It was only days until the Day of Descension, and Remus hadn’t been seen in the flesh for many a Passing.
Damion paced back and forth outside of the Carpentry Sect’s private library, chin in his hands, and musing endlessly. He’d been staring at those double mahogany doors for so long, he could practically recite every indent in their material. Remus had never been much of a reader, but had undergone an overnight transformation into a world-class bookworm. Once he’d stepped foot into the library, not a soul had seen him leave — which posed many questions, questions Damion wasn’t sure if he wanted answering.
Poor guy, he thought to himself, mustn't have taken the news well.
After a private meeting, Andreas had announced to everyone the perilous state of his condition. Their leader was dying. It was a harder pill to swallow than anything Saige or any other doctor could manifest, especially so when no other soul in their sect had achieved anything beyond Emblazed. A year to cultivate themselves a worthy successor, with their financial struggles, would be a nightmare.
Even if we get our hands on a Foot-Soldier Ranked, what good will a leader be if they’re sent running to their deaths the second they advance?
The question was torturing all of the Carpentry Clan, Damion included. Foot-Soldiers were all required to spend six years dedicated to military service. If anyone achieved the Rank, which, given their abruptly given time-frame, wasn’t very likely, they’d be preoccupied for a substantial time. Time where the sect would need leadership, or some kind of present figurehead, the most. That’s not mentioning the fact that Carpentry had never proven to be a particularly combat-ready area of power, hence their lack of any highly Ranked individuals. Such was the conundrum that faced any sect within the Talents of The Realm alliance — none of them were suited for laying down hordes of Unbounded in military gear, but that was the cost needed to achieve greater power. To possess Ranks where they could perhaps do more with their god-given abilities, achieving new heights of success for their respective sect.
So Damion understood why Remus may be upset enough to shut himself off from society. Nevertheless, this was beginning to become concerning. A few more days of this, and his brother would be a true hermit.
He’d tried to play it off when I told him as much, the memory of Remus’ reaction to the news resurfaced in Damion’s mind. Acting so casually like that, like he already knew . . . tch, I need to check up on him.
With a dramatic deep breath, and a push of the hands, Damion entered.
Immediately, the scent of dust struck him. It was intoxicating, every surface of the place from the walls, shelves, and rows of books themselves were plastered in a spindly layer of the stuff. It was a fairly small space, largely in a state of disarray after being left, for the most part, abandoned since he could remember. Lighting was little, for any use of flame would have resulted in the equivalent of a forest fire in a matter of a few idiotic seconds. The shelves were positioned in a circular design, with passageways leading horizontally and vertically through in a cross pattern. The occasional sitting space rested in between, either full of chairs, or eternally empty in a way that for some reason brought a stab of sorrow to Damion’s heart.
As Damion passed through, tapping the odd rundown shelf and restoring it with a flare of his Mark, his footsteps echoed eerily, making him very aware of how alone in that room he really was. Bored, he picked up a random tomb, and perused through. The pages were yellowing, its fading ink almost unintelligible, and incredibly thin. But what caught his intention was the lack of dust; this had been used recently, and if he was judgingly correctly, with frequent reading sessions. Checking the title only proved to perplex him further. Since when was his brother interested in the history of the gods?
Turning a page of An Infinite Compendium, Damion read aloud to ward off the encroaching silence.
“Infinity. The resource all of existence stems from, including the gods. It encompasses everything, from the tiniest blade of grass, to the fuel that powers the climbers of the Divine Ranks. It appears to have a consciousness of its own, but of an intelligence we could never possibly understand. But what if this boundless resource detested its own creations? What if the Unbounded that are roaming more rampant as the years go by are actually, in a way, the gods’ vengeful siblings; out for revenge for the destruction the deities caused during the Celestial War?
“This is the theory that most prolific researchers have accepted to be fact. The more powerful Unbounded, those who can converse in our tongue, also seem to back up this theory with their endless rants of divine retribution. But what does this mean for humanity, and the entirety of the Human Re-”
A resounding noise behind Damion caused him to drop the volume upon his foot, leaving him hopping around in pain as his body entered fight or flight mode. This was of course unnecessary, as the mysterious figure behind him was, beyond a shadow of a doubt, Remus.
“Ever heard of a polite hello, or I don’t know, anything other than attempting to assassinate me via heart attack?”
Remus smirked, surprisingly not looking too worse for wear after hibernating in a desolate library for Durations on end. “I could, but then I wouldn’t get to see the hilarious sight I just witnessed.”
“Where have you been anyway?” Damion questioned, slumping in a chair and rubbing his foot. “No one’s caught sight of you since . . . since Andreas made his announcement. What have you even been eating to sustain yourself down here?”
Remus shrugged. “When night strikes, and it's too dark to read, I go down to the kitchens and grab anything spare.”
“So you’ve just been sleeping down here? Did you forget that you had a perfectly usable bed in our chambers?”
“The seats are surprisingly comfy here,” Remus explained, taking an opposite seat. “And make quite robust beds. Plus, staying down here helps me to stay focused on my goals.”
Damion shot him a funny look, an eyebrow cocked. “What goals?”
Remus didn’t look him straight in the eye, instead taking a sip from a glass that a second ago had been placed upon a shelf. “Research. There’s a surprising amount you can learn from these old tombs.”
The longer he remained in this library, the more befuddled Damion grew. He was no longer concerned for his brother, only weirded out by his odd mannerisms.
“Look, is everything actually okay? Mentally sound people don’t bunker into unused libraries without human contact for as long as you have. Or at all, for that matter.”
Remus finished the contents of his glass, rubbed any excess liquid off his lips, and replied. “Don’t stress yourself out, I’m fine. In fact, I’m doing a lot better than I have in a long time.”
For some reason, Damion found that hard to believe. “Really?”
“Absolutely. Speaking of which, it's the big day tomorrow, and already late afternoon.” Remus stood up from his seat and stretched. “We should prepare, then catch an early night.”
“In our own chambers?”
“Yes Damion, in our own chambers. Now, are you coming or not?”
“Yeah, just a second, you can go on ahead.”
Remus did so without complaint, not bothering to do so much as glance back, as the steps of his swift gait reverberated around the room with grand finality.
Damion stood still, scrutinising a lone book in the spot his brother had been seated in, with great suspicion. A few steps later, and the tome was in his hands.
“Now just what has got you so secretive, dear Brother?”
Damion turned the cover, only to find the shredded side of a page completely torn out.
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The day the gods tore a hole in the sky above the capital of First Rite, Remus, the rest of the Carpentry Sect, and anyone who breathed air was packed tightly upon the streets of Leisure District, peering up above. The deities were set to arrive any time now, and you would only need one passing glance of the street to understand the importance of such an event.
Travellers from Hybrid, the Ravaged Lands, further distant lands, and even a Splintered Rank or two from the frontlines had made an appearance. Their outfits contrasted heavily, as if the world had been concentrated into one tiny fragment, and you could take a good taste of the entirety of the Mortal Realms by merely being present, absorbing it all. The battle-nurtured war heroes from the front lines stood around the circle of eager onlookers, supervising them and ensuring no one stepped out of line. They were stiff looking, scarred beyond belief, and suited valiantly in the leathers or steel that made up their armour. Well, the crowd was not exactly a circle per se, as the gatherers for the Day of Descension were of such a volume that not even First Rite could house them all. A sea of tents had been set up outside, or those with the ability to warp reality to their whims had fashioned more extravagant temporary homes. Such as mini biomes, and the like.
Regardless, the bulk of the horde were situated here, the looming towers of Ruling District at their side, which overwatched with a sickening level of pomposity. Balconies extended from their peaks, and the leaders of the top five sects stood with an air of untouchable finesse. The height of the spires reflected their ranking, with fifth being the shortest, and the first reaching so far up skywards it threatened to penetrate the stratosphere.
Out of them, Remus first recognised Juniper, God-Graced of The Wild Sect, and reigning monarch of the neighbouring city, Hybrid. The woman was only fourth place, right in the centre of the ranking, and curiously low for someone of such status. Though, Remus suspected that was on purpose; a potential usurper was not high on the list of titles you’d be eager to garner.
The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
Jet black hair sank down the woman’s shoulders like a coursing river, the water’s colour seeming to have been concentrated into Juniper’s diamond eyes, leaving the strands left to latch onto the sable remnants. She was tall, and of an athletic build, upper lip split with a permanent gash that tilted to the side. She seemed to exude an aura of prestige, as if you were too vile a sight to even consider laying eyes on. All in all, the precise image that came to mind when you heard the words ‘dominant leader’. The God-Graced’s tower was thatched with winding vines that riddled down the network of oak logs, which strangled the spire, offering the occasional leafed branch as reconcile.
Remus tore his eyes off Juniper, finding her and the tower much too imposing for his liking. Though, the rest of the brotherly structures didn’t differ in that regard in the slightest. Flames besieged the protruding corners of the Flame Sect’s tower, trailing upwards before coming to a crescendo in a fiery bonfire at its peak. Four mirroring replicas of Ashbel’s face were carved into the walls’ midpoints on all four surfaces, an occasional burst of flame streaking through their noses, which were all of a notably exaggerated length. The leader himself, Cyrus, was seated inside the peak’s bonfire, only his murky silhouette visible through the haze of dancing yellows and reds.
“Knows how to attract attention,” Remus remarked, Aiden’s steadfast presence behind.
“For all we know, any Flame Emblazed or higher could be up there, they’re all fire-resistant to some extent.”
Remus could sense Damion’s smirk at Aiden’s comment. “Perhaps Cyrus fancied afternoon tea over watching the heavens divide. I’d do too, if I knew a god was about to be by my side in the next coming minutes.”
“Then you’d better get your pottery ready.” Briella said knowingly. “Andreas is already by our exhibit, and once the gods are unleashed, Arcus will descend to discuss clan matters.”
A chill ran down both brothers. The two had of course met the eccentric being before during past years, but those meetings were always . . . messy.
Laying his eyes on the remaining spires, Remus recognised the antics of the fifth place sect of Gravity. It was a good thing too that they were the last of Ruling’s monoliths, as otherwise, the structure’s gimmick would have been exponentially more difficult to maintain. Its base floated miraculously twenty feet or so above the ground, with brass chains on the brink of rupturing attached to the hovering object’s end. At the peak, a hooded figure sat with their legs crossed, face invisible from the crowd, and themselves sustained a few inches off the ground. Remus didn’t recognise who he or she was, as dire conflicts within the sect rendered their leader unendingly changed, more often than the seasons, but Remus got the same distinct impression that he got around all sect leaders — asides from Andreas, whose bubbly exterior had firmly pushed away such a notion before it could form — that they weren’t to be meddled with.
Two places above at third, Saige’s Vitality Sect was, thankfully, the least intimidating to inspect. It was simple, as the clan liked to keep most matters. A chiselled slice of white marble fitted with a tasteful amount of ivory patterning. Upon a cluster of brightly coloured cushioning, the elderly woman Eloise sat, nearly adrift in sleep, with grey hairs streaking down her wrinkled forehead in a most dishevelled fashion.
And, it went without saying, the final tower obviously belonged to Damosh. Spearheading the sky as a dazzling glimmer of purest amber, the tower was refined gold, adorned with all the gems and underground treasures Damosh had either taken the time to manifest himself with his Mark’s powers, or had purchased with the disgustingly handsome sums his tax-collectors gathered every Passing. The mere sight — no, existence — of such a thing disagreed with everything Remus stood for, so he dared not let his eyes linger on it for more than a second, lest his retinas bleed.
He did, however, hear the Godling’s voice. Equal parts deceiving and imperious, each letter was like a blow to his eardrums.
“People of the Human Realms!” He called from his ledge, moving in a great robe that’s silk matched the spire’s pigment. Though Remus was gratefully unaware of this, stubbornly staring at the arrangement of the pebbles at his feet. “It is my esteemed honour and indescribable privilege to speak the opening words of this great ceremony. Every year — or Rebirth, if you wish me to use the god’s archaic terminology — we gather in one of this Realm’s great cities for one reason, and for one reason only.”
Thunderous cheering broke loose. It goes without saying that the vast majority of Labour did not take part.
“To greet humanity’s forefathers, our ever-lasting beacons of guidance, and the weavings of Infinity that assisted in our creation!” More ecstatic yelping resounded throughout First Rite, though not nearly as loudly as one may expect. “Of course, we also must deal with worldly affairs, but let’s pass over the drab parts, shall we?”
It would be preferable if we passed over your whole opening speech, you walking inheritance, Remus couldn’t refrain from insulting, if only internally. Perhaps your applauds would be louder, if we could hear you over the sound of your pockets rattling.
“Here, in my wondrous capital of First Rite, I present to you those bound few to the Righteous Oath . . . the gods!”
Allowing himself to angle his head upwards, Remus’ pupils widened.
The clouds, the same wispy clusters he had been soaring across only days prior atop his grandfather’s back, now had issues far more detrimental to their steady state of existence than just one cackling Warlord. They were spread apart, as if by two enormous hands, to make room for the fizzling, overflowing power appearing in their place. All shades of all eleven colours emerged, putting to shame any pitiful rainbow, and a gradually widening crack of uncontained energy nearly blinded the rows of spectators. This would be seen all across the earth, a godly eclipse the light of which would extend from here to every nook and cranny of the Mortal Realms. This light intensified, until the mirage of pigments festered into nought but a radioactive white. It was out of here that the deities stepped forth, their outlines quivering, as if reality was struggling to contain such immeasurable might.
“Surely you would go blind from looking at that for too long.” Damion winced, putting a hand over his eyes, his head staggered back.
Briella was similarly posed. “Wouldn’t want to find out.”
In slow-motion, the gods began to gain detail as they drew closer to the mortal layer of existence, but five figures stood dominantly in front, central figureheads.
“Aisha, Ashbel, Valarie, Chantal, and Septimus.” Remus recited their divine names from the previous night’s extensive studying, as the godly quintet pulsed out of sight.
Reappearing by Ruling’s topdogs faster than any metric of time could fathom, not even the God-Graced themselves were able to conceal their unease. By Jupiter, Chantal, the subject of a huge chunk of the Celestial War’s mythos, manifested. Her appearance was hard to describe when considered in human terms, primarily because it wasn’t human-like at all.
An emerald body of unspecified plantage was adorned by a natural armour of wood that appeared to be self-sustaining, with twigs jutting out all over. It wouldn’t be a stretch to say that Chantal was split into four main quarters, each representing a season each. The leaved twigs on her left were thriving, a most healthy green in shade that was especially fresh in what appeared to be the spring sector. The right side painted a much different story however, where the greenery was either non-existent — patiently awaiting a change in seasons that would never arrive, seeing as Remus assumed they were only for cosmetic purposes — with branches glossy with ice, or deep into the yellowing effects of autumn. Chantal’s head parted from the stem-design of the rest of her godly form, merging neatly with the oak of her armour to be fully wooden, with facial features sunk in deep, seamlessly.
As was the same with all of the deities, she was tall, and dauntingly so. Juniper was a woman of considerable height herself, but the stark difference between her looming head and the towering goddess of The Wild was an eerie reminder, declaring in bold, capitalised letters that even the peak of humanity was only admirable in the presence of a god. Skirting over the rest of Ruling’s deities, Remus’ eyes caught another momentary lashing as the flames of Ashbel sizzled with the might of a supernova, before cleanly diminishing to a body of ash, after the deity contained himself.
“Apologies.” The Flame deity spoke through a mouth forged of coal, each letter threatening to tear First Rite Apart. “The meagre eyes of humanity seemed to have eclipsed my memory. Though the flames of Infinity may be too much for you to behold, I am sure that this charred secondary form of mine will be satisfactory.”
Screams of adulation flooded the street, once again testing the durability of Remus’ ears. The day was giving his every sense a true endurance check, and if another fiery eruption exploded the sky for a third time today, he wasn’t sure if he’d pass it with functional eyes or ears, let alone flying colours.
The stubs of amber in Ashbel’s eye sockets glinted with an alien awareness.
“Do you desire to earn my sect a couple million extra patients for the day Ashbel, hmm?” A clearly cranky god questioned, voice punchy. “Poor Eloise must be having a heart attack.”
All heads turned to the Vitality leader’s tower. She was sleeping peacefully.
The tremendous presence who had spoken was Valarie, a deceivingly human-looking god who was adorned in modest robes of speckless white.
“Will you two stop bickering?” Septimus exhaled, as if his life depended on it. “Or do you wish for me to be both deaf and blind?”
Two hovering eyeballs bobbled around the blindfolded god, who had apparently been so scarred by the claws of the deity of Reptilians, Magnolia, that he’d been maimed for life.
Damion nudged Remus, who in the spectacle of it all, had almost forgotten he was there. “Still one to anguish over things, looks like.” He began. “Those eyes of his were constructed by the Sight deity in exchange for a favour, or so they say. Islene has never cashed in on it though.”
“Must you jabber on? We have a whole Passing’s worth of events to get to — the title ‘Day’ never ceases to be misleading — and I find your insistent whining much more aggravating after that attack your sect sprang on my innocent medics. And you thought I wouldn't notice!” Valarie was as condescending as her tone was fiery.
“A mistake, thank you very much.” Septimus hissed, though he didn’t sound very convinced of it himself.
The two volleyed heatedly back and forth, but Remus was more interested by the deity who had decided to stay silent: Aisha, the goddess of Greed. She stood next to Damosh silently, a suffocatingly regal air about her, equipped with the menacing appearance of a vat in space. It was as if she was devoid of physicality, of presence itself. A black hole whose only purpose was to consume, to feed on anything and everything. Even then, tiny pieces of reality from strands of grass, to crumbling stone were absorbed, as her two dashing white lines for eyes blinked indistinctly.
Damosh turned, and if Remus’ eyes hadn’t been too scorched from Ashbel’s outburst, he appeared to be trembling from head to toe. Subtly though, like a very contained earthquake, but it pleased Remus immensely nevertheless.
“Well . . . “ Damosh coughed into his hands, his suit of finery now seeming rather unimpressive. “What an explosive opening! Now then, it seems the other gods have whizzed off to their respective clans. I wish you all fortune in your near futures, and success in the next Passing’s proceedings. Farewell, and greet your respective deities with warmth! If you know what’s good for you . . .”
The man so lacking in self-awareness he’d inscribed the word Wealth onto his very soul wandered off down a flight of stairs out of view, appearing all-together shaken as Aisha followed behind at a trudge.
“Well, off we go then.” Aiden stretched. “Arcus and Andreas will already be deep into discussion knowing those two, might as well get a move on.”
“Then, if we’re quick about things, we might have time to catch the fireworks tonight.” Damion added wearily, as if the thought of something detonating in the sky was now somehow off-putting.
Remus followed his family’s trail anxiously a few paces behind, idly fingering a scrunched up page in his pocket. Glancing up to a god-filled sky, his chest suddenly grew very tight.