Make It Rain (or else)

Vigorous gusts of wind birthed the new day. When Artie awoke, he was covered in a leather-sewn blanket thrown over him by the hosts.

Neither of the homeowners was present, and he was alive. So, he inherently assumed they weren't murderous assholes like the last batch.

High morning, with scattered, gray clouds. The rain had stopped; however, it seemed prepared for another incursion. Artie wrapped the cover around his body like a poncho, then exited the tent.

From the edge of the community, it was only a few steps before he reached the rear of a gathering. Something even more pressing than himself had harbored the attention of the demi-humans.

At the center of the assemblage were two distinct individuals. One spoke the same tongue as the other round-eared natives. He stood out even among his people. While most of the bear-folk had a solid set of black or brown hair, his was solid black at the top but faded into white as it traveled down to his elbows. He was youthful, fixed with excellent posture, and always inclined his head upward enough to look down at the person he spoke with. Atop his dome was a thin, silvery crown that proclaimed his rule of the people.

His fashion sense was the most Earth-like Artie had seen. Blue jean-like pants were cut short to show his ankles, a white long sleeve shirt, and a stiff coat that extended to his knees.

On the other hand, the woman he communicated with was nonnative. She stood as tall as his torso, had platinum blonde locks, and alluring orange feathers that draped where her ears would be. Like a peacock, a feathery tail the color of her hair and ears dangled from her rear. Her layered robe employed oranges and reds, which made her bird-like features look almost like an ornament or costume.

Despite neither of the two understanding each other, they tossed words into the shared space. The woman, whose fancy jewelry was dulled by her lasting grouchy expression, was physically emotive. Waving their hands into shapes, pointing toward the sky, and drawing a line from the west, to the east.

To Artie, it seemed like she was asking for directions, but nothing was solidified. Succeeding a brief moment of silence, the woman pivoted from the oreo-haired man. She held up her index finger, then drew a ten-inch vertical line in the space in front of her. A golden streak dragged where she sliced the air. Then, she reached into the shining incision and withdrew a leather hardcover book.

("Magic?") thought Artie, unconsciously sloping forward in fascination.

She scribbled something into the mysterious book using an inkless white feather pen, then displayed it to the man. He cooly paused to inspect it with Nobel eyes, as if it was beneath him to indulge her. The man, who started to resemble a panda the more Artie looked at them, pointed past the audience toward a wooden construction.

Whatever they were up all night creating was finished. Artie eyed it, only to find a smooth statue shaped like a nude human male.

"That's a first," Artie mumbled, tilting his head at the peculiar structure.

"There's flower offerings at its base. Must be an idol or something they worship. This is the first sign of religion I've seen since arriving on this planet."

"I wonder how they built that. It looks like the idol is floating without attached strings. And the crazy yellow vines around the character look like... a lightning effect?"

"Some kind of God that uses lightn-"

One and one were put together. And it equaled a whole lot of disarray. Artie recognized there was a substantial fragment of his memory missing.

The statue was vague in details, but if it was floating high enough in the air, they wouldn't be able to gather more information. Like, if the figure had horns or a tail...

It was too big of a coincidence that it was built around when he appeared in their lands. Artie searched his memory bank for a hint, though he found nothing but a dark, deep sea of unsorted chaos.

He explored further, but an invisible presence gate kept the knowledge he sought. Artie clutched his head, appeasing the throbbing headache that'd begun to shape. It's pulsating increasingly amplified the further he paddled into the lost sea. Despite the pang, Artie continued, NEEDING some knowledge of how he arrived there.

He compelled himself, and a hash, harrowing crack rattled his mental scape. Artie hurled a loud, pained, and intrusive cry. It infringed on the sensitive hearing of the locals, and they quickly bucked before snapping toward him.

The muddled waters flooded the cracks of his mind, and snippets of images and moments washed up in a single overwhelming instant...

[[

A mindless, primed thunderstorm with a single sensation. Or, rather, a will. One that carried it from familiar locations, across oceans, and to foreign lands.

Time and place were irrelevant. It merely migrated from point to point with a blinding human figure at its core.

]]

Artie felt it. Whatever IT was. The presence rested at his back, looming over him and awaiting its chance to seize control again. Or, waiting for him to voluntarily follow the same will.

Even dormant, it conveyed a noiseless message for Artie to use its power. To fulfill his entitled role.

("Bestow, an everlasting storm.")

Artie didn't care for whatever message it wanted to get across. He rebuked it. All too soon, before he was inflicted with more discomforts and was brought to his knees.

Again, images were delivered to him. This time, one from an overseer's point of view. Like a player looking down on an active chess board.

[[

A remarkably vivid setting that displayed the very village he was situated in. Only, the land wasn't as muddy and wet as it was then.

It was scorched. Battered from the perpetual sun that dried the greenery and killed the plant life. It was a land that no human should inhabit. Yet, there was noise.

Not sound of labor or laughter. But of suffering. Artie could very clearly hear a body thumping against the lifeless ground. See the woman and many others reaching their bodies' boundaries.

They seemed to only be passing through the land. But, they began passing away. From the living realm to the one thereafter.

A single individual stood among the dozens that lay, parched and bereaved. Artie recognized him as the panda-colored man who existed tall in the center of his dying people. He looked to be devoid of water longer than any other. Yet, he stood, parted his cracked lips, and batted his weary, droopy eyes.

"I'm sorry," he said. Far too fair and prideful for someone on the brink of death.

The man removed his crown, held it in his palm, and shed few tears on its silver frame.

"I've failed you all," he added, bowing his head to the perishing people. He held an arched posture. However, the man declined more and more, tilting far forward before losing balance. He plunged face first onto the scorched earth, cracked his skull, and bled onto the ground.

"Forgive me..." he weakly breathed. Busted, he attempted to stand and maintain his authority. It was fruitless; the kingly man found no strength to ascend.

More tears dripped from his shut eyes, and he coughed as he pleaded for forgiveness and apologized.

Toward the end of his consciousness, he made one final plea, not for his people's forgiveness but for aid.

"Please... G-," he sounded, interrupted by a forceful gasp.

"God."

"Please spare them."

It wasn't Artie's experience, yet he shed a tear for the pitiful souls. He watched the passage of time since the people ceased; minutes passed, and he considered their lives nearly lost.

He wasn't big on the idea of miracles. But, he didn't know how else to convey the sight that transpired nearly an hour later.

An unmarried drop of water landed on the desolate land. Clouds rolled in, and the wind intensified, driving dirt and sand from the zone.

Moments later, a full-blown storm overtook the land. Thunder woke the remaining people, who immediately rolled onto their backs and opened their mouths for hydration.

Their king rose and stared at the dark, lightning-cluttered sky in awe. He couldn't take his eyes away from the sight of falling water. It wasn't rare on Earth, but it was the first time anyone had seen rain on that planet.

While rubbernecking toward the atmosphere, he caught a glimpse of their answerer. Miles in the sky, a glowing, divine figure drifted over their barren land.

The prideful man raised a palm over his face to obstruct the rain, then widened his eyes. He captured as much as possible from the mystical form, burning its image into his mind and thanking it a thousand times for saving his subjects.

]]

The episode concluded, and Artie returned to his present juncture. Everything had started to make sense; regrettably, it pissed him off. He slammed his fist against the ground and exclaimed.

"What did you do to me!"

"I did nothing; you merely performed your assigned role," arose the Ai's abhorred voice. Stunning the unsuspecting locals.

Artie's teeth ground, his claws extended further from his fingertips, and he jumped to his feet in outrage. A sliver of doubt made him blame himself for the people's misfortune, which made him livid. It was the Ai that designed a world that required human maintenance and burdened him with an absurd role. So he wondered why he felt responsible, even if only a little.

From beyond the startled natives, a woman's voice elevated. Distant, yet near and clear.

"So you are here, God of thunder," she said. Not in a language that he'd learned, but one he distinctly understood.

She knew who he was. Even more, she was searching for him. Whatever the reason, Artie was becoming fed up with everything regarding the title of God.