X-Men: The Unnatural Omega's Volume 4; Endgames
Chapter 23: The Nature of Devinity, Part 4
…
In a pivotal gathering in a transformed chapel turned war room in the city, now central to the discussions of divine and mortal leadership alike. The once serene space buzzed with a strategizing crowd, detailed maps of the affected regions spread across every available surface, marking the disturbances, and plotting possible interventions.
Joining Silvanus and the regular attendees—Cybertronians Arcee, Optimus Prime, and Eclipse, alongside the mutants Kitty Pryde, Colossus, and Storm—were Kratos and Tyr, who had just arrived from their world. Informed about the ongoing upheavals in Fearun, especially the destabilizing actions of Galvatron and Scourge, they were quick to align with Silvanus's cause.
Kratos, in particular, felt a profound kinship with Silvanus. Silvanus's renunciation of his godhood and his commitment to rectify the wrongs committed by his divine brethren resonated deeply with Kratos, who had his own complex history with divinity and power. Both warriors had faced the consequences of divine arrogance and sought redemption and a new path forward for themselves and those they influenced.
As Silvanus stood to address the room, the weight of his former divinity shed in favor of a more grounded and collaborative approach, he spoke with a clear and resonant voice. "The actions of my brethren, led by Bhaal, are not just reckless; they are plunging deeper into an abyss of their own making. What they are doing is not only dangerous but is driving them deeper into a delusion of piety and arrogance."
He paused, surveying the room, making eye contact with Kratos, whose stony expression softened in understanding and agreement. "I plan to confront them directly," Silvanus continued, "to demand they cease this madness. I cannot stand by and do nothing. While they may be straying further from redemption, I must still attempt to reach them—to appeal to whatever remains of their better natures."
Optimus Prime nodded, his voice firm with resolve. "And you won't be alone, Silvanus. We stand with you, prepared to support your mission for peace and order."
Kratos spoke next, his voice gravelly but imbued with a rare warmth. "Your path is honorable, Silvanus. It is a difficult road you choose to walk—facing former kin to protect the world from their follies. I, too, have walked this path, and I know its burdens. You have my axe and my support."
The local lords, galvanized by the unity and dedication displayed, pledged their resources and readiness to bolster defenses and support the coalition's efforts. Tyr, ever the strategist, suggested potential diplomatic and tactical approaches to handling the rogue deities, emphasizing preparation for all possible outcomes.
As the meeting concluded, the allies formed a plan. Silvanus would lead a delegation to the domain of the rogue deities, attempting diplomacy as a first recourse. Behind the scenes, the assembled team would prepare for the worst, ready to intervene should the need arise.
"Thank you, everyone," Silvanus said, gratitude resonating in his voice. "Together, we face these challenges not just as defenders of our own realms but as guardians of the balance that sustains us all."
…
The tense negotiations with Umberlee took place on a desolate stretch of coast, where the sea roared and churned under a brooding sky, mirroring the goddess's tumultuous mood. Silvanus and his entourage, including Tyr, Kratos, and the Cybertronians led by Eclipse, approached the water's edge, where Umberlee's massive, wavering form emerged from the depths, her eyes like stormy seas themselves, full of contempt and defiance.
As Umberlee's gaze swept over the assembly, it lingered with visible disdain on Tyr and Kratos, but it was upon Eclipse that her gaze hardened most. Her voice, as deep and merciless as the ocean, boomed across the shore. "You dare come here, to my domain, to parley? You, who harbor this... abomination!" Her finger pointed accusingly at Eclipse, who stood resolute, the ire of the sea goddess washing over him like the cold spray of the waves.
Silvanus, attempting diplomacy, spoke with calm authority. "Umberlee, we come seeking peace and stability, not only for our realms but for yours as well. Your actions stir chaos far beyond your waters—"
"Peace?" Umberlee cut him off with a harsh laugh that sounded like crashing waves. "You speak of peace while you stand with thieves? This creature," she spat out, referring to Eclipse, "has stolen a part of what is mine! You expect me to parley while my power fuels his existence?"
The tension escalated quickly. Kratos's hand twitched towards the hilt of his weapon, his patience fraying at the goddess's scorn and evasion. But before he could issue a challenge, Eclipse stepped forward. His voice, calm yet carrying an undeniable steel, cut through the roar of the ocean as she turned and started retreating into the depths.
"Run like the coward you are, Umberlee. You're a coward for resorting to insults, and now your cowardice is on full display. You were never a god; you're a monster—plain and simple. Only this time, your true qualities are more than apparent to all."
Umberlee halted mid-step, her form tensing as the waves around her grew tumultuous. "What... was... that?" she hissed, the danger in her voice was reaching its limit.
The tension on the desolate coastline spiked as Eclipse's proposition cut through Umberlee's scorn like a ship cleaving through stormy seas. His offer was not just a challenge but a profound gambit that struck at the very heart of Umberlee's divine pride.
"You hide in your own domain", Eclipse continued, his voice steady against the backdrop of the crashing waves, "yet you fear to prove the very essence of your power. Let's have a true test of divinity, Umberlee. Your divine power against the might of the Almighty—set up in an environment of your choosing. If you lose, you must concede defeat and cease this chaos."
Umberlee's form, massive and imbued with the wild ferocity of the ocean, paused as she processed the challenge. Her laughter, mingled with the roar of the ocean, was mocking yet carried a note of genuine curiosity. "What are you proposing? A game of cards?" she scoffed, then fell silent, considering the implications of Eclipse's challenge.
"What do you have in mind?" she finally asked, her tone a mix of derision and interest.
Eclipse's response was calculated, designed to appeal to Umberlee's ego yet bind her to an outcome that could lead to peace. "Not cards, Umberlee. Something far more fitting. We set up an arena—a tempest, a tidal wave, a maelstrom, whatever you feel showcases your might. You wield your powers to their fullest against a manifestation of the Almighty's will. If His power, channeled through any of us or directly by His own actions, withstands your challenge, then you agree to our terms."
Umberlee's eyes narrowed, the swirling sea around her mirroring the tumultuous thoughts racing through her divine mind. This was more than a simple challenge; it was a chance to prove her supremacy, to validate her unrivaled control over the seas and storms. Yet, the stakes were equally high—a public defeat could undermine her authority irreparably.
After a tense moment, Umberlee's arrogance made the decision for her. "Very well," she agreed, her voice carrying across the waves with renewed force. "Prepare your challenge, Eclipse. I will demonstrate the futility of your faith and crush this so-called Almighty's intervention. Then we shall see who truly commands the respect of the mortals and the elements."
Kratos, standing beside Eclipse, gave a curt nod of approval, his expression one of grim satisfaction. The challenge was set, a high-stakes gamble that could either lead to a significant victory for peace or escalate the divine conflict further.
Silvanus, aware of the risks, felt a weight lift from his shoulders. This confrontation, while dangerous, provided a clear path forward—a chance to resolve the conflict with Umberlee definitively. He turned to his allies, signaling them to prepare for what might be one of the most pivotal moments in their collective struggle.
As Umberlee receded into the depths to prepare, the group began their own preparations, each aware of the monumental test that lay ahead. They would need to marshal all their resources, strategies, and faith to face the tempestuous goddess in a battle where the very essence of divine power would be put to the ultimate test.
…
The atmosphere on the beach was electric as crowds from nearby towns gathered, their eyes fixed on the turbulent sea. Rumors of the divine challenge had spread like wildfire, drawing people affected by Umberlee's capricious tempests. They came seeking spectacle and solution alike, hopeful yet apprehensive about the outcome.
Umberlee stood formidable at the shoreline, her presence as commanding as the tides. Her aura was a swirling vortex of power, visibly churning the waters behind her into a frenzied dance. With a dramatic gesture, she raised her arms, summoning a storm of epic proportions. The sky darkened ominously as clouds rolled in over the ocean, thunder crackling like the snapping of massive celestial bones, lightning illuminating the sky in stark, jagged streaks. Hail began to pelt the sand, driven by gales, while miniature twisters spun wildly over the water's surface.
"This," Umberlee declared, her voice booming over the roar of her storm, "is my finest work! Behold the might of the sea and sky!" She paused, her eyes scanning the heavens with defiance. "You hear that?! Do your worst! Try to calm it down!"
The crowd's murmur turned to anxious silence, waiting for the response. All eyes turned upward, where the chaotic sky roiled with Umberlee's wrath.
Then, in a moment that felt both immediate and eternal, the chaos halted. The hail ceased its assault, the rain stopped its descent, and the tumultuous waves calmed as though a great hand had smoothed them into glass. The clouds parted with uncanny precision, revealing a clear blue sky as sunlight poured over the sea and beach, casting everything in a serene, golden light.
Umberlee, stunned and furious, attempted to reignite her tempest. She screamed commands into the ether, gesturing wildly, but the ocean did not heed her call. The water remained placid, reflecting the sky with uncharacteristic tranquility, as if it had never known the storm.
Silvanus, standing with his allies, allowed himself a small smile. "Round one goes to the Almighty," he said softly, not gloating but with a tone of relief and gratitude. The crowd erupted into murmurs of awe and scattered cheers, their faces reflecting a mixture of shock and elation.
Kratos, watching Umberlee's frustration, leaned over to Eclipse and whispered, "The power of true divinity isn't just in wielding chaos but in restoring order."
Umberlee, her eyes flashing with anger and humiliation, turned back to the crowd and her challengers. "This is not over!" she shouted, regaining some of her composure. "There are still two challenges left. Do not think this is a victory yet!"
…
As the crowd watched with bated breath, Umberlee, not one to be easily deterred by her initial defeat, prepared for the second challenge with fierce determination. Raising her arms high above her head, she summoned the creatures of the deep, calling forth every conceivable oceanic beast. The water churned ominously as shadows moved beneath the surface, and soon, a host of marine creatures emerged—sharks with their teeth bared, alongside more exotic and fearsome denizens of the ocean depths.
"These are my subjects," Umberlee declared loudly, her voice carrying over the beach as she pointed dramatically towards the sea. "Let's see whose commands they truly follow! Turn the ocean into a bloodbath if you are truly loyal!"
The crowd gasped as the water teemed with potential violence. But then, something unexpected happened. Instead of attacking or causing chaos, the creatures remained eerily calm, floating placidly in the water as if in a state of profound peace. They made no move towards the shore or each other, completely ignoring Umberlee's commands.
Frustration mounted on Umberlee's face as she shouted orders, trying to incite them into action, but her creatures continued to ignore her, their indifference a stark contrast to her fury.
Then, a booming voice resonated from the sky, enveloping the beach and the sea in its authoritative echo. "Return to your domains according to the foundations upon which they were laid," the voice commanded, its tone both commanding and serene.
At this divine decree, the marine creatures began to disperse, swimming away calmly, diving back into the depths of their natural habitats. They left behind a tranquil sea, unaffected by the goddess's calls for violence.
Umberlee, left in the wake of their departure, tried desperately to regain their attention. "Obey me!" she cried, her voice cracking with anger and disbelief. But it was to no avail; the creatures had heeded the voice from the sky, not the commands of their supposed sovereign.
The crowd on the beach, witnessing this spectacle, murmured among themselves in awe and wonder. The display was not just a defeat of Umberlee's authority over her creatures; it was a profound demonstration of a higher power's ability to command nature and its denizens.
Silvanus, watching the events unfold, felt a deep sense of vindication for their path of peace and righteousness. He turned to his allies, nodding in quiet satisfaction. "The true essence of power is not domination but harmony," he commented softly, his eyes reflecting the calm sea.
Umberlee, her energy spent and her commands thwarted, faced the crowd and her divine challengers with a mixture of rage and humiliation. As the reality of her diminished influence sank in, she was left to contend with the implications of what this loss meant for her status among gods and mortals alike. The contest was not yet over, but the tide had clearly turned against her, setting the stage for a decisive and potentially transformative conclusion to their confrontation.
Round two, goes to the almighty…
…
As the final challenge approached, Umberlee, desperate to assert her dominion and restore her diminished prestige, resorted to a direct confrontation. She stood defiantly at the water's edge, her trident raised high against the backdrop of a now calm ocean, her figure silhouetted by the setting sun. With a fierce cry, she challenged the Almighty directly, her voice booming across the beach, "Face me, if you dare!"
Kratos, observing her actions, shook his head slightly. He understood all too well the futility of such defiance. His own experiences with divine confrontations had taught him the hard lessons of humility and the often-harsh responses of the gods. Remembering Athena's transformation into a frail mortal, he murmured to those nearby, "This won't end well for her."
As Umberlee's challenge echoed into the silence, two immediate and dramatic responses occurred. First, her trident, the symbol of her power and authority, crumbled into dust in her grasp. The particles glittered briefly in the fading light before being swept away by a gentle breeze, leaving her hands empty and her stance diminished.
Then, in a display of unequivocal rejection, the ocean itself reacted. With a sudden, violent surge, a wave rose high above Umberlee, crashing down with immense force and washing her up onto the beach like driftwood. Stunned and disoriented, Umberlee attempted to rise and re-enter her domain, but a powerful waterspout formed rapidly, catching her in its grasp and throwing her back onto the sand with a resounding crash.
The goddess lay there, her massive form sprawled and momentarily motionless, as the ocean's roar subsided into a peaceful lapping of waves against the shore. It was as if the sea itself, her own realm, was rejecting her, denying her the sovereignty she had so fiercely claimed.
The crowd, witnessing these extraordinary events, stood in stunned silence, then slowly began to murmur among themselves. The display was not just a defeat but a clear sign of a higher power's disapproval of Umberlee's actions and her refusal to heed the calls for peace.
Silvanus, stepping forward to address the onlookers and the now humbled god-like being, spoke with a voice that carried both authority and an offer of redemption. "Umberlee, the path of defiance and discord you chose has led you here. It is not too late to seek a different way—one of harmony and cooperation. Let this be a turning point, not just for you but for all who have witnessed the consequences of your actions."
As Umberlee groggily regained her senses, the implications of her defeat were clear. The challenge had decisively demonstrated that true power and authority came not from the ability to create chaos and fear, but from the strength to govern with wisdom and respect for all beings.
As Umberlee struggled to her feet, her form diminished and her dignity shattered, her fury knew no bounds. In a fit of madness, driven by the humiliation of her defeats, she lunged toward Silvanus, intending to strike him with her massive form. The crowd gasped, anticipating a disastrous conflict right at the water's edge.
However, before her charge could reach Silvanus, the sky crackled ominously. A brilliant bolt of lightning, sudden and fierce, struck Umberlee directly. The beach lit up with the flash, and a thunderous roar followed, echoing the clash of divine will against defiant pride. As the dust and light cleared, the figure that rose was no longer the formidable goddess of the sea but a normal sized human woman, dressed in tattered blue rags, standing bewildered on the sand.
The transformation was complete and shocking. Umberlee, now in human form, looked down at her hands, her expression morphing from anger to horror as the realization of her new mortality dawned upon her. Around her, the remnants of her divine trappings lay scattered, rendered mundane and powerless.
Kratos, who had watched the scene unfold with a grim understanding of its inevitability, shook his head, and muttered loud enough for those nearby to hear, "Told you it wouldn't end well for her." His voice carried a mix of vindication and a trace of sympathy, for he knew all too well the harshness of such divine judgments ever since he witnessed the fall of Athena for making the same mistake.
Silvanus, maintaining his composure, approached the newly mortal Umberlee with a measured pace. His expression was not one of triumph, but rather of somber responsibility. "Umberlee," he said, his voice carrying both firmness and a hint of compassion, "this is the consequence of defying the natural order and the will of the Almighty. You have a choice now, to embrace this new path and learn from it, or to let your former pride lead you further into despair."
The crowd, witnessing this incredible turn of events, murmured among themselves, their reactions a mixture of awe and pity. The transformation of a goddess into a mortal was a profound reminder of the powers at play in their world and the importance of humility and wisdom in dealings with the divine.
Umberlee, still reeling from her transformation, looked around at the faces of the mortals she once ruled with capricious whims. Now, standing among them, vulnerable and human, she faced the daunting task of navigating a world vastly different from the one she had known.
As the reality of her transformation and the enormity of her defeat settled in, Umberlee, now just a human woman, seemed to shrink further into herself. Her once formidable presence, capable of summoning storms and commanding the creatures of the deep, was reduced to a mere whisper of its former glory. Surrounded by the remnants of her power and facing the consequences of her defiance, she finally succumbed to the weight of her situation.
With a heavy sigh, she slumped visibly, the fight draining out of her as she gazed out over the calm sea—a sea that no longer responded to her commands. Turning to face Silvanus and the assembled crowd, her eyes, once fiery with divine wrath, now showed a mix of resignation and dawning acceptance.
"Alright," she conceded, her voice low and devoid of its previous command. "You've made your point. He's made his point," she added, acknowledging the higher power that had stripped her of her divinity. "You've won. Besides... it's not like I have any say over the seas anymore anyway."
Her admission was met with a mixture of reactions from the onlookers. Some expressed sympathy, understanding the profound loss she had experienced. Others felt a cautious relief, aware that her surrender marked the end of her tumultuous reign over the seas that had brought so much turmoil to their lives.
Silvanus, stepping forward, offered a hand to help her to her feet—an act of compassion that was characteristic of his new approach to leadership. "Umberlee, this is not just an end but a beginning," he said gently. "You have a chance to forge a new path, one that is perhaps more fulfilling than you can currently imagine. We will not leave you to face this alone."
Kratos, his expression softer than usual, nodded in agreement. "Redemption is a difficult road, but it is open to all who seek it sincerely," he added, his own journey could speak to that.
Umberlee looked around at those who had once feared and revered her, now seeing her in her most vulnerable state. Slowly, she nodded, the beginning of understanding dawning in her eyes. "Perhaps there is something to learn from this... humility, maybe even peace," she murmured, more to herself than to anyone else.
…
In a secluded chamber, darkened by the shadows of deceit and brewing plans, Bhaal and the remaining chaotic-evil deities—Cyric and Malar—gathered. The news of Umberlee's humiliating defeat had reached them swiftly, spreading like a cold chill through their ranks. As they convened, the atmosphere was tense, charged with anger and a growing sense of unease.
Bhaal, ever the schemer, paced back and forth, his expression dark. "So, Umberlee falls, humbled and stripped of her divinity, her own domain rejecting her at the behest of this... 'Almighty,'" he spat the word with venom. "And now, the mortals begin to worship this outsider deity, building churches in his honor. They claim he cares for them, uplifts them—not like us, they say."
Malar growled, his predatory nature on edge. "This weakens us all. If Umberlee's domain can so easily be taken from her, what stops ours from being next? This god, this interloper, challenges the very foundation of our authority."
Cyric, whose intrigue was as deep as it was dangerous, leaned forward, his eyes gleaming with a calculating light. "And what of the mortals? They flock to this new faith, abandoning the temples and rituals that have empowered us for eons. This god offers them something we did not—apparently, genuine care and intervention on their behalf."
The room fell silent as the implications sank in. If their own followers began questioning their divine authority in favor of this new, more benevolent deity, their power could wane just as Umberlee's had. The shift in worship was not just a threat; it was a crisis of faith that could undermine their entire standing.
Finally, Bhaal stopped pacing and faced his compatriots. "We cannot allow this to continue unchecked. We must act, not only to reclaim our influence but to ensure our survival. If this Almighty can strip Umberlee of her power, we are all vulnerable."
Malar snorted, his fangs bared in frustration. "Then we strike back. We show the mortals the price of forsaking us. Fear can be just as powerful a tool as their deity's benevolence."
Cyric, ever the master of shadows, suggested a more cunning approach. "Or perhaps we infiltrate this new faith. If it cannot be beaten, perhaps it can be bent to our will. Undermine it from within."
As they discussed their next moves, the topic of Umberlee's mortal existence came up. "She is a lesson to us all," Bhaal concluded grimly. "A reminder of our potential fate if we fail to adapt and overcome this threat. Let her new, powerless life be a warning."
In the dim aftermath of their secret conclave, Bhaal, Cyric, and Malar were each unsettled by their discussions, but the unease was about to deepen. As they mulled over their strategies and the implications of their precarious positions, a new piece of information came to light, brought forward by some of their mystic followers who had been monitoring the spiritual shifts among the populace.
One of the mystics, a gaunt figure with eyes that seemed to pierce the veil between the planes, approached with a sense of urgency. "Lords," he began, his voice a whisper that seemed to carry the weight of ominous news, "there is a development regarding the souls of those who have begun to follow this new deity."
The three deities focused their attention on him, sensing the gravity in his tone. "Speak," Bhaal commanded, his patience thinning.
The mystic continued, "It appears that those mortals who pass on, having accepted this new faith, are not transitioning to any of Fearun's afterlives. Not to the Fields of the Dead, nor to any realm we oversee."
Malar's eyes narrowed. "Where are they going then?" he demanded, his tone laced with a mix of intrigue and threat.
The mystic took a deep breath before delivering the crux of his findings. "They are being taken somewhere else... a higher existence, a place beyond our reach, where this deity shields them."
Cyric leaned forward, his mind racing with the implications. "A higher existence? Beyond even the planes we know?" His voice was a mix of wonder and worry.
"Yes," the mystic confirmed. "It is early, and observations are ongoing, but it is clear. This deity has the power to create or access a realm protected from our influence, where these souls are granted eternal refuge."
The news struck a deep chord of concern among the deities. Not only was their influence waning among the living, but now they were also losing control over the afterlife—a domain they had considered unassailable.
Bhaal slammed his fist on the table, his frustration only growing, "This is an affront, a direct challenge to our dominion over death and the afterlife. We must find a way to counter this, or we risk becoming irrelevant."
Malar growled in agreement, "We need more information. How does this deity shield these souls? Where is this realm? And most importantly, how do we breach it?"
Cyric, always thinking several steps ahead, suggested, "We need to capture one of these souls before it passes to this 'higher existence.' If we can intercept the process, perhaps we can learn enough to infiltrate or disrupt it."
…
In their desperate bid to reassert dominance and to unravel the mystery of the new deity's power over the afterlife, Bhaal, Cyric, and Malar devised a plan to intercept and capture a soul transitioning to the higher existence promised by the Almighty. The operation was set with precision, employing their most powerful mystics and dark rituals to create a spiritual snare at the moment of a devout believer's passing.
However, as the moment came and the mystics began their incantations, the air thick with dark magic, something unforeseen occurred. Instead of capturing the soul, there was a sudden eruption of blinding light, a manifestation of divine presence that none of them had anticipated.
As the light engulfed the room, a profound voice boomed, resonating not just in the physical space but deep within each deity's essence. "WHO MADE MAN'S MOUTH?! WHO MADE THE DEAF, MUTE, SEEING OR THE BLIND?! FROM WHICH ALL REALITIES SPRING FORTH?! DID NOT I?! NOW KNOW YOUR OWN POWERLESSNESS IN THE LIGHT OF THE TRUTH OF THE LORD!"
The words were like thunder, echoing the power and authority of the Almighty. The three deities, despite their formidable powers, found themselves brought to their knees, overwhelmed by the sheer force of the divine rebuke. A spiritual-feedback, intense and raw, coursed through the room, pinning them down with an unbearable weight as the intended soul continued to pass peacefully into the higher existence of a heavenly realm beyond their reach, untouched by their dark designs.
As the light receded and they could finally breathe, Bhaal, Cyric, and Malar were left gasping on the floor, each one shaken to their core. The failure was not just operational but existential. The voice of the Almighty had not only thwarted their plan but had also laid bare their impotence in the face of true divine authority.
The lesson was harsh and humbling. It revealed not only the limits of their power but also the depth of their misunderstanding of the fundamental nature of creation and divine will. The rebuke resonated with the very questions of existence and purpose, challenging the very foundations on which they had built their reigns.
Lying on the ground, recovering from the spiritual onslaught, the three deities exchanged looks of shock and fear. Words were unnecessary; the message had been clear. Their attempt to challenge the Almighty's protection of the souls was not just folly but a profound transgression against the natural order.
As they slowly regained their composure, a silent agreement was forged among them. They would not try to intercept the souls again. The risk was too great, and the divine protection too absolute. The experience had changed them, instilling a deep-seated caution and a reluctant respect for the power of the Almighty.
They parted ways with much to ponder, each deity retreating into their own realms to consider the implications of what had transpired. The balance of power had shifted, and they were now painfully aware of their limitations in the grand scheme of divine governance. The path forward was uncertain, and the shadows they once commanded now seemed less a cloak of strength and more a veil of their own ignorance.
…
A short while later, a disturbing revelation came to the three deities attention…
The reverberations of the divine voice that had so powerfully rebuked Bhaal, Cyric, and Malar had echoed across all corners of Fearun, touching every realm and every deity associated with them. The chief deity of the realm, a figure of wisdom and balance, called a council to address the disturbing actions of the three chaotic deities. With Silvanus by his side, whose recent conversion from a self-perceived god to a humble servant had inspired many, the assembly was set in a grand hall where the air was thick with anticipation and the weight of divine presence.
As the assembly commenced, the chief deity spoke with a voice that, while not booming like the Almighty's, carried an undeniable authority. "The events that have transpired have shown us the limits of what we deemed our power. The voice that all of you heard is a reminder of our true place in the cosmos. We must reconsider our paths."
Silvanus stepped forward, his demeanor calm but firm. "Brothers and sisters, the path of defiance and power at any cost leads only to ruin, as I have learned at great personal cost. It is time we end this madness. We have seen that there are consequences when we stray too far from the principles of justice and mercy."
The assembly murmured, many nodding in agreement. Cyric and Malar, visibly shaken by their recent encounter with divine power, exchanged glances. Malar, usually fierce and unyielding, was the first to break. "I... we cannot continue this way. The risk is too great, and frankly, I have no desire to provoke a being of such power again. I concede," he stated, his voice a grumble of defeat.
Cyric, known for his cunning and manipulation, also acquiesced, albeit reluctantly. "It seems our efforts are futile. If even Umberlee can be humbled so thoroughly, what chance do we stand? I, too, will cease these pursuits."
The room shifted attention to Bhaal, whose anger was slowly growing with both admissions of defeat.
As a deity of murder and violence, his nature bristled at the notion of submission. "This is absurd! You would all bow to this foreign deity? Abandon everything we have built?" His voice rose in fury.
Before the tension could escalate, a surprising interruption came from an unexpected quarter. Glim the Goblin, along with his family, entered the hall. Glim, once a simple goblin but now a preacher of the new deity's message of humanity and love, spoke up. "Even the likes of me and my kin are finding peace and redemption in His words and even ones of my kind who accept him as their savior are going to his realm where they are safe and in a place of comfort," Glim declared boldly, standing confidently with his family by his side. The goblin's voice, typically dismissed or ignored, now carried weight in the hall filled with divine beings. "We, who were often overlooked or deemed incapable of such depth, have experienced a transformation through His grace. His message transcends all boundaries, reaching even into the hearts of some of my goblin brethren."
The hall, usually filled with the echoes of divine declarations and powerful edicts, fell into an unusual silence. The testimony of a goblin, representing one of the most marginalized and underestimated races in Fearun, struck a chord. It was a vivid illustration of the new deity's message which was open for all who seek it and its redemptive power.
Bhaal, ever defiant, scowled as murmurs of contemplation and acceptance began to ripple through the assembly. His eyes, burning with frustration and anger, swept over those gathered. "You would place your faith in tales spun by goblins and forsake our ancient rights and powers?" he challenged, his voice dripping with disdain.
However, Silvanus, who had witnessed and personally experienced profound change, stepped forward, addressing both Bhaal and the assembly with a serene yet firm tone. "It is not about forsaking our heritage or powers, Bhaal. It's about recognizing when our actions and the paths we've taken lead to destruction rather than salvation. This isn't about submission to a foreign deity but about acknowledging a truth that even we, with all our might, cannot deny. If a goblin can find peace and a path to betterment, who are we to dismiss the potential for change and growth?"
Tyr, standing beside Kratos, nodded in agreement. "We have seen the consequences of unchecked power and pride. What harm is there in considering a path that promises peace not just to the high and mighty but to every creature?"
Kratos, his demeanor reflecting a hard-earned wisdom from his own tumultuous experiences with gods and power, added, "The strength of a deity should be measured not by how much fear they can instill, but by how much good they can foster in those who look up to them."
As the debate continued, more deities began to voice their support for reconsideration of their approach to divinity. The discussion was no longer about power and dominion but about responsibility and the potential for a more benevolent influence on their followers' lives.
Bhaal, finding himself increasingly isolated in his stance, finally subsided, his anger simmering beneath a cold, calculating exterior. He knew that to continue opposing this shift openly would only alienate him further. He would need to reconsider his strategies and think of something, fast!
As Bhaal gathered himself to deliver what he hoped would be a cunningly crafted question to sow doubt among the assembly, he was abruptly interrupted by an extraordinary occurrence. Mid-sentence, a series of books materialized in mid-air right in front of him, landing with a significant thud that captured everyone's attention. Among these were a "Deity Manual" and various rule-books that looked suspiciously like those from a Dungeons & Dragons game.
The room fell silent, the sudden appearance of the books shocking the assembled deities, and all eyes turned towards Bhaal. A voice then filled the hall, omnipresent and resonating with a depth of authority that none could deny. It was the voice of the Almighty, the Core, addressing them all but speaking directly to Bhaal. "This is what you are," the voice declared, each word heavy with implication. "This is the reason your universe existed, and why you're just an interactive board game in the original universe. From this, all your realities have splintered off."
As Bhaal picked up the books, his hands trembling slightly, he began to leaf through the pages. To his growing dismay, he found detailed descriptions of himself and his fellow deities, their powers, histories, and even their attributes laid out in numbers and tables—strength, intelligence, charisma—as if they were characters in a game designed for amusement. Every page turn revealed more about their crafted nature, their designed purposes, and the scripted bounds of their existence.
The Almighty's voice continued, now softer, yet still filled with irrefutable truth. "You owe your existence to the very mortals of the original universe—through them, my creations, this cosmos splintered off and dictated its actions, along with the darkness and light that exists in all of you here. If even they must follow the laws I set forth, what chance do you have of overthrowing me, Bhaal?"
The revelation was profound and unsettling. Bhaal, along with the rest of the deities, was forced to confront their true nature—not as autonomous powers but as characters in a vastly more complex narrative dictated by the imaginations and structures of another reality. The manual in his hands did not just represent knowledge; it symbolized the constraints of their very being.
After a moment of heavy silence, filled with the weight of new understanding, Bhaal finally relented. His posture slackened, the fight draining out of him as the futility of defying the Core became painfully clear. "I... I see now," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "There is no overthrowing such a foundation. To fight against such a truth would be folly."
The assembly watched Bhaal's defeat, each deity processing the stark revelations in their own way. The shift was not just in power but in perception—the recognition of their roles within a grander scheme controlled by forces beyond their direct influence.
This moment marked a turning point for the deities of Fearun. With the truth laid bare, the path forward was one of adaptation and acceptance, finding their place within the parameters set by the Almighty and seeking to fulfill their roles with a newfound understanding of their origins and limitations. The games of power and defiance were over; now, they faced the challenge of meaningful existence within the revealed truth of their creation.
…
In the confines of his cell, Szass Tam, a master tactician and schemer, could not help but marvel at the divine irony of recent events. The downfall of powerful deities, including the mighty Silvanus renouncing his godhood, and the spectacular humbling of Umberlee, provided a rich tapestry for his analytical mind to ponder. Each piece of information that trickled into his prison was another testament to the seismic shifts occurring outside—a reshaping of the divine order that was both unprecedented and profound.
For Szass Tam, it wasn't just about the loss of his own powers or his current vulnerable state; it was about acknowledging the sheer tactical brilliance of the Almighty who orchestrated these changes. The deity had not only dismantled the existing hierarchy but had also introduced a new paradigm, one where even the mightiest were called to humility. This wasn't merely a display of power—it was a masterful redefinition of what power meant in the realms of gods and mortals alike.
With his dark humor, Szass Tam found a certain respect for the Almighty's methods. "To bring gods to their knees, to strip them of their divine essence and to turn their own realms against them—now that's a strategy," he mused quietly in the darkness of his cell. The fact that these gods were now scrambling to find their place in this new order, or like Silvanus, choosing to step down from their pedestals, was a development ripe with potential implications.
These were indeed strange times, and for a mind as calculating as Szass Tam's, they were also times rife with opportunity. Even from the depths of his imprisonment, he began to contemplate the future. If the divine landscape was changing so radically, there might be new angles to explore, new vulnerabilities to exploit, and perhaps new alliances to form. The current upheaval could serve as a perfect smokescreen for a mind as devious as his to maneuver quietly, setting the stage for a potential comeback, albeit in a form different from what he had known before.
Szass Tam's respect for the Almighty was rooted in the recognition of a formidable adversary—one who had managed to do what no other had before. This respect was not borne of devotion but of a villain's appreciation for a well-played game, especially one that had so thoroughly upended the chessboard.
As he sat there, his mind whirring with plans and possibilities, Szass Tam couldn't help but smile—a chilling, knowing smile. For in chaos, there is opportunity, and in divine irony, there is always a lesson to be learned, especially for those cunning enough to take heed.
In the secure confines of their cells on Krakoa, news of the seismic shifts in the divine hierarchy reached two of the most unlikely observers: Lord Voldemort and Zeke Yeager. Each reacted according to their unique dispositions and experiences.
Zeke, who had been stripped of his titan powers and now bore the marks of his conflicts—most notably, missing an arm—listened to the reports with a mixture of resignation and cynicism. As he rolled his eyes, he muttered to himself, "Why am I not surprised?" His life had been a series of betrayals and revolutions, ideologies rising and falling. This new upheaval among the gods was just another turn in the endless cycle of power and downfall.
Voldemort, enjoying relatively finer accommodations due to his cooperation and good behavior, was deep in thought, his sharp mind analyzing every piece of information. He had a unique perspective on power and its intricacies, having sought it so fervently and understood its costs so intimately. The concept that a deity could strip other deities of their powers resonated with him profoundly. "Fascinating," he whispered, his fingers tented in contemplation. "The manipulation of divine essences, the control over what constitutes godhood—it's a level of power manipulation I had not considered achievable."
Across the cell block, Odin, the All-Father, was also reflecting on the situation, reading a letter from his granddaughter, Thrud. He too was considering the implications of these divine shifts, but his focus was on seeking reconnection with Thrudd and what's left of his family.
The most striking piece of news, however, that captured Voldemort's particular interest was the emergence of Eclipse, the Cybertronian who had ascended to a form of lesser-godhood—an automaton imbued with an amalgamation of powers from across different world's deities. "An automaton ascended to godhood," Voldemort mused aloud, his voice a mix of admiration and envy. "The blending of technology and divine power, an entity shaped by the hands of mortals and gods alike."
The concept of artificial souls and a manufactured afterlife, pioneered by Galvatron and Scourge, was another layer of intrigue. Voldemort found himself genuinely impressed. "To think that one could engineer the very essence of life and the hereafter," he pondered, seeing parallels between his own dark experiments with horcruxes and the broader, more metaphysical manipulations attempted by the transformers.
For Voldemort, these developments were not just academic; they were potential avenues for his own machinations. If mortals could manipulate divine elements to such an extent, what could a wizard of his caliber achieve with such knowledge? The possibilities were tantalizing.
Zeke, overhearing Voldemort's reflections, couldn't help but feel a grudging respect for the cunning displayed by these new players on the world stage. Despite his own resignation, the strategist in him appreciated the game being played at such high stakes.
In the relative quiet of his cell, Lord Voldemort was ruminating on the shifting dynamics of power he had just learned about when he was interrupted by the arrival of Elif, a young witcher from the School of the Wolf. Elif, who had been assigned as one of the guards overseeing the more "special" prisoners, approached Voldemort with a professional demeanor, yet her eyes betrayed a hint of curiosity about the infamous wizard in her charge.
"Lord Voldemort," Elif began, maintaining a respectful distance, "it's nearly time for you to present your case to the leadership here. They are willing to consider your proposal for parole, given your good behavior and lack of attempts at escape."
Voldemort, who had been sitting with his back straight and hands clasped, turned his piercing gaze upon the young witcher. He knew that this was a crucial moment—his opportunity to negotiate a better position within this new and bizarre world he found himself in. Despite his nature and past, Voldemort understood the importance of strategy and the necessity of sometimes bowing to the current powers, at least outwardly.
"Thank you, Elif," Voldemort replied with a calm that belied his calculating mind. "I appreciate your diligence in informing me. I assure you, I have prepared thoroughly for this engagement. It is, after all, in my best interest to cooperate with those who control the circumstances of my confinement."
Elif nodded, noting the careful choice of words. "They're looking for assurances that you'll contribute positively to this community,"
Elif nodded, noting the careful choice of words. "They're looking for assurances that you'll contribute positively to this community," He said, tone neutral but firm. "They want to see genuine intent to reform, or at least, to abide by the rules established here."
Voldemort stood slowly, smoothing the front of his robes. "Indeed, I understand the terms well. My respect for the accommodations provided here should be evident in my compliance. While my nature may be... complex, I am capable of recognizing advantageous positions. Cooperation, in this case, is clearly advantageous."
Elif watched him carefully, trained to read the slightest signs of deceit. Yet, Voldemort's demeanor was composed, his infamous charisma cloaked in a veil of compliance, yet, he sensed no lie in Voldemort's words or demeanor.
"I'll escort you to the meeting when it's time," he finally said. "Prepare your final statements. This is a rare opportunity for someone in your position."
As Elif left, Voldemort turned back to the window of his cell, looking out at the strange world that now held him. He knew that power in this place did not work the way it had in his own realm. Here, he was a player in a larger game, one that included gods and monsters beyond his previous understanding. His survival and potential rise to power again depended not on overt displays of dominance but on cunning adaptation and strategic alliances.
And perhaps, a bit of playing by their rules.
As the time for the meeting drew near, Voldemort rehearsed his arguments and planned his words carefully. This was not just a bid for freedom; it was a negotiation for influence and possibly a foothold in this new, vast universe of powers. Whatever the outcome, Voldemort was determined to turn the situation to his advantage, for better or worse, he's stuck here now.