People believe that the gods are merciful. They laugh and protect their people. They are the absolute beings.
Well, I'm pretty sure those weren't gods that the bards sang about. Not these.
These gods? They're nothing but absolute pieces of shit. These so-called beings of 'justice' built their thrones on the bones of mortals, feasting in luxury while their subjects burned in famine and war.
Just look at them now—running, scrambling over each other like rats in a fire, their divine grace reduced to shrieks and trembling limbs. Gods, they call themselves. Beings of law and order. Yet here they are, pushing and clawing past each other to save their own pathetic hides.
It's funny.
I watch from my throne deep within the remains of the once beautiful palace; now destroyed, broken, shattered. Cracks run deep through the walls, the red silk curtains now torn to shreds.
Rubble lines the floor, where these so-called "true gods" lay under my feet, driven insane by the illusions of their own past failures. Their golden robes that once signified true strength and unity are now dyed in red by the blood of their own companions, the same people they lived with, the same people along with whom they won countless battles. The same people who they killed by their own hands.
It's all so damn funny.
"It seems these toys are almost on the verge of breaking, too." I laughed hysterically - uncontrollably. After all, nothing is more fun than watching these pathetic gods grovel at my feet, begging for mercy.
"P—please s—s—spare me—AHHHH!" one of them screamed, his tone harsh and ear piercing. I wonder why? Hmm... is it related to this ripped limb in my hand? Or is it because of his shattered spine? Not that it matters. Now what should I do with them nex—"
Another voice cried out from my right. "Y—you are still a G—God, right? You are supposed to show mercy, please, spare me. PLEASE."
I wonder who said that. It's getting too damn difficult to distinguish with these terrible groans. I just crave a moment of quiet—is that too much to ask? I wonder how my parents felt back then.
Well, I had my fun; it's getting irritating now. Should I kill them? Nah, that would be too easy. For the men, let me feed them to the jackals back home. Those cuties haven't eaten in what feels like centuries. I wonder if they'll even leave the bones.
As for the women. Oh! I know. I'll just strip them of their divine essence and throw them in the mortal realm of Zentral. If I'm not wrong, they burned all the women there, claiming them to be heretics and sacrifices for The Gods. I'm sure they're tired of animals by this point.
I am quite nice, aren't I?
"Y—you are no God. You are a devil."
"Silence, vermin," I said, my eyes gleaming with purple chaos.
Her eyes, wide with terror, like a child staring into the void of their worst nightmare.
"Did I scare you? I am sorry. Freya, you know it didn't have to be like this. But you shouldn't be mean like that. Anyway, as a token of my apology, I'll let you live." I consoled her in a baby voice, patting her head, picking it into my arms-
"Oh, shit. It came off." I tilted her head in my hands, studying it like an artist appraising a broken statue. "Doesn't matter. You were ugly anyway. Hehehe." With a flick of my wrist, her head landed with a dull thud beside the mangled body. I laughed—a sound that echoed off the cracked palace walls, sharp and hollow, like a blade dragged across stone.
"Where was I? Oh yeah. I was about to tell you dumb fucks about my life. Hmm, let's see. You know… I wasn't always like this. Back then, I used to play like any normal kid; act like a normal kid. Until that day I finally discovered true joy."
"The scent of blood." I continued, taking a deep breath. "It really takes you back, doesn't it? To the bright, sunny days?" A wide grin appeared on my face, wide enough to split my face in half, reminded me of that fool.
...............…
It was a warm day, like usual; the leaves rustling under the unrelenting, cool breeze. Birds were chirping as the sun bore down.
"Cairith? Where are you, son?"
"I'm here, dad!" I shouted, jumping down from a branch of the ever-bloom tree in our backyard.
"Ho? When did you learn to climb a tree?" He said, his voice deep but filled with love.
"I've been practicing. Someday I'll be as strong as you, and then people will also call me Cairith, the true god. Son of the God of War Thunderus," I said, flexing my undeveloped biceps as he picked me up, lifting me onto his shoulders.
"Is that right?" He chuckled. "Listen Crysta, our son is also going to become a true god one day." He shouted across the large lawn behind our mansion. His voice echoing through the walls.
"Ho? Is that right—what happened to your face, Cairith? Why are you so dirty?" She said, walking through the lawn. Her white hair blowing in the wind.
"I was climbing the tree."
"Hmm, you know you can leave the dangerous stuff for when you grow older, right? I don't want a mini heart attack every morning when you are 5." She pouted.
"Let the boy live, Crysta. You know he won't listen anyway; after all, he has my blood in him." He laughed, touching his forehead to mine.
"Cairith, listen. In this world, a true god isn't one who possesses extensive strength. A true god is one whom his followers love and cherish."
"You know, my dad really was a great man. A respectable individual filled with pride who never used violence without a just cause, but he was foolish—oh, so very foolish. He thought that sincerity and strength were enough for him to win against numbers..." I trailed off, ears filled with gut wrenching screams as I plucked off a random god's leg.
"THEY WON'T LISTEN TO LOGIC!" shouted my dad, knocking a vase off the table, his voice echoing out of the study.
"There have to be better ways than a war? What if we…" My mother gulped before continuing, "What if we lose? What about Cairith?"
"We won't, and even if we do, you are here. Raise our boy in my steed, will you Crysta?" He smiled, patting my mother's head before reaching out to the study's door.
I scrambled to hide and run away from the study before my dad noticed I was eavesdropping, but I was too late. He flung the door open as I squinted my eyes, a little scared that he might get angry, but instead of being mad or shouting, he simply patted my head. Dropping down to match my height.
"Remember, Cairith. In this world, one must always fight for what is the best for our followers down in the mortal realm. They are weak creatures who depend on us. If we don't protect them, then who will?"
After making his point, he simply walked off. He'd spent the entire next day in the mortal realm, and before I knew it, he was off to a war that was deemed impossible by all. Clad in crimson armour with his trusty axe, s. Some followed him, some didn't.
I never watched the actual battle. All I heard were the heaven-shattering noises of the god weapons clanking, the world, threatening to crumble under their force.
The war didn't even last four days. My dad lost, his cracked axe rearing to crumble into dust. Blood, his own blood, stained his crimson armor dark.
"The irony." I chuckled,
"My father, as great as he was, was wrong about one thing," I said, tilting the eyeball of a random god in my hands. "Sincerity doesn't win wars. Neither does strength. The only thing that wins..."
I crushed the eyeball to dust, letting it scatter over the blood-stained rubble.
"…is fear."
I looked down at the trembling gods beneath me and grinned. "Now, shall we begin?"