The Plight of Dying Gods: A Prelude

To a god, humanity is merely a speck. To look down upon a mortal is to look down on nothing more than an ant. When the gods banded together and created this world, they created the mortals as if they were their own children. Obviously, they did not have the same capacity of the gods, and as such their creators shared their tools of creation.

To them, it was a language spoken only by the higher beings, to bend the world as they saw fit. As humanity is prone to, however, they sought to gain advantages over one another. Some used the language as a means to enlighten themselves on a pedestal, and others used it to forge empires. Well, empires rose, they fell, rose from the ashes, and again and again they were burnt down. Over the ages, mortals lost the ability to speak the language, which created even more disparity. At least, until the gods took the language away from them.

They were not pleased with the mortals, and sequestered themselves away from the world. Many attempts have been made to contact the gods, and yet they merely ignored them. No mortal would be assisted by the gods ever again; mandated by a unanimous decision with the exception of one celestial. He was quickly lost, said to be wandering the world as if he were mortal too.

Was that the fate that would befell Dorvelis? He pondered the history he had gained after reading in Iytuna's Library. Not a single word from any books he could recall explained his situation. He could spend a number of mortal years going through every word he learned since his birth, and still, he fell short of an answer. The mortals he was around now were much different than the current ones, or those of the past. 

They were unexplained. There were words to describe them, but all of them felt wrong. His will was reduced to their commands, and he could hardly fight against them. Specifically, it was to one in particular that at least felt "normal." Her name was Ceres. He could repeat every detail of her life since being bound by her blood. Ah yes, the very thing sanctified by the gods. 

Even while deep in thought, Dorvelis reacted to the crumbling architecture and swatted it away with a powerful hand. He was not a particularly strong offspring of the gods, but his strength rivaled that of Ysdur's, the Fire God. The chattering of mortals around him piped up while others were none too happy to be sprayed by the recently powdered brick. They all crowded around Dorvelis, barely being half his size. Some placed their hands against his body, which would be none different than touching a set of armor.

It was as if his body was covered in an ebony bone plating, twisted in some directions with jagged spikes. They hailed him as a dark demon, but that was merely untrue. It did not help having two pairs of wicked horns growing on top of his head amongst other features.

"Do we have to hide in a crumbling bastion?!" A voice shouted above the rest, coming from Ceres. The girl was glaring at the group of people, but ultimately her hatred was aimed directly at Dorvelis. He felt this the entire time they were bound, often receiving curses for merely existing. A pair of the mortals tried to calm her down, but they received attrition, followed by her shout, "Don't touch me! I'm sick of you all!"

The struggling went on for about a minute before Dorvelis reached forward, plucking the girl from the floor and setting her in an open space. She obviously fought against him, but with Dorvelis between her and the mortals, none dared to walk forward. 

Except for one, "Ceres, child..." She spoke with a serpentine tongue, and showed no fear towards Dorvelis. She was dressed in a fashion that discerned her from the rest, if her height did not already do so. "As much as we want you to live in opulence," she said, "we cannot reveal you to society. They would desire you dead."

Ceres' face twisted in disgust, and shouted, "Death is more preferable than your gaggle of freaks!" Before anyone could react, she ran off, and left the mortals to chatter amongst themselves. Dorvelis followed after her; his steps were like heavy thuds as his carapaced tail scraped along the ground. Within a certain vicinity, he knew exactly where the child was at all times. There was only one occurrence where she had left this vicinity, and then never again. That was also the first taste of mortal blood, for Dorvelis, that had not come from Ceres.

It did not take long for him to find Ceres, who locked herself behind a door. What did mortals do when confronted with one? They knocked, and so did Dorvelis. There was no response, and so he knocked again until he was finally given one.

Ceres had opened the door enough to look through the crack, her face puffy and red while wiping a fresh tear into her sleeve. She eventually mumbled, "What do you want...?" The god before her did not know. He was hardly allowed to think anyways, for if he did there would be things that muddled his mind. Thankfully it did not hinder his ability to recall memory. All he could do was merely shrug at the girl.

"I just want to go home, I don't care about this crap these cultists keep telling me!" The girl slumped against the wall and continued to stare up at Dorvelis. She took a deep breath and narrowed her eyes, "Not like you would know. If you had half a mind you would help me leave! You damned lapdog..." Oh but he did know. He remembered her memories, before these people whisked her away at a younger age. Before they twisted her soul and body to create what they called a "perfect" vessel. All since that drop of her blood. 

It was not a direct order, but indeed he was bound to follow her commands much like the others. He would help her leave whenever she was ready for it. Especially if it would eventually gain him his own freedom.