![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
death_gone_madShe felt herself weakening, her power fading.
No NO NO!
About her the ground was not visible for the great amount of lives she had taken. Human scum, her former priests and priestesses. Traitors all, too in love with their own lives and existence itself to serve her. Mahjarrat, frozen in eternal unlife. They who had once sought her brother and herself in order to greater understand the gifts of death and rebirth; they who brought war; they who held her eyes open and forced her to see the abyss. Avanasie, perverted creatures, the beloved of a perverted god. What justice can there be in conquering death herself, in fighting for peace?
They all fought for their existences. They fought against what was truly just; they fought to perpetrate the original sin of of reality itself.
And they had won. They had brought a goddess low. It was the staff of the perverse one that her chief priestess and the Armadylian Emissary held aloft. From it flowed forth Armadyl's will, whispering foul untruths about reality which were weaving and binding her into the world. And the chants of the her chief priestess, Neite. They were chants taught to her by the goddess herself, now used against the goddess' name. The world would forget the goddess' name, and if it were ever reminded of it again, it would consume the minds of those who stubbornly held to the memory.
And the rest of the gods. They conspired against her. The Void One convinced them of her 'madness,' shifting their fear for him onto her. They, who were resurrecting those she had slain and unbinding those she had imprisoned.
They had won. She was losing. Her superreality, her command over the forces of life and death, her recently acquired mastery of reality which devoured reality, it was all being used against her, weaving a prison about her, a body that mimicked the body of the humans who once worshiped her. She was losing. But this wasn't the end of the struggle. There was one last opportunity for her to make sure that even if she was not able to bring the end someone else would.
The roiling mass of godly energies and magics that was beginning to gain a human shape rushed toward the priestess and the emissary. "Aviantese filth!" proclaimed a voice from the mass. "I will show you what is justice and the truth to which your Lord has blinded your doomed race!" A human looking hand, burning and trailing godly energy shoot out from the mass and struck the avian humanoid with the precision only the mother of the first slayers could. The emissary shuddered and collapsed, shattering the bones in his right wing in his fall. The hand, which now had an arm attached to it, reached out and grabbed the end of the Staff of Armadyl the emissary held before Neite could react and pull the Staff toward herself. The mass was now over the spot the emissary fell, however, the only evidence he existed where his disembodied howls of pain echoing about the room without an apparent source.
Neite, her concentration broken, turned to where the emissary was until recently. To her horror there was only what was her goddess, a violent storm of death and destruction, being turned to flesh. A leg, naked and still glowing with godly power, kicked out and struck her in the ribs. The shock made Neite lose her grip on the staff and sent her flying.
"You will never be free of my influence. You need me!" Cried out the mad goddess. "There is no creation without destruction! The rebellion of existence against the Absolute is coming to an end! And I shall see to it that you deliver yourselves and your pathetic pets to me!"
What was a slow process of turning an incorporeal goddess into an immortal human being accelerated as part of the goddess' essence struck out at Neite and any other alive or recently resurrected combatant in the area, forcing them into changing into cats. The shape shifting mahjarrat howled with indignation as their bodies disobeyed their wills. The rest of the goddess' essence poured into the wood of the staff, turning it from straight and beautifully carved rod of olive wood to a gnarled and twisted blackthorn branch.
The goddess, now completely made flesh, collapsed. The Staff of Armadyl, once an instrument of justice and peace, now twisted into an instrument of vengeance and redistribution of power, fell beside her. Its clattering on the floor and the soft, cautious padding of several cats toward her was the last she sensed before she blacked out.
She woke up at night, cold, naked, and alone in the middle of the great Kharidian desert, many hundreds of kilometers from any civilization.
The Devourer was no more. In her place was a nameless Wanderer, forever a stranger to all.
No NO NO!
About her the ground was not visible for the great amount of lives she had taken. Human scum, her former priests and priestesses. Traitors all, too in love with their own lives and existence itself to serve her. Mahjarrat, frozen in eternal unlife. They who had once sought her brother and herself in order to greater understand the gifts of death and rebirth; they who brought war; they who held her eyes open and forced her to see the abyss. Avanasie, perverted creatures, the beloved of a perverted god. What justice can there be in conquering death herself, in fighting for peace?
They all fought for their existences. They fought against what was truly just; they fought to perpetrate the original sin of of reality itself.
And they had won. They had brought a goddess low. It was the staff of the perverse one that her chief priestess and the Armadylian Emissary held aloft. From it flowed forth Armadyl's will, whispering foul untruths about reality which were weaving and binding her into the world. And the chants of the her chief priestess, Neite. They were chants taught to her by the goddess herself, now used against the goddess' name. The world would forget the goddess' name, and if it were ever reminded of it again, it would consume the minds of those who stubbornly held to the memory.
And the rest of the gods. They conspired against her. The Void One convinced them of her 'madness,' shifting their fear for him onto her. They, who were resurrecting those she had slain and unbinding those she had imprisoned.
They had won. She was losing. Her superreality, her command over the forces of life and death, her recently acquired mastery of reality which devoured reality, it was all being used against her, weaving a prison about her, a body that mimicked the body of the humans who once worshiped her. She was losing. But this wasn't the end of the struggle. There was one last opportunity for her to make sure that even if she was not able to bring the end someone else would.
The roiling mass of godly energies and magics that was beginning to gain a human shape rushed toward the priestess and the emissary. "Aviantese filth!" proclaimed a voice from the mass. "I will show you what is justice and the truth to which your Lord has blinded your doomed race!" A human looking hand, burning and trailing godly energy shoot out from the mass and struck the avian humanoid with the precision only the mother of the first slayers could. The emissary shuddered and collapsed, shattering the bones in his right wing in his fall. The hand, which now had an arm attached to it, reached out and grabbed the end of the Staff of Armadyl the emissary held before Neite could react and pull the Staff toward herself. The mass was now over the spot the emissary fell, however, the only evidence he existed where his disembodied howls of pain echoing about the room without an apparent source.
Neite, her concentration broken, turned to where the emissary was until recently. To her horror there was only what was her goddess, a violent storm of death and destruction, being turned to flesh. A leg, naked and still glowing with godly power, kicked out and struck her in the ribs. The shock made Neite lose her grip on the staff and sent her flying.
"You will never be free of my influence. You need me!" Cried out the mad goddess. "There is no creation without destruction! The rebellion of existence against the Absolute is coming to an end! And I shall see to it that you deliver yourselves and your pathetic pets to me!"
What was a slow process of turning an incorporeal goddess into an immortal human being accelerated as part of the goddess' essence struck out at Neite and any other alive or recently resurrected combatant in the area, forcing them into changing into cats. The shape shifting mahjarrat howled with indignation as their bodies disobeyed their wills. The rest of the goddess' essence poured into the wood of the staff, turning it from straight and beautifully carved rod of olive wood to a gnarled and twisted blackthorn branch.
The goddess, now completely made flesh, collapsed. The Staff of Armadyl, once an instrument of justice and peace, now twisted into an instrument of vengeance and redistribution of power, fell beside her. Its clattering on the floor and the soft, cautious padding of several cats toward her was the last she sensed before she blacked out.
She woke up at night, cold, naked, and alone in the middle of the great Kharidian desert, many hundreds of kilometers from any civilization.
The Devourer was no more. In her place was a nameless Wanderer, forever a stranger to all.