“HE IS COMING!”

As fast as the blood was spilled, the mists absorbed it even quicker. Shadows coalesced within the billowing fog as something forced its way through. The ground shook, trees rattled, and even the corpses cried out in praise. A moment later, the smog exploded outwards. A visible shockwave rippled across the land, silencing the bloodfest. HE had arrived, Chothos the God of Death walked the mortal planes once more.

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A heartstopping presence washed over the mire. Those that gazed upon the god felt their mortality waiver. Life was fragile and fleeting, one simple mistake and they’d slip into his realm. It was completely still, a towering figure looming over the congregation. Even in the bright red light, no shadow was cast. He wore a robe made of draping cloth. Bounds of fabric covering every inch of his body. Only his eyes are visible in the dark shadows of the hood. Unlike the moon above, they were bright blue–A stark contrast to the crimson landscape. Those powerful eyes slowly gazed over his followers. Each one bowing their heads in deference. They were unworthy of his presence, fleeting specks of life drifting through space.

Like his priest, Chothos carried a gnarled staff. Boney fingers grasped the twisted wood, the carved channels leaking wisps of smoke. The top adorned with the visages of life, three faces representing birth, growth, and death. Each one shifting every few moments into the images of the previously deceased. Swarms of flies and small carrion feeders buzzed about. His very presence passively spawned the foul creatures. Yet, for all their noise, they didn’t touch the followers below. Only popping into existence for mere moments before returning to the smoke which birth them. As he stood, the air chilled. Frigid winds emanate from his form, coating the altar in a thin layer of ice. Satisfied with the congregation, he raised his hands high. Robes billowed outwards as his power was unleashed.

“STAND” His voice was a conglomeration of all. Men, Women, and Children. All those who crossed into his realm screeched out at once. .

It was a unified movement as the entire crowd stood to greet their god. None dared to disobey nor interrupt his commands. His high priest parted the crowd allowing the god to go forth. He refused to touch the soil, instead he floated down from the altar. Even his robes avoided the mud, skirting along the top as he moved towards the sacrifices. Pausing at the laid out bodies, Chothos raised the staff high and slammed it into the ground.

Tendrils of smoke flowed out from his sleeves and snaked down the wood. Bits of aetheric energy flickered within as it concentrated at the tip. Within moments, the condensed magics radiated outward. It wasn’t natural, a pulsating, lumpy cloud of distilled death. Boulbous chunks crept along the surface enveloping the bodies. His power twisting the natural order of life. The wind picked up and spread that deathly chill across the site. Lingering water condensed into a sparkling mist diffusing the rays of moonlight into a dazzling display. Slowly, the gathering clouds forced its way into the bodies. Thick streams of filth violating the offerings.

“No…” Jax wanted to vomit, this was sickening. The cadavers writhing as the fetid magic violated the laws of nature before him. This was… wrong.

Slowly, the tainted air brought new life into the deceased. Chests began to pulse, muscles twitch, and violent gasps as they yearned for air. The reanimation was violent and distorted. Limbs bent in disturbing angles, fingers scratched at the stone with such force the nails were torn off, and deep cries of pain echoed across the space. Some tried to drag themselves off the slabs, an invisible force halting their movement.

Jax instinctively went for his gun. It took a conscious effort to still his emotions. Seeing this twisted display only reinforced his ideals. Gods were the bane of progress, constantly halting those that may usurp them. Keeping humanity chained to its nature.. He’d learned about such rituals in school, fairy tales told to the kids to explain the slayer profession. But those stories were much more vague than what was displayed. If he continued to watch, he’d have to step in. Instead, he closed his eyes and waited. Those cracking bones and screaming voices hardening his heart. Only when the noise stopped did he dare open his eyes.

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It was a miracle. A true divine intervention. Those bodies brimming with new life. Their features were restored to pre-death. Even the most rotted of corpses looked new. The filth, decay, and diseases were replaced with fresh flesh. Many were in tears, no doubt still feeling the pain of reanimation. Some tried to rush the crowd, but the slab kept them in place. An invisible prison trapping their essence. Each corpse was returned to their pre-death state. With the spell complete, the smoke retreated back to Chothos. Satisfied, he nodded to the priest. The man turned to address the onlookers.

“ON THIS NIGHT, OUR GOD GIVES US ONE FINAL GOODBYE. AS THANKS FOR YOUR DEVOTION, GO! GO SEE YOUR LOVED ONES ONCE MORE!” The priest commanded.

All sense of sensibility was destroyed in that singular moment. To see and interact with a loved one once more was the greatest gift. It was a frenzy of a different kind, tears of sorrowful joy and wails of thankful grief filled the air. Families gathered and spoke to their mother, father, or friend one final time. Some apologized for deeds in the past, others joked together like they were at the bar, but all savored these precious moments. Emotions ran high and prayers of thanks were offered.

Chothos and his priest slowly walked through the group. Many didn’t even feel his approach until a cold hand lay on the shoulder. He said nothing, only staring down with those glowing eyes. The cool touch calms the raging thoughts, placing them in a state of zen. It was a simple thing, the weight of death pressing down and reminding them of the fragility of life. How a single moment can be the end of all. What was the point of fighting? What was the point of worrying? All things lead to this inevitable end, cherish the highs and make a claim on what little life they had. Some he lingered on longer than others, but not a single one was left untouched. As he shifted between groups, a faint trail of smoke began to web between them.

Jax lifted his visor and spit out in disgust. It was all manipulation, a terrible ruse to keep the stock in check. The enhanced vision tracked the leaking life essence. Chothos was harvesting all he could. The greedy god siphoning the emotions and draining the energy. How many years did he steal? How many were sent to an early grave from these actions? It was never a fair trade. To see the dead at the cost of one’s own life? Sure maybe a few might gain closure, but to give up freewill and worship this…monster?

At least this one wasn’t a torturer type. Those were the worst of the worst. Never giving, only taking. Still, it didn’t matter how they gathered the energy–They were all parasites. Each one was a burden to humanity. How much did he take to bring back the dead tonight? No doubt a plague would set in later. The villagers weakened bodies vulnerable to external forces. It was a vicious cycle with gods. Their “gifts” resulted in plagues and wars. The followers called out for a miracle to halt the calamity. When they inevitably do, they steal even more. This god was showing his age, instead of only skimming the top. He was draining them to near death. All emotions gone, their bodies numb and frail. It was disturbing to view. One moment they were joking, wailing, or displaying some other grand emotion. Then absolute silence. Their eyes staring off into the distance from an addled mind. Sure they may mostly recover but that was a portion of their life gone. At least with most of the congregation a passed out mess, it made Jax's job far easier.

As the last groups were processed, Jax was ready. Most of the congregation lay in the fields. He slowly maneuvered around the ritual site, keeping to the shadows on his approach. He dare not break the threshold. Stopping a few inches away from the flickering barrier holding back the bugs. Pulling out his pistol, he carefully loaded it with a runic bullet.

“You better be worth it” he cursed.

It all came to this singular moment. There were no second chances when dealing with deities. It seemed so simple. One shot, grab the remains, get out. Three easy steps and his life would change. Three simple tasks and he’d break out of his hellhole of a home. But now, doubt started to trickle in. He should have waited another few years. Gathered more materials. Signed up for more training sessions. Damn this world and damn this place! He pushed back the negative thoughts and refocused. Not everything can be planned for. Don’t let perfection be the enemy of progress.

Raising the gun, he braced his arm, and took a wide stance. Nothing blocked the shot. It was only Chothos and he. The rest blurred out as he focused on the target. Two beings from different worlds, each powerful in their own way. One stole from humanity, while the other stole from the gods themselves. Stilling his breath, his finger rested on the trigger. He was ready. A simple twitch and…

BANG