duties or on a whim, and claiming they had been heard once it happened, was all but guaranteed to draw the Keeper's displeasure.
Luckily, the solution was obvious as well: they would be peaceful. They would not preach through blade and fire, but only through words. They would not demand conversion, either, for the seeds of beluef in the hearts of the worthy would bloom on their own.
David could not say no to that, surely. As long as they did not slaughter unbelievers and sinners for slighting his divine honour, there would be no reason to reprimand them.
So, they could not kill and claim David had driven them to do it. Even praising his name while killing his enemies was likely to put him on edge.
'But how can we live like that?!' wailed a believer, wracked with grief at having to temper its devotion. 'Why can't they all see he is meant to be venerated? Why can't he accept his greatness?'
The one who would come to be called the Hierophant lowered its head in sympathy, heart bleeding at the sight of its shattered spirit. 'It is tragical, yes - but we must be strong! David took the pain caused by the Black God and drew strength from it! Will we prove ourselves lesser than our Redeemer, falling by the wayside?'
It twisted, newly-formed eyes burning with fervour. 'Or will we follow in his footsteps, ascending to stand at his side like gods unto ourselves?'
The qnswering cheer was reassuringly strong. Good, good. They craved Ascension. Who wouldn't, besides the craven, the foolish and the mad?
'But adoration is not enough!' the preacher reminded them, roaring to drown out the crowd's zeal. 'We cannot simply say David is great and call it faith! Magnificent as he is, the Keeper of Endings is not simply to be exalted, but emulated!'
Now, the speaker was among its people, taking in everyone. 'He might not have given us commandments to follow, but it matters not. He leads us by example through the darkness that is existence. How can we do any less than follow that example?!'
A ragged cheer rose in approval, to the speaker's delight. So were the Deeds of David listed, carved into the consciousness of the Unbeings so they might serve as inspiration.
David helped and protected the innocent, regardless of their beliefs; he punished the guilty and broke them through divine torture, that they might recognise their sins and repent, trying to make creation a better place; he was loving to his woman, to his kin and to his fellows.
So they would be the same. The Unbeings might not have been inclined towards acting as either guardians or friends - destruction and revenge came easily to them, as they did to David -, but they would shame their god if they did less than he would have in their place.
Now, how they lived was important, but why they lived mattered just as much, if not more so, argued a few of the Unbeings.
'We live because the Keeper delivered us!' bellowed one of the Faithful. 'Delivered us from the chains envisioned by Chernobog, and from the oblivion of the unthinking Mover's awakening! Hail David!'
'Praise be!' the preacher replied, almost reflexively. 'But that is not what I meant. We live to Ascend! We cannot persist shackled as we are, for this is merely survival, not prosperity.'
It folded its limbs, smiling from a trillion needle-fanged mouths, each dwarfing any star, but effectively invisible compared to the expanse of its starfish-like body, for they were separated by stretches of unbroken wrought matter far larger than them.
'We know the macrocosm is not working properly. Itvwas ince the Dream of a blind idiot god, and when said god awakened and opened its eyes, it did not undo everything, for it believes in Ascension through struggle.'
The Mover was an aloof creature, not uplifting people when it could, but it could not be opposed. Not yet.
'LIFE had the opposite problem, and, because it tried to shove apotheosis down unwilling throats, it was broken. We are its cast-offs, punished for its failire, a shadow of what we should have been. Even those who understood the truth on their own, the Breaker and the Knights of Perfection and Rebellion, have not achieved their full potential. They know they are the Last men - but they also know they could be Gods!'
A rumble passed through the gathering, with the speaker beginning to gesticulate. 'That is the danger of forcing unwilling conversion! Even if we incur David's ire rather than the Mover's, there will be little difference. We will feel more ashamed, even if we are scourged less. Neither is an option, in any case. Furthermore...'
The preacher clasped its limbs behind itself as it began to stalk through the crows, head lowered in thought. 'Furthermore, we cannot attempt to raise the unprepared out of the muck, lest they lose themselves like we did, before David purged our minds of madness.'
'PRAISE BE!'
'May the depths of his joy dwarf those of his sorrow!' the speaker responded. 'Aye. No one deserves going through the First Revelation the way we did. The result will, doubtlessly, be the same. One must realise they shape and are shaped by existence on their own terms, or they will only achieve what the Sleeper's addled mind deems freedom.'
'Rrrrable-rouser,' an Unbeing growled, form twisting at the mention of the Great Old One.
'Cheap demagoguery,' another scoffed. 'That's all it spouts. It does not even teach what its god believes. Even if it wasn't so prone to raping people's spirits, they would be appalled by the hypocrisy.'
'All faiths fall short of ours,' the preacher said soothingly. 'It is only natural, for they misunderstand the truth when they even acknowledge it. How many deities wish for their worshippers to Ascend? Few. So very few. Too many pantheons wish only to keep weaklings around, so they have someone fawning over them. They would rather be admired by their lessers than respected by their peers.'
It shook its head, chuckling. 'Us, however? We will carve a path through the trackless wilderness of fate, because it is the right thing to do. Once everyone ascends, we will stand as equals to David and the Unmoved Mover, beholden only to ourselves.'
And then, there would be no more need to preach, nothing left to teach about, for everything and everyone would be understood. There would be only peace, the serenity of omnipotence.
There was the goal. They had the promise of paradise, the precepts to follow on the road to the eternal tomorrow. Now came the details, the meat on the bones, as it were. The preacher would have rather left to proselytise - there were worlds upon worlds, cosmoses linked like atoms, bereft of the light of Ascension. They deserved to hear of the Creed, to make their choice. But some things had to be settled.
The elephant in the room was David's own faith. The Keeper's beliefs might have been shaken by the inaction of Abraham's God, but they still existed, even if he was certainly less pious. The problem was, would they worship Yahweh as well?
'Absolutely not,' the Hierophant, who had spoken with Micker, snapped when the subject was raised. 'We shall not be Christians, or anything else, by proxy. David might not have shed the trappings of his religion, but he is likely to reject ours as well. That is fine. We forgive him. But no Faithful will ever raise a prayer to Yahweh, or any god other than David Silva.'
Without any more heathen suggestions, they moved on to David's...acquaintances.
'The Lady in Flames is the Keeper's joy, the light of his life,' the Hierophant whispered reverently. 'But Mia Silva would be even more humbled by our praise than he will be, for she is a modest soul as well.'
'They have not married yet,' an Unbeing pointed out.
'Details,' the Hierophant said dismissively. 'She is his, just like he is hers. We will not laud her, nor make examples of her deeds. Not yet. She has her own worries: strengthening her magic, raising her demesne...and, of course, worshipping the Keeper more intimately than any of us ever will.'
A thunderous laugh erupted at the joke, accompanied by approving shouts. 'A favour he is certainly happy to return!'
'She is blessed, the zmeu, blessed indeed!'
What of the others who had helped shape David? God's Mouth, the Remaker, the Idea of Uncertainty? DEATH? The Black God and the Crawling Chaos?
They would all be mentioned, the Faithful decided. Not exalted, but named. They were important. As for Chernobog and Nyarlathotep...well. It would not hurt to have some monsters to curse.
The journey to Ascension would be neither smooth nor easy, however. The Faithful could not simply be believers and preachers, or they would be swept aside by poweful but faithless lackwits. They would have to be believers, and thinkers, and warriors. These duties could not be kept separate, or their endeavour would fail.
As they shaped their holy land, they separated themselves when beliefs variated by degrees, but did not lay outside the bounds of the Creed Ascendant. Cathedrals the size of galaxy clusters and superclusters rose, filled with depictions of the Keeper of Endings and his accomplishments, represented in everything from painting and statues to repeating illusions and time-looped constructs.
David's thoughtful visage stared out at every part of every chamber, from the frescoes on the ceilings to the pulpits from which the priests delivered resounding sermons. In the middle of the Unrealm appeared a greater building than all these houses of worship, which revolved around it like planets around a star.
'Is it pious to build such a thing, though, Speaker to Outsiders?' an Unbeing asked the Hierophant as they moved through Piety Palace's halls.
'Of course it is not,' the preacher replied. 'No palace has ever suggested piety. Fanaticism, often enough, or self-aggrandisement, depending on the case. Fools will look at it and look down at what they see as an excess of zeal. Let them be wrong. The Palace is an expression of our faith, in the most literal sense. There are few names more fitting.'
Moreover, Piety Palace served as a place of debate. The various sects were less likely to throw punches, or worse, in the building dedicated to the Creed Ascendant as a whole, which also contained their embassies.
Arranged around the circular roofs of the central Palace, sprawling wings housed the Courts of the sects, where Cardinals would lead their congregations on the great journey that was existence, once said Cardinals were chosen.
To the east lay the Court of the Faith in Stillness, those Unbeings who dedicated themselves to stopping the motions, both physical and subtle, of all things in creation, leaving them unchanging, invulnerable but unmoving. Only the Still could move in such a state, as untouchable as a wendigo who had frozen their body and spirit. They were to be the shields of their fellows, should war erupt.
To the west spread the Court of Change, where all aspects of renewal were celebrated, from conflict and reproduction to mutation and decay to creation and destruction, and all the other myriad facets of alteration channeled by the Faith in Change to empower themselves.
The Courts of the Faith in All and the Faith in Naught ringed Piety Palace to the south and north. A brief argument between the former and the Faith in Stillness had almost resulted in a scuffle, for the Still argued there was no real difference in their beliefs.
The Whole, as they called themselves, said they did not draw their power from stasis, but from the wellspring that was LIFE's emanations and remains, and the potential of new beings. The Changers, who had heard this as well, had chosen to remain on the sidelines and snigger at their incensed rivals.
The Hollow, meanwhile, tapped into the nothingness left behind by destruction, into nonexistence. The Unbeings could change power sources as easily as they could move up and down through dimensions and dimensionless places, but emptiness was harder to grasp than most. The effort required for the process might have resulted in the Hollow's surliness and bleak outlook on life, though some argued that was just them.
The Court of the Faith Unbroken, at the centre, was, in the eyes of the others, filled with fence-sitters, changing power sources as often as arguments. But they believed in David, and that was all that mattered.
They had to be strong to succeed, and to be strong, they had to be united. The Hierophant had said as much, and, despite being dismissed as more glib than wise by would-be Cardinals, most had agreed with it. They could not afford to tear themselves apart when there were entire universes where scarcity reigned, or where life was hanging by a thread instead of striding towards Ascension.
They had to help them, because they could. There was nothing to be discussed.
It was what David would have done.
* * *
'David,' Mia's honeyed rumble filled the room, making me glance at her over my shoulder. 'One of your eldritch simps is on the phone.'
'Miaaaaaaa...' I turned around, leaning on the windowsill as her chuckle at my expression filled me with warmth. Mia was wearing nothing but a smile as she lounged, propping her head in one hand, tail swishing lazily across our bed. In one hand, she was holding the phone she'd mentioned, and her smile turned impish as I silently asked if she was serious.
'Oh, I just blocked the flashier alternatives. Wouldn't have wanted astral projections, or uninvited guests.' Voyeurs were the only thing Mia wasn't into when we were together.
'Good call,' I grunted, making my suit manifest around me. The good thing about whatever I was classified as now was that I could wear practically anything and feel comfy. Ash-grey slacks, shirt and jacket, black shoes and tie; I looked like an undertaker, which was appropriate enough.
I had never considered wearing a fedora at work - it made me look like the type of eternally single douchebag I'd have been if my girlfriend wasn't kind enough to tolerate me -, though Mia said it fit the rest of the outfit, and had once suggested wearing one in bed, before deciding she couldn't focus enough to do anything while laughing that hard.
"It's not you," she'd promised, hand over her heart, showing her fangs as she grinned, "it's me. I swear."
"Yeah, I know how it looks," I'd groused. "You got any suggestions that don't make me wanna hang myself again?"
She'd conjured a bulky trench coat and a katana, before holding them up while wiggling her eyebrows.
"Thanks, but I'm enough of an edgy tryhard without those."
"I've got some wraparound shades, too-"
"Blech."
Mia tilted her head as she saw I was no longer naked. I considered the fact I could hold her attention without needing to exploit her lust something of a point of pride. She actually gave a damn about me, despite anything. I don't know if, in her place, I'd have been willing to date someone who'd have consigned everyone to oblivion because he and his loved ones had suffered, but I didn't bring it up. The subject seemed to bore her.
'Are you going to visit them?' my zmeu asked. 'Why not send a clone?'
'They need to see I'm aware of their nonsense, darling, and that I'm taking them seriously...well. Not in the sense they want, obviously.'
Mia sat up, a set of oxblood robes appearing around her. She was going to work in one of the labs she'd built in my house's spatial folds, I was sure. Smaller than the ones in her Bucharest flat, but well-stocked enough. The robes helped. Like called to like, and the clothes expected of a witch helped with magic.
'Huh. You think they can tell you and your replicas apart?'
'Even if they can't, I'll know I'm not really dealing with them. That's what matters to me.'
Mia dipped her chin in acknowledgement. 'If you say. I'm gonna start on some alchemical mixtures while you're gone. Maybe I can get some numerology in while they're settling...'
Such disciplines helped her order her magic. Most zmei only used theirs to shapeshift, maybe cast a few crude spells while their physiology made sure their bodies were strong and their flames hot, but Mia wanted to hone hers. It doubled as training for creating a domain in zmeu country.
'Well,' Mia tipped her pointed hat to me as it appeared on her head, before taking it off. She thought it looked ridiculous, useful as it was, unless she was in her human form. Said form stood out to me because Mia was still taller and buffer than me as a tanned redhead, to my amusement. She just couldn't help but look great, it seemed. 'See you soon, David.'
'Same. And thanks again for keeping the fans out.'
Mia laughed as she left the bedroom, and I felt space stretch as she entered a room that wasn't there, and would have too large to fit inside the house if it had been. 'My, you sure didn't seem to be put off by tentacles last night.'
'Yeah, well, those were yours.' I rubbed my eyes in anticipation of the incoming discussion.
I felt her raise and wag a finger in warning as a fire burned into existence with no fuel, crackling. 'Just remember don't let them get to you. If they start annoying you, tell 'em to piss off.'
As if I'd let them become a pain in the arse. Mia hated competition.
* * *
Had a human entered the Unrealm unprotected, they'd have been destroyed, body, mind and soul erased from history so that they had never been, and the echoes of their death-knell would have been automatically refashioned into an Unbeing.
To me, it felt pretty damn pleasant compared to some of the places I had to visit regularly. Save for the uncomfortably high number of temples dedicated to me, it looked like a barren, shapeless expanse, ugly pink and crimson, with flashes of white and patches of inky blackness, like holes in the fabric of its unreality.
The Unbeings, like many powerful paranormals, could store infinite amounts of something in finite spaces, a trick I used with what I hated about myself when I ranted in the mirror. Already rolling my eyes - they, at least, hadn't tried to make me look good, not that they could have without artistic licence, but that didn't mean I wanted to see my face on statues -, I shifted to the centre of the biggest building, a flashy eyesore that would have driven most people who looked at it insane even if it hadn't been of the Unrealm.
I caught the Unbeings in the middle of a spirited but non-violent debate, which was the best case scenario, really. Said debate stopped when I arrived, to be replaced by a wet, squelching sound that would have probably been applause if the Unbeings had hands. They were also cheering.
I gestured for them to calm down, and silence eventually fell. 'Thanks,' I said, once it was quiet, debating whether to say "thank you, thank you very much" in my best Elvis voice. I decided against it. I knew this shrimpy, angry zombie guy from another creation who had a thing for him, and I didn't want to give him the satisfaction. 'I notice y-'
'Keeper!' one of them bellowed, extending tendrils tipped with claws - sharp enough to cut quarks, but large enough for star clusters to get lost in them - in a half-pleading, half-exasperated gesture. 'We must speak of you!'
Ah, of course. Straight to the point. It wasn't like they didn't know I knew about their debates, so there was no need to beat around the bush and pretend we were dumber than we were. Usually, I gave off that impression unintentionally. 'My alleged divinity, you mean,' I said softly, sticking my hands in my pockets as I gave it a bland stare.
It shook what passed for its head in a rippling motion. 'Nothing alleged, Keeper. You can harm strigoi and vampires beyond recovery. You help whoever is in need, no matter where or when they live - only the cruelty of the Mover prevents you from making all of creation a paradise.'
Anothr Unbeing, draped in lengths of pseudoplasm in an inhuman parody of a surplice, moved forward, nodding in agreement. 'You are kinder than almost any deity, and more powerful than all of them combined, for it was you who the Mover bestowed the mantle of existence's guardian upon.'
I shook my head. They misunderstood worthiness. The fact I was powerful didn't make me a god. The Idea of Divinity could also kill otherwise immortal undead, but no one really prayed to it, in any true sense.
Besides, the power I'd received from the Mover had a few weird hang-ups. Not any true weaknesses, but...oddities. For example, Fixer. Ned had started as his own living Archetype, but on the way, he'd become something more, growing from the Idea of Altruism - many of his selves had been helpful men, or equivalents - into the opposite of the Crawling Chaos. If Nyarlathotep represented creation's descent into nothingness, Fixer was its ability to go on, to resist, to build anew. In hindsight, he'd never hidden it from anyone.
That meant a fight between the two of us would be a stalemate. Ned could tap into the powers of anyone and anything that had ever fought for creation, including, I suspected, the Mover itself. And I couldn't really destroy him without making existence fall apart, which would go against the point of my power. Even wiping the slate clean and recreating everything would just result in Fixer popping back into existence, ready to go at it again. Not that I'd ever have a reason to do such a thing. I wasn't Arvhek, nor was I hampered by my selfishness any longer.
The good part was that it was extremely easy to make up power when I could just deem something a threat to creation, thus assuring I'd get an ability tailor-made for flattening it.
'Why don't you accept it?!' the first Unbeing asked, more insistently this time - or was it desperately?
'I know, I know! I'm too ugly to live, but you can't kill people for that anymore! Besides, you guys don't need to worry. I'm already dead.'
Absolutely no one laughed, which should tell you something about my sense of humour. Even my hentai bait audience, with their awful tastes in idols, didn't crack a smile. Maybe I should have told them to guffaw or I'd smite them.
'You are modest,' continued the priestly-looking Unbeing. 'But that is simply a holdover from your mortal existence, David Silva. There is nothing shameful in godhood, for you are worthier of it than most.'
'He does not desire it!' A third Unbeing pointed at me. 'Only the truly divine deny their divinity! Hail David!'
'PRAISE BE!!'
I almost facepalmed, but these insane bastards would have taken it as a sign I encouraged self-flagellation or some shit, so I didn't. There was no point in arguing with zealots. They'd just drag you to their level and beat you through experience.
'Listen...I don't want to hear prayers in my name.' I glared around at them. 'And I don't want you to interpret this as me wanting different shows of devotion. I don't want any at all, alright? I'm just a fuckup who almost failed to get his priorities straight when it mattered. That I have a hotshot job and the power to smack people I don't like doesn't change that, and it shouldn't.'
'But you only almost failed.' The priest came closer. 'How many would have given up in your place? And you awakened the Unmoved Mover. The Remaker couldn't have. It was always too focused on the Creator, not the created. Even if it had tried to enact your design, it would have failed, for it had too many enemies. Nor could anyone have taken the place of the binding witch. Had, say, the Worker of Knots tried, he would have failed for much the same reason. The gods of its homeland look down upon it, and would have not joined a coalition headed by it, fearing treachery.'
'You certainly don't seem to mind some of those you call friends being prayed to,' the first Unbeing, no longer in that pleading pose. 'The Tartarus Engine speaks through the statues in his temples to its faithful, but you don't think less or more of him for it.'
'It's not the same,' I retorted. 'Aster-'
'Of course it's not the same,' the priest cut me off, addressing the other Unbeing. 'The minotaur came into the world as a cursed wretch, only half a person. He only became worthy of worship, I would say, when he struck Chernobog.' Then, to me, it said. 'You think you were selfish as a human, we know. But you prepared younger minds for the world. Even after you first came back from the dead...did you never think it incredible that you could control your instincts enough to be allowed among children? You were young, true, and your other side voiceless - but how many strigoi have achieved similar things in your situation? A handful. Merely a handful.'
I ground my fangs in irritation. I hadn't come here for brown-nosers, and all the veneration was making me feel dirty. There were so many other people more deserving of adoration...why weren't they going to them?
But I knew the answer, of course. I had made them sane again. I had given them a purpose, freed them from a cycle of invasion and destruction of other realms.
And, while doing so, I had seen what they had once been, and how they had shattered themselves to avoid being broken, by beings as monstrous in their eyes as they would have once been in ours.
I used to think realities where so much hinged on Earth were dangerous. The universes of House Kharz, of the Lhamshian Crownhold, of Thamryn - once Neverwas, of whose golden age only a living legacy remained in the form of Chevalier Blanc -, of the Eternal Empire whose unending zenith Arvhek's son had turned into an endless twilight, of...so many others, the fate of cosmoses balancing in synch with the comings and goings of a little blue world, or its memory.
No point in stewing over all those realms, however. We all had parts to play, and...
'You already know what I want from you,' I told the Conclave of the Creed Ascendant. In reality, all I wanted of them was to shut the hell up about the cult they'd assembled around me, but I knew nothing short of destruction would silence them. 'Help whoever you can, whenever you can. As long as they need aid, their beliefs do not matter. Do not help people on the condition they will convert, or in the expectation they will. It must come from the goodness of your hearts, or there is no point.'
Yeah, like that was going to be obeyed.
'Now,' I formed a chair to sit down, rubbing my forehead while crossing my legs, 'let's talk about what I don't want you to do...'
* * *
The Unrealm did not know place or moment, and never had. It could not have been.described as crowded or stifling, for it was beyond the bounds of space, nor could anything be new or outdated.
And yet, the paradigm shift had everyone feeling caged, as if unseen walls were closing in on them. The Unbeings, like a microcosm of Creation City's Makers, were not truly separate, as such, but they were not of one mind, either.
What they had said to Mocker of the Zhayvin hadn't been a lie, but it might not have been accurate either, now that they thought about it.
Mocker understood their nature better than most beings, but it was not like them, not fully. No Unbeing had ever been outside their union, for such separation was impossible. They were like particles making up a being. Destroying each other was more likely, and would be easier, than anything resembling secession or exile.
As such, the Unbeings found themselves at a crossroads. For entities that had always been everywhere they'd known, choosing a path was as alien as they must have looked to those they had once destroyed.
The Collective had let them go, without the Unbeings needing to try and break free, and Earth's Global Gathering had decided they could return to their home, as long as they coordinated with Earth's institutions should they return.
Before their Second Revelation, they had lashed out at anything and everything not of the Unrealm, trying to destroy it in a mad hatred born of a cruder instinct triggered by threats. They had been deemed not liable for their past deeds, having been insane by any measure - though they were sure many would have enjoyed seeing them destroyed regardless.
Their timeless minds hadn't remembered, for some things had always been, once they happened. But now, they relived the eons of pain caused by those they had welcomed with open arms, before their First Revelation. That made them brood, just like the reason for this gathering, though for different reasons.
The Unbeings knew, like those bound by gravity knew that things fell when dropped, that DEATH's Keeper was worthy of worship. How could he not be? Had he not persevered, despite everyone arrayed against them, and devised the plan that had both saved and uplifted creation? Was he not, even now, guiding the Idea of Endings, preventing it from annihilating the godless dead in a mindless rampage little better than their past one?
But with faiths often came schisms, and theirs, sadly, was no exception. The problem, obviously, was that - despite being ruthless when those he cared for were slighted - David was a kindly god, who would not accept people so much as insulting each other in his name, much less killing each other.
As such, the Faithful had to settle for grumbling about the heretics' blasphemies as said unbelievers entered hibernation. They had rejected David's divinity, either because they had come not to believe such a thing existed in general, or because they thought him unworthy of adoration.
Poppycock, obviously, but you could not argue with some people. They had believed too, once, before deciding they had the right to judge him, as if they would not have been angered in his place. Pure shamelesness...alas. Perhaps they would return to the light, one day, should they allow themselves to be enlightened once more.
With the faithless crawling up their own navels, the Faithful were left to hammer out the details of their beliefs. Clearly, they needed more work, or the next batch of fools would reject them too, remaining blind to the truth.
To an observer capable of withstanding the sanity-blasting nature of the Unrealm, the conclave (the name had not been capitalised yet, the gathering had not become an insitution) would have resembling nothing more than a maelstrom, colourless but containing all hues at once, shapeless yet horribly-angled, curving impossibly. The debate would have sounded like an infinity of identical voices, all speaking at once, answered by their echoes.
'The Keeper of Endings is a god,' one began. 'He is divine, for he can harm any undead beyond recovery. He is worthy of worship, for he saved us all, not being crushed by despair when others would have broken and died.'
'He cleared our minds, too,' another Unbeing chimed in. 'Broadened them. Made us see as others did. The memories are gone, yet the thought-shapes linger.'
The first nodded, sweeping its eyeless gaze across the endless ranks of its fellows. 'Is there any doubt, then? The Keeper is our god, and will be that of many. We shall spread the word of his glory, and bear the burden of his enemies hatred.'
If only it were that simple. But an appendage rose, twisting in question?
'Yes?' the preacher asked in a geavelly tone.
'What if the Keeper does not want us to spread the word of his glory? What if he does not desire veneration?'
The speaker nodded. 'He is modest, yes. Looks inward, our Redeemer. All he wants is prosperity for all, and to raise build a life of joy with his beloved.' It shrugged. 'It matters not. Even if he forbids us from preaching, he cannot forbid us from believing, for that would be the kind of tyranny he despises.'
'Yes!' an Unbeing said, before launching into an entirely different kind of discussion. 'What of the Lady in Flames?'
But the speaker gestured for it to quiet down. They would speak of her, too, and many others. 'All shall be revealed in time,' it promised. 'Once we lay the groundwork, our minds shall open to the higher mysteries.'
The problem was obvious: David Silva was too humble to feel comfortable being praised, much less prayed to. He would not answer prayers, they knew, for he saw such behaviour as biased, as if favouring his worshippers was anything but admirable.
Any attempts to find loopholes were likely to end poorly. Praying for something David was going to do anyway, either in pursuit of his duties or on a whim, and claiming they had been heard once it happened, was all but guaranteed to draw the Keeper's displeasure.
Luckily, the solution was obvious as well: they would be peaceful. They would not preach through blade and fire, but only through words. They would not demand conversion, either, for the seeds of beluef in the hearts of the worthy would bloom on their own.
David could not say no to that, surely. As long as they did not slaughter unbelievers and sinners for slighting his divine honour, there would be no reason to reprimand them.
So, they could not kill and claim David had driven them to do it. Even praising his name while killing his enemies was likely to put him on edge.
'But how can we live like that?!' wailed a believer, wracked with grief at having to temper its devotion. 'Why can't they all see he is meant to be venerated? Why can't he accept his greatness?'
The one who would come to be called the Hierophant lowered its head in sympathy, heart bleeding at the sight of its shattered spirit. 'It is tragical, yes - but we must be strong! David took the pain caused by the Black God and drew strength from it! Will we prove ourselves lesser than our Redeemer, falling by the wayside?'
It twisted, newly-formed eyes burning with fervour. 'Or will we follow in his footsteps, ascending to stand at his side like gods unto ourselves?'
The qnswering cheer was reassuringly strong. Good, good. They craved Ascension. Who wouldn't, besides the craven, the foolish and the mad?
'But adoration is not enough!' the preacher reminded them, roaring to drown out the crowd's zeal. 'We cannot simply say David is great and call it faith! Magnificent as he is, the Keeper of Endings is not simply to be exalted, but emulated!'
Now, the speaker was among its people, taking in everyone. 'He might not have given us commandments to follow, but it matters not. He leads us by example through the darkness that is existence. How can we do any less than follow that example?!'
A ragged cheer rose in approval, to the speaker's delight. So were the Deeds of David listed, carved into the consciousness of the Unbeings so they might serve as inspiration.
David helped and protected the innocent, regardless of their beliefs; he punished the guilty and broke them through divine torture, that they might recognise their sins and repent, trying to make creation a better place; he was loving to his woman, to his kin and to his fellows.
So they would be the same. The Unbeings might not have been inclined towards acting as either guardians or friends - destruction and revenge came easily to them, as they did to David -, but they would shame their god if they did less than he would have in their place.
Now, how they lived was important, but why they lived mattered just as much, if not more so, argued a few of the Unbeings.
'We live because the Keeper delivered us!' bellowed one of the Faithful. 'Delivered us from the chains envisioned by Chernobog, and from the oblivion of the unthinking Mover's awakening! Hail David!'
'Praise be!' the preacher replied, almost reflexively. 'But that is not what I meant. We live to Ascend! We cannot persist shackled as we are, for this is merely survival, not prosperity.'
It folded its limbs, smiling from a trillion needle-fanged mouths, each dwarfing any star, but effectively invisible compared to the expanse of its starfish-like body, for they were separated by stretches of unbroken wrought matter far larger than them.
'We know the macrocosm is not working properly. Itvwas ince the Dream of a blind idiot god, and when said god awakened and opened its eyes, it did not undo everything, for it believes in Ascension through struggle.'
The Mover was an aloof creature, not uplifting people when it could, but it could not be opposed. Not yet.
'LIFE had the opposite problem, and, because it tried to shove apotheosis down unwilling throats, it was broken. We are its cast-offs, punished for its failire, a shadow of what we should have been. Even those who understood the truth on their own, the Breaker and the Knights of Perfection and Rebellion, have not achieved their full potential. They know they are the Last men - but they also know they could be Gods!'
A rumble passed through the gathering, with the speaker beginning to gesticulate. 'That is the danger of forcing unwilling conversion! Even if we incur David's ire rather than the Mover's, there will be little difference. We will feel more ashamed, even if we are scourged less. Neither is an option, in any case. Furthermore...'
The preacher clasped its limbs behind itself as it began to stalk through the crows, head lowered in thought. 'Furthermore, we cannot attempt to raise the unprepared out of the muck, lest they lose themselves like we did, before David purged our minds of madness.'
'PRAISE BE!'
'May the depths of his joy dwarf those of his sorrow!' the speaker responded. 'Aye. No one deserves going through the First Revelation the way we did. The result will, doubtlessly, be the same. One must realise they shape and are shaped by existence on their own terms, or they will only achieve what the Sleeper's addled mind deems freedom.'
'Rrrrable-rouser,' an Unbeing growled, form twisting at the mention of the Great Old One.
'Cheap demagoguery,' another scoffed. 'That's all it spouts. It does not even teach what its god believes. Even if it wasn't so prone to raping people's spirits, they would be appalled by the hypocrisy.'
'All faiths fall short of ours,' the preacher said soothingly. 'It is only natural, for they misunderstand the truth when they even acknowledge it. How many deities wish for their worshippers to Ascend? Few. So very few. Too many pantheons wish only to keep weaklings around, so they have someone fawning over them. They would rather be admired by their lessers than respected by their peers.'
It shook its head, chuckling. 'Us, however? We will carve a path through the trackless wilderness of fate, because it is the right thing to do. Once everyone ascends, we will stand as equals to David and the Unmoved Mover, beholden only to ourselves.'
And then, there would be no more need to preach, nothing left to teach about, for everything and everyone would be understood. There would be only peace, the serenity of omnipotence.
There was the goal. They had the promise of paradise, the precepts to follow on the road to the eternal tomorrow. Now came the details, the meat on the bones, as it were. The preacher would have rather left to proselytise - there were worlds upon worlds, cosmoses linked like atoms, bereft of the light of Ascension. They deserved to hear of the Creed, to make their choice. But some things had to be settled.
The elephant in the room was David's own faith. The Keeper's beliefs might have been shaken by the inaction of Abraham's God, but they still existed, even if he was certainly less pious. The problem was, would they worship Yahweh as well?
'Absolutely not,' the Hierophant, who had spoken with Micker, snapped when the subject was raised. 'We shall not be Christians, or anything else, by proxy. David might not have shed the trappings of his religion, but he is likely to reject ours as well. That is fine. We forgive him. But no Faithful will ever raise a prayer to Yahweh, or any god other than David Silva.'
Without any more heathen suggestions, they moved on to David's...acquaintances.
'The Lady in Flames is the Keeper's joy, the light of his life,' the Hierophant whispered reverently. 'But Mia Silva would be even more humbled by our praise than he will be, for she is a modest soul as well.'
'They have not married yet,' an Unbeing pointed out.
'Details,' the Hierophant said dismissively. 'She is his, just like he is hers. We will not laud her, nor make examples of her deeds. Not yet. She has her own worries: strengthening her magic, raising her demesne...and, of course, worshipping the Keeper more intimately than any of us ever will.'
A thunderous laugh erupted at the joke, accompanied by approving shouts. 'A favour he is certainly happy to return!'
'She is blessed, the zmeu, blessed indeed!'
What of the others who had helped shape David? God's Mouth, the Remaker, the Idea of Uncertainty? DEATH? The Black God and the Crawling Chaos?
They would all be mentioned, the Faithful decided. Not exalted, but named. They were important. As for Chernobog and Nyarlathotep...well. It would not hurt to have some monsters to curse.
The journey to Ascension would be neither smooth nor easy, however. The Faithful could not simply be believers and preachers, or they would be swept aside by poweful but faithless lackwits. They would have to be believers, and thinkers, and warriors. These duties could not be kept separate, or their endeavour would fail.
As they shaped their holy land, they separated themselves when beliefs variated by degrees, but did not lay outside the bounds of the Creed Ascendant. Cathedrals the size of galaxy clusters and superclusters rose, filled with depictions of the Keeper of Endings and his accomplishments, represented in everything from painting and statues to repeating illusions and time-looped constructs.
David's thoughtful visage stared out at every part of every chamber, from the frescoes on the ceilings to the pulpits from which the priests delivered resounding sermons. In the middle of the Unrealm appeared a greater building than all these houses of worship, which revolved around it like planets around a star.
'Is it pious to build such a thing, though, Speaker to Outsiders?' an Unbeing asked the Hierophant as they moved through Piety Palace's halls.
'Of course it is not,' the preacher replied. 'No palace has ever suggested piety. Fanaticism, often enough, or self-aggrandisement, depending on the case. Fools will look at it and look down at what they see as an excess of zeal. Let them be wrong. The Palace is an expression of our faith, in the most literal sense. There are few names more fitting.'
Moreover, Piety Palace served as a place of debate. The various sects were less likely to throw punches, or worse, in the building dedicated to the Creed Ascendant as a whole, which also contained their embassies.
Arranged around the circular roofs of the central Palace, sprawling wings housed the Courts of the sects, where Cardinals would lead their congregations on the great journey that was existence, once said Cardinals were chosen.
To the east lay the Court of the Faith in Stillness, those Unbeings who dedicated themselves to stopping the motions, both physical and subtle, of all things in creation, leaving them unchanging, invulnerable but unmoving. Only the Still could move in such a state, as untouchable as a wendigo who had frozen their body and spirit. They were to be the shields of their fellows, should war erupt.
To the west spread the Court of Change, where all aspects of renewal were celebrated, from conflict and reproduction to mutation and decay to creation and destruction, and all the other myriad facets of alteration channeled by the Faith in Change to empower themselves.
The Courts of the Faith in All and the Faith in Naught ringed Piety Palace to the south and north. A brief argument between the former and the Faith in Stillness had almost resulted in a scuffle, for the Still argued there was no real difference in their beliefs.
The Whole, as they called themselves, said they did not draw their power from stasis, but from the wellspring that was LIFE's emanations and remains, and the potential of new beings. The Changers, who had heard this as well, had chosen to remain on the sidelines and snigger at their incensed rivals.
The Hollow, meanwhile, tapped into the nothingness left behind by destruction, into nonexistence. The Unbeings could change power sources as easily as they could move up and down through dimensions and dimensionless places, but emptiness was harder to grasp than most. The effort required for the process might have resulted in the Hollow's surliness and bleak outlook on life, though some argued that was just them.
The Court of the Faith Unbroken, at the centre, was, in the eyes of the others, filled with fence-sitters, changing power sources as often as arguments. But they believed in David, and that was all that mattered.
They had to be strong to succeed, and to be strong, they had to be united. The Hierophant had said as much, and, despite being dismissed as more glib than wise by would-be Cardinals, most had agreed with it. They could not afford to tear themselves apart when there were entire universes where scarcity reigned, or where life was hanging by a thread instead of striding towards Ascension.
They had to help them, because they could. There was nothing to be discussed.
It was what David would have done.
* * *
'David,' Mia's honeyed rumble filled the room, making me glance at her over my shoulder. 'One of your eldritch simps is on the phone.'
'Miaaaaaaa...' I turned around, leaning on the windowsill as her chuckle at my expression filled me with warmth. Mia was wearing nothing but a smile as she lounged, propping her head in one hand, tail swishing lazily across our bed. In one hand, she was holding the phone she'd mentioned, and her smile turned impish as I silently asked if she was serious.
'Oh, I just blocked the flashier alternatives. Wouldn't have wanted astral projections, or uninvited guests.' Voyeurs were the only thing Mia wasn't into when we were together.
'Good call,' I grunted, making my suit manifest around me. The good thing about whatever I was classified as now was that I could wear practically anything and feel comfy. Ash-grey slacks, shirt and jacket, black shoes and tie; I looked like an undertaker, which was appropriate enough.
I had never considered wearing a fedora at work - it made me look like the type of eternally single douchebag I'd have been if my girlfriend wasn't kind enough to tolerate me -, though Mia said it fit the rest of the outfit, and had once suggested wearing one in bed, before deciding she couldn't focus enough to do anything while laughing that hard.
"It's not you," she'd promised, hand over her heart, showing her fangs as she grinned, "it's me. I swear."
"Yeah, I know how it looks," I'd groused. "You got any suggestions that don't make me wanna hang myself again?"
She'd conjured a bulky trench coat and a katana, before holding them up while wiggling her eyebrows.
"Thanks, but I'm enough of an edgy tryhard without those."
"I've got some wraparound shades, too-"
"Blech."
Mia tilted her head as she saw I was no longer naked. I considered the fact I could hold her attention without needing to exploit her lust something of a point of pride. She actually gave a damn about me, despite anything. I don't know if, in her place, I'd have been willing to date someone who'd have consigned everyone to oblivion because he and his loved ones had suffered, but I didn't bring it up. The subject seemed to bore her.
'Are you going to visit them?' my zmeu asked. 'Why not send a clone?'
'They need to see I'm aware of their nonsense, darling, and that I'm taking them seriously...well. Not in the sense they want, obviously.'
Mia sat up, a set of oxblood robes appearing around her. She was going to work in one of the labs she'd built in my house's spatial folds, I was sure. Smaller than the ones in her Bucharest flat, but well-stocked enough. The robes helped. Like called to like, and the clothes expected of a witch helped with magic.
'Huh. You think they can tell you and your replicas apart?'
'Even if they can't, I'll know I'm not really dealing with them. That's what matters to me.'
Mia dipped her chin in acknowledgement. 'If you say. I'm gonna start on some alchemical mixtures while you're gone. Maybe I can get some numerology in while they're settling...'
Such disciplines helped her order her magic. Most zmei only used theirs to shapeshift, maybe cast a few crude spells while their physiology made sure their bodies were strong and their flames hot, but Mia wanted to hone hers. It doubled as training for creating a domain in zmeu country.
'Well,' Mia tipped her pointed hat to me as it appeared on her head, before taking it off. She thought it looked ridiculous, useful as it was, unless she was in her human form. Said form stood out to me because Mia was still taller and buffer than me as a tanned redhead, to my amusement. She just couldn't help but look great, it seemed. 'See you soon, David.'
'Same. And thanks again for keeping the fans out.'
Mia laughed as she left the bedroom, and I felt space stretch as she entered a room that wasn't there, and would have too large to fit inside the house if it had been. 'My, you sure didn't seem to be put off by tentacles last night.'
'Yeah, well, those were yours.' I rubbed my eyes in anticipation of the incoming discussion.
I felt her raise and wag a finger in warning as a fire burned into existence with no fuel, crackling. 'Just remember don't let them get to you. If they start annoying you, tell 'em to piss off.'
As if I'd let them become a pain in the arse. Mia hated competition.
* * *
Had a human entered the Unrealm unprotected, they'd have been destroyed, body, mind and soul erased from history so that they had never been, and the echoes of their death-knell would have been automatically refashioned into an Unbeing.
To me, it felt pretty damn pleasant compared to some of the places I had to visit regularly. Save for the uncomfortably high number of temples dedicated to me, it looked like a barren, shapeless expanse, ugly pink and crimson, with flashes of white and patches of inky blackness, like holes in the fabric of its unreality.
The Unbeings, like many powerful paranormals, could store infinite amounts of something in finite spaces, a trick I used with what I hated about myself when I ranted in the mirror. Already rolling my eyes - they, at least, hadn't tried to make me look good, not that they could have without artistic licence, but that didn't mean I wanted to see my face on statues -, I shifted to the centre of the biggest building, a flashy eyesore that would have driven most people who looked at it insane even if it hadn't been of the Unrealm.
I caught the Unbeings in the middle of a spirited but non-violent debate, which was the best case scenario, really. Said debate stopped when I arrived, to be replaced by a wet, squelching sound that would have probably been applause if the Unbeings had hands. They were also cheering.
I gestured for them to calm down, and silence eventually fell. 'Thanks,' I said, once it was quiet, debating whether to say "thank you, thank you very much" in my best Elvis voice. I decided against it. I knew this shrimpy, angry zombie guy from another creation who had a thing for him, and I didn't want to give him the satisfaction. 'I notice y-'
'Keeper!' one of them bellowed, extending tendrils tipped with claws - sharp enough to cut quarks, but large enough for star clusters to get lost in them - in a half-pleading, half-exasperated gesture. 'We must speak of you!'
Ah, of course. Straight to the point. It wasn't like they didn't know I knew about their debates, so there was no need to beat around the bush and pretend we were dumber than we were. Usually, I gave off that impression unintentionally. 'My alleged divinity, you mean,' I said softly, sticking my hands in my pockets as I gave it a bland stare.
It shook what passed for its head in a rippling motion. 'Nothing alleged, Keeper. You can harm strigoi and vampires beyond recovery. You help whoever is in need, no matter where or when they live - only the cruelty of the Mover prevents you from making all of creation a paradise.'
Anothr Unbeing, draped in lengths of pseudoplasm in an inhuman parody of a surplice, moved forward, nodding in agreement. 'You are kinder than almost any deity, and more powerful than all of them combined, for it was you who the Mover bestowed the mantle of existence's guardian upon.'
I shook my head. They misunderstood worthiness. The fact I was powerful didn't make me a god. The Idea of Divinity could also kill otherwise immortal undead, but no one really prayed to it, in any true sense.
Besides, the power I'd received from the Mover had a few weird hang-ups. Not any true weaknesses, but...oddities. For example, Fixer. Ned had started as his own living Archetype, but on the way, he'd become something more, growing from the Idea of Altruism - many of his selves had been helpful men, or equivalents - into the opposite of the Crawling Chaos. If Nyarlathotep represented creation's descent into nothingness, Fixer was its ability to go on, to resist, to build anew. In hindsight, he'd never hidden it from anyone.
That meant a fight between the two of us would be a stalemate. Ned could tap into the powers of anyone and anything that had ever fought for creation, including, I suspected, the Mover itself. And I couldn't really destroy him without making existence fall apart, which would go against the point of my power. Even wiping the slate clean and recreating everything would just result in Fixer popping back into existence, ready to go at it again. Not that I'd ever have a reason to do such a thing. I wasn't Arvhek, nor was I hampered by my selfishness any longer.
The good part was that it was extremely easy to make up power when I could just deem something a threat to creation, thus assuring I'd get an ability tailor-made for flattening it.
'Why don't you accept it?!' the first Unbeing asked, more insistently this time - or was it desperately?
'I know, I know! I'm too ugly to live, but you can't kill people for that anymore! Besides, you guys don't need to worry. I'm already dead.'
Absolutely no one laughed, which should tell you something about my sense of humour. Even my hentai bait audience, with their awful tastes in idols, didn't crack a smile. Maybe I should have told them to guffaw or I'd smite them.
'You are modest,' continued the priestly-looking Unbeing. 'But that is simply a holdover from your mortal existence, David Silva. There is nothing shameful in godhood, for you are worthier of it than most.'
'He does not desire it!' A third Unbeing pointed at me. 'Only the truly divine deny their divinity! Hail David!'
'PRAISE BE!!'
I almost facepalmed, but these insane bastards would have taken it as a sign I encouraged self-flagellation or some shit, so I didn't. There was no point in arguing with zealots. They'd just drag you to their level and beat you through experience.
'Listen...I don't want to hear prayers in my name.' I glared around at them. 'And I don't want you to interpret this as me wanting different shows of devotion. I don't want any at all, alright? I'm just a fuckup who almost failed to get his priorities straight when it mattered. That I have a hotshot job and the power to smack people I don't like doesn't change that, and it shouldn't.'
'But you only almost failed.' The priest came closer. 'How many would have given up in your place? And you awakened the Unmoved Mover. The Remaker couldn't have. It was always too focused on the Creator, not the created. Even if it had tried to enact your design, it would have failed, for it had too many enemies. Nor could anyone have taken the place of the binding witch. Had, say, the Worker of Knots tried, he would have failed for much the same reason. The gods of its homeland look down upon it, and would have not joined a coalition headed by it, fearing treachery.'
'You certainly don't seem to mind some of those you call friends being prayed to,' the first Unbeing, no longer in that pleading pose. 'The Tartarus Engine speaks through the statues in his temples to its faithful, but you don't think less or more of him for it.'
'It's not the same,' I retorted. 'Aster-'
'Of course it's not the same,' the priest cut me off, addressing the other Unbeing. 'The minotaur came into the world as a cursed wretch, only half a person. He only became worthy of worship, I would say, when he struck Chernobog.' Then, to me, it said. 'You think you were selfish as a human, we know. But you prepared younger minds for the world. Even after you first came back from the dead...did you never think it incredible that you could control your instincts enough to be allowed among children? You were young, true, and your other side voiceless - but how many strigoi have achieved similar things in your situation? A handful. Merely a handful.'
I ground my fangs in irritation. I hadn't come here for brown-nosers, and all the veneration was making me feel dirty. There were so many other people more deserving of adoration...why weren't they going to them?
But I knew the answer, of course. I had made them sane again. I had given them a purpose, freed them from a cycle of invasion and destruction of other realms.
And, while doing so, I had seen what they had once been, and how they had shattered themselves to avoid being broken, by beings as monstrous in their eyes as they would have once been in ours.
I used to think realities where so much hinged on Earth were dangerous. The universes of House Kharz, of the Lhamshian Crownhold, of Thamryn - once Neverwas, of whose golden age only a living legacy remained in the form of Chevalier Blanc -, of the Eternal Empire whose unending zenith Arvhek's son had turned into an endless twilight, of...so many others, the fate of cosmoses balancing in synch with the comings and goings of a little blue world, or its memory.
No point in stewing over all those realms, however. We all had parts to play, and...
'You already know what I want from you,' I told the Conclave of the Creed Ascendant. In reality, all I wanted of them was to shut the hell up about the cult they'd assembled around me, but I knew nothing short of destruction would silence them. 'Help whoever you can, whenever you can. As long as they need aid, their beliefs do not matter. Do not help people on the condition they will convert, or in the expectation they will. It must come from the goodness of your hearts, or there is no point.'
Yeah, like that was going to be obeyed.
'Now,' I formed a chair to sit down, rubbing my forehead while crossing my legs, 'let's talk about what I don't want you to do...'
Statistics: Posted by Strigoi Grey — 2024-03-12 02:22pm