Amanda looks to David as his body crumbles and reforms and to the ruined and absent bodies of gods left to die. Why would Zorvilon join David here? He has so much to lose and nothing to gain. It defies all logic; surely he’s aware of David’s end-goal? She herself is not aware of what he wants beyond power, but after a point the hunger becomes the goal in itself. David is a frog lusting after the swan’s meat, ever-hungry, ever ravenous for more, and yet even in victory the act of consuming the squawking and struggling prey would be hollow.
The body of God has descended to the mortal realm and its divine light grows ever brighter as David’s grows equally black. Amanda catches a glimpse of her hand as it lops off the head of her usurper. Is there humanity left in a rendering of light in absence of tone?
David’s neck-stump sucks a tiny drop of light from her flesh as she’s forcibly reminded by Yaldabaoth on high from below her neck that touching him makes the effort futile. The skin darkens just a shade, but quickly returns brighter than before. Time passes quickly as the air blows faster. Heat brims to the rear as Zorvilon flares with power. There is wind and fire intertwined, and yet in front there is nothing but cold and hollow space shown to the eye.
David’s features have grown distant. Have hers as well? Light flows from the fingertips as his rendering of shadow is blown apart. Ink spills across the page of Her creation to stain it for but a moment. Red light billows all around as it parts for the usurper’s form. It cycles upward and back to its original form and creator, imbuing Amanda’s thoughts still further with Yaldabaoth’s memory.
There is a council of a thousand chairs of solid gold. There is red light from on high. There is Zorvilon and nine hundred others, most seated below the opulent throne to the fore. Zorvilon stands in front, Quorus behind with two others. Aphelion and Xevis look to their leader who looks to his stand-in to take the fall, but Yaldabaoth does not destroy him.
“You would betray this creation?” He asks in a low and near exasperated tone.
“I would betray nothing. You have brought this upon yourself.” Quorus points from behind the god of fire who would take point in this bringing of the dagger to the only one to ever sit on the throne on high.
The chamber is silent as Amanda cuts off David's head a second time with a disk of light.
Zorvilon takes the opportunity to speak, “You’ve reigned for so long, and for what? For ten thousand years I’ve watched you fall and falter, and yet no one takes the throne. No longer. I will not wait for you all the way.”
Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.
Amanda’s heart pounds with rage for the first time in ten millennia.
“I’ve grown weak?” She screams to David’s bewildered face.
But Yaldabaoth’s cold words continue His response, “No, this creation has grown strong. You see weakness where there is only your own strength, and yet you misjudge just how far you have yet to grow.”
David smiles and brushes a thrown finger against Amanda, which instantly disintegrates to reform on his hand.
Amanda throws Her hands aside in the motion of standing and the opulent throne sitting beneath a huge cathedral of stone erected over a millenia is thrown apart, blown away as if a massive bomb had been detonated from within.
The grass for a hundred miles is rendered barren as every mountain and hill is ripped apart and brought toward the epicenter of destruction. Stone blots out the sky at first slowly as their clusters find themselves together.
A ring of corpses made of the weak surrounds Yaldabaoth and yet it does not dissuade them. Why? He has given them so much and they would betray his kindness with depravity in the craving for more?
Zorvilon is cut in half, but his eyes glow orange-red as his body reforms.
Amanda blinks in distraction, looking around. The sky is littered with bodi— no, there are no bodies here, only a ring of rubble, the remains of every hill and valley for a hundred miles rendered flat. David tries to approach but finds no footing. He starts to fly but finds no air.
She looks down on the corpses of all her acolytes. Their blood finds its way into the stones leftover from blowing out the cover below the gray sky. Is it worth it? All this destruction? A city of ten million rendered rubble overnight? She could kill them with a thought, but its scale would wipe out a hundred more.
She begins to ascend, to leave from this place once and for all, and yet something pulls Her back. It’s a hole in the fabric of the world leftover to ground Her here in this moment.
Something is wrong, this isn’t the Covenant War! She looks above and finds not only stone intertwined with the lack of a gray sky. The sky is covered in every remnant of terrain for a hundred miles, yes, but above it there is something more.
In Her retreat She had bled across the world and Her blood had protected it for a thousand years, but in Her coming presence its protection has waned. She blinks and finds the purple-blue rendering of a coming darkness and thousands of red-orange pinholes broken through the fabric of the sky. To their center is a thing of absence.
Behind Her Zorvilon flares with the red-white heat of a star, and yet in front it feels as though Heat itself could never have existed in this place. There is no pinprick tear to the world below, only a forming hole a thousand miles wide.
In it She can see the permanent dissolution of Her protection from the world.