Far off from the Ash Heaps, from even the Infinite Hells themselves, the gods met in conclave for the first time since the defeat of their sibling. With the death, or at least seeming death, of Sarnakthros, their rule over Telvaria, and the rest of the universe, had been cemented. Pockets of resistance still remained, but they were nothing without their god.
In the very center of the universe, the gods met in their ancestral meeting room, the only thing that remained of the primordial matter that they had arisen from. A pure white room, it was made out of the very fabric of creation, and was completely impregnable to any force within this universe, mortal or god. There were no seats, or any other decorations for the matter, as the primal nature of the room prevented anything save for the gods themselves from existing within it. Anything else would be reduced to subatomic particles and then redistributed back into the universe itself.
“So, it is settled then?” Cyron, Patriarch of the Waves said.
The god was a stately figure, surrounded by a swirling cloak of mist and sun dappled water, and his legendary lance stood at his side, loosely clutched by one sea green hand. Out of the gods, he was one of the most active in the mortal plane, and tales of his generosity, and of his cruelty, abounded. Just as the ocean could deliver enough fish to feed a village for months, it could also raze it to the ground with its implacable force. So too could Cyron.
“Other than the small matter of the rumored unrest in the first circle of the Hells, yes. Our forces are routing the last servants of our brother, and soon the prophecy shall be fulfilled. For the first time in eons, we are the sole rulers of this universe.”
Valantir, the High King of Light, was a man at odds with his reputation. He was a small man, with oddly pale skin that shone with an internal light. He wielded no weapon that anyone could see, but someone who had even heard of a fraction of his exploits knew that his magic was far more deadly. In the rare time that he interfered with the workings of the universe, all that was left was ashes drifting in the firmament.
“Ah, yes. That boy that I slaughtered. Jonathan Harlowe. It is fitting that the last hope of Sarnakthros died before he did,” Faljra, Goddess of the Dark, said. In a fit of irony, she had killed Jonathan with a bolt of lightning, at odds to her nature. All of the gods were capable of warping reality to their desires, but their most powerful attacks and skills were aligned with their natures. They were loosely aligned with the primal elements, some more than others. “He has risen to unprecedented power within that circle. In fact, I believe that he recently reached Tier 2. A most impressive feat for someone who has been in this universe for so little time. However, there is nothing to fear. In the billions of years that the Hells have been in operation, none have ever left their own circle, let alone escaped”
“It is a pity that we cannot simply kill him once and for all. The laws of the Hells are very clear though. Angranor would wreak havoc upon this universe if we broke our accord,” Malaraxia, Queen of the Sky, replied.
Out of all of the gods, she was the most well known within the universe. She enjoyed personally witnessing the devotions of her followers, and sometimes their sacrifices to her. Although most thought of the gods as benevolent entities, they were ancient beings whose minds and motivations were beyond the ken of mortals. However, there was one constant. They enjoyed entertainment.
The four other gods, well known for their taciturn nature, remained silent. Arkaon, Zyra, Tantus and Jorhalon were less known in the universe, but their domains were quite far reaching. Arkaon was the god of War, and he found solace in the blood shed by his followers, and sometimes the shedding of their own blood as well. War was his domain and his calling, and although it was not an actual elemental domain, per se, it was just as much of a calling to him as the other gods had to their own elements. Clad in dark plate, with his broadsword strapped to his back, Arkaon was an intimidating figure. An aura of barely contained bloodlust surrounded his form at all times.
Stolen novel; please report.
His counterpoint, Zyra, was the goddess of peace, and she took the form of a faceless, angelic figure with wings of pure white light. They were simply an expression of vanity, as all of the gods could simply fly with their own will. She was in charge of the Heavens, and responsible for the safety of the souls that were faithful to the gods.
The last two gods were even more obscure however. Tantus and Jorhalon remained in the background, but their paths were as important as that of the others, if not more so. Tantus was the god of Creation, and Jorhalon, of Destruction. Their presence allowed for the basic laws of physics to function, as well as for the smaller trespasses of the System initialized on the workings of the universe.
Tantus was responsible for the interaction between the System, a mysterious, ineffable force that even the gods did not understand, and the world around it. Meanwhile, Jorhalon made it so that the universe was open to change, as the presence of such an omnipresent force as the System resisted any sort of change. Without his influence, nothing would grow or decay, and there would be no growth.
As the gods sat, considering the life of a mortal for longer than such matters would normally cross their mind, Jorhalon cleared his throat, and spoke unexpectedly.
“We may not be able to interfere in the Hells, but we can send our agents there. Angranor cannot protest that, and he might not even notice, if we do it in the right way.”
“I would not put it past that being to feel our intrusion. However, as you said, he would have no grounds to complain,” Cyron said, stroking his chin thoughtfully.
The gods, while beings of primal might and majesty, had begun to take on some of the aspects of their subjects, as shown by their forms. In their true shapes, they were ephemeral clouds of pure will and power, but in order to manifest in this world, they had to limit their power by assuming a shape.
Most of the time, they dwelt in the Astral Plane, the space outside of their universe, and between others. They only knew of the existence of other worlds because of the presence of Outsiders, no matter how rare they were, and their knowledge was incredibly limited. One day they would gain enough power to delve into its depths, and perhaps conquer those other worlds, but for now, even a god was too weak to enter such a place.
Their universe was sheltered by its relative newness on a Multiversal scale, as one of the Outsiders had told them millions of years ago. He had come from a universe that was trillions of years old, a place where even the meanest of beggars was akin to a powerful being here. The man had refused to say much more however, and he still languished in the deepest of dungeons, reserved for those who had personally offended the gods. Perhaps the man still lived, but none of the gods especially cared. He was secreted away in a demiplane halfway between the Hells and the Heavens, a place almost impossible to escape.
“I might be able to send one of my angels after him. One of my 9th Circle Cherubims would be weak enough to enter the lowest circle of hell, but still strong enough to kill almost anything there. In addition, it would be unlimited by the rules of the Hells, as it is not allied to the circle lords,” Zyra said, brow furrowed in thought.
“Very well,” Malaraxia replied. “Are we all in agreement?” She asked the others. As expected, they all nodded.
Zyra closed her eyes and briefly pulsed with power, sending one of her weakest servants into the Ash Heaps, giving it a description of Jonathan Harlowe. It could have been simple paranoia that motivated them, but it was better to treat all threats with prudence. Why wait to kill a being who could one day pose a threat when the problem could easily be rectified in the moment? The gods were nothing if not proactive, and sometimes, the universe suffered for it.