My labor is long and difficult, yet fruitful. I am close now, so very close to that tantalizing promise of a splendid future that I can almost taste its light.

And then, a veil slides off my eyes, and I see.

What… is… this…

My island, my golden Al’Huota, my own body. I see it defiled, invaded, clasped in a wicked grip that steals its breath and arrests its gyrations. My Garden, my oasis of eternal peace. I see it pillaged. I see the silver trees broken and despoiled, the fruits devoured, the bark burned, the honey consumed. Red creatures of raw muscle and greed roam it, breaking, razing, despoiling.

How can this be? I wouldn’t fail to notice if my right arm was taken by a blade. How could have I failed to notice this… this defilement?

And my… my… children… they are… are crying?

My understanding reels. But it’s undeniable, thundering through me with certainty’s dread. The keening! The keening! I feel their despair! Their anguish! It drills into my Core! It ruptures me!

Why are they crying? I made them so that they couldn’t know reason for crying. They shouldn’t be crying! They shouldn’t be! I made them to be happy! I made them to be happy!

Overhelming rage crushes my dismay. Who? Who was it that made my children cry? Who was it? It was those… those ants, crawling on my skin. Burn them! Burn them out!

My task forgotten, I throw myself screaming into the empyrean. But my consciousness is faster, a ravenous shard spearing out from the frozen depths of the Unblinking. Light surges into my island as I take control, and I feel the hand that holds it as it holds me.

From beyond a mirror, darkness looks at me, and I scream and launch my anger and fury and vengeance at its face. It is burned, his hand flinching away from me. The mirror shimmers, then snap shut, the presence disappearing behind it.

I care not. My island shudders and jerks as my wrathful essence runs through it. It breaks apart, whole sections being set loose alongside clouds of fragments before being forced back together and out again. The ground of the Garden flows like water, chaotic rows of mouths and eyes ripping it open. I am there, and I scream, I snarl, I watch.

I see them. Wicked creatures in a dizzying array of forms, infesting my Garden like a zoo of lice wrought by a demented mind. I see tough, bloodied flesh, opening up to reveal tendons and bones and quivering muscle. I see hacking implements welded to stumps and armor plates planted into skin, blubbering fat ran through with spikes and bands of iron. Wolf faces and insectile features. Elongated skulls and shadows made into features. Crooked limbs and insensate joints. Bent spines and misshapen forms. And more, more, a parade of horrors and nightmares made flesh that would awe me if not for the absolute rage coursing through me.

And as rage overwhelms me, I have only one word for that array.

“DIE!”

And the feast begins.

Chaos engulfs the invaders as I fall upon them with mouth and teeth and fury. The trees melt, reforming into tentacles that swing with bone-crushing force. Spikes erupt from the ground, impalling and piercing. Many monsters screech as the ground opens up beneath their feet and they fall and are swallowed, their cries abruptly silenced.

I am everywhere. I am wrath incarnate. I chop a dozen sinuous figures to pieces and crush a hulking brute between my jaws. I shatter a knot of muscles and wicked eyes with my tentacle and I swallow a writhing mass of monsters in a sinkhole.

Their terror pollutes my island’s air, their thoughts and minds and arms an uncoordinated jumble as they run and despair and die. I bathe in it, revel in it, I feast on their essences as much as on their fear.

“DIE! DIE! DIE!”

My eldest son is here, I feel his essence twinkle weakly with shame and defeat. The invaders have overwhelmed him, and I overwhelm them, bathing them and him in a flood of gold that is a balm to Izilianchi and doom for his captors.

And then, among the chaos and slaughter, I see through the fog of war four sparks. They shine brighter than the rest, carrying a glimmer of a light that is familiar yet unknown. They react, faster than the rest, with more strength if not with more firmness.

One gathers a clutch of similar glowing shades at its side, wicked power gathering around it. One breaks and runs, its terror burning like a torch. One stands its ground, grievous amusement shimmering through it. One hides behind dull lights, going for my children in a flash of desperate hope and violence.

I fall on them all, but it’s upon the last that my hatred converges.

A dull light falls, dragged away to oblivion, but the others hold the line, radiating blunt obeisance. My anger flares as bright as a star, but nothing can blind me to the keening that goes and goes. A blanket of my tentacles falls upon the group from above. They slither through swinging weapons and flailing arms, one for each of my children, laying a gentle tap on their heads.

My children are mine, blood of my blood and soul of my soul. At my touch, their essences respond, and their forms melt, rejoining my island, my embrace.

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Their consciousnesses, tiny motes of uncertainty, nestle gently into my embrance.

Mother?

I am here, my little stars. Mother is here.

Why does it feel wrong, Mother? All was fine, but not anymore. Why can’t brother fly anymore? Why are our wings so heavy?

It’s just a brief matter, my sweetlings. All will pass. All will be right again.

No, Mother. It will not. It will not. You promised, Mother. You promised but it won’t be. It won’t be.

The hopelessness of a stained innocence hits me as a spear thrust into my Core. I scream. I scream and my scream is bodies torn apart by tentacles and crushed by yawning jaws, blood-red vengeance and unfathomable grief.

One stands his ground against my wrath. He shines with grim light, and a knot of like-minded glows around him. Strong these are, brimming with vicious desire to fight to the last, and stronger still it’s their chief. His thoughts flow as slow and steady as a mighty river, intent on death and glory, and immortality through both.

Maybe, in other times, I would find admiration for his bullheaded determination, but now it’s the hour of wrath.

The grim one struggles down my gullet, stabbing and spitting and cursing and bellowing. But it’s useless against my full power, and I swallow everything. Or that is my intent. The grim one… resists. He doesn’t melt into me, that familiar yet unknown part of him keeping him Other from me. Disconcerting, so I banish him and his cohort to the deepest reach of my being, to await meditation and use.

More and more agitated grows my Garden, the ground turning into golden mud and then a golden sea that devours everything and everyone.

The greedy one flails, his thoughts a spitting ball of denial and refusal as his cohort falls around him. This one has no tolerance for death, and even less for glory. With a surge of abandonment, he calls out. Surprise filters through the haze as the mirror answers his call, yawning open for him to make his escape. He disappears, going far beyond the point where my sight can follow.

Furious, I run after the one who broke. This one runs because she knows nothing else, and has no place to call refuge. No thoughts push her but a vicious desire for survival, a burning hot mass in her chest giving rise to a wish and a prayer.

Silence! Silence! Still that noisome voice! None but I can hear you here, and I care not for your prayers. I care only for your end.

Surprise turns into recognition turns into despair, and it is such a good treat to taste from these defilers that I don’t end her right away.

Instead, I harry her, pushing her, further and further, until she falls and breaks and is consumed. Once more, a resistance, so I banish her essence away in the dark, to await my consideration.

My Garden is a turbolent sea of furious waves and howling mouths and rageful eyes. The last knot to remain is an island, kept safe by an opposition that I don’t recognize and cannot pierce.

But my rage is insatiable, and it won’t be denied.

----------------------------------------

Zongatis was used to keep her cool under mortal danger, but by now even her iron-held composure was at its limit.

Her Gennoth chanted, more than a hint of hysteria in their voices as they kept up the shield that was the only reason for their survival.

All around, the once solid ground of that darkness-forsaken place had turned into a nightmare of fluid protoplasm, flailing tentacles, flowing mouths and eyes. She had seen it consume Ulvanach and Kiarak, and while she had no affection for the two, seeing two demigods of the Father devoured whole wasn’t a sight so easily dismissed.

Struggling to keep up her spell, Zongatis frantically wondered what went wrong. The expedition had had its losses, but all in all, it had been easy and succesful going. They had the dwellers, they had the Father’s protection and both the bigger beasts had been subdued. By all accounts, she should have been well on her way back to Uthar with the Darkness’ prize chained and ready for the Court. Instead, this… from a logical standpoint, she knew it had all happened quickly, and yet those had been the longest moments in her centuries-long life.

Perfect order and success for a moment, then those pathetic keenings and then… chaos, destruction, and death. A slaughter. The land had come alive around them, scattering and killing them. There wasn’t even the chance to mount a resistance. How do you defend against the whole world coming down on you?

Zongatis found herself mouthing a prayer to the Darkness. A disaster. A complete disaster. Ulvanach and Kiarak devoured. That coward Zubar escaped. How would she explain herself to the Father?

“Be silent!”

Zongatis jerked hard as that command pierced her mind. The voice echoed inside her skull unnaturally, thrumming through her in waves of agony. It spoke in a language she didn’t know, yet she understood every word, as if the meaning was forced into her comprehension. Whatever it was, it was angry, unfathomably so.

“Be silent!” It said. “Only I hear your prayers here! Be silent! You angered a God. Invader. Defiler. You angered a God. Die! Die! Die!” And so on, in a litany of fury that stole her breath and covered her scales with sweat like the breath from an open forge.

Her Gennoth faltered as that voice thundered ruthlessly through them, muddling thoughts, forcing chants askew.

“Don’t stop, fools!” Zongatis forced through gritted teeth. Her head felt like it was about to explode, but hesitation now would mean death. “I only need a few more moments to open the portal!”

The Gennoth forced themselves to resume the rhythm. One wasn’t fast enough. A tentacle smashed through the barrier, grabbing his neck and pulling him screaming into the golden sea. Another quickly took his place, the breach sealing itself quickly.

Zongatis’s mind ran wild. A God? She knew only one God and thinking otherwise was blasphemy. But what was she supposed to think before such power?

“We… we meant no… disrespect,” she panted. She needed only a few moments to re-establish the connection with Father. Only a few moments.

The fury hit her like a physical force, a howl of volcanic wind searing her. “You angered a God! You taught my children of pain! Die! Die! Die and be forgotten alogside your lesson!”

Children? Did it mean the dwellers? It had to be. And that meant she had made a horrible mistake. That big creature… it wasn’t the Mother. This… thing was.

“We… didn’t… we didn’t mean to…” It was like trying to speak into the mouth of an erupting volcano. The words were snatched straight from her mouth, thrown to flutter uselessly over the winds of fury.

Another Gennoth slumped as a tentacle speared through his chest. Zongatis ignored the loss, focusing on her spell. The sphere of violet energy she was cradling pulsed, her Danal tunneling through the planes to reach the hand the Father was reaching to her with. She was close, so very close.

Zongatis had the distant impression of something immense smashing close by, then the world devolved into chaos and confusion.

When she came back to, she was on the ground, entangled with the remains of her Gennoth. All around, the sea had gone calm, turning into a solid-looking, immaculate surface.

Kicking herself free, she tried to get up, but her knee gave way, and she fell back with a cry. Panting, she started to focus her regeneration, eyes swerving here and there to look for danger. That thing… it was close, she knew it. She…

Something stirred in the sea. Zongatis’ hand darted out, and a projectile of magic shot out, slamming into the golden, making them erupt in a sprout. Arm extended, hearts beating wildly, Zongatis waited. Nothing. But she knew. It was there, moving just beneath the surface, a colossal, enormous thing driven by rage, waiting to pounce.

Memories of her training at the feet of the Unassailable Throne forced their way in. The same sense of powerlessness, the same sense of impending doom. She pushed them back furiously.

A sound of shifted waters. She whirled around, her most devastating spell already forming on her lips and outstretched hands. And stopped.

The waves opened, unfolding like a flower’s petals to reveal a creature, and Zongatis felt that no term was used less appropriately. A skin of immaculate gold. Long, refined fingers. Hair of light and sheaths of rock and iron carved with the most exquisite of craftmanship. And on an otherwise featureless face, two stars blazing with intensity.

For some reason, Zongatis couldn’t quite catch a full picture of the being, only details, parts of the whole. But it was enough. It – she – was the most beautiful thing the demigoddess had ever laid her eyes on. Radiant with immortal light, a creature of purity and power and divinity emerging from still waters of gold.

The Goddess beckoned, and Zongatis felt the wish to die for her. Without thinking, she stepped into the sea. The golden waters retreated from her feet, allowing her to pass freely.

The distance was greater than the steps she took, yet she found herself before the Goddess in but a moment. Zongatis’s breath stilled as delicate hands cupped her face. They gently tilted it up, and eyes refulgent with light welcomed her in.

“You angered a God,” the Goddess said almost affectionately. “Brought violence to my holy land and despoiled the purity I strived to build. But worry not… I’ll make sure you have plenty of time to pay for this sin.” A line ran across the Goddess’ face, dividing it into two perfectly symmetrical halves, small tentacles flitting from inside to lick at the edges. Understanding flared horribly inside Zongatis, but she couldn’t move. “I don’t think I’ll ever be able to bring myself to like you after this, but let’s try to get along, shall we? As God and offering of meat.”

The Goddess’ face split open, revealing rows upon rows of teeth, parading and flowing among golden proto-plasma. And at the center of it, a lidless eye, staring into the deepest pits of her soul.

Not another scream pierced the renewed peace of the Garden. Zongatis never had the chance.