I’m Not a God
In the haunting void of a celestial courtroom, suspended amid the cosmos like a testament to divine law, the trio known as the Judge, the Jury, and the Executioner held court. Their enigmatic forms, adorned in vestments of pure, radiant white that seemed to emit a soft, ethereal glow, stood in stark contrast to the deep, endless void around them, a white glowing tarp covered all of their faces, it's purpose unknown.
The stage was set upon a floating dais, the presiding figure, the Judge, held a towering position, his presence underscored by a magnificent hammer, crafted from the same incandescent light that adorned his being. This hammer, a symbol of ultimate authority and judgement, gleamed with an aura of unyielding justice.
Beside him, Lady Amara Telun, the leader of the Jury, stood composed with her fellow jurors, each draped in luminous white cloaks that flowed like liquid moonlight. Lady Amara held a sacred tome in one hand and a balancing scale in the other, representing the weighing of truths and destinies. The scales glimmered, perfectly balanced, a reflection of the meticulous scrutiny each deity's actions were subject to.
At the Judge's other side, the Executioner, known only as Khor, was a figure of silent finality. His own garb was a stark, bright white, unmarked but for the light that seeped from his very essence. Clasched in his grip was his formidable weapon—an axe constructed of pure light, its edge sharp enough to cleave through the fabric of divinity itself.
Before these celestial adjudicators stood a god, once a mere manifestation of the belief of people who had embraced the essence of the Divine Tree. Named Haelion, he was born from fervent faith and collective hope, his being a vibrant swirl of destructive reddish-orange magic. Haelion, resplendent and defiant, enveloped in his cloak of divine energy, stared down his judges with a gaze that burned like dying stars.
"Haelion, formed of the Divine Tree's embrace, you stand accused of forsaking those very beliefs that gave you form. You sought to manipulate and control, to turn devotion into chains," the Judge's voice resounded, clear and unyielding.
Haelion's laugh was a rolling thunder, filled with scorn. "I am but a reflection of those who believed in me! How can I be faulted for the nature imbued within me by their convictions?"
Lady Amara stepped forward, her voice calm yet carrying an undeniable force. "Even reflections can choose the surface they reflect upon. You chose to turn belief into fear, hope into despair."
Unleashing his power, Haelion sent waves of fiery magic hurtling towards the celestial arbiters. The courtroom trembled under the force of his unleashed power, a spectacle of wrath and divine fury.
However, the Judge raised his hammer, and with a commanding swing, a barrier of luminescent energy surged forth, encapsulating and neutralizing Haelion's attack. The scales in Lady Amara's grip tipped slightly, emblematic of the shift towards condemnation.
"The evidence weighs heavily against you, Haelion. Your actions have unbalanced the very scales of faith," Lady Amara declared, her eyes reflecting the gravity of their decision.
As the final word hung in the air, the Executioner moved, his form a blur of white light. With deliberate, solemn motion, he raised his axe, its blade aglow with righteous termination. "By the decree of the cosmos and the laws that govern our very existence, your reign ends."
The axe descended, a brilliant arc cutting through the turmoil, meeting Haelion's form. Divine blood, bright and shimmering like liquid sunfire, spilled over the celestial platform. Haelion's cry, a mingling of rage and disbelief, echoed as his form began to fracture, the essence that held him together dissipating under the unyielding light of justice.
Thus was the fall of Haelion, manifested by belief but unmade by justice—a poignant reminder of the cosmic order administered by the Judge, Jury, and Executioner, whose role it was to maintain the balance, even at the cost of a god.
(30 years later)
Within the opulent corridors of the Elytherian Palace, King Varis and Queen Solenna moved with purposeful strides, their silken robes whispering against the marble floor, intricately inlaid with gems that depicted the pantheon of their beliefs. The kingdom of Elytheria held power within its history and lore, governed under the shadows of the Divine Tree—rooted deep within the sacred grounds, its sprawling branches believed to touch the secrets of creation itself.
King Varis was a tall figure, his posture rigid with authority. His face was sharply angular, framed by a cascading mane of silver hair that fell past his broad shoulders in a wave of regality. His piercing blue eyes, rimmed with dark lashes, could chill a room with their intense, calculating gaze. His regal attire included a deep crimson robe, heavily embroidered with gold threading that depicted the sprawling branches of the Divine Tree, symbols of power and divinity flowing through the fabric. His cloak, black as the night, was clasped at his throat with a brooch shaped like a raven, its wings spread wide. The overall effect was both awe-inspiring and slightly terrifying, as if he was a king of an ancient, mythical realm more accustomed to the battlefield than the throne room.
Queen Solenna, on the other hand, was the embodiment of sinister beauty. Her long, flowing hair was a stark white, contrasting sharply against her pale skin, and fell straight down her back like a silken waterfall. Her eyes, a deep emerald green, sparkled with a cunning light, framed by long, dark eyelashes that seemed capable of ensnaring one's soul. She wore a form-fitting gown of midnight blue, which shimmered with a subtle, magical luminescence as if woven from the very stars of the night sky. The gown was festooned with sapphire gems that matched her eyes, each one intricately cut to catch the light with every movement. Around her neck hung a necklace of twisted black thorns, dipping down to a single, large blood-red gem that rested against her sternum—a symbol of her connection to the life and essence-draining flora used in their dark rituals.
As they walked, their conversation wove through the realm's turbulent history, touching upon the distant lands governed by other beings and the myriad races that dwelt within the fold of the known world.
"The growth of the Obsidian Empire, to the east, disturbs the balance," King Varis murmured, his eyes darkening. "Their allegiance with those shadowy creatures could threaten the very fibers of the Divine Tree."
Queen Solenna nodded, her gaze fixed on the distant stained-glass windows portraying the epic battle of Daern's Fall. "Indeed, and let us not forget the Judge, the Jury, and the Executioner; their recent purge in the Kingdom of Grahl was terrifyingly efficient. They claim to act under a celestial mandate, yet their aura reeks of something far darker."
"Their legends say they once served under our own ancient god and sent him to the pits of Hell," Varis replied, his hand clenching tightly around the pommel of his sword. "If the rumors hold true, and they indeed wield powers from the nether realm, then we should be wary."
Their path led them to the deeper, sacred halls of the palace where the air grew dense with the scent of incense and the metallic tang of blood. They approached the temple—a smaller chamber where the walls were lined with tapestries depicting the Tree, each leaf representing a story or myth born from the belief of their people.
Within this sanctum, suspended from the ceiling by thick chains, was a young boy, his body marred by wounds yet regenerating before their eyes. Around his limbs, cursed flowers bloomed, pulsating with a dark light, their petals embedded into his flesh as they attempted to leech away his unusual vitality. His name was Kael, 12 years old, with black long messy hair, dark red eyes, tattoos on his chest of a phoenix, and he was wearing gray wolf fur as pants and leather boots, and he was shirtless.
He murmured slightly, "I wanna go home.."
"Behold, what our ancestors declared impossible," Solenna whispered, her voice a blend of horror and awe. "The revival of our slain deity, trapped in the body of this immortal child."
Varis circled around the hanging figure, inspecting the divine retribution they had inflicted upon him. "Could it truly be him? Could the Judge, Jury, and Executioner have been mistaken, or is this an imposter bearing his semblance?"
Solenna reached out, cautiously touching one of the blood-stained petals. "Immaterial. If he bears even a fraction of our god's essence, his power could be pivotal. The Divine Tree has never misled us; its prophecies always manifest. This child, this godling, survived their hellfire and emerged through the roots of our beliefs."
"Enough," Varis decided with a sudden, cold finality. He turned to the temple priests lurking in the shadows. "Continue the rituals. Increase the potency of the soul-draining flora. If he is truly divine, he will not perish."
As the priests moved to obey, chanting old verses that shook the stones of the temple, the queen watched the boy—eyes like dying stars, not pleading for mercy but almost like he was accepting his fate. A twisted part of her marveled at his resilience.
Outside, the kingdom buzzed with whispers of miracles and omens, the distant roaring of the Divine Tree echoing through the valley, a sound like thunder, or perhaps a warning. As day bled into night, the experiments continued, unraveling the threads of morality bound by mortal fear and divine desperation. In Elytheria, the line between heresy and faith was as thin as the blade used to carve legends into reality.
The people in the capital said to each other:
"Is Haelion really back?!"
"Wasn't he killed 20 years ago?"
In the bustling heart of Elytheria's capital, under the looming shadow of the Divine Tree whose branches stretched protectively over the city, town criers took their places at bustling intersections and crowded market squares, their voices ringing out with news meant to stir the souls of every citizen.
"Hear ye, hear ye!" called a crier at the central plaza, his voice booming across the cobblestones, "Great tidings this splendid morning! The Divine Tree, beloved conduit of our sacred realms, has shown signs of blossoming anew! Scholars from the Denarii University confirm increased luminance within its leaves! A sign, they say, of divine pleasure and perhaps, oh yes perhaps, the return of our protector, the god Haelion!"
Another, standing by the fishmonger's row, waved a scroll dramatically, gathering a crowd. "Gather 'round, good folk! From the northern borders, our vigilant scouts report a rare sighting of the Azure Wolves, creatures loyal to the essence of Haelion himself! Long have they been absent, their return marks a time of balance, a time of magic renewed!"
Near the artisan's quarters, where the clinks of the smithies played a relentless symphony, a young crier with bright eyes shouted above the din, "News from the royal court! Our King and Queen, may their wisdom flourish, have initiated the restoration of the ancient temples. They decree these sacred grounds shall be restored to glory in anticipation of our god's return. Craftsmen and artisans, your skills are called upon!"
In the marketplace, where spices and silks created a tapestry of color and scent, a seasoned crier with a grizzled beard turned his attention to matters of folklore. "Listen well, traders from afar! The legendary Phoenixes, once mere whispers on the wind, have been sighted soaring over the Ashen Peaks. Their resurrection fire promises renewal and strength, echoing perhaps the imminent return of our immortal Haelion!"
Lastly, outside the sprawling library that housed the kingdom's knowledge, an old creater, robed in the emblems of learned scholars, intoned gravely to a circle of listeners, "Honored citizens, delve into the tomes of your heritage. The epochs written of our deity Haelion are not just past lore but guides to our future prosperity. Each page holds a verse of power, a shard of the very essence that fuels the Divine Tree. Study, and prepare for the providence that awaits us!"
With each proclamation, the capital vibrated with a palpable excitement, a collective breath held in anticipation of a promised renaissance, spurred by the potential return of a god thought lost to myth and celestial judgment.
The temple air, thick with the scent of incense and blood, was abruptly torn asunder by the appearance of a dark figure cloaked in a black sackcloth, her presence chilling as shadows curled around her like living flames. The figure wore a mask carved from bone, its empty eye sockets glowing with a sinister scarlet light, and her long black hair flowed wildly as if caught in an unseen tempest. In her hand was a black sword known ominously as Shadowrend, its blade whispering despair and death.
As she stepped into the room, her movements were a blur of deadly grace, each step measured and precise. The priests and the guards, bewildered by her sudden appearance, reached for their weapons, but she was quicker. Shadowrend danced in her hands—a vicious extension of her wrath. She spun, her blade slicing through the air, cutting down the Temple's defenders in a spray of blood and terror. Limbs and cries of anguish filled the chamber, yet her acrobatic agility left no opening for retaliation; she was a specter of vengeance, untouchable in her fury.
"Fuck. Those screams are annoying." She scratched the back of her head.
When the last of the temple's protectors lay dismantled, she approached the battered and bruised figure of Kael, still hanging from the chains. Her glowing red eyes surveyed him, a mix of pity and resolve hardening in her gaze.
"Where are you from?" she asked, her voice low and resonant.
Kael, his body racked with pain and the torment of relentless torture, barely managed to whisper, "I wanna go home… they took me… burned down everything…"
The masked figure paused, pieces of the puzzle clicking into place. The realization dawned cold and sharp—Kael was not a relic of divine resurrection but a stolen child from a village razed during the king and queen's ruthless pursuits.
"You were taken, oppressed, and forged into a plaything in their hands, and they slaughtered everyone in your village. But you can reclaim your story, write your own ending," she insisted, her voice insistent yet soothing like a balm to his fractured spirit. "Take your vengeance. Seize your freedom. Let them fear the power they sought to exploit. And based off of those tattoos, you're from a family of Vikings."
Kael slowly nodded in pain.
As she urged him on, her words seemed to ignite something primal within Kael. His oppression had been his chrysalis, and now the figure in black offered him the wings of fury and retribution. After a few moments, the figure pulled back as if respecting the boundaries of his impending transformation. She melted into the shadows from whence she came, her departure as mysterious as her arrival.
'They did this to me…' Kael thought.
With the last echo of her words vibrating through the air, Kael's bonds snapped, the sound resonant like the crack of dawn. The shackles at his wrists shattered, falling away as his skin began to turn a stony gray. From his right hand, a massive staff-like pillar of stone materialized, etched with ancient symbols of power and defiance. At the corner of his head, a sharp horn of stone erupted, marking his divine stature.
With newfound strength coursing through his veins, Kael stood amidst the carnage of the temple, a changed being. The transformation was not just of flesh, but of spirit. The air around him hummed with potential, with the promise of vengeance and the allure of freedom. As the scene closed, the palace that had been a prison hinted at becoming the birthplace of legend, forged in fire and shadow.
As Kael burst through the Temple door, the first guards to challenge him were swiftly introduced to the unrelenting force of his stone staff. With each swing, the weapon's momentum seemed to tear through the air, its resonant hum vibrating against the stone walls. The first guard attempted a forward thrust with a spear, aiming for Kael's midsection. Kael responded by spinning, using the staff's momentum to deflect the spear and deliver a crushing blow to the guard's side, shattering ribs and sending him careening into a stone pillar.
A horn blew, signaling the palace was under a threat, the entire palace was swarming with soldiers with magic and weapons and armor, ready to intercept Kael.
From the shadows emerged the first boss, Tharok, a massive figure with skin like armored plates and two curved horns protruding from his forehead. Tharok wielded a huge mace patterned with ancient runes. He roared, a sound that echoed ominously through the chamber, as he swung his mace in an arc aimed at Kael's head. Kael ducked under the swing, the wind from the mace's path tousling his hair, and slammed his staff upward into Tharok's exposed underarm. The force broke through the armor, eliciting a roar of pain from the mythic creature as he stumbled backwards. Utilizing his superhuman speed, Kael circled around Tharok, delivering a series of rapid, precise strikes with his staff to Tharok's knees and elbows. Each hit was accompanied by the cracking sound of fracturing bone. With a final, powerful overhead swing, Kael brought Tharok to his knees and then crushed his skull, splattering the ancient runes with dark blood.
"AGHHH!" Young Kael screamed.
As Kael advanced into the courtyard, lit by torches that threw his long shadow against the cobblestones, a trio of skilled swordsmen awaited him.
"Stop right there, Haelion!"
Their blades gleamed with magical energy, thrumming slightly as they moved in a coordinated assault. Kael met their charge head-on, his staff spinning in a blur, parrying blows that came at him from all directions. With a deft leap, he vaulted over one swordsman, landing behind him and delivering a lethal blow to the spine. As the second swordsman lunged, Kael twisted, using the staff to redirect the trajectory of the attack, guiding the swordsman's blade into the third enemy.
Amidst their confusion, the courtyard's boss, Lyria, emerged—a slender figure with elongated limbs and six arms, each wielding a different bladed weapon. Her eyes, ablaze with a dark purple fiery intensity, studied Kael as she approached with a hypnotic, fluid motion. Lyria had pale skin wearing a dress and white hat a white veil on the edges.
"Haelion! You are to lead us again! Do not run from your fate! We embraced the essence of the Divine Tree to make you a reality!"
Kael charged, gritting his sharp teeth, his staff a vortex of unstoppable force. Each of Lyria's attacks was methodically blocked and countered as Kael adapted to her extraordinary speed. Finally, breaking through her defense, he swept her legs from under her, causing her to fall before delivering a swift, crushing blow to her chest, stabbing her straight through.
Kael's path led next to a long, narrow gallery, its walls adorned with haunting, whispering masks. Here, he was met by a grotesque creature armored in golden Minotaur armor with glowing gold eyes, Garron, with elongated arms and a jaw unhinged, spitting dark venom. Garron launched a volley of toxic projectiles towards Kael, who spun his staff with such ferocity that a gust of wind deflected the incoming assault.
"Tch!" Kael scoffed, moving faster.
"My my, Haelion, you're even faster than before!"
Closing the distance, Kael endured the toxic haze, his regeneration keeping the venom at bay. He delivered a series of rapid strikes, each one punctuated by the sound of crushing bone beneath the stone staff. As Garron recoiled, clutching his fractured ribs, Kael seized the momentum, spinning his staff overhead and bringing it down with a devastating impact that cracked the floor beneath Garron's feet, slicing Garron in half.
The fourth confrontation took place in a vast library, its shelves a maze of ancient tomes. Here, Kael encountered Velik, a mage with skin like parchment and eyes glowing with arcane power. Velik conjured spectral chains trying to bind Kael, but with bursts of superhuman speed, Kael shattered each ethereal link before it could tighten. Velik's attempts to distance himself proved futile as Kael maneuvered around the magical assaults with fluid agility. The final blow was delivered with a hollow echo as Kael's staff connected with Velik's chest, sending a shockwave of paper and dust swirling through the air. Kael yanked upward on the staff, ripping him in half.
Emerging into the starlit royal gardens, Kael's rage reached its zenith. Here, the final guardsmen fell swiftly to his wrath, barely registering as more than a speed bump to his fury. The garden's boss, Sirath, a creature with a carapace of reflective steel and limbs like scythes, awaited, a humanoid made of vines and grass, with black horns in their eyes. Their clash was titanic, with Sirath's blades striking sparks against Kael's staff, the garden transforming into a veritable battleground. Sirath moved with a dancer's grace, each slash of his scythe arms aimed with deadly precision. However, Kael matched each move with his own brute force and unyielding resilience. Swinging his stone staff with both hands, he managed to catch one of Sirath's arms, wrenching it free from its socket with a savage twist. Screams of metal and flesh filled the air, accompanied by the sickening crunch of dismantling limbs.
Amidst a fury of blows, Kael executed a series of punishing strikes, each more forceful than the last, driving Sirath back until the creature was nothing more than a heap of dismembered steel and flesh. With a final, gruesome stomp, Kael crushed Sirath's head, silencing his mechanical whirring forever. Each battle left a trail of destruction, shattered bodies, and broken weaponry strewn across the castle's luxurious and once-immaculate settings. With rage still burning in his eyes, Kael burst through the main doors to find himself at the castle's grand entrance, where a vast army awaited, banners fluttering in the night breeze.
Standing before the amassed troops were King Varis and Queen Solenna. The king's armor shone under the moonlight, his face a mask of cold fury. Besides him, the queen stood with regal bearing, her eyes reflecting the flames that lit up the castle grounds. Each held a weapon of oppressing beauty: the king a greatsword glowing with a somber light, the queen a scepter crowned with a pulsing crystal.
Varis said, "Please succumb to this kingdom once more, Haelion! The Judge, Jury, and Executioner made a mistake killing you years ago, and we see since you've returned, they are a fluke! Many nations and kingdoms hire them for divine judgment, but they were wrong this time, since you are back!"
Beside Kael appeared the mysterious figure in the black sackcloth cloak and bone mask, Shadowrend held ominously at her side. She nodded slightly to Kael, a silent gesture of allied purpose.
Kael didn't notice, he was slouched over, steam coming from his body, blood shrouded his entire body, his teeth gritting with foam as his veins popped, gripping his jagged edges stone staff with anger.
The field was tense, poised on the brink of a monumental clash. Kael's stone staff, its surface etched with the tales of the afternoon's conquest, seemed to pulse with anticipation. His eyes, smoldering like coals about to ignite, fixed upon the figures of authority that had orchestrated his torment.
As Kael roared his defiance, the ground seemed to tremble beneath him, his power evident and unyielding, promising a confrontation that would be remembered in the echoes of the kingdom's history. The scene held its breath, freezing at the moment of imminent annihilation, as Kael stood with Shadowrend's bearer, ready to challenge an empire.
The female figure said, "This kingdom is corrupt. The Divine Tree is a curse in itself, everyone is able to manifest anything that'll help them if they embrace the tree's Essence long enough. That pisses me off to be honest."
Solenna mentioned, "You do not need him, woman. He is ours!"
"I do need him. There are things I must find, a judgment that the dark trio made which was false."
The confrontation loomed large, the silence of tensed muscles and held breaths filling the air, but no clash came just yet. This was the tableau of a rising storm: two lone rebels against an empire, under the watchful eyes of the stars. Here, the destiny of Kael, ruler of his own fate, was ready to unfurl into the annals of myth and blood.
On a windswept field at the edge of the kingdom, overlooked by the dense and whispering woods that encircled the realm, King Varis and Queen Solenna stood before two figures—a bemused, bewildered Kael and an enigmatic stranger, likely a witness or an advisor drawn to the unfolding drama.
"Behold, Haelion," Queen Solenna began, her voice carrying the chill of obsession, "the Divine Plains where first the seed of the Divine Tree was planted. Here, the legends say, the sky wept for the birth of the world, and its tears nourished the soil from which all myths sprout."
King Varis's eyes gleamed with a feverish intensity as he paced before them, gesturing wildly to the heavens and then to the earth. "This land, it craves the return of its shepherd, its god. You, boy, you possess the visage and the undying flesh of our hallowed Haelion, smitten by the Judge, Jury, and Executioner, yet standing before us as if reborn from the sacred ashes."
Queen Solenna stepped closer to Kael, her gaze piercing as her tone lowered into a conspiratorial whisper, her fingers trembling with anticipation. "If indeed you are our god reborn, the cycles of decay will end. Elytheria will rise, transcendent and glorious, under your immortal watch. Our fields will bloom with eternal harvests, our wells will brim with the waters of vitality. Our people will sing hymns of your return, oh Haelion."
"The rituals the priests perform, the soul-draining flora... these are but tests, harrowing yet necessary," Varis interjected, his voice cracking under the strain of his fervor. "For if you survive, as only a god could, we will crown you not as a king among men, but as a deity among the lost. Your temples will rise from the roots of the Divine Tree, each leaf a testament to your power."
"And should these trials prove your divinity," Solena continued, a manic smile playing upon her lips, "the Judge, Jury, and Executioner will have to acknowledge their error. They sent you to the abyss, but here you stand. They will bow before you, repentant and in awe."
Their voices harmonized in a crescendo of madness and hope, the king and queen not just rulers, but believers on the brink of witnessing their faith incarnate. In their eyes, Kael was more than just a boy; he was the resurrection of their ancient protector, the cornerstone of their kingdom's potential salvation and renaissance.
Kael scoffed, "Shut up…!"
He darted forward to attack, giving a loud battle cry, and the female shadow figure with the sword dashed forward at the same time, being by his side.
…
(40 seconds later)
Smoke filled the air, and the kingdom's soldiers and knights laid dead on the ground, their blood staining the grass.
The female shadow figure with the sword was covered in their blood, alongside her sword. And she turned, and she saw Kael approaching her. Kael walked through the smoke, his body regenerating in the process as his skin swirled around to mend together again, and he was still growling in anger, his sharp teeth gritting with foam and blood, and he was holding the decapitated heads of Varis and Solenna.
Kael dropped the heads, and he walked towards the woman with the sword, and immediately, she touched Kael on the head and he fainted, making him fall into her arms.
She said, "The Judge, Jury, and Executioner will pay, and you will help me, whoever you are."
A tear dropped Kael's eyes, as he breathed silently.