Luna shifted her eyes between Treskur and Aolyn.
“A trap?” she echoed. “Quite the claim, Treskur. What proof do you have?” She too suspected there were ulterior motives for Aolyn to ask for the addendum’s terms to be divinely defined by his ‘common sense,’ but it would be best not to reveal her thoughts right away.
For the first time in a few hundred years, she took a close look at Treskur, curious as to what emboldened the ever-meek goddess.
The sole deity of the [Frigid North] retained the form she held at the time of her ascension. That wasn’t in and of itself strange — plenty of deities resembled their followers — but what set Treskur apart was that she hadn’t changed a single thing about her form.
The process of ascension was meant to perfect a being as they transitioned into godhood. The changes could be drastic or minor. On one end of the scale were Luna and her brother. Luna had sculpted her deific form to fully embody her domain, becoming an unknowable entity of moonstone, and Sol had done the same, becoming a living sun.
On the other end were the deities who became idealized versions of their mortal forms. Warrior gods sharpened their scars. Reptilian gods polished their scales. Agricultural gods appeared full of life. Even the gods of commoners modified their shape to become perfectly common. Every deity became beautiful in their own way, the pinnacle of their own ideals…
And then there was Treskur.
Treskur looked mortal. Her beard was unkempt, but not the wild tangle of a hermit god. It was just regularly unkempt. Her scars weren’t beautiful lines, but ugly splotches and cuts. Her eyes were green, but not the green of fields nor plague nor life. They were just… green. A muddy, mundane green.
Her hair was just red. Her clothes were just practical furs. Her nose was just pig-like, the same as her followers’. Even the stumps where her tusks had been removed didn’t look particularly noteworthy.
Nothing about her was godly, nor even original. She and her worshipers were nothing but pale imitations of the savage Humans who had once been vikings.
No, Treskur wasn’t a god, Luna had long ago decided. She was just a mortal with divinity.
“Hark, and consider my words. What proof do I need?” Treskur demanded. “Many of us here were present all those millennia ago, back when Aolyn the Deathless had yet to die. Do we not remember the trickery of this duplicitous deity? Best it would be to presume every action, every breath, every suggestion that leaves his—“
“Get to the point!” Sol interrupted. “By all that is good, evil, or other, please just talk like a normal person!”
Murmurs of assent echoed through the crowd, and Treskur bit her tongue. “Fine,” she said. “My point is that none of us have ever dealt with this ‘divine communication of intent’ before. For all we know, something within his definition of ‘common sense’ could bite us all in the ass! It would be better for us to go through the proposed addendums point by point and explicitly define all the terms.”
Before Luna and the other hundreds of gods had time to fully consider Treskur’s words, Aolyn laughed. “Explicit definitions? Written with words?” he asked, feigning a struggle to keep from further bursting into laughter. “Oh, I would love that. As you said, Treskur, many of our fellow deities here tonight were also around during my heyday, and I’m sure they all remember my skill with words.
“And for those of you who didn’t know me back then,” he went on, sweeping his tattooed arms in a grand gesture to all the assembled deities, “please consider what you know of this continent’s Daemons, and then consider the fact that I. Am. Their. God.” He put extra emphasis on each of his last words, letting the ramifications sink in.
“Deceptions within deceptions, traps within traps. If my people have garnered such a reputation even in my absence, how much worse am I? I revealed this new ability of mine as a favor. You can read my intentions and judge for yourself how each term is defined. If you’d all like to reject this gift and instead allow me the chance to hide pitfalls within the words of explicit definitions, then go ahead! I’d love the opportunity to screw you all over.”
Luna didn’t interject just yet. She listened to the whispered discussions of the deities in the stands, forming an understanding of the general consensus. It was fairly split, but most of the deities seemed to be leaning toward Aolyn’s arguments.
Treskur must have sensed the same thing, because she started grinding her teeth. “He said it himself! This is a new ability. None of us understand it. For all we know, he could be hiding something!”
“Fair enough,” Aolyn responded. With his finger, he began writing on the parchment in his hand, and all the parchments in every other deity’s possession were altered identically as the deathless god wrote on his own. “I suggest an alteration: ‘If Aolyn the Deathless herein hides any deception, let him be stripped of his divinity and forced to live out the rest of his life as a mortal.’ Satisfied?”
The pantheon collectively gasped, hesitating at the sheer audacity of the suggested alteration, but Luna had no such qualms. “I agree,” she snapped out before Aolyn could retract his statement. “All others in agreement, say ‘aye.’”
She shot a meaningful look to all the important members of the [Century Council], and they all got the hint. After they each shouted their own agreement, all of their subordinate gods voiced their approval as well. The ‘aye’s echoed throughout the colosseum as soon, everyone assented.
Everyone besides Treskur, that is.
“It seems we are all in agreement,” Luna proclaimed. “The alteration has been officially accepted into the proposed addendum.”
“There must still be some trap!” Treskur shouted.
“Honestly, I’m flattered that you think I’m such a genius that I could hide a trap within such a simple, straightforward alteration,” Aolyn said. “Either that, or you have another reason to believe my words to be misleading?” The deathless god turned up his nose, somehow looking down at Treskur despite her being above him in the stands.
Luna recognized that look. It was a challenge, as if the two of them had a secret, and Aolyn dared Treskur to reveal it to the world.
“I do have another reason,” Treskur growled between clenched teeth. From a pocket, she pulled out a ring and held it up for the crowd to behold. “Earlier this day, Aolyn approached me. He handed me a letter detailing his plans for this meeting, and the part I was to play within it.”
“He did?” Sol asked. “Where is it?”
“It… It burned itself to a crisp after I finished reading it, and I wasn’t able to reconstitute it from the ashes.”
“So you have no proof?” Aolyn asked in an egging tone.
“I have this!” Treskur shouted, holding up the ring for the crowd to see.
“Arf?” barked a deity that looked like a small, wild dog, but the gathered deities understood him to mean, “A [Ring of Emergency Teleport]?”
“If my next words be lies, may Truck-kun strike me dead! This ring is indeed an emergency teleportation ring, a token from the corpse of Brandon, the lieutenant of Sol’s recently slain champion. Aolyn gave this to me with his letter, a letter that asked for my help in convincing you all to accept Aolyn’s ‘common sense’ definitions of the addendum’s words! I believe that if you agree, you’ll all fall into a trap!”
A hush fell over the crowd as for the second time that night, they waited to see if the archdeity would strike, but it made no move.
Luna watched as Treskur let out a long, shuddering breath as the specter of annihilation passed over her and left her standing.
“So what the viking-wannabe says is true, Aolyn?” the moon goddess asked.
He smiled, and Luna was taken aback at the sheer cruelty of the expression. It was the smile of a sadist sating his desires. “If my next words be false, may Truck-kun wrest me from existence and consume my immortal form so completely that I will have never existed. I wanted you to publicly disagree with me, Treskur. I wanted an excuse to explain why this new application of divinity I introduced to the world is superior to using mere words to define other words. Most importantly, I wanted a way to do it dramatically.”
He paused, then swept into a bow. “You’ve done exactly what I wanted, Treskur, and for that, I thank you.”
Again, the archdeity’s specter loomed over the crowd, but left them all untouched.
Then a revving filled the air, and all the gathered deities flinched. Some looked to Aolyn, expecting him to be gone, but the deathless god was still whole.
The green orb flashed, addressing the tense pantheon. “The great one states that it is tired of proving the veracity of your words. The next being to trivially invoke the great one’s name during this meeting shall be annihilated regardless of what they say.”
Aolyn swept into another bow. “I thank the great one for its beneficence.”
“So what you said is true?” Treskur asked, striken. “You pretended to invite me into a plot, knowing I’d betray you? All so that you could dole out exposition more dramatically and embarrass me in the process?”
Aolyn shook his head. “You’re embarrassment was just a byproduct. I hope you can forgive me.”
Treskur’s face darkened. She turned to address the crowd. “Am I really nothing more than a punching bag to you all? Am I nothing more than an object of ridicule? Am I so deserving of scorn? None of you will take my side over that of a known deceiver?”
Again, Luna didn’t say anything right away. She had to admit that when Aolyn had first revealed this new ability of his, she’d been hesitant to accept it.
Even after vicerally experiencing exactly what the technique would communicate… Even though she could verify for herself how the document would be interpreted before she approved it… Even after hearing all the verbal arguments… She still had reservations.
Ultimately, however, it came down to whether she would side with the one she’d once loved and once killed, Aolyn the Deathless, the godliest god to ever god… or with Treskur, the least godly god in the pantheon. Phrased that way, the decision was easy.
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Luna remained silent. Following her lead, none of the other gods said a thing. No one refuted Treskur’s words, for her words were true. To her fellow deities, Treskur was nothing.
When it was clear no one would take the northern goddess’ side, her face darkened further. “Fuck all of you!” she screamed. “I declare war!”
Luna blinked, and murmurs of confusion spread throughout the colosseum.
“Aren’t all of our mortals already at war?” asked a deity that resembled a tornado made of hands.
“Not my mortals,” Treskur explained. She jammed a thumb into her chest. “Me.”
Word for word, Luna could parse what the other goddess meant, but even for Treskur, it was such an outlandish proclamation that she couldn’t believe it until the bearded deity reiterated her statement.
“I declare war,” Treskur went on. “I secede from the century council, from the inter-council assembly, and from every bastard here! I am no longer one of you.”
For the umpteenth time that night, all the gods went silent. Of all the outlandish declarations that night, this was by far the most insane.
“There-There hasn’t been a deific war in… in I don’t know how long.” Luna stuttered, losing her perpetual, unknowable calm. “It’ll be you against all of us. You’ll be destroyed. All that will remain of the [Frigid North] will be a smoking crater! Retract your declaration this instant, and we won’t hold you to it, I swear. I’ve always hated you, but not enough to watch you kill yourself!”
Treskur shot a glare her way, and much to her shame, Luna flinched. “I won’t retract my words. As per custom, you have three days to prepare yourselves. Unless any of you have something useful to say, I’ll see myself out.”
The pantheon exploded into chaos. There were shouts of derision, confused outbursts, taunts, guffaws, barking, rattling, and noise-making of every sort, but Luna noticed that one god in particular remained silent.
Aolyn gawked, open mouthed, at the rebel goddess. Luna could see the wheels turning in his head. He stared, and for the first time in millennia, she saw genuine surprise play across his face. Not a calculated rise of the eyebrows or some feigned interest, but a real, genuine expression of surprise.
The corners of his mouth slowly turned up, and the deathless god laughed. Not a snort, not a derisive chuckle, but a laugh.
The authenticity of the outburst was disconcerting enough, but what set Luna further on edge was the fact that she couldn’t discern why he was so shocked and delighted.
“So long, Treskur,” Aolyn said, his voice drowned out by the surrounding din, but any deity paying attention could have picked out the words.
Treskur nodded once, then disappeared in a flurry of ice.
----------------------------------------
“Shall we go over the terms one more time?”
“It’s only an hour ‘till dawn, Aolyn! I have… sun things… to do.”
“So I have your approval to finalize the wording without you?”
“No!”
“Then as I suggested, let’s go over the terms one more time.”
After hours upon hours of debate, compromise, and extolling the value of the internet, the addendum was finished. Together, the pantheon reviewed the drafted addendum, the definition and intent of each term divinely beamed into their minds as they read so that nothing could be misinterpreted.
Article I: All terms in this addendum shall be defined by the divinely communicated ‘common sense’ of Aolyn the Deathless, as communicated at the time of this addendum’s approval. Post-approval changes to Aolyn the Deathless’ definition of terms will have no impact on this addendum’s interpretation.
Article II: If Aolyn the Deathless herein hides any deception, let him be drained of his divinity and forced to live out the rest of his life as a mortal. Should this occur, his divinity shall be allocated equally among every other current member of the [Inter-Council Assembly]. To prevent portfolio dilution, the allocated divinity shall not be used for any purpose other than to directly empower each recipient as a deity. The use of the allocated divinity to expand one’s portfolio is expressly forbidden.
Article III: Over the next three hundred years (3,900 months), Terra’s level of technology shall organically transition from ‘magitech late-renaissance’ to ‘near-future magitech contemporary information age.’
Article IV: A minimum of seventy five of every hundred (75%) of all currently viable methods of combat shall remain viable alongside newer technologies, because swords are cool.
Article V: All exotic elements necessary to mass produce scientific [Weapons of Mass Destruction] (WMD’s) shall be expelled from this reality, but other potentially apocalyptic threats within the [Inter-Council Assembly]’s jurisdiction may remain.
Article VI: Terra shall remain a ‘points of light’ setting with wide swathes of untamed wilderness perfect for adventuring or mass combat.
Article VII: The [Adjective Noun] naming standard for factions shall be abolished, and the [League of Evil™] shall be pardoned for their prior violation of the standard.
Article VIII: Details of implementation shall be the responsibility of the [Laws of Causality], so as to present plausible explanations for arbitrary decisions without creating paradoxes.
Article IX: Terra shall officially adopt the Trans-Universe Migration Protocol with the additional stipulation that no transmigrated individuals shall have the potential to influence Terra in ways that contradict either this addendum nor any other provisions contained within the [Inter-Council Accord].
“I don’t appreciate the fact that we’re being pardoned,” complained the tornado of hands, a fellow [League of Evil™] member. “What’s the point of breaking rules if we’ll just be forgiven?”
Aolyn listened as his other league members muttered their agreement, but he waved away their concerns. “But what could be more Evil™ than changing the rules to get away with a crime?”
“I still have no idea why you all insist on saying ‘evil’ like that,” Luna groaned.
“””Like what?””” the [League of Evil™] members all asked at once.
“Ugh. Never mind.”
After only a few more minutes of discussion, it seemed everyone assembled was satisfied. Dawn was fast approaching, and it seemed the assembled deities were more than ready to be done.
In theory, the deities should’ve had the stamina to discuss the addendum indefinitely. In practice, the addendum largely affected only their mortals, not the gods themselves, so they were glad the tedious business of fundamentally altering the fabric of reality was coming to a close.
“Wonderful!” cheered Aolyn. “But I’d still like to include just one more thing.”
A collective groan echoed throughout the ruined colosseum.
“Oh, come on! It’ll be quick.”
“What is it?” Luna asked.
“I’ve read the soul of my fifty-fourth [Daemon Autarch], Melpomene. Her greatest desire is to die in an epic battle, but as things are, she’s already killed Sol’s [Hero]. There’s no mortal left in the world with both the means and motivation to fulfill her desire.”
Aolyn clasped his hands together and put on an exaggerated pleading expression. “All I ask is that we put a bounty on her head. One wish to be fulfilled by the [Laws of Causality] for whoever kills her in an epic final battle. We can even require the wish be approved by every deity of this council, just to be safe. Oh, and maybe add a provision that no one who’s ever had a seat on this council can kill her and claim the prize, just to be sure Treskur doesn’t do it.”
Aolyn watched as the assembled deities all gave each other funny looks, as if wondering why he would ask them to paint a target on his most powerful follower’s back. Ultimately, no one could find a reason to reject the proposal, especially after they divinely double-checked Aolyn’s intentions. Before the end of the hour, the tenth and final article was ready, and the addendum was ready to be ratified by the power of TK.
Then the world would change forever.
----------------------------------------
Just as dawn began to break, Aolyn, Luna, and Sol — the three most powerful deities of all Terra — strode forward to the foot of the archdeity’s asphalt plinth. In Aolyn’s hand, he clutched the master copy of the addendum, complete with the tenth and final article.
Article X: Melpomene, fifty-fourth [Daemon Autarch] of the [Despoiled Legion], shall have a prize placed on her head. Whoever slays her in an epic final battle shall be granted one wish to be fulfilled by the [Laws of Causality]. Before being fulfilled, the wish must be approved by all members of the [Inter-Council Assembly] via divinity-weighted majority. Any current or former member of the [Inter-Council Assembly] is expressly prohibited from claiming the wish.
Aolyn felt Luna, Sol, and every other deity in the colosseum double, triple, and quadruple check every word and shred of intent contained within the addendum. They paid special attention to the tenth and most recent article simply because Aolyn had suggested it last minute, yet stood to gain nothing from it. They searched for any sign of a trick, but could find none.
Aolyn found it amusing that they were so paranoid even after they all voted to have TK approve the document, but he couldn’t blame them. They were walking straight into a trap, after all.
“Great one, we come bearing a finalized addendum to this world’s [Inter-Council Accord],” Aolyn called out, holding up the master copy. “We humbly ask the archdeity to approve and enforce the words written herein.”
The archdeity revved briefly, and the document disappeared from Aolyn’s hands.
“The great one recognizes the request of this reality’s fifth and current pantheon of majority,” flashed the green orb, the document floating before it. “Prepare for approval and enforcement.”
Some of the newer gods — whose names Aolyn hadn’t bothered to learn — visibly tensed. Were they nervous because this would be their first exposure to the true power of an archdeity? Or was it because they were just now learning that the [Inter-Council Assembly] had extinct predecessors? Whatever their reasons, Aolyn knew they were right to be nervous.
What happened next, all happened in an instant.
Aolyn destroyed his mind, and with it, the pantheon.
Just as the archdeity began to rev, altering the foundations of reality, Aolyn changed his worldview, altering his own ‘common sense’ understanding of a single word. It was nothing as simple as changing his mind or making a conscious decision. Such a trivial action wouldn’t be able to affect the addendum.
No, what the deathless deity did was far more drastic. Using nothing but his strength of illogical will forged through eternities spent in the void, Aolyn shattered his own subconscious understanding of reality, all to change the definition of a single word, a word that appeared only once in the addendum…
Deity.
Article II: If Aolyn the Deathless herein hides any deception, let him be drained of his divinity and forced to live out the rest of his life as a mortal. Should this occur, his divinity shall be allocated equally among every other current member of the [Inter-Council Assembly]. To prevent portfolio dilution, the allocated divinity shall not be used for any purpose other than to directly empower each recipient as a deity. The use of the allocated divinity to expand one’s portfolio is expressly forbidden.
Deity: de·i·ty /ˈdēədē,ˈdāədē/ (noun)
Definition: A fictional and/or mythological being of immense power who governs one or more aspects of reality. A collective lie used by a group to ascribe meaning to their inherently meaningless existence. It is commonly believed that deities are also the entities responsible for granting divine powers to mortals, but this is impossible because deities do not exist.
Because the trick he pulled certainly counted as deception, Aolyn felt his divinity leave him. The power spread to every member of the assembled pantheon, empowering each as a ‘deity,’ as a fictional being that did not exist.
Like poison, Aolyn’s divinity surged into each deity and drained them, dispersing their power and releasing it into the world unbound. With the loss of their divinity, each individual underwent incarnation, the return from divinity to flesh.
On instinct, many deities resisted their anti-apotheosis, attempting to hold onto their deific power. Some of the weaker ones even succeeded because there was so little to hold onto. That success, however, meant that they remained beings that ‘do not exist,’ and so disappeared from reality altogether. The thrum of the archdeity’s engine washed over them, and they left behind not even a scream.
On either side of Aolyn, Luna and Sol transitioned from gods into mere [Tier S] [Lieges], though it was strange to use the word ‘mere’ to describe beings still capable of each single-handedly battling entire armies.
The instant was over, and in that fraction of a second, the world was forever changed.
Save for a certain rebel goddess, Aolyn the Mad had just rid the world of its gods.
Before any of the others could react, Aolyn slipped a ring onto his finger and teleported away… Or at least he would have, if one former deity in particular hadn’t stopped time.
Aolyn looked down, and a moonstone hand held onto his wrist. He looked around him, and the world was in stasis. Even the ripples of teleportation magic that enveloped his form were frozen, caught in the middle of its casting. Nothing could move save for him, the archdeity, the archdeity’s green orb, and the woman who held him still.
“[Time Stop]?” Aolyn asked, continuing to gawk at the frozen world. “I’m impressed. I figured you would have forgotten how to use mundane magic by now, but damn! [Tier S] magic, and so quick too.”
A revving filled the still air, and the green orb translated. “The great one’s obligation has been fulfilled. It is pleased this reality has accepted the Trans-Universe Migration Protocol, but the great one’s beneficence is not infinite. Before one thousand of this world’s years have passed, do not again summon the great one.”
The green orb disappeared into a fold of TK’s robe, and with one last rev of its engine, the archdeity drove through the air at a speed beyond the bounds of reality. It disappeared into the fading stars on the west horizon of the early dawn sky.
It would have been an amazing sight to savor, if not for the knife pressed to his throat.