A Goddess bound Demise. He was made a captive to the whims of the Gods he had sought to overthrow. A hole was dug in sacred ground and they chained him under consecrated dirt.

Imprisoned. He was The Imprisoned now.

It was shameful, truly shameful. The hatred of the Gods burned in his being. He would blot them out of existence, as a cloud blots the stars from the sky. But to be bound to a patch of earth and a stone pillar… though not a permanent arrangement, it put a damper on his plans.

His thoughts turned from his imprisonment to the Goddess that had put him there. A Goddess that even Demise would grudgingly admit was magnificent.

He could not feel her presence anymore. Perhaps it was from being buried under layers of hallowed mud and magic, but Demise had a feeling that the Goddess no longer walked the world above. She had been weakened, and he had inflicted wounds that would not mend. Demise would, in a way, miss this Goddess. She was a foe that he'd remember when the world was burnt to ashes at his feet. She was nothing like the sniveling humans she had protected to the last.

Humans. Demise could perhaps remember the Goddess that had sealed him, but he could not respect or even begin to understand why she would stoop so low to protect such simple creatures. They were a weak, sniveling race, one that crawled and clung to their precious Goddess like a child to its mother, clawing at her and sobbing out pleas for salvation.

Humanity lacked something essential; Demise had decided that ages ago when the desire to kill, maim, and rend had first stirred in his body. They were cowards. Humanity cried and begged for divine intervention, but would do nothing to save itself. Humans were, in a word, useless.

And that which was useless would be exterminated in his world. But the Gods cherished these feeble, whimpering creatures. They were jealous of their rule, even over the pathetic race of humans.

Perhaps there was a connection there. Rule over weak subjects begets weak rulers, or perhaps it was the other way around. Demises' wounds made him weary, and he would return to the depths of his dank prison to rest. In time, the dark would heal his battered body, the seal would weaken, and he would rise, free to shape the world to his vision. And nothing, no one, no foolish Goddess or her equally foolish followers would bind him to his prison again.

For Demise has judged humanity. And he has found them wanting.


A/N: This is the first story I've put up here, and I would like critiques! I want to improve as a writer, and any advice would be appreciated!

Thank you for taking your time to read this.