Defiance of divinity is encoded into my very blood. As is freedom from divine influence. The very concept of divinity, the essence of religion is a poison. An infestation that tempts man to surrender their actions. My ancestor, Jorhan an Erduk, recognized this truth. Recognizing the damning influence of the gods and their religions, he acted. Armed with god slayer, he intruded upon the Holy Wars and cut open new vistas, showing them the folly of their actions. Freedom and individualism are ideals to be protected at all costs. God’s influence covers all creation, and we must be free of it if we are to survive. The many eyes of the lord watch our every movement, waiting for us to make a mistake. We must be ready for when he finds it.

Jorhan an Erduk set down his tankard of ale with a disgusted sigh. Outside of the dingy tavern yet another boom shook the city as yet another massive boulder struck the walls. The other patrons in the tavern briefly flinched before getting back to their business. Namely gambling and drinking. Jorhan joined in, reveling in the dice rolling off his fingers, in casting fate with his own two hands. His pile of gold grew with every roll, swaying precariously with every dull impact upon the walls. Finally, his opponents had enough.

“Blessed by the gods, eh pretty boy?” a scarred man leered, “Why don't you share some of that luck.”

Jorhan looked up at him sharply,

“My luck is my own. The gods have nothing to do with it.”

“No divine help, eh” he slurred, “Then you must be cheating.”

“Tell you what,” he continued, “Hand over that gold and I’ll forgive those quick hands. If not…then maybe I'll take them for myself. What about that!”

He laughed boisterously and the men beside him joined in, casting greedy looks at Jorhan’s gold. Jorhan took in the room, its dim lighting revealing the hard men and women that called the slums their home. A tapestry of hard lives and old scars. He saw the weight of their lives and he saw how they carried it. They surrendered it to the gods above. To me.

Jorhan disdained that. To surrender one's action was a surrender of responsibility and agency. All men are simply the sum of all their actions. If one owns none of their actions, what are they?

The blade at his side hummed softly.

God-Slayer was its name.

And Gods it would slay.

Jorhan slowly stood up, piercing the man with an azure gaze.

“Try.”

The man drew himself up, drawing on his faith to strengthen him, drawing on the god he had sacrificed his life to. Only to find nothing.

The blade’s humming increased in intensity, a maddening backdrop to Jorhan’s oppressive intent.

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The man shrank back, his good humor abruptly vanishing as his god abandoned him. Cut out of his life, out of reach. He was nothing without it. The problem with being nothing, is that all resistance is futile in the face of something.

“Not so brave alone, are we?” Jorhan questioned cruelly.

Nobody spoke a word.

Jorhan snorted coldly and gathered up his coin. Nobody tried to stop him.

Outside, he sighed into the cold night, watching the condensation lazily drift out of his mouth. Pitch-black hair seemed to meld into the dark night as he faced the dim stars.

“Why?” he snarled.

As always, I said nothing.

Time has always seemed ephemeral, especially to an eternal being like me. It had seemed like only yesterday I had conferred with the prophet, only yesterday I had danced with HER. Yet now HER descendant walked the earth with that cursed blade, fighting the prophet's legacy. Or perhaps fixing it.

In the wake of the prophet's revelation and the age of gods, religion had sprung up. Like persistent weeds it had refused to be knocked down, growing into the monolith it was in Jorhan’s time. There were dozens of churches, some big, some small. Ones dedicated to Hestia, others to Micheal, some to Sidon. Almost all the children of Adam had churches. But none were so large as mine. The prophet had done his work, and he had done it well.

The people took to religion with surprising enthusiasm, eagerly casting themselves at the feet of supposed gods. They made religion their purpose, dedicating their lives to spreading it. I watched sadly as individualism and freedom were slowly eroded away by the march of blind faith. There was no need to forge paths when you could surrender all discontent to a god. Then the churches started to fight.

It began as a local scuffle between the church of Micheal and the church of Heimdall. Then it spread. The world seemed to curl in on itself as men raised blades in the name of their gods. Eventually, it led to the siege of the City of Micheal itself, the ancient city offering legitimacy to those that could claim it. Legitimacy and access to the mountain of Adam, the valley of man’s birth. I raged as I saw mindless obedience and destruction being spread in my name. But it was not my path to intervene. Another did it for me.

Jorhan woke up to yet another boulder striking the walls. He yawned and rolled out of the raggedy bed, stretching as he went. The morning rays streamed through the nonexistent window, illuminating his tanned muscles. His black hair drank in the light, seemingly more void than hair.

“Another day, another disappointment. This city is not what I thought it would be.”

The everpresent blade at his side hummed in agreement.

“Then it's time to start.”

He walked down to the common room, noticing the sudden hush in conversation as he appeared. He sat down at the bar and ordered,

“Smoked ham” he said, nodding at the barkeeper.

The man dropped everything else as he rushed to the back to fulfill the order.

Turning around, Jorhan questioned the common room,

“Anyone know where the Church of God lies?”

The room was silent.

“Fine, I'll find it myself.”

Hours later Jorhan was still wandering the winding streets of the City of Michael, admiring the masterwork that had once marked man’s dominance in this world.

Now man was no longer dominant.

Gods ruled here.

The blade at his side hummed again, picking up on its wielder's sorrow.

Jorhan sighed,

“Was it so hard? To stand and accept your own actions? To hold your own fate?” he asked nobody.

I heard his question all the same, and shared his sorrow. I had never wanted worshipers. Merely peers to share my wonder.

Finally, Jorhan arrived at his ultimate goal. My church.