DIVINE MENAGERIE
Time Unknown
“You are a wretched, horrible, incorrigible–” the blue-skinned woman continued to list a string of insults at the man sitting across from her, his face covered by a dark cowl.
“You wound me,” he replied simply, holding up a single arm with a literal bleeding wound. His gold blood seeped through the bandage and dripped onto the table between them.
“Ha.” She scowled at him and leaned back into her chair, “Morloch, how could you? You are undermining me!”
The red glint in his eyes focused on the woman, “Scylla. I don’t remember a crown atop your head. Or popping from your womb.”
Scylla threw her hands in the air, “This is insane. You know what I mean.”
“You mean, I made her less afraid.” His voice darkened.
“Yes, exactly,” Scylla nodded and pointed at Morloch, her whirlpool eyes foaming, “I cannot believe you. I would never treat you like this.”
“Please,” Morloch scoffed, “What good is the fear of a nonbeliever?”
“Oh,” Scylla snarled, “She believes.”
“No. She knows. There’s a difference. She does not have faith –not in me and certainly not in you.”
The storm in Scylla’s eyes grew.
“What exactly do you mean by that?”
“Oh, calm down,” came a smooth, feminine voice from across the room, where a woman with pink skin and a mane of magenta hair lounged, “It’s not as if this is your fight, anyway. Leave the squabbling to the twins.”
“Don’t think I don’t know you’re involved!” Scylla’s voice was filled to the brim with frustration, but she distinctly did not look to the other Goddess, lest she be caught in her trap, “I could feel your presence on her soul.”
“I wouldn’t put it past her to have lent the twins her strength,” Morloch agreed.
“I would never,” the Goddess purred, but Morloch and Scylla were already back to bickering with each other.
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Morloch could count the number of times he had descended before a human. It was hardly more than a few dozen over the millennia. Usually, he appeared before the Drow, in their dark cave system deep below the outer crust of Gargantua.
He did not regret descending before Eunora of Elsewhere. But neither would he say it was the preferred outcome. Yes, he had wanted to be at her Affirmation –but it had mostly been to sate his curiosity at her level of Divinity and that funny little prayer she sent up. He wasn’t expecting to attempt a second descent. But after Scylla had bragged about what she’d found —about what she did, when Morloch heard a prayer for strength from the same little girl, he couldn’t help himself.
He didn’t know how deep the damage went, but what he found had given him hope. A girl who asked to bloom is different than one who wanted his strength. In fact, her disapproval of his appearance had endeared her to him. Eunora had not expected him to respond —which meant the girl did not want from him as others often do. And Morloch was not the kind of God who simply gave pieces of himself away.
He was the God of Sacrifice, not the God of Idiocy. He had already given himself to his people –saved them at the cost of his stability many times over. The Drow were the cause of his wounds, his Divine Might leaking out of him. Sure, they prayed and worshiped double enough to make it up —but that did not mean it was a pleasant experience.
He had never sliced his Divinity off to give to a human, and he would not be starting with a child who had called for the death of a Divine on her first prayer.
No, that would wait until she claimed a power of her own.
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Scylla was furious. It was out of her control what the other Divines did, from messing with the Tydes of Fate to disrupting the world with an otherworlder. She couldn’t stop them from exercising their Divine Might. Not with her current Domain.
Maybe before the last Divine Revolution –back when she had focused more on the rage of the Tydes and less on protecting them. But that was ages past, and she wouldn’t be shaking up the status quo just for this. Perhaps if she were Yllium, with countless prayers funneled toward her, it would be feasible. Alas, here she was. A pinnacle of Maeve’s church, yes, but what about the other sovereign lands of Opalle? What about the other continents? Scylla was hardly worshipped in comparison when you looked overseas –or even across the mountains. Had the fall of her family not been the founding of Maeve, Scylla would probably be forgotten here as well.
No one wanted a protector of the Tydes as their Patron –well, not no one, she supposed. She did have at least one icon in each land. But not enough!
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Scylla thought back to Morloch, with his neverending swarm of Drow, and clenched her fist. He would never know what it was like to fall from grace. To lose one’s family –he never had one to begin with.
“Ugh,” she groaned, “I’m going to shift the Tydes from the Twins. Their favor is revoked.”
With her words, the lake she stood before rippled –the small wave of water growing as it pushed out of the center, rushing towards her. When the water crashed at her feet, foam sprayed her, and Scylla barked out a laugh.
“May all your Luck be cursed, may all your Fortune wither, may all your endeavors Collapse.”
As Scylla spoke, her body shifted, growing ten times as tall, and the blue of her skin deepened. Then she flickered back to her neutral state. A vengeful smile on her face.
“At least that should keep Grel and Brel busy for a while.”
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They were fighting, as always, when she approached their Domain.
The Goddess was all pink, from her pastel skin to her magenta hair, from the deep rose of her dress to the neon of her eyes.
She took a moment to plaster a smile on her face. It was as she passed the threshold that two clouds rolled in, one a mess of lightning bolts and thunder and the other white and fluffy. Atop the storm cloud was a God with wild hair and dark skin, his golden eyes shining as he shouted across the gap between him and the white cloud. Atop the pristinely white cloud was a God whose coloring matched the other man but whose whole demeanor was opposite.
Whereas one had disheveled white robes with black marbling, the other was so supremely put together in a black suit with white marbling. These were the Twins, Grel, God of Chaos, and Brel, God of Order. Grel sat atop his stormcloud leisurely, throwing rocks at his brother, a smile on his face ever as he shouted obscenities at Brel. Meanwhile, Brel simply created holes in reality and deposited the rocks in a neat pile behind him, a flat expression on his face as he spoke back. Not shouting, but heard nevertheless.
“Oh, dear,” the Goddess laughed, “I see I’m interrupting.”
At once, the two Gods stopped in their tracks.
Grel spoke first, a restrained smile twitching his lips, “Nonsense.”
Brel turned his cold eyes to her, and they softened immediately, “You are always welcome.”
Waving mockingly at his brother, Grel jumped down from his storm cloud, landing in a flurry of wind. He sent static across the field. Brel, on the other hand, lowered himself slowly. He barely disturbed the grass he landed atop. Behind them, the clouds dispersed.
“What is today’s disagreement?” She laughed, taking an arm from each brother and turning them around to lead them all deeper into their Domain.
“Oh, nothing serious, you know,” Grel mumbled, “Just I think we should encourage the Callistan’s to overtake Gracek.”
“Oh?”
“Yes,” came Brel’s surly voice, “But Opalle has finally laid to rest their warring era!”
“That was fifty years ago!” Grel retorted, to which Brel snorted.
“Come now, boys,” the Goddess chided lightly, “Forget about such boring things. How about we have a spar?”
Both Gods stilled, looking over the woman to each other, a silent conversation running.
You.
No, you.
Nuh-uh, I did it last time.
That was me!
With a huff, Grel conceded, “Sounds like a dream, usual rules?”
“Of course. Who's first?” She smiled brightly, dragging them down a well-worn path that appeared as they walked.
“Me,” Grel choked out reluctantly.
“Oh, joy!” She laughed, and within the next few steps, a training field manifested itself.
The Goddess broke away from the Twins, making her way to the center of the training field.
As she reached to the sky, a sword materialized above her. The molten sapphire blade never settled, the edges sharp but everchanging. Its pommel was a shimmering black metal with the same molten sapphire embedded into it, as veins of blue marked the black.
All the softness in the Goddess left her, all her carefully planned smiles and laughs, all the gentle edges on her hips and chest. She changed. Her flowing dress shortened to her thighs, and a seam was created to make the base a pair of shorts. A belt materialized at her waist and took in the excess fabric. Her sleeves fell away to reveal tightly corded muscles. All of her screamed power.
And then she was holding the sword out to Grel, her expression anything but friendly.
“Come.”
And Grel did. He shook his hands as he walked, bracing himself. Black lightning sparked from his knuckles, and he pounded them together as he took his place across from the Goddess.
“Go easy on me?”
She shook her head, and for a moment, her teasing voice returned, “Absolutely not.”
And then she moved.
Her sword flicked out to go for Grel’s calf, and it nicked his knee. Grel bent back to disperse the rest of her force and launched a fist at her stomach –sending her flying for a breath before she dug her heels into the dirt, bringing her to a dead stop. A hole burned into her stomach from where Grel’s fist had landed, and his lightning had embedded itself into her. As she righted herself, she shook her body and began running again. This time, her sword burned Grel’s cheek, and he was unable to escape the force of the blade. His golden blood pearled in a line but didn’t have time to fall before Grel used his palm to push the blade away. The Goddess smoothly leaned into the movement, dodging another punch aimed at her stomach. She released a harsh breath as she bent back and thrust her sword toward Grel’s chest. He leaned forward and looped his arm around the Goddess’. Then, he tightened his muscles and attempted to overwhelm her. She brought her leg up and kneed Grel in the groin. The God grunted and pulled back.
The Goddess took the opening that created and landed another blow, this time across the back of Grel’s arm. When the golden blood appeared, this time, it fell in thick lines. As Grel tried to right himself, the Goddess ducked behind his guard and slid her sword up his stomach, leaving burning fabric in its wake. And then the point of her blade was under his chin, burning his flesh.
“I concede,” Grel gasped.
“To whom do you concede?” The Goddess imperiously asked, her tone harsh, “Say it. Say my name.”
“Mera, Goddess of Perseverance, Lady of Blades, I concede to you.”
Immediately, she stepped back, and the sword disappeared into nothingness.
“As you should.”