Disclaimer: I own nothing but Dieva, and I'm beginning to wonder if she owns me.
Warnings: None yet.
Authoress Note: I have no idea where this little scrap came from, but it span around in my head until I absolutely had to write it down. It may end up staying to this one small piece, but I have this irking feeling that it's gonna turn into a convoluted tale of the Ancients and Hylden.
Dieva sighed unhappily. Her incandescent wings drooped. The goddess of Nosgoth was in mourning. Her people, her wondrous creations, had been turned from her. She watched them now worshiping the vile creature that had took them from her through the swirling mists of the Dimension Pool.
Souls of Ancients long past swirled about her, trying to offer reassurance, but Dieva's sorrow could not be so easily quenched. Her glorious creations. The people she had made in her own image. They no longer heeded her.
Still, the race that she had created to mirror her chosen ones, the Hylden, had not turned from her. They were not so easily convinced as the Ancients. As such, the degenerate slime that dared to call himself a god was poisoning her chosen ones against the Hylden.
Wrath filled the goddess slowly. Would that she could smite the wretched parasite. However, the canker had dragged himself into a realm that she could not touch. A realm of his own making.
She twirled the souls of the Ancients, Hylden, and humans alike through her translucent claws to give herself some semblance of comfort. The loathsome cancer was keeping the souls of the dead from joining with her as they were meant to do.
Instead, the parasitic beast fed on the experiences, the memories and life, of the souls before thrusting them back into the realm of the living only to feast upon them again once death reclaimed them. It was a viscous cycle that Dieva would have never wished upon her children.
The souls around her echoed her grief as she closed the Dimension Pool down. She had no desire to see anything more at this moment. The goddess sank into her own thoughts.
This was the fulcrum upon which Nosgoth's health turned. As the repugnant false god exerted his will, the strands of time rearranged and bent to his liking.
Dieva weaved the spirits between her fingers as she contemplated the situation. If the detestable creature wanted to play this game, then they would indeed play, and she would crush him.