The God of Death and Taxes was not having a good day. First, the automatic Netherworld Gates had broken down again, so he was forced to stand by and let the souls of the dead through one by one, like some glorified doorman. He had been certain that he’d fixed the problem that had caused the last breakdown for good (it was some obscure technicality where the doors had read a fraction of dead mortals as still being alive due to the wide-spanning post-death impact of their pre-death deeds). But apparently not, as the line was once again building up; this time for no readily visible cause.
Death did try to have fun with the menial task of course, like spooking the confused mortals with some spiel about how they’d be tortured for all eternity for all their sins. But after the hundredth mortal the act had sort of lost its appeal. There was only so many times one could derive pleasure from the same old terrified expressions and played-out pleas for salvation, after all. Eventually he’d delegated the task of door-opener to a random knightly-looking fella, with the godly promise that after the line was cleared, Death would pull some strings and make sure that his soul would be diverted to “the place above”.
Naturally, that promise was a small fib, a little prank on Death’s part: all souls went to the same place. Back into the Void to be melded together as a potpourri of mortal consciousness, subsequently broken down into their components, then scooped out again as a brand new, completely blank slate of a soul to be deposited in the body of a lifeform recently birthed in some random corner of reality. He had wondered why almost every sentient mortal civilisation had the concept of a heaven and hell; in that purely hypothetical system it just wouldn’t be efficient to keep removing precious ectoplasm from the delicate equilibrium of soul mixture purely because that mortal being had done something “good” for the survival of their species.
Heck, from Death’s perspective, any mortal contributing to the extended survival of any organism in general was evil, not benign. The system of reality was there to ensure diversity in mortal forms; the longer lived a mortal civilisation, the more likely it was to consume that distinctiveness, leading to that sector of space becoming more and more homogenous until eventually all that remained would be a single shade of boringness.
Of course, he wouldn’t spout this opinion of his in front of his esteemed brother (even if he did think that the whole quest to save the mortals was an illogical and futile one). So unlike other Gods which actively sought out new ways to increase the amount of actions being carried out that related to their calling, Death merely kept the existing ecosystem running as smoothly as he could.
The very fragile ecosystem, mind; while manning the defective Gates he’d picked up on chatter from a suspiciously large group of humanoid squids that there was an ongoing infestation of undying squids that refused to die when they were killed – and that getting bitten by any of them would turn you into one of them.
After a quick chat with a few members of the fishy congregation to get a clearer picture about the situation, he’d learnt that the present gathering of deceased squids comprising a number of approximately fifty thousand had previously been residents of a town that was nuked by their central government in a desperate bid to regain control over the infected area. Before this lot had succumbed from multiple squid organ failure, a number of them had reportedly glimpsed the shambling undead fish monsters get back up, now glowing an ominous green from massive doses of radiation.
Death had groaned at that. Great. Now on top of finding time to troubleshoot the Netherworld Gates soul-recognition system he needed to curb an invasion of radioactive squid zombies before they collapsed squid society. And he had to unravel the mystery behind just how those creatures were able to conceal themselves from his sight without even so much as a hint to their existence or the whole god-damned event would just start up again in another corner of reality without his knowledge. Bloody mortals, messing with the fabric of reality, the very rules of nature, just to… what? Live a little longer? Clutch on to their meaningless wealth and power?
Just as Death was getting ready to create a portal to quell the zombie squid apocalypse, a circular chip secured to his wrist by a ribbon of black silk vibrated in a quick repeating one-two tempo.
It was the doorbell – someone was banging on the gates of his domain again.
“Damnit Life, I’m busy too… would it kill you to pause what you’re doing for just one second to answer the door?” Death grumbled, sealing the growing tear in space-time leading to squid purgatory with a pinch of his fingers. Despite the muttered complaint, Death was still about to go let the guests in; in his experience, he knew that shut-in of his couldn’t do anything without his dear younger brother cleaning up behind him.
When he’d finally reached the entrance of the Cube, however, Death saw two individuals he hadn’t been expecting. Not for another ten years, anyways - if the new sign standing on the Dimensional Wall were to be believed.
“Order? Why have you returned to my abode? On top of that, why would you be bringing this lesser God with you? I believe that at this point in time your experiment should still be ongoing, should it not? If you require Life in any capacity to assist with your experiment, I would take that as an implicit admission that you’ve failed in your task, no?”
The female God bowed deeply. “My greatest apologies, God of Death and Taxes, my unprompted visit today does indeed pertain to the experiment that I am conducting. However, as you may surmise, it is not I that requires any such assistance from the God of Life and Creation. The God of Stories and Creativity, on the other hand…” Order paused to glare at the lesser God currently treading air and attempting to maintain a stern façade by putting on a stiff face and crossing his arms. “…he would have words with the God of Life and Creation regarding my methods.”
“Yeah, I have a whole speech written up. Haruumph and darn it and uh… all that.”
Death unlatched the gate with a sigh. “Same place. I do hope that this won’t become a recurring theme with the two of you… I have other things to worry about besides just opening the door for visitors, you know.” Order indicated her gratitude with a curt nod, then strode past the elder God, making her way towards the back of the Cube with Stories swimming behind her. Rapping twice on the entrance to Life’s workshop, the two waited for the muffled racket going on behind the door to cease. After a beat, it creaked open.
“Oh, Order, ready to throw in the towel yet? I see you’ve brought young Stories as well… did something happen?” Life ushered the two into the workshop and returned to his position seated in front of his latest suspension of God-fluid and liquid flesh.
Order stole a peek at the reject pile in the corner: the number of meatballs had ballooned to a little over thirty. Some of them even had fully defined ocular appendages (eyeballs) which were currently intently examining the new visitors. She tried to ignore their gazes by returning to the matter at hand, but could still feel those eyes boring holes in the back of her head as she spoke.
“The God of Stories and Creativity would like to make a- in my personal opinion- patently ridiculous, case for you to halt the proceedings of my experiment. Right after he has finished spewing his utter nonsense, I will similarly provide you with a detailed rebuttal which should inform your decision with regards to the issue.” Life paused, his hand frozen in front of the suspended ball in the centre of the room. He turned to face the two, face slowly hardening as he took in what Order was saying.
The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.
“I suppose the experiment isn’t going as well as expected, then.”
Stories cut in at this point. “No. No, it hasn’t. Hi, Life, you know me: it’s ya boy, Stories. Let me spin you an entirely non-fictional tale about how your precious daughter over here (that’s Order), did some very heinous deeds – ooh, the things I’m about to tell you are going to make your toes curl!”
The lesser God proceeded to launch into a tirade about the treatment of two particular purple bears he was present for, how Order had lied to both of her juniors about the specific reason for those mortals undergoing such torment - and as the cherry on top: how she wanted to keep going. To keep torturing a mortal species for no good reason other than to satisfy a cruel, twisted curiosity. Order had tuned out the bulk of Stories’ emotional rant – no point wasting time picking through the flimsy arguments being regurgitated by a fool when all she needed to do was convince the God of Life and Creation himself that her actions were justified.
“… and then she probably tracked down that poor, helpless bear and ripped it to shreds with her teeth!”
“I’ve heard enough.” The God of Life and Creation turned to his daughter. He certainly wasn’t smiling now. “Order, I gave you free rein to conduct your tests because I believed that there was the basic, implicit understanding that the mortals wouldn’t be hurt. From what Stories has said (and you haven’t denied or refuted any of the points he raised), I have half a mind to bar you from further meddling in mortal affairs. The only reason why I haven’t done so is because you’ve prepared some sort of rebuttal to counter these accusations. Well, then. Go for it. The floor is yours, Order.”
“Thank you, God of Life and Creation. Now,” Order cleared her throat. “The reason why I’ve not refuted anything that the God of Stories and Creativity has raised… is because it’s all true. Maybe slightly exaggerated, but yes, the events which he has described did indeed take place.”
“Hah! That’s where you’re wrong, I- wait, why are you agreeing with me?” Order ignored the idiot’s exclamation and continued.
“Some mortals of old have a saying: “The ends justify the means.” I believe that applies here in its entirety. You say I’m exploiting mortal lives, hurting and demeaning them for the sole purpose of collecting data for my experiment? Well, I would counter that with the fact that behind every advancement in mortal history you can often find a million bodies, sentient or otherwise, forming the foundation for that advancement. Without sacrifice, how can there be change?”
Life frowned at this. “So you don’t see anything wrong with your actions? Actions, I might add, you can reasonably infer from my title as the God of Life, I would disagree with and condemn wholeheartedly?”
“God of Life and Creation, look at it from my perspective: these are mortal beings that average lifespans of mere decades; not centuries. In the grand scheme of things,” Order paused for effect. “They are but dust in the wind. Additionally, I’ve made sure to select for unintelligent, less-than-advanced lifeforms; the ones that would not have made a significant impact should they be wiped out. If anything, they should be overjoyed that their deaths would contribute greatly to the eventual goal that all sentient lifespans would multiply tenfold; perhaps even hundredfold!”
The face of the only lesser god in the room slowly whitened with every new word the witch had uttered. He could see that Life was actually mulling over the madwoman’s argument. No, Stories thought. He should be enraged! He should be yelling and throwing chairs about!
“You can’t honestly be going along with this, can you? Life, she’s arguing that you put the cart before the horse; she wants to kill mortals to save them? What kind of bull-“
“Enough, Stories. I’ve made my decision.” The elder God stood up, addressing the two of them sternly.
“I would like to start by prefacing that I do not agree with these acts of mortal torment.”
No…
“That I would much rather have the tests done in a manner where all subjects are treated with care and left unharmed.”
No…
“However… I do see the value in what Order is attempting with these experiments. Therefore… I will allow them to continue.”
“NO!” Stories shouted, the words tumbling out before he could cram them back into his throat. To hell with respect, the old man was about to pardon her for everything! “YOU’RE LETTING HER GET AWAY WITH THIS?! WITH… THESE… THESE VILE ACTS?!”
“You haven’t let me finish, young Stories. I believe that my decision will be satisfactory to the both of you. Should you want to continue, Order, there will be conditions imposed upon you.”
Stories closed his mouth begrudgingly. If there was going to be some form of restriction, he supposed he could hold his tongue for the moment. Order, on the other hand, had wrinkled her brow. She hadn’t foreseen this outcome. Sure, she’d expected that Life would agree with her stance; after all, he’d been at a standstill with his own trials for centuries now – but conditions? Whatever for?
“Order can carry out her tests, with whatever Gods she pleases. But… one God, one planet. No more.”
“WHAT?!” It was Order’s turn to voice her displeasure. “One each won’t be enough, God of Life and Creation. There may be other factors which interfere with the collection of data, I might even overlook some vital clue if-“
“Order, that’s all you’re getting. One planet per God. If the data collected from a single mortal species cannot be extrapolated to fit every single species in reality, then it’s useless to me. Understood?”
Order bit her lip at the ultimatum. This was going to strip her of many different plans of attack that she'd come up with. But she also knew that she couldn’t defy her father, the one person in all of the divine realms that was unquestionably her superior.
“Additionally, I’ll allow Stories full control over the experiment. At any point, if he thinks that it’s going too far, he can halt it with no objections from you.” Life placed his finger over Order’s lips, silencing her protest before she could utter a word. “This condition, too, is non-negotiable.”
He turned to Stories. “Would this be agreeable to you, Stories? Full control over the experiment; one step over the line, and she’ll have to move on to the next idea.”
Stories was a little conflicted at the suggestion. For one, he wanted Order to be punished for her actions on Blessed 903 - to have the proverbial book thrown at her. And if there wasn’t a book, to have laws written up for this specific situation, then to have that book thrown at her.
But come to think of it, having full power over Order’s precious experiment would make her squirm…
“Alright boss, can’t say I’m too happy about all of it… but this would be a step in the right direction. I agree to your proposal.”
“Well, Order?” Life looked to her, waiting for a response.
Order obviously didn’t approve of the new restrictions. They’d weigh her down, lead her to prematurely drop lines of reasoning that might have yielded actual results. Why couldn’t Life just let her do what she needed?
But after ten silent minutes of wrestling with the problem and finding no viable path of logic that would change the elder God’s mind, she could only reluctantly utter two words.
“…I agree.”