"You've killed men, women, children, beasts, critters, trees, the land. You've disrupted the balance of our world, our workpiece, you joined us to paint the world in our preferred image, you've feigned a god, but you are no god."
Though hypocritical, Amanai felt the weight of the statement press down on him, the god who spoke exuded authority, but unfortunately that wasn't enough to hide how he genuinely felt, and so he smirked.
She was right on Amanai disrupting the balance of the world, only the gods were allowed to do that–creating famine and drought and neglecting their worshippers, only they had that privilege.
It was clear. But aside that, he had not reached the level of power to qualify, to join their ranks, and even if he did, his multitudinous sins wouldn't let him.
"Forgive me for playing a god." He said slyly, bowing his head a little and stretching his arms in regard, in an act of defiant mockery.
Whatever Amanai had intended didn't seem to reach the god as she continued her speech,
"You've been brought here for judgement, your deeds will be brought before you."
Not only were they stiff-necked, they lacked a sense of humor. Amanai released a sigh awaiting his judgement, he resigned, there was nothing to be done.
Either his joke was stale and not funny enough, or she and the other gods didn't understand, or he was ignored.
Amanai feared that it was the last. The gods were known to be an aloft and haughty bunch, a joke mocking them ought not to ignored, but rebuked with clear annoyance and aggression. The gods were known to be fragile beings, at least in the stories.
But these ones didn't care, were the stories a facade? Amanai had hoped to cause a little bit of chaos from the group and have a last laugh before he was sent somewhere, but the presence of the eight judges seems to have them all on a leash.
Soon as the god said those words, the eyes of all, excluding the judges, shone and the sins of Amanai were displayed in their minds.
The massacres, the murders, the thefts, the destruction of holy structures, the chaos he ensued, all that he did that disrupted balance and order.
It was terrible, totally reprehensible, and Amanai knew this, he felt the weight of the terrible deeds he had done, the blood he spilled on soil once beautiful .
He had done it with the people in mind, to create a future for mankind, but now with his deeds shown to him, how was he any different from the lords that killed, stole and destroyed? Perhaps in that he uses his hands.
He stood there, silent, his eyes still aglow a golden light, replaying his deeds at great speed, flooding his mind with images forgotten, of faces unknown.
He gritted his teeth, regret began to surface, confliction in his mind.
'When did it become this way?' he wondered.
Had he had his way, chances were that he would be a tyrant ruler like those he would have purged.
'I really am no different. I'm just like them.'
And then the light in their eyes died, and the images disappeared to time forgone.
Despite all that, he remained calm, poised and maintained his gaze at his judges above.
The feeling of regrets, the conflictions all disappeared into the hollow in his heart. He was dead now, there was no use in feeling that way, the least he could do was not have the gods use him as an instrument for their entertainment. He would maintain his dignity.
"You are right about that, you are no different from the lords you sought to dispose of, save that you used your own hands."
Amanai let out a sigh, he was strangely aware of the air that left his lungs, not that he could see it, but in the sense that he still breathed.
This was heaven, he was dead, yet he mimicked the living, perhaps it's too ingrained in a living being to simply just discard the act.
He looked at the gods, none of them seemed to be breathing, none with chest heaving.
His eyes widened in realization, though he was dead, his soul was unsolved, he could still live if the gods willed it so, for he was at the precipice between life and death.
He wasn't truly dead yet, though his body was, back in the continent.
"What do we do with him all-father?" One hovering dense black box spoke, its voice deep and reverberating, as if it sucked in its surroundings before speaking.
Its form was a darkness dense and engulfing, with black rings drifting around it, and every part of it undulating like a vibration ran across them.
"He would stain the heavens with his feet were he to lay them in it. He would stain the land, the trees would die, and the people eventually, that is if he doesn't begin killing them." The all-father spoke with unchallenged authority.
'Is that all they think of me? A mass murdering maniac? I suppose it's rather close, but they are gods, they should know everything, they should know that there was purpose behind my killings.'
"All thoughts of the judged are heard in the minds of all present here. You are a murdering maniac whether it was for a greater good or not, you were given the grace to speak, to experience a little of the heavens and to see gods, else you ought to be thrown down to the netherworld upon your death. The netherworld isn't a kind place, even to men powerful and hardened as you are. You will kneel to the netherworld's rulers." The all-father declared, and there was a silence that lasted for a few seconds, yet it felt like an eternity.
And then the eight judges spoke in unison.
"Amanai, son of Ruk, You're condemned!" Their voice shook the very space, and the surface, the clouds on which he stood broke and started to part.
Amanai jumped to escape the gape, but there was no place for him to land, all the clouds were gone, and so were the gods, only an abyss remained, and he fell.
He screamed as he fell.