The Divinely Incongruous Exodus

As the last rays of light faded over Reeducation Camp #78, the fallen gods gathered around Ezekiel, each with a serious glint in their eyes. Their plan was taking shape, and the first step required distracting their guards. To do this, they needed a distraction… a big distraction.

Ezekiel, completely absorbed in his role as the god of knowledge, was not short of ideas. He had already set his mind to building a "machine of infinite confusion", a sort of mass of tubes, wires, and incomprehensible gadgets, intended to sow panic among the guards. He had locked himself in a secluded corner of the courtyard, out of sight, gathering together whatever he could find—buttons, springs, bits of metal he had picked up here and there, even feathers he had picked up, for some obscure reason.

"Now, listen to me," Ezekiel announced, concentrating. "What we need is a system complex enough to seem terrifying and utterly insane. The idea is that they don't understand anything but imagine the worst."

Nyssa, the goddess of the arts, came closer and stared thoughtfully at the machine. "It's… almost conceptual, isn't it? With a little paint, it could be exhibited in a gallery as a mystical art performance!"

Ezekiel raised an eyebrow. "A gallery, yes, maybe… but for now, the idea is to scare the guards, not to make them appreciate our art work." He joined two rusty cables together, causing a small spark that startled Asher, the god of divination.

"By the lightning of heaven! Are you sure of what you're doing?" Asher asked, taking a step back, his eternal skepticism manifesting itself in the form of cold sweat.

Ezekiel chuckled. "Trust me, everything is perfectly under control… well, almost."

---

While Ezekiel was refining his chaos machine, the other gods were responsible for creating decoys. To do this, they began to make crude effigies of themselves from canvas bags, sticks, and straw collected here and there. These improvised mannequins, intended to deceive the guards, were to imitate each god during their escape. They had infused them with some of their essences for greater realism.

Aphrael, the goddess of beauty, couldn't help but wrinkle her nose at the sight of her own effigy, a shapeless straw doll whose head consisted of an old broken pot topped with dry leaves. "Seriously? I refuse to let this... this thing represents me. At the very least, let me draw eyebrows on it."

Vahan, the god of economy, stood near her, staring at said effigy with a mixture of contempt and admiration. "This mannequin is perfect. Minimalist, functional… almost like a subtle critique of unnecessary consumerism."

If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

Nyssa shrugged. "Its raw art, Vahan, raw. It represents the struggle of mind against matter."

"Do you ever hear each other?" Glaber, God of War, asked them, a look of utter disgust on his face.

---

When everything was ready, Ezekiel straightened up, his eyes sparkling with anticipation. His machine of infinite confusion was a marvel of divine engineering: it made strange clicking noises, sparked without warning, and spun with strange regularity, without anyone really understanding why.

Their plan was simple but audacious: Ezekiel would activate the machine in the center of the courtyard while the mannequins remained in position to fool the guards. In the meantime, they would slip out of the camp through a tunnel hidden behind an old tree, which they had begun digging several days ago.

They waited until nightfall, when the guards would doze off a little, and Ezekiel would start the machine.

---

The silence of the night was suddenly shattered by a series of shrill noises: hissing, metallic squeals, and what sounded vaguely like a distorted electronic bird song. The machine began to spin, throwing flames, and releasing lightning bolts that tore the fabric of reality. The guards, panicked, rushed into the courtyard, panicked by this incongruous apparition.

"By the great cosmos!" one of the guards shouted as he saw Ezekiel's machine whirling, spitting blue flames. "It's… it's a divine destruction engine!"

Ezekiel, hidden behind a tree, tried not to burst out laughing. "Yes, that's it… flee, flee before the power of the… Sacred Lightning Machine!"

While the guards tried to disable the machine, running around and shouting conflicting orders, the gods slunk through the shadows, slipping through the bushes to the tunnel they had dug. One by one, they slipped into the narrow opening, leaving their straw effigies behind to fool the guards into thinking they were still there.

---

The tunnel was cramped, dark, and smelled of damp. Aphrael, unable to bear the sordid atmosphere, complained loudly. "By heaven! Why must we crawl like mortals? I wish they had built a cleaner exit!"

Vahan, at the front of the group, growled. "Keep it quiet, Aphrael. Discretion is key."

They groped their way forward, occasionally stumbling in the darkness, bumping into the walls of the tunnel. Asher, who was right behind Ezekiel, gave a low, nervous laugh. "What does your divination say, Asher?" Ezekiel murmured.

Asher replied, inspired, "We will make our escape… if none of us trips over a doom stone and causes the tunnel to collapse."

The group paused briefly, stricken with fear. Nyssa glared at Asher. "Did you really have to add that detail?"

But Asher's prophetic threat did not come to pass, and after a series of adventures worthy of a test of survival, they finally emerged from the tunnel, emerging into a meadow bathed in starlight.

---

They had barely caught their breath when a howl echoed behind them. The guards had discovered their ruse, and a chase began. But our gods had no intention of stopping. They broke into a frantic race across the meadow, their divine robes flapping in the wind, each running in their own way.

Ezekiel tried to keep a dignified air, despite the mud that splashed his face; Aphrael screamed, shouting that the dew would ruin his sandals; Vahan ran brandishing a piece of branch like an improbable weapon; and Nyssa, theatrically, began to recite poems of her own composition as she rushed.

"They're catching up with us!" Mavora yelled. "Glaber do something. You're the brute of the group."

Despite the obvious insult, Glaber was not offended. Stopping his run. He stood majestically, waiting for the guards with firm feet. The latter, when they saw that it was Glaber who was supposed to hold them back, began to laugh wildly.

But this laughter died in their throats, when in less than a second, the air was driven from their lungs.

"I thought you preached nonviolence," one of the guards said as he fainted.

"If I want to bring peace to this world. I can't be deprived of my freedom," he declared as he ran away.

Catching up with the group, they ran without stopping, even though the guards were no longer on their tail. Reaching a wooded hill, they took refuge there. Out of breath and muddy, but proud of their achievement, exchanging victorious glances.

Ezekiel, out of breath, smiled. "My friends… the worst is behind us."

Aphrael, pulling a twig from his hair, gave a tired but satisfied look. "And now?"

Ezekiel replied, pointing to the distant horizon. "Now, we have a world to conquer. A virgin world, without gods, just… for us."

They burst out laughing, half exhausted, but carried away by the excitement of their new destiny.