“Man, can abandon, heartlessly, all his emotions at the blink of an eye. Man, can forget all his inhibitions, with a sip. Man, can lose all his core motivators with enough time– all, except one.

Greed, and by extension, the instinct for war.

Ingrained, so deeply into our fragile hubris, War is an act of primordial origins. Even, before the Arya- if the scientific theories are to be believed, The Arya evolved from mere apes into a civilization of Gold and heaven.

Inspite of all their attempts, to remake humanity in the image of an unknown entity that they worshiped; failure, had been the reward.

Such was the only, possible, outcome. For, no matter how great and all-powerful, one could become– none can ever truly, strip humanity of its core pillars.

Thus, as the world around them burned in infernal flames, a single saying resounded amongst their cowering minds:

In our accursed world, All gods are dead, except the Goddess of War.”

-Micah Bellsworth on Lilac's Rise. (AURORA’s Notice: Such Historical Documentaries are subject to imminent prohibition, any and all derogatory remarks regarding the Goddess shall be punished with death)

ANCHOR VII

In a different era, at a different, more sophisticated, place– Philosophers had questioned, in dangerous whispers, the reason for God's existence. They had been, swiftly, sent to reunite with their creator. But, the question had lingered amongst hidden covens and in back alleys, far from the prying ears of angels and pastors.

Years later, the question had arisen once more. And, this once, without fervor lined ears, men and women of wisdom had heeded their words. And, with absolute certainty, had questioned back: “Does, God require a reason for existence?”

“Is it, mine ears that doth betray me, or, has thou lovesick mind comprehended, at last, the barest trace of philosophy?” Pleiades interrupted him. Although, the interruption was grating on the nerves, it did bring him, no small amount of pleasure, at hearing the shock in the being’s disembodied voice.

“Why? Tis, so incomprehensible that I, could appreciate the finer aspects of life?”

“No. Merely, taken back that your hubris, absorbed as it is in worship of your beau, could ever stomach the thought of anything else,”

“Ahh, careful there, old man. Almost, took you for a jester,” A feeling of indignation, flared deep within his segmented mind; Hah, as if his tantrums would ever, do more than inconvenien– fuck!

Charles glared at the offending hand, his own right hand, that had turned traitor.

“That ought to teach you, not to mock a God,”

“A God?” Charles scoffed mentally, “Last, I checked, no God took refuge in the minds, or souls, of a seventeen year old boy,”

“Clearly, you have a skewed interpretation of a god, boy. And, nevertheless… I am, not god, himself, but merely, a god; Just like Celeste or, even, Lilith,”

“And, Corvus?” Charles interrupted, knowing that admitting Corvus’s equivalent status to him, would prick the old man to no end.

Pleiades sighed, and with great reluctance– as if, the very admission hurt him, he spoke, “Ye- Yes.. even, even Corvus,”

He smirked, at the admission; and would have laughed, had he not been neck-deep in hostile territory. Actually, neck deep would be an understatement, it was the beating heart, itself.

A hauntingly, silent and empty heart, yes, but a heart nonetheless.

“Does, that not bother your instincts?”

“Instincts?”

“Yes, human instincts, our kind craves life, does it not? And, yet, here you are, unconcerned and unbothered by this… silence,”

“Does not, every creature crave so? I have, yet to meet one that does not wish for unending life,”

“Do not, play the fool, boy,” Pleiades iterated, “Uncouth acts, such as these, might sway Liliana or your, precious, Elena.. but not, me.”

He sighed, Pleiades wanted honesty? Pretty rich, coming from a snake. Although, the thoughts remained mute, lost in his head, the feeling of rage that rose within his soul, served as satisfaction enough.

“Tis not, as if, I am not unsettled.. it is, merely, that neither of us, know much of this stronghold. They might be, like bats? maybe, eh? Active by night, dead by day..?”

The non-committal huff from the resident god, told him enough. The thought and reasoning, both, were based upon the flimsiness of optimism; but, in truth, is not everything? The very concept of a society, hangs on a thin balance of optimism and control. Being honest, it was his, wholehearted, belief that without hope, there would be no civilization.

For, is trusting another being, not inherently optimistic?

“Those, are two opposite ends of a spectrum, boy.”

“Oh? How so?”

“Merely, because, nothing in your reasoning, carries the same weight, or depth for that matter, to inherit such a comparison,” Pleiades mocked, “By elimination, your.. reasoning, itself, is flawed.”

Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation.

He snorted in disbelief, “Oh? Tis so? And.. I suppose, right about this very moment, we are in a trap?--”

“Down, boy!” Pleiades interjected, his body reacting, without askance, in complete trust of the godling; an arrow whizzed, caressing his silver hair, and lodged itself into the cobbled street.

“Fuck! What the hell-”

“No time, BOY! RUN!”

Taking the advice to heart, Charles bolted blindly, his feet carrying him as far as possible.

More, ill aimed, arrows sailed through the air; some collapsing before they could reach him, others, caressed his body, yet never could hit him.

He ran, until his feet burned with exhaustion. The hail of arrows had stopped, though the thought did not, give him much comfort; for, there was but one implication. The, would be, killer was now looking for a direct confrontation.

The tiring feet, had brought him to a market square– packed densely with, he realized in horror, ghostly empty stalls and, hurriedly, abandoned carts. The entire setting, was unsettling. It smelt of human warmth, of bustling businesses, of tired homemakers.. yet, now it was but a mirage of itself; a skeletal carcass, rather.

He clicked his tongue in annoyance; the dream, of returning home with a gift in hand for Elena was now gone. The refreshing mixture of, the citrus scent of warm orange and the arousing aroma of strawberry, would have been perfect. Tis, would fit into Elena, like a missing piece of a puzzle.

Mayhaps, he ought to return someday, back to this chaotical orchestra of life and death. And, that once, the journey home would be done with that perfume; a birthday gift, maybe- that, would be pleasing, certainly.

Thoughts of Elena aside, he ran his eyes across the lifeless plaza. Tis, a poor place for any fight, he made to retreat– only, for such an idea to be nipped in the bud.

Standing, akin to a living statue, atop a overturned cart was a figure, covered head to toe in a white and black regalia with red accents. A white sundress? Or, was it a skirt? He was unsure; nevertheless, below the sundress, the figure– woman, wore black pants with red accents. Covering her face, shrouding it in the malicious cover of darkness, was a pure snow white cloak.

But, that was hardly, what unsettled him; it was the foul stench! As if, his nose had been shoved into a cesspit of shit and garbage, and imprisoned in the hellish concoction.

“An Apostle,”

“Wait, wait wait, what?!”

“An Apostle, boy! Now, dodge!”

The Apostle, sensing his surprise, jumped from her perch atop the cart, scythe flexing in hand, ready to cleave his head clean off.

Luckily, or rather due to Pleiades, his shield blocked such an ending to this tale.

The Apostle, tilted her head, “Interesting,” She whispered, and applied pressure onto the scythe; a grating noise– of metal bleeding over metal, filled the ghastly silence.

The noise started mounting, something was breaking. He smirked, foolish bitch. Apostle, my ass, his amusement soon turned into a cold horror– tis, was not the scythe that crumbled, instead, his shield did. The scythe cutting through it, with the likeness of an ax through a tree.

“Got ya!” She jeered. As soon, as the scythe pushed through the shield, Charles, with all his strength, pushed the shield away.

The Apostle stumbled, losing her poise, and Charles pounced. Sweeping his sword, through the air, a strike, unfortunately, blocked by the Apostle. She made to counter, but the shield hanging limply from the scythe made her attempt, naught but an elaborate jest.

Kicking her in the abdomen, he swung his sword once more, only to be blocked again. This time, his sword being locked into the unholy orgy of the shield and scythe. He clicked his tongue, in annoyance.

She made to sweep his feet from beneath him, but, he was quicker. Kneeing her sword-arm, forcing to drop the scythe with an inhumane shriek of pain, he made to stab her with the sword.

The woman, caught off-guard, unable to prevent his strike, blocked it with her, leather clad, hands. A shriek and a sob tore through the, momentary, silence– the sword had lodged itself in her palm, almost having sliced, cleanly, through it.

His gaze locked with hers. The eyes, which had been till now hidden, now burnt a bright burning silver.

“Dodge!” Pleiades screamed into his head.

Alas, he was too late.

With a nudge of her hand, he went sailing through the air, much like a swan– crashing into a stall, the drapery and merchandise, affronted by such an act, collapsed atop him.

He had, no clue of how long, this darkness had enveloped him. The sore bruises and cracks in his ailing body, keeping him an unwilling prisoner of this dark dungeon; nothing, but his thoughts to keep him company. Even the constant, nagging and prodding, of Pleiades having been cut off.

Amidst, this unholy cacophony of dust and night, he realized the cause for the deeply set fear within Pleiades. The man was, no God, he was a, mere, Godling. A mortal creature, like any– like him. And, mortals, can never achieve invulnerability. Never.

Thus, undoubtedly, the creator must have devised a method, a way to keep such outlandish dreams of self-made gods, a distant dream.

An Apostle was one such measure, undoubtedly. Either that, or they were nothing better than him– kids with dreams of glory and appetites that led them to bite off, more than they could chew.

Oh, he realized in bitter irony, I just iterated mine own story. It seems, in the end, he might, afterall, never have Elena. A virgin goddess, she shall remain till the end; the thought elicited a chuckle. A chuckle, which turned into bitter coughing. Fuck, he grimaced in pain.

Suddenly, akin to a bee's sting, something coiled around his leg and pulled.

His body went sweeping across the floor, and, once more, crashed into a stall. Though, this one by the grace of God, had much more gentle merchandise, one which understood his predicament.

Forcing himself, to learn against the wooden beam of the stall, brown eyes locked with burning silver.

A quiet gasp, escaped him; his mind being thrown into shock, by the sudden proximity with the, soon to be, killer.

“Ahhh, you smell delicious,”

“Wha- what.. what?”

The woman- nay, The Apostle, chuckled at his incredulous expression, “You have the sweetest face, boy. More’s the pity,” She licked her lips, “Although, I do wonder, how.. beautiful do you taste~?”

Before, he could voice his confusion, the woman pulled her scythe off the floor, her eyes having lost their burning light. Standing up, she pressed her leg onto his bruised and, surely, broken ribs– he sucked in a pained breath, the very act sending agony coursing through him.

With a haunting giggle, the Apostle swung her scythe…