Thurian Vandorius considered himself a man of opportunity. Unlike his rivals he spent little time with political bribery or the services of assassins. His family held the least influence of the six after all…no president had had the Vandorius name since the disastrous tenure of the child-president Xzasti.
No, Thurian knew that the true power in any nation lay within its people. And while the Arachni Union stretched for miles, its power was almost purely concentrated in Neo Arachnis, the largest city in the world. It was overcrowded and entirely lacking in resources. This was the fault of people like him, Thurian knew, but that bothered him little. His family had worked hard to reach the heights of wealth and prosperity. It was the poor’s own fault they could not stand at the city’s heights with the Great Families.
But Thurian understood the poor. He knew that many of them were violent and aggressive, craving vengeance against the ruling class and indebted to various criminal organizations. He also knew that the old legends of the ancient days were widely read in Neo Arachnis’ underbelly…one only had to take a stroll to see graffiti wall murals depicting Feros Obscurum’s battle with the Tyrant King Ferdinand.
This Feros was an interesting figure. Thurian had read all the legends available in his family’s vast library. All accounts state that he had been even crueler than his rival, but while Ferdinand had sought to wipe out all that represented love and beauty Feros had defended the people…yet with a cold, hard hand. No one had grown hungry during the days of the Obscurum Empire, and those who hoarded wealth and power at the expense of others were quickly cast down. Yet the executioner’s axe was never dry in those days, for Feros Obscurum was a man who never forgave.
Building a religion around such a man was an easy way to get the common people on his side, especially since the date of Feros’ return was soon approaching. Thurian had already rehearsed the return scene in the grand temple he’d built, starring an unknown actor he’d hired for his similarity to the description of Feros. “Feros Obscurum” would make his grand return and immediately command his growing number of followers to rise up against President Cybers and the other Great Families. Once a good deal of his most powerful rivals were dead or ruined in the riots, he’d stage a tragic death for Feros and have the dark lord proclaim him his successor. Tonight’s ceremony would be the culmination of years of planning.
But things weren’t as simple as he originally thought, for people truly were not as simpleminded as Thurian believed. He believed them to be desperate, he believed that what they lacked in money they had in senselessness. How wrong he was.
Thurian had very scarcely gone into the temple so he had no way of knowing that, at the dead of night, far past when he had left to go back to his sleek and modern penthouse, thousands of people gathered. For this large group of people that gathered in this temple at the dead of night were the real Children of Obscurum.
Right when the clock struck five in the evening Thurian grabbed his long black cloak from a rack, seemingly made of bones. “I am positive that this expensive cloak shall bring these peasants to their knees! Perhaps my entire cult shall participate in this event! Oho, I shall be expecting perhaps even twenty people!” Thurian guffawed, his rotund belly jiggling.
Thurian hopped down the hall towards his huge front door, stopping beside a mirror to comb his large, white beard with a shark-tooth comb. As he stared at himself in the mirror he grinned, “Oho! The fabled man by the name of Feros was said to be handsome, but I am sure I am far more handsome then the actor that I hired, and my hair is currently as white as Faros’ is supposed to be!” Thurian chuckled to himself for two more minutes, as a wild plan began contorting in his mind. He ran to a holographic screen placed on a table, and with a press of a few buttons began a video call to the actor.
“My beloved actor, you may be worthy of acting as a normal leader of a cult….but I am the only one worthy of acting as a god! So you are hereby fired by me, my acting friend, cheerio!”
Before there was any time for the actor to respond the call was immediately disconnected.
Thuriun walked through the door, trying his best to act regal. He plopped down in one of the back seats of his neon red hover-limousine. “Let us depart, my dear Chauffeur.”
“As you wish, Mr. Vandorius.” The chauffeur, a middle aged man with slicked back black hair and dark shades nodded, revving the engine.
As the car neared the huge pyramid-shaped temple Thuriun could tell that something was wrong. Thousands of people stood by the huge gate-like entrance, staring straight at the arriving limousine.
“What is happening… there are far more people here than have ever gone to any of the gatherings.” As Thuriun stepped out of the door he noticed that the thousands of people were walking towards him, as if they were a trained army. “They…they have anger in their eyes!” Thuriun gasped, his eyes dilating. “Ahem, everyone, have you, uh, come to welcome your great leader?” The crowd came to a halt smoothly and simultaneously. One man who wore a white coat with a hood covering his eyes stepped out of the crowd.
“I am a representative of Magnus Videns Cyrix Metalik. He would like to extend his gratitude for providing us with our gathering place and serving as our source of finance in this great time. He would also like to regretfully inform you that you are not the true leader of the Children of Obscurum, as that title is reserved for Lord Feros himself and the Magnus Videns under him.” he spoke, keeping his head lowered reservedly.
“This is preposterous! Why, you dang cultists never would have existed if I didn’t come up with the scheme. Young man, take me to your Magoos Veedis or whatever outlandish name you called him.” Thuriun’s round face was bright red with rage and he was practically stomping his feet.
The hooded man nodded. “If that is what you wish, it shall be so. However, the great time is approaching and I cannot guarantee you shall see the light of day again should you set foot in this temple without the proper reverence towards Lord Feros.”
Thuriun gulped despite himself. “A load of rubbish. I built this building, and I certainly can go in and out as much as I please. And you can be sure I’m not going to let any dang imposter lord stop me.” He marched forward, and the crowd parted ways, allowing him entrance to the temple. The man in white silently went forwards a few steps behind him. The inside of the temple consisted of a huge open auditorium lit by the light of floating star-like lamps. In the center of the room there was a huge, white, raised podium upon which a single man stood, gazing out over the crowds. Thuriun was used to the room being a cavernous expanse with perhaps ten people loitering around and him standing on the podium, but this evening it was utterly jam-packed with hundreds upon hundreds of loyal followers dressed in white cloaks with hoods. The man, who Thuriun assumed must be the Magnus Videns stood surveying the crowds with his hands on his hips. His outfit was rather ridiculous, as it seemed as though he had purposely left his gold-embroidered black cloak unclasped to expose his broad muscular chest. His neon-red hair had attempted to have been slicked back, but a few unruly pieces refused to do so and fell jaggedly across his strong, young, face. Thuriun scoffed and strode towards the podium. “Harumph. More like some soldier brute than a great leader. I’ll show this youngster who’s boss.”
As Thuriun strode forwards, the young man’s face broke into a ruthless grin, exposing his modified incisors that jutted out like fangs. “Well, what do we have here?” he smirked, broadly gesturing forwards with his muscular arms.
Thuriun figured he better clear up this misunderstanding quickly if he wanted to salvage even a bit of his grand plan. “Ahem. You should be ashamed. You see, all of you, I am the great god Feros himself! So perhaps you should wipe that grin off your face and bow,” he proclaimed smugly.
“You are?” The red-haired man broke into a loud peal of laughter that rang through the hall. “I mean, you’re looking a tad bit old, gramps.”
Thurian growled, clenching his fists at this impudent young punk. Who did he think he was, laughing at him like this? Without the backing of the Vandorius family, this kid would be nothing. That being said, while he hated to admit it, he felt more than a bit nervous being in this vast temple, surrounded by hundreds of robed cultists. The impudence of these fanatics! Officially speaking, this temple was a resort owned by his family, located a few miles from Neo Arachnis in a valley that had been under Vandorius possession for centuries.
Thurian noticed, quite uncomfortably, that he had been entirely walled in by cultists. His heart began to race and sweat dripped down his pudgy face. “I should’ve brought more guards!” he thought to himself, beginning to panic. No, he could not lose his composure here. He was Thurian Vandorius, and these were just a bunch of rough-and-tumble lowlives.
“Look here,” Magnus Videns Cyrix Metalik said as he strolled down from the podium. “I’ll be nice. You did help us out a lot, after all. I mean, honestly, this temple’s pretty nice. The budget you gave us paid for some really good ale, too. It’s only fair we let you witness our Master’s return, even though honestly trying to impersonate him, officially speaking, gives me the right to slice that head right off your shoulders.”
Thurian felt as though he’d nearly vomit. Was this Metalik man secretly an agent for a rival family? A minion of President Cybers himself? Perhaps this was the perfect time to demonstrate the martial arts he’d been learning. His skills in the dojo had been so fine, he’d only needed to pay the master two million dollars to convince him to hand over a black belt. His uncle Konstantus had needed to pay three.
As he was contemplating whether to fight or not, Metalik snapped his fingers, “Sasha, Dave, just make sure he doesn’t get into trouble, ok? I gotta give him to our Master when he shows up.”
Two strong hands grabbed Thurian by the arms and much to his horror, he let out a yelp. His oddly high-pitched voice echoed throughout the hall. “L…lookey here,” Thurian stammered as he looked Metalik right in the eye. The stupid punk was, he noted, wearing red contacts. “I’ll give you whatever you want,” quickly he searched his mind for what a silly boy like this would most desire, and located it almost immediately. “I’ll adopt you as my son. That’s what this is all about, isn’t it?”
To his surprise, Metalik met him with a blank stare. “Yeah….no.” he said after an awkward silence, before turning around and stretching, paying him no more heed. “Hey, Jack, grab me an ale, ok? Actually, make it two. I want to drink with Lord Feros when he returns!
The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.
As Metalik strolled away, Thurian abandoned all his composure and began to sob. What would these mad cultists do to him? Would he ever see his twenty-three year old mistress again?
***
50 million years ago
The man who became a god was cast down from his throne and cursed to exile in the stars for fifty million years. A normal man cannot survive inside the vast expanse of nothingness, but the man was sustained by his hate and anger. One does not age among the stars, and so he trained for a thousand years, every day slipping closer and closer to the brink of insanity. As each day passed, he grew stronger, and yet fell further into the depths of despair.
Time passed, until he had been exiled for ten thousand years. Nothing of the proud and wicked king who had been called the god of death remained. His power was so great that it nearly went beyond the limits of mankind, and yet he was crushed by the hopelessness and isolation of his exile. He had been betrayed by all he was close to, and now all that remained for him was the black expanse of nothingness and the deep desire of his soul to crush the Earth and make it burn with the dark flames of his wrath. His body and soul had begun to fade away, for despite his great strength he was still only a mortal man.
A light appeared in the expanse, brighter than any star. It was a woman, with long dark hair and large blue eyes. She was dressed in a light, practically sheer floating dress that did not hide her slender yet shapely body. Somehow, she did not feel out of place amongst the stars, for she glowed with a transcendent light that made her divinity obvious. She woke the man up with a light kiss on his forehead, her cheeks reddening lightly. His eyes opened and the nearly dead man smirked, taking in her beauty as she blushed an even deeper red.
“Great earthly warrior, I have been watching you for a while. And, um…I think we could help each other. If you don’t mind me asking,” The girl was obviously flustered, despite being a divine goddess.
“What can you possibly do for me, woman?” smirked the man.
“My name is Naniir, and I am the goddess of life. I can share with you some of my own divinity, and make you a god yourself.” She looked up at him with her bright eyes, and he could detect a deep sense of sadness within them. “You would be so powerful that you could survive your exile, and as for me..well..uh..we would be bound together for our immortal lives and I really need someone like you.” She finished her speech quickly, obviously embarrassed to ask the man for something like that.
“Have you fallen for me so quickly?” the man smirked, reaching out to cup her head with his hands. Naniir immediately blushed and nearly jumped away, although she didn’t seem to mind his touch all too much.
Naniir's face blushed an even brighter read., “Uh….uhhhhh!! I….I think that you are truly….a nice person.” She said, clearly flustered.
“Heh, news to me!” The man said, his smirk growing.
“Um, well more importantly! If you accept the contract you shall gain immense power…so…will you?” Naniir said slowly making eye contact with the man.
“Very well, woman. This pact shall never be broken. Such is the unending power which is soon to be mine.” The man rose up into the sky, a dark aura slowly rising around him. “Soon all shall know the name Feros. Just by uttering this name….all shall kneel!”
Naniir smiled, a small and sweet smile, “I believe you…Feros. Now to seal this contract for all eternity!”
With a slight blush on her cheeks, Naniir lightly kissed Feros, and with this Feros Obscurum became a god.
***
50 million years later
The stars were an endless oblivion, darkness itself. They were not but a continuous void of what people thought was to be sorrow. However the only Goddess to survive, Naniir made up for this. For her great beauty radiated even the darkest depths of this void….and the darkest depths of the soul.
“Farewell, Woman. Our parting is now. ‘I ask that I in your sweet thoughts would be forgot if thinking on me then should make you woe.’” Feros quoted, stepping into a crack in between the galaxies themselves. As his foot touched the invisible matter, the entirety of all the galaxies shuddered, as if they had never felt something so powerful enter their presence.
Naniir ran towards Feros, silent tears falling from her eyes. “Don't say that! We will meet again! We must!”
Feros smiled. His smile had become softer over the years. Less scheming and evil, more thoughtful, as if his many years with Naniir had softened his heart. “You have served me well over this time. Women… you have my gratitude.”
Naniir stared at him.. Her cheeks reddened and a sob rang through her body as Feros, the man she had grown to love, disappeared right before her eyes. This man, who she might never see again.
***
Feros Obscurum’s bare feet strode the invisible road of the Path Between Worlds. Stars and galaxies streaked past him as the nebulas that billowed around the void exploded into color. He did not once stop to admire his surroundings, for to him they were more mundane than a stone wall. He could see Earth before him, tiny at this distance, seeming nothing but a cowering prey. Feros continued walking, the distance between him and Earth unmeasurable, for time and space were distorted within the Path. As he walked, cracks appeared in the space around him with sounds like icicles shattering.
His heart was cold, impassive, utterly focused on his duty. What chaos could the world have fallen into, free from his guidance? No matter. He would reinforce order. It had been far too long.
With a crash, everything around Feros shattered.
***
Cold, with scents of dew and wind. Blinding blue lights, artificial, a pale imitation of starlight. He had stepped into the air, within a vast hall. Spread about before him were an army of white-cloaked figures, who fell to their knees in awe. Perfect. He had willed himself to reappear within the midst of those who would pay him homage, after all.
As Feros began to descend, the figures began to slowly chant his name. His white hair flowing around him like light, he slowly floated down towards the central platform. He felt his feet touch cold marble, and he observed the throng with the detached eyes of a god. When he spoke, it reverberated throughout the hall as if it were loud enough to shatter mountains…even though it was barely a whisper, for Feros needed little else to command respect.
“Rise.”
As one, the robed figures stood up, though their faces still were bowed. Feros now noticed the two who were closest to the podium’s stairs, two men who seemed polar opposites. One was a muscular man who wore his robe open to expose his chest. He seemed to be only in his mid-twenties, with red hair. In contrast, his companion was an obtuse white-bearded old man in an ostentatious black robe, like the vestments of a priest. He looked as if he was about to throw up. Feros did not believe he’d have much use for him.
“Who leads this legion?” Feros spoke, casually waving his hand. The shadows at the corners of the hall came together behind him to form a throne, which he sat down on and casually rested his hand upon his fist. “I command you, approach and swear fealty.”
The red-haired man ascended the steps. He looked cocky, though Feros detected an overabundance of awe in him that he seemed trying to hide. That did not diminish Feros’ opinion of the man, however. It was a sign of wisdom to immediately recognize your better.
Feros reached out with his power, touching the minds of the two to uncover basic details about their identity. The red-haired young man was Cyrix Metallik, who led the largest congregation of his worshippers. The older man was Thurian Vandorius, head of a powerful and wealthy family. He was this cult’s primary financial backer.
Thuriun brushed off the people restraining him with an angry grunt, “Who do you think you are!”
“You dare ask me who I think I am? You should know my name, for I am your god.” Feros said.
“My god? Are you mocking me, boy? I worship no one except myself!” Thuriun said, his temper reaching its limit. “If you don’t believe I shall beat you in a duel!” He chuckled, a smug smirk growing on his face.
“I shall never lower myself to your level,” Feros said, an arrogant glint in his eyes.
“Rubbish!!” Thuriun screamed, stomping his feet.
“Kneel to me, fool,” Feros said, his quiet voice echoing through the huge temple.
Thuriun stomped up to Feros, his bushy eyebrows quivering in anger. “I am not kneeling to a little whippersnapper like you! I am much more of a god than you'll ever be!”
“You dare speak to me that way? I shall show you the difference between us in words you will understand.” Feros said, holding his hand up so that a large glowing dark aura appeared in his palm.
“Wh…what is this pressure!” Thuriun gasped, beginning to choke. “This… is more power than I have ever felt…”
Feros threw the large orb of pure aura at Thuriun while whispering the words, “Hyacintho Inspiratione.”
Thuriun screamed and tried to run away, but the blast was far too fast. Thuriun was brought to his knees as the blast drove a hole in his rather large stomach. He coughed up blood as his eyes bulged, glazed over in awe at his glory.
“Lord….lord Feros….I shall worship you, you are the rightful leader!!! Thuriun screamed.
Feros glanced at the chubby man and scoffed, “Begone, fool.”
Thuriun’s head fell off, as if a sword had cut through it, though there wasn't a sword in sight.
“Is there anyone else who wishes to oppose me?” Feros said.
Utter silence fell throughout the room. Feros opened his mouth to begin a speech to his new followers, when Cyrix Metallik cleared his throat and stepped forward from his place on the platform with a wild grin on his face. He strode over to Feros and clapped him on the back. “Enough fancy speeches, we don’t care about that here. All right everyone, bring out the ale! Let’s make it a good one.”
The crowds of people let out a wild cheer, and Feros could see cloaked individuals bringing out barrels of ale beginning what he was sure would be a long and crazy party. Metallik leaned in to Feros’s ear and whispered so only he could hear, “To be honest, I don’t actually believe in this whole cult thing. It’s been a great excuse for wild parties and good ale for all of us and it even took down that bastard Thuriun. But if you’re really a god, let’s fight later.” Metallik winked good naturedly and then strode to the edge of the podium.
Feros lingered back, interested that this man could act so naturally around him, especially after his display of power. He had not expected anyone to remember him, much less loyally follow him. Perhaps this was the fate one ought to expect as a god.
“The god of death has arrived!” Metallik’s deep voice rang through the temple. “Raise your glass and toast to the new era!”
With a cheer, Metallik raised a frothing glass of ale. The cheers in the temple were practically deafening, and Feros couldn’t help but recall a day in the far past when he had been triumphantly crowned king with his closest friend by his side. Feros smiled a dark wicked smile. His enemies had cast him out and destroyed everything he had but now he had returned. He had been gifted the power to crush or conquer everything in his way and would not let anyone stand in his way. Feros walked to the edge of the podium and looked out over the crowds of people, laughing, drinking, and cheering. The god of death had come to the world.