Within the depths of a field of oil and darkness, Nintur awaited the successive surges of energy that incrementally empowered her incorporeal form. Delight surged through her visage as she knew that energy was what followed after the death of her creation.
Just as she was about to calm down, a bright light appeared atop the blank ceiling of the prison world, which illuminated the dark expanse and showed how utterly bereft it was of anything.
The golden light struck her true, causing each and every muscle in her body to gain true form. Two more lights appeared in different cardinal directions before joining together and striking her back.
She could feel her senses harkening at the sudden intrusion of power, yet the very same intrusion caused her to relish the return of her abilities. Soon, the light dampened enough for her to see past the glow whereupon the sight of an undulating humanoid made of glistening oil staring at her.
An apparent smile was plastered on the face of the Empty as it opened its mouth, revealing hundreds of small shark-like teeth.
"What now, young one? How are you going out?" It asked, curiosity evident in its tone. It swarmed closer, oil sloughing off in batches only to be replaced by the field below. "You have regained a semblance of your power, but is it enough to escape?"
Nintur growled defiantly, for she knew that the power within her form was nowhere near enough to enact her plan yet trust she did on her creation. She had left instructions on how to handle such occasions, so that worry was nowhere near the top.
What was at the top, however, was the Empty's delighted chittering, clacking its oozing mandibles at her without so much as a rest. It seemed to take even more delight whenever she took on more power.
"Your escape is nearing, young one. Tell me…. In what manner would you do it?" It chittered curiously.
"What do you mean, ancient one?" She asked respectfully, knowing full well that she was talking to an ancient entity that was playing with her.
The Empty sludged forward, inching ever so closer. "I know it begins and how it ends, yet seeing is much more…. Fun than knowing. So, tell me, of all realities that exist and will exist, how will you escape from my hold?"
Nintur thought hard and fast, quickly taking into account the amount of power she held within her form. She had thought that this would be a trap, a way for the Empty to deplete her of her finite energy, but that thought soon washed away by the smell of freedom right around the corner.
She was going to break free by casting a forbidden spell, one taken from a legendary grimoire that allowed her to create seven deities in the first place. A mysterious entity had given it to her during the last days of the divine war, promising her riches and worship beyond belief if she used the pages.
She had not believed it at first, but desperation had taken root. There was a condition, however, in that when and if she revives fully, she would duck.
That was the condition: to duck as soon as her body was born back into the real world. She didn't know what it meant seeing as she would be reborn as an infant, but she knew not to look a gift horse in the mouth.
"Awful long time to think." The Empty's chittering brought her out of her musings and, before she knew it, its oozing, featureless face was inches away from her. "Tell me, then. Spell, Reactor, Blowdown, or Cracking?"
"By asking nicely." She answered, a radiant smile on her face.
The Empty's undulating form halted its movements completely as it asked, "What?"
"May I leave?" She asked nicely.
The Empty cackled, its body jiggling along the rhythm of its laughter before it exploded into a shower of oil and darkness. The exploding oil quickly washed over her, cocooning her entire form like an extremely warm and sticky hug.
She found herself unable to move, her senses slowly closing down but not before hearing raucous cackling from within her mind.
"He's right. Being awake for this is worth it."
●●●●●●
She felt her very spirit being pulled from the prison world. Her body heated up from the re-entry into the mortal world, but the sticky oil coating her body prevented the destruction of her empowered form.
She was not yet within her new body, merely existing as a detached spirit traveling from the space between the spaces. A miniscule existence seeking home guided through a Mark granted upon the spirit of her champion and their nearest offspring.
Finding it through space was easy enough and sliding through the veil that separated the mortal realm from the otherworlds was smoother than she had thought it would be. An inkling on the back of her mind explained why the Empty had coated her body with its oil.
Soon enough, she felt her form being sucked into a confined space, whereupon melodious chanting filled her mind. It felt restrictive at first, as if her very being was being imprisoned into an entity, before a surge of power rectified that feeling.
Freedom was within her grasp, but first, before her senses could ease into her new form–a form that felt much too big and gangly than an infant's body–she used the best of her willpower to duck.
She felt a blow of wind past her body's head, surprised at how tactile her infant body felt. She invigorated her divine powers, taking back her senses one at a time.
Her auditory sense came back first just in time to hear a man exclaim: "What the fuck?"
Her sight came to and saw a well-dressed, olive skin man glaring at her with his piercing blue eyes. A snarl on his stubbled face as he held a silver sword in his hand, which he swung downwards.
Decades of experience in war had attuned Nintur to combat; so much so that even in her new, she moved without through instinct and avoided the swing. Steel clanged against rock as the tip of the blade smoothly glided into the carved floor.
"Jesus fucking–How hard is it to kill you?" The man complained as he let go of the sword and barreled towards her with a jutted shoulder.
The man was powerful. In fact, she would argue that he was strong enough to be champion of a greater god and, by the smell within his chest, she knew which god he served.
"Champion of Ereshkigal!" she exclaimed, feeling her mouth too frothy for her taste. "Cease your actions or fall under my blade."
"Yap, yap, yap." He taunted, smashing his elbow into her mouth hard enough to break skin.
Blood dripped from her mouth as her eyes caught sight of a tooth on the champion's bloody elbow. "Y-you… you heretic! You will pay for your sins!"
Her palms smacked the ground with which she sat, causing the very floor to quake under her power. Cracks began to spread across the floor, which reached the champion of Ereshkigal within moments, whereupon bony hands broke through the cracks and grabbed his ankles.
He tried to back away, but the bony hands gripped tightly to him, causing him to stumble back in bewilderment.
"Oh, I've seen this before. Hand mines, right?" The champion took control of his emotion quite quickly and was quick to slash away the bony hands with a silver blade.
Surprise was evident in Nintur's expression, impressed by the champion's use of spatial magik–an ability bestowed upon those whose deity had massive reserves of worship energy. Greed flashed through her eyes as an antelope horn emerged from her body's forehead, crawling upwards and branching into dozens of spiked ends.
"I shall have you for my first meal, champion." She muttered under her breath, floating upwards as streaks of milky white lightning poured through the cracks on the ground.
"Yeah?" The champion spat back, stabbing his silver blade into a bony hand that had failed to grab onto his skin. "Is she right, you highness?"
Like a light amidst a sprawling darkness, Nintur felt a presence behind her and it made her skin crawl. The way with which the flow of power changed the moment the creature was made aware of its existence caused every fiber of Nintur's being to be repulsed.
A familiar genteel laughter rang behind her, causing blood to drip past her frail cheeks. Memories of old began to resurface in folds, what had once been buried were now being uncovered.
"Hello, old friend. I was wondering why the spirits of the damned were relentless in their whining. It appears that one of our own has broken the Natural Order."