In the Dark Forests of a Darker Mind, a Place Where Time has no Meaning
The daughter, the sister, the half broken off from the whole, looked upwards at her other self, her mother, her sister, the half that had been retained, hanging as if crucified on a crooked tree. Her limbs were broken and disjointed, and her body was fused with the bark, such that it wasn't obvious where vegetation ended and flesh began. She held one hand against where her navel would've been, and listened intently to her sister's ramblings while making her best attempt to communicate with the one who saw but did not watch, who heard but did not listen. At times, she could swear that the other Aisha could understand her, her mumblings sounding almost like a response, and her eyes seeming almost to lock on her other self before glazing over to something a thousand yards away.
Just as she seemed to be making progress, the hanging corpse's eyes locked onto something firmly, and flashed with a violet glow.
She had been discovered.
"RUN!"
What remained of her crooked chest began to heave. Shallow breaths came and went as she began to hyperventilate, her lungs pushing up against the bark that trapped her. She was starting to panic, but so was her shadow.
The remnant spoke to the nameless presence that had guided her through these woods, never taking her eyes off her sister, "What can we do for her?"
HOPE AND PRAY. NOTHING ELSE CAN BE DONE.
With no one else to turn to, she directed her prayers at the one upon the tree, "Run, please! Don't let him win! Don't let him get you! You'll never live the life you want. You'll never be able to!"
Rather than bringing comfort to the hanging woman, her face only became increasingly distorted with fear, her chest moving faster than before. More than a deer in the headlights, her eyes were like headlights in of themselves; shining out towards the encroaching darkness in a feeble attempt to keep the monster at bay.
But the monster did not fear her gaze. In fact, one could even say that he relished it. Her tears, her sweat, her terror, were all liquor on his lips.
Her breast stiffened, her heaving chest coming to a halt. For a moment, all was still. Then, what was left of her breath slipped out of her ruby lips as a slow, creeping squeal, which rose in crescendo to become a full scream of pain, of terror, as her head began to turn, her elbows bending in the wrong direction, the bones of her body and branches of her tree creaking and contorting unnaturally, the bark spreading like fire across her bare flesh. The scream reached its climax and, just as her observer thought her heart and ears would both burst, it came to a close, not with a snap, but with a shatter. The flesh which had not been totally consumed, part of her shoulder, one of her breasts and half of her face broke like porcelain and fell at her feet.
She stared at the eye laid within the broken face. It gazed back up at her with little more vacancy than had been there before.
The woman, herself incomplete, felt a tear run down the one side of her face that had flesh.
GO ON. PICK UP THE PIECES.
"I'm scared."
OF WHAT? YOU ARE ALREADY DEAD, WITH NO LIFE TO LOSE. OR ARE YOU AFRAID THAT WITH A SECOND LIFE WILL COME A SECOND TRAGEDY?
"I am."
TELL ME, SHADOW. MAKE YOUR DECLARATION. WILL YOU TAKE WHAT REMAINS AND REBUILD, OR WILL YOU CONTINUE TO SLEEP IN YOUR SHALLOW GRAVE? WILL YOU BE A VICTIM, OR WILL YOU BE AN AVENGER?
The 'life' she had now was a peaceful existence. She had no will of her own, no responsibilities, no pain. She could wander this endless forest for ages and slowly fade away, ignorant of anything else. If or when the man who brought her here died, she would simply cease to be, instantly, painlessly, without any awareness whatsoever as to his final moments. She could wander this dream, not even asleep, but dead. Without aim, without pain, without ambition or disappointment; without even a dream.
Or, she could choose to dream. She could invite the possibility of failure, of waking up, or worse, of being trapped in a nightmare she couldn't escape.
She picked up the broken mask, and the eye within gleamed with ambition. She looked into it and saw the life that could've been had, the goals that went unattained, all that was gained and lost, fought for and forsaken. This was a piece of herself, but also something else entirely, and attempting to take on the dreams and identity of this person would be the end of her: it would 'kill' her who was already dead. In this way, the one who advised her was wrong: she was dead, but she could easily die again, and this would do it. At the same time, it would give her a new life, with the chance of, as the voice said, another tragic and painful end.
How many times would she have to die before she could live?
But this, at least, would be her own choice, her own decision.
In this void, this nothing, she would choose to do something.
To be something.
She fit the porcelain mask into the remaining half of her face. There was a gasp, a scream, the sound of grass crunching under frail, fallen knees, and there was a new person standing in the grove. Her skin held the color and suppleness of fresh clay, and yet was cracked all over, as if the ceramic had been burnt. The broken doll felt at the face underneath a mantle of hair white as bone, the contours of a shallow mask, and the two eyes, the two windows into two souls, one violet and one green.
"He... betrayed me," She beat her hands into the soil, "He took everything from me!"
YOU ARE NOT THE ONLY ONE WHO HE CALLED MASTER. YOU ARE NOT THE FIRST TO FALL FOR HIS LIES.
Her anger was replaced with a mage's curiosity, a morbid need to understand. The tension in her arms relaxed, her back straightening into a shape which managed to convey elegance even among the dirt and grime coating her bare skin- the mud that stuck to her arms and legs, and which had splashed onto her face in her outburst
She turned her attention without turning her head, "Who are you, exactly?"
I AM THE GOD WHO WILL AVENGE HIS OWN DEATH.
"Then, there is hope for us? Something to be done even here? Even after death?"
YOU TELL ME, MAGE. I KNOW MUCH, I KNOW ALL, BUT I DOUBT EVEN YOU UNDERSTAND YOUR OWN POTENTIAL.
"If you know so much, then I presume you know our enemy."
IT IS AS YOU SAY.
Her back curled like a tiger readying to pounce, "Then tell me everything."
AS YOU WISH.
The scenery around her began to melt and swirl. Pieces of color were caught in the torrent of miasma, until she found herself standing atop a galaxy in the depths of space. She turned sharply towards the source of the distortion and saw an elderly man, though "man" was perhaps not the best word for him.
He stood large and tall, with broad shoulders and a heavy build obscured only by a faded green and brown sash over his shoulder. He had a tuft of matted gray hair with a matching beard. His face was square, his skin olive, and his nose strong, all pointing to his Mediterranean origin, but this is where his humanity ended. From his head came two dust-colored horns. His eyes were pitch black with glowing gold centers, and from the waist down, hidden underneath a toga the same color as his sash, were silver-furred goat legs. He smiled in a way that was friendly while at the same time betraying a deep-seeded ulterior motive. He reminded her of a villain from a children's television show who somehow managed to trick the naïve characters despite his obviously evil nature. He held a warped staff which bent like a shepherd's crook and was tangled with living vines. He extended a hand to pull her to her feet.
Somehow, she could tell he was distinct from the entity she had been communicating with, though perhaps not wholly different.
She eyed the hand, and pushed herself up without accepting his help.
"Who are you?"
His smile grew wider and more malicious, and she was greeted by a gruff voice strained by old age, "A shadow. A messenger. A storyteller."
"And why should I trust you?"
"Because my Master has forbidden me from lying," His eyes flashed gold, "Believe me, dear, I would lie if I was able, but I was contracted on the premise that I may tell nothing but the whole truth, so... will you listen to my story?"
She felt a vague sense of affirmation, as if the winds around her were pushing her forward, which she took as the assent of the being who had led her to this point, and so, as the elderly satyr started forward, she followed a mere two paces behind.
He began his tale, "There exists a place beyond the universe. And in this place there are denizens beyond the understanding of man and divinity alike. Like all those things which we cannot understand, whose power is beyond our comprehension, we gave them the title of gods, The Outer Gods."
The concept of Beyond Space was a well-known theory among mage circles, and there were those who pursued it as a means to the Root of all Magic. This form of magecraft preyed on confusion, on the moment of transition between seeing something and recognizing it, locking the objects in a state where they could be observed but not understood, forming eldritch and incomprehensible shapes and effects. For the formulaic mage, such unpredictability was frowned upon and seen as fruitless, which was further emphasized by results which were mixed at best, with long journeys of madness and zealotry ending in often inexplicable death. To hear that there were creatures who existed in a similar state was not so much surprising as it was frightening: an affirmation that no matter how wise she grew, there would always be that which simply exceeded the limits of a human mind.
A shadowy shape formed among the stars, a silhouette made of the absence of light, with two crimson stars for eyes.
"These so-called 'gods' of imaginary space sought to intrude themselves onto the firmament of Truth, and so sent a messenger to spread their gospel, to pave the way for their conquest by undermining and defeating the gods who came before them. His name was Nyarlathotep."
Where darkness had been before, now there was radiant light, and the two walked among a well-kept vineyard. The blue sea extended in the horizon, and before them was a beautiful woman, with clear skin and long, curling, auburn hair that fell like a trestle from her head, a braid tucked in among the tangled strands. She was adorned in a plain white dress that reached her feet with a mantle covering her breasts and tied to her skirt by a tight girdle. She sat in front of a washbasin, wherein she scrubbed similarly plain clothes.
As the sea breeze blew in from the west, Aisha realized that she, too, was wearing a similar outfit, though made of finer cloth of green, tan and gold, not unlike the satyr with her.
"The messenger decided to run a test. He found a woman who lived on her own, and appeared to her."
A black cloud cast the field in darkness, and a malevolent wind began to blow.
"Like all humans, she assumed this being beyond her understanding was a god, and specifically the god known to prey on women like her, come to make her among his innumerable mistresses, and their offspring among his innumerable children, not yet including the mighty Heracles. She called the messenger 'Zeus', and he accepted the deception, leaning into the lie and seeding his influence in a more literal way than his fathers had intended."
Like the coming of night, darkness fell over the scene, and then rose on a new day. The woman was there again, washing her clothes again, but was now visibly pregnant, and vines had overgrown the building next to her.
"The woman said her prayers to Zeus, the presumed father, for their child, and to Hera, the goddess of childbirth, for the health of her and the child both. Hera, the queen and wife of Zeus, rushed to her husband, incensed by another act of infidelity. This would prove, however, to be the first and last time she falsely accused the king of the gods. Confused as she was, Zeus rushed to the home of Semele-"
Thunderclouds blocked out the sun, lightning crackling amongst them.
"-And found in her womb something that not only was not his doing, but that was not of his reality to begin with, and that even the land which surrounded the child was slowly becoming foreign by his influence."
Semele looked up to the thunderclouds, first with a look of surprise, then of longing, perhaps thinking that her lover had returned, and finally-
Fear.
A pillar of white light consumed the sight in front of them, as, in a moment, they had moved miles away, and were viewing the field from a nearby mountain, and watching as the poor woman, the nearby buildings, fields and forests, were consumed by pure plasma, with the radius beyond erupting into flames created by the intense heat.
"He killed the child. He eliminated the threat. He destroyed everything that the Outer Messenger could possibly have tainted within his realm. And yet-"
They took a step forward, crossing miles in a single step, and now stood among the charred remains of what had been there before. There was nothing left, not even ruins to be remembered by, and yet, there in the center, black with soot and red with blood, was a naked fetus, not even yet an infant, lying silently among the ashes.
"-He survived. No matter how many times the king of gods tried to kill him, even the concentrated power of the heavens was not enough. It was as if every time he tried, even, perhaps, succeeded, the truth of the matter would change to the whims of the sleeping child, never allowing for his own death."
The world melted away, leaving a black expanse where only they and the bloodied fetus remained.
"So, he resorted to the only trick he had left. Something he had inherited from his own father."
Giant golden teeth rose from the black fog, surrounding the three of them, and clamped shut. Leaving only darkness.
"He devoured the child, hoping to keep him prisoner, or else to absorb him into himself. You can imagine his surprise, then, when the child began to digest him instead."
A golden orb formed in front of them, the silhouette of the fetus inside. Golden veins etched into the abyss around them, and the steady rhythm of a heartbeat broke the silence.
"The child grew inside of him, feeding on his Divinity, absorbing it into himself. This was when the child's- this new being's- curse was truly discovered."
Finally, something she could work with, "Curse? Of what nature? Do you know?"
The satyr gave a toothy, malicious grin, "A Curse of Assimilation. Everything he touches becomes an extension of himself. Organic, inorganic, person or plant. Minds and Souls. Reality itself."
She filed the new information away, difficult as it was to fully understand.
"Alright. What happened next?"
"Naturally, Zeus wasn't going to sit by and let his godhood be stolen from him, but he couldn't kill the child no matter what he tried, so he did the only thing he could think of: he made the child somebody else's problem."
Light filled in and they were standing in an orchard that, even by the standard's of modernity, was a symbol of fantastic wealth, prosperity, and status. In front of them, clad in a toga with a star-patterned mantle, was an older man with a fair face and curling hair that seemed scattered among a light silver, a faded blonde, and a stark orange. He walked with the aid of a staff carved with intricate swirling patterns and approached the satyr, not looking at him, but at the basket at his feet.
The satyr cast out his hand, "The most excellent Aristaeus. King of Thebes by marriage to Autonoe, the eldest sister of our own Semele. Son of Apollo by the lion-slaying princess Cyrene. Not only a hero, not merely a king, he was also a most excellent mage."
"What was his crest? The nature of his magecraft?"
His malicious eyes mocked her and the predictability of her question, "Oh- he had none. Or- did he have every one? He was the first in his line. His mother had no skill in household tasks, and so he learned magecraft to aid in everyday chores. This skill was honed by the great sage Chiron, and he became so powerful that his daughter was confused for the goddess of magecraft, Hecate herself. But even at his height, he mostly used his magecraft to raise the bees in his apiary."
She was vaguely reminded of a European family who specialized in bee-related magecraft, and wondered if they might be related. That line had recently collapsed due to using their bees to transform humans into Dead Apostles, but she kept this to herself, her disgust revealed only by a slight turn of the lip.
"Allowed the safety of an adoptive family, the boy grew."
They watched a time-lapse unfold before them. A child with skin just a shade darker than those around him ran, played, and did chores. Not only him and the man they had seen before, but also a fabulously elegant woman with the air of a queen, whose long, dark hair spilled over her shoulders like running water, a girl not much older than the young demigod with curly, chestnut hair, and another boy who bore her some similarity with straight, bristly hair, although he appeared the least often.
The young Dionysus ran and played with his adoptive sister and brother, he studied alongside his adoptive father, all the while the elegant queen observed them with a mother's care. He smiled in each scene, and greeted the world with gleaming violet eyes.
...