[M] The Throne of Gods: Memories of Divinity - IC

[Iwazuma]

Moriteva could do little more than watch as, with seemingly one fell swoop, everything began to break down around him. Marette was mad at Aegis for his sudden confidence that he could wake Selrina, but that had managed to fade quickly enough, at the very least. Silvannus seemed to at least understand the gravity of the situation they were in, and he managed to agree to come along. That was one problem out of the way. Moriteva wanted nothing more than to keep moving before things came to a head, but of all people Santav sent the group grinding to a halt. He had a point-Malphas constantly was one step ahead of them, to the point of heading them off at the volcanic pass with an experimental ambush. Silvannus was not the one tipping off their location. So, then, the Charred posited, who was? A question that Moriteva himself had considered. Could it be his other half? The possibility, nay, the plausibility existed. He wouldn't deny it. But he couldn't confirm it, either. She was silent on the other half of his mental link for now, content to watch the deities bicker amongst themselves...or off doing other things. He couldn't say.

But it didn't take long before the infighting grew worse. Marette and Santav traded barbs at one another, causing a domino effect. Visana and even Atrophos joined in, causing another retaliation, and even Lunae had decided to sod the entire proceeding, walking off from the rest of the group. Lunae had a point-while many of the gods were familiar with one another, many more barely interacted. Though Atrophos was of Balance, Moriteva had often kept his distance from the god, his domain the antithesis to much of his own. So too was he unfamiliar with Visana. Yet they shared a common goal to this point-escape to friendlier climes and assess their next move. Santav was the odd one out, questioning their rationale. If he wished to challenge it, Moriteva would provide a sound answer.

Aegis, too, seemed to understand the importance of maintaining cordiality, going so far as to pass the baton to him to steady the tossing ship. Moriteva glanced to Lunae as he walked away, his jawline tightening ever so slightly. He was clearly frustrated. "Santav." His voice carried none of the authority Aegis' did, but it demanded attention all the same in spite of his soft tone. "I can appreciate your concern, and I understand your caution." Moriteva chose his words carefully as he regarded the Charred, his eyes glowing the same gentle green they always did. "If you are looking for honesty, I shall be forthwith with you." Moriteva closed those selfsame eyes, inhaling through his nose as he considered what he would say. He ultimately decided to speak only in what he was sure of. Introducing more variables would only prolong the standoff, and thus extend the risk of ambush.

"I don't know who or what is trailing us." He silently rued Aegis stating it 'was not his story to tell'. It wasn't Santav's story to hear at the moment, either. His other half could very well be the mole-he wasn't about to deny that. However, he couldn't say that for certain, either, and the last thing Moriteva wanted to do was instill unnecessary unease amongst his fellow gods, especially when it all might be for naught. "For all we know, there could be any number of gods tracking our every movement. Phyraxis, the God of Secrets, comes to mind as a possibility." Moriteva conceded that fact, but continued to hold Santav's gaze. "I will also tell you that outside of our group, I sense no other significant life energy in our vicinity right now. Either there is no tail at this moment, or they are capable of masking their own life signals or can observe us from a greater distance." He put out what intel he could, then folded his arms, letting logic dictate the flow of his words.

"I cannot deny the scenario you have put out, but I have no tangible leads that are anything more than theories with cold trails that would do no more than instill paranoia. Visana also has a good point-the longer we remain here, the more Malphas' plans get to manifest, and the longer Averas continues to suffer. As much as I would like to proceed with certain safety in mind, unless you have an idea to ensure we can foil Malphas' plots, I do not see a reasonable course of action. She has the cards, and she isn't playing them. Our choices are to remain here or move forward, and I would much, much rather prefer if we did so as a group of sound mind." Moriteva sighed, putting his hands in his hair. "I know tensions are running high, Santav. I ask that you put trust in us as much as we have trusted you to join us." Moriteva heaved a sigh. "One moment."

Moriteva walked away from the group, kneeling down beside Lunae, who seemed to be lost in his own thoughts. "You seem distraught." He laid a hand on the God of the Forge's shoulder. "When we get to Averas, I'm going to make another pot of tea. And when I do, you can talk to me about whatever is troubling you." He extended the offer to the evidently troubled god, giving him a warm smile. "But we've got to get there first, okay? Stay strong." He offered Lunae a smile before rising to his feet again, walking back to the group. He couldn't force Lunae to come with them, but he could encourage it all the same.

"My apologies. I hope you understand my train of thought, Santav. I know it may not be the most satisfying response, but as much as I would wish to foil Malphas' plot, we are in no position to do so. We are best positioned to inform Luthious of what we know and prepare ourselves for what is to come next." He turned back in the direction they had been headed. "The portal shouldn't be much further. We should move."

[RedKayne]

Santav took in Moriteva’s words, his expression softening as he processed the response. The God of Life had offered a tempered, honest perspective—one that Santav could respect, even if it wasn’t the absolute certainty he’d sought. After a brief pause, he gave a small nod.

"Alright, Moriteva," he replied, his voice steady. "I’ll put my trust in you and the group for now. Let’s keep moving forward."

Without further comment, Santav turned, signaling his acceptance as he prepared to follow along. The matter settled, he was ready to put aside his doubts—for now—and focus on the path ahead as their guide in Hades.

---

Aegis and Santav led the group deeper into the cavern, the air growing thick with heat and the sharp scent of sulfur. The dim, red glow of molten rock pulsed faintly from fissures in the stone walls, casting eerie shadows that danced as they moved. Occasionally, droplets of magma dripped from above, sizzling against the stone floor as the gods picked their way through the twisting tunnel.

At last, they emerged into the center of the volcanic chamber, expecting to find a molten lake or roaring magma pit—but instead, the heart of the volcano held only darkness.

The gods halted, peering into the abyss before them. A gaping black hole stretched across the chamber floor, an endless void that seemed to devour the faint light around it. It wasn’t just dark; it was an all-consuming black as if every shadow had gathered here to form a single, bottomless chasm.

Santav gazed into the abyss, his face unreadable, though there was a strange glimmer in his eyes. He stepped closer, his voice low and resonant as he finally spoke. “I’ve heard stories about this place,” he murmured, his gaze unwavering. “They say it’s never-ending. A fall into this abyss means an eternity of descent—lost in pitch-black darkness, suspended in a perpetual state of falling. No light, no ground, just… nothing.”

His words hung heavily in the air, stirring an uncomfortable silence among the group as they contemplated the dark legend. Santav took another step forward, his gaze almost entranced as he peered over the edge, an odd sense of longing in his expression. His hand flexed slightly as if contemplating reaching out, taking one more step…

Aegis’s hand rested firmly on Santav’s shoulder, steadying him without a word. Santav blinked, breaking his gaze from the void, and his shoulders relaxed slightly as if the spell had been broken. He exhaled and straightened, turning to the group with a faint nod.

“We’ll go around,” he said, his voice steady but quieter. He led the way along the narrow path skirting the hole, careful with each step, as if still haunted by the allure of that endless darkness. Aegis moved closely beside him, offering silent support as they guided the others along the precarious edge, the shadow of the chasm stretching across their path as they pressed forward toward the exit.

---

As the gods ventured deeper into the hellish expanse of Hades, the sky burned a vivid red, casting an eerie glow over the landscape. The ground was marred by deep fissures, scarred from rivers of molten lava that snaked through the cracked earth, their heat palpable even from a distance. The air hung thick with smoke, oppressive and suffocating, swirling around them like a living entity. Each breath felt heavy, filled with the acrid scent of ash and decay.

After navigating a narrow, twisted canyon, they emerged into a wider expanse, enveloped in dense, swirling mist that obscured their view. Before them loomed the Ashen Falls, still a distance away, surrounded by the remnants of a forgotten civilization.

The waterfall poured from an unseen height, its “waters” an unnatural, thick gray that cascaded over blackened stone, moving with a fluidity reminiscent of smoke. It descended endlessly, shrouded in an ashen mist that spread across the ground in wispy tendrils. The constant rush of the falls filled the air with an ominous, chant-like hum, low and hypnotic, weaving a tapestry of unease that tugged at their very souls.

Between the group and the falls lay the scattered ruins of what appeared to be a once-great city, now reduced to crumbled structures and twisted debris. The remnants of civilization seemed to have fallen through the portal from the other side, their forms twisted and broken as if caught in the chaos of transition between realms. Jagged shards of stone jutted from the ground like teeth, while the remnants of temples and altars lay rusting in the ash, their purposes long forgotten.

The group hesitated at the edge of the mist, the oppressive atmosphere pressing in on them. Aegis, the ever-cautious leader, glanced back at his companions, his features sharp and vigilant beneath his helm.

“This place…” he murmured, his voice trailing off, the steady resolve he usually exuded wavering. “Be on guard. Something is not right.”

Santav stepped forward, narrowing his eyes as he scrutinized the thick, smoke-like liquid that poured in endless, unnatural waves. “It’s not just any waterfall,” he whispered, half to himself. “This… is the portal.”

Aegis made a confused expression, but Santav’s gaze remained fixed on the mist. “The gate to Averas - legends say it lies where death itself seems to flow, where despair takes form… and that the gateway is concealed within.” He extended his hand, allowing a faint trace of the encroaching mist to curl around his fingers. “These waters… they lead to the Garden of Eden.”

The nature plane. A realm almost mythical in its beauty, Averas was once lush and vibrant, alive with the eternal cycle of growth. In stark contrast to the desolate, barren wastes of Hades, it was a place where healing flourished and life thrived - unless the tales of corruption held any truth. Their answers to this unsettling reality lay beyond the mist, the rubble, and the ashes.

---

Earlier

Background Music

The air in the pits of Tartarus was thick with despair, an oppressive weight that seemed to seep into the very bones of those imprisoned within its depths. Shadows twisted in the corners, flickering like the remnants of lost souls. The shadow of the Duchess of Pain stood over one such prisoner's silhouette.

Malphas's crimson-red eyes gleamed with a predatory glint, prowling around her captive with a cat-like grace. The dark hues of her skimpy leather attire contrasted sharply with her pale skin, giving her an ethereal, almost otherworldly appearance.

Bounded in chains, Calyra, the Goddess of Prophecies, stood defiantly against the Monarch. The once radiant deity was adorned in robes shimmering silver and sapphire that seemed to flow like water around her. Now, she appeared battered and broken. Her long, flowing hair, once a cascade of golden threads, was matted and dirtied, and her luminous aura had dimmed to a flickering glow.

Malphas circled her like a predator, skinny arms nonchalantly held behind her back. “You know why you’re here, dearest Calyra,” she purred, her voice smooth as silk yet laced with venom. “The future is a tapestry, and you are the weaver. I need the threads of your visions. Tell me what you see.”

The Goddess lifted her chin, pain etched across her features, yet she held her ground. “You cannot break me, Malphas. I will not betray my purpose.”

Malphas formed a cruel smile as she simply snapped her fingers. Calyra immediately began screaming in tactile, the Duchess's tactile illusions bringing unimaginable pain to the celestial. “Oh, but you misunderstand. I don’t need to break you. I merely need to encourage you to share. The pain you feel is merely a tool—a means to an end.”

The Duchess held up an open palm over Calyra’s screaming face. The Goddess of Prophecy writhed, her face contorted in anguish, spittle escaping her lips as she strained against her bonds. Malphas intensified the torment, layering each wave of suffering with exquisite precision.

The pain was not physical alone; it was a searing, emotional agony that clawed at Calyra’s very essence. It was the pain of one’s mind stabbed by an invisible knife, twisting relentlessly to scrape against every raw nerve. The pain of a heart squeezed by cruel, unseen fingers, cutting off the lifeblood of hope. And, as Malphas’s hand drew closer, a new, deeper agony bloomed: the pain of one’s soul ripped open, laid bare, and scraped clean of its last vestiges of will as if by the serrated edge of a knife dragged across her spirit.

“Enough!” she cried, her voice trembling with pain. “I will tell you… just stop!”

Malphas paused, a wicked smile spreading across her lips. “Ah, there it is. The spark of compliance.” She leaned in closer, her voice low and menacing. “What do you see? What is the final prophecy?”

Gritting her teeth, Calyra began to speak, each word strained and heavy. “I see… a broken crown of a young king, abandoned in the past… I see the black chains of tyranny torn apart, igniting the fires of rebellion…” Her voice trembled, but she pressed on, “A serpent wielding a ruby dagger, followed by the tears of a world's tree… and a child with magma-like eyes standing before Luthious…” She paused, letting the gravity of her words settle before moving on to the final and most devastating prophecy.

“Finally… I see the Throne of Gods at the center of a universal collapse, and then there's nothingness,” she whispered, the last words barely escaping her lips as a shudder of dread coursed through her.

A tense silence filled the air, and Malphas scratched the side of her face, contemplating. "Hmm, well, I think I can guess the meaning behind the broken crown and the ruby dagger, however, the broken chains of tyranny sparking a rebellion is lost to me," she continued pondering. "There are stories of the child with magma-like eyes, Baldramort's bastard. And I hope the stories are true because it sounds like he'll confront my dear older brother. I'll have my fingers crossed that lil' Damian will take out Luthious."

She stepped even closer, caressing the top of Calyra's head like a pet, "But we can't have the final prophecy of the Throne becoming true, I will need to rule over all the realms after all," she stroked the side of the celestial's face, who merely glared in defiance.

“You will not win, Malphas,” the Goddess of Prophecies forewarned, her voice steadier now. “The future is not yours to control.”

With a scornful laugh, Malphas waved a dismissive hand. “Oh, but the future is what I thrive upon, dearest Calyra." Malphas’s eyes glinted with delight as she turned to the shadows and snapped her fingers. “You all can enjoy your treat now,” she announced with dark satisfaction as the Consumed emerged, slipping out from the shadows with an unnatural grace.

The eyeless humanoids, gray-skinned and monstrous, shifted closer, moving as if drawn by Calyra’s final defiance. Each one was wrapped in a miasma of hunger and pain, their open mouths revealing rows of jagged, sharp teeth, honed for one purpose: to devour divinity itself.

“Now, my dearest Calyra,” Malphas taunted, a cruel smile curling her lips. “I always wondered if you foresaw this moment. If you did, perhaps you’ve already tasted this agony.”

Calyra’s heart raced, her voice breaking as she struggled against her chains. “No… this isn’t how it ends!”

But her words fell into silence as the Consumed closed in. Their mouths widened grotesquely, jaws stretching to impossible proportions. In a ravenous frenzy, they tore into her, rending both flesh and divine essence as if savoring a rare delicacy. Calyra’s final screams echoed through the pits of Tartarus, a chilling symphony of agony that faded into the oppressive darkness.

Malphas turned away, a satisfied smile on her lips, the sounds of her pets’ feast fading behind her. Her mind had already turned to the next steps in her plan, each one promising more pain, more chaos, and the eventual collapse of the multiverse that dared to defy her.

[Hannelorian]

The journey to the Ashen Falls was a quiet one. Marette was left to lick her wounds and reflect on the words Santav laid upon her. There had been few in all of her long life who would have dared to speak to her in such a manner, and he, this nothing, did so freely and without fear of reprisal. If it weren’t for Moriteva, and to an extent Aegis, Marette would have lost her calm, she would have exploded in a rage that was seldom seen by anyone at all. Marette remained collected, saying precious little as the group proceeded ever closer to the portal.

Yet in the back of her mind, something was eating away at her. Moriteva opted, as expected, to keep the peace, rather than to risk conflict by defending Marette against those vile words. Troublesome, but perhaps understandable. Disappointing certainly. Was it that perhaps Marette had to concede to the veracity of some of Santav’s claims? That seemed an unlikely source. Whatever it was, it would elude for a few further minutes until the falls came into view. But even before that it was the smell that hit you, a foreboding stench.

But at the same time, there was a haunting beauty about the sight. They were, in a very real sense, magnificent, and awe inspiring. They towered above them into unknown heights. Ash surging upward into the air from the force at which it hit the ground, or whatever was beneath. It was… familiar. The Goddess who prided herself on her memory had seemingly wiped away parts of her own, but standing here she could not deny it any longer.

Everything came rushing back to her, this place, she had been here before. In the arms of another. Standing at what felt like the edge of the world. The one she once believed was the great love of her life, indeed, a torrid and secret love affair that all but consumed the Goddess of Time, swallowing her into the darkness forever. A few hundred years? Perhaps a thousand or more? However long it had been, it left an indelible mark on Marette, a wound that never seemed to fully heal. A pain so deep, so visceral that it could not be spoken of, not thought of, never dreamt about.

That was the root of her animosity toward Aegis. The two men felt one in the same, men with tremendous charm that shielded deep arrogance. A beguiling and attractive appearance that at once was warm and inviting, alluring and intoxicating but was little more than a trap. A cunning wit and nearly limitless potential, incredible intelligence, all to manipulate the world around them. Perhaps Marette had been unfair, she hadn’t given him a fair chance to succeed. Aegis was good. Aegis had true potential if only he didn’t stand in his own way. But the flaws Marette saw in him were reminders of a painful past. A reminder of her greatest secret.

Marette simply stood there absolutely silent as she stared into the heart of the falls where she knew the portal lay. The others murmured around her, she didn’t really register it, she didn’t hear them. And for just a moment her eyes closed and she inhaled deeply. Memory returning. Something she wished could have stayed buried. Alas, the truth will out.

---

Some time ago...

Home was a safe place. A quiet place. No where in all of the realms brought Marette a greater sense of peace than the Garden forgotten by Time. An ironic name she had given her corner of Elysium millennia ago. The flora had long been overgrown, simply allowed to do as it wished, Marette saw little point in keeping it cleverly pruned and thus it appeared forgotten. It was from this distant place that the Goddess of Time fulfilled her duty. The threads of time abundantly flowed, gently ebbing and flowing across the landscape, delicate glowing strands looping around the landscape. The prayers to the Goddess echoed gently on the winds like a pleasant and joyful chorus with undertones of sorrow and regret for not all prayers were happy ones.

Few but her most trusted friends knew the way to her ancestral home, barring of course the Monarch and True King should they ever require her. White marble structures shrouded in lush greenery gave home and shelter to all manner of creatures seeking refuge in a place where time stood still. The Goddess herself stood before a pensieve at a cliff’s edge with nothing but the infinite stretch of the Elysian sky before her. Staring into it, Marette was lost in the consumption of knowledge, of history and the stories that time had to tell, watching it unfold over and over and over again. It was never-ending. Forever was a long time.

The sound of faint footsteps against cool stone and fallen leaves caught the Goddess’ attention, she wasn’t expecting visitors. Marette was almost never expecting visitors. But with the scent of pheromones on the wind, the identity of her guest was immediately revealed. Yet Marette didn’t move. She stood still, almost like a statue, the winds blowing the white billowing fabric of her dress around her, strands of white hair following suit. Marette’s diminutive stature was on full display, truly a delicate being.

“Zeyra.” Marette finally spoke after what seemed like eternity. Marette felt a twinge of pain flow through her body as the name rolled off her tongue. The Goddess of Passion, her friend of ages finally found her way to Marette. The Goddess of Time could not deny the rush of emotion that arose, that static electricity that seemed to form in the air every time Zeyra entered a room. “Lady Marette.” Zeyra dropped into a low and sarcastic curtsy, the faintest hint of a smile creeping across her face as a giggle finally escaped her mouth prompting Marette to turn and face her guest.

Even Marette, for all of her faults couldn’t help but smile and approach Zeyra, the two deities embracing one another warmly, as if no time had passed since their last meeting. “Do you have time for an old friend?” Zeyra asked, her head cocked to the side. Marette nodded in affirmation and moved gracefully, almost effortlessly down one of seemingly endless paths through the garden until they came to a small clearing bathed in sunlight, two stone benches in the center surrounded by a seemingly endless variety of flowers all growing strong and gently swaying in the breeze. Marette extended an arm, motioning for her friend to sit, as Marette did the same.

"How long has it been?" Zeyra asked just loud enough to be heard. "Too long. Centuries too long." Marette offered her genuine reply. To say it out loud was an astonishing thing. The truth was often painful to confront even if only in a passing remark.

“Why do you deny yourself joy, Marette?” Zeyra asked, her voice as serious as it could be though dotted with an apparent concern. “That’s just like you isn’t it.” Marette began, she seemed undisturbed by the severity of the question. “Not to waste time, even though time is all I have.” The Goddess of Time moved to lay down upon the bench, her back against the cool stone, her knees drawn up to her, head turning to the side to gaze at Zeyra, her hair flowing across the surface, flowing over the edge, a soft smile still carved into her porcelain flesh. “And you aren’t answering the question.” Zeyra countered, her legs crossing and leaning forward.

“I don’t deprive myself of joy, Zey.” Pet names, names exchanged between two seemingly old friends. “I focus on my tasks.” Marette was obfuscating, as usual.

“At the expense of happiness? Of pleasure? Of passion?” When Zeyra spoke that last word it reverberated through Marette, a subtle effect of the Goddess’ power that even time wasn’t immune from. It stung, an accurate accusation. “It’s all distraction.” Marette responded without a beat of hesitation. “And what of Moriteva?” The name of Zeyra’s tongue was cutting to Marette. It pained it greatly to hear it. “Mori…” Marette whispered, turning her head now toward the sky, gazing into the expanse, attempting to hide the flush of color in her cheeks. “You love him. You always have. You dream of him, of a quiet existence beneath the Tree of Life.”

Marette sighed and for a moment sat in the truth of those words. “You act as though I have no passion.” She had decided to ignore the comment. “Not at all, you have a great passion, but passion is manifold, a myriad of things, there is no need to limit yourself.” Zeyra countered her gaze never tearing away from Marette. “We both know you didn’t come here just to wax poetically about my happiness.” Marette finally countered and pulled herself back into a sitting position, her eyes locking now on Zeyra, any sense of levity seemed to abandon the two of them.

“No. I came for…” before Zeyra could complete her sentence Marette would do it for her. “Answers.” The Goddess of time nodded in silent affirmation. “Alright, Zeyra.” Marette nodded and offered a faint smile, one that seemed forced more than it could ever seem genuine. “You had Harku stop me.” Zeyra said quietly, almost ashamed of the action in and of itself. “I asked him to stop you. Yes.” Marette stood up slowly and made her way across the small distance between the benches.

“And what gives you that right? To have him stop me from finding my father?” Zeyra had a cruel look in her eyes, one that Marette had seldom seen. “What gives me that right?” Marette smirked softly and rested a hand upon Zeyra’s cheek, cupping it, her thumb stroking against the soft, warm flesh. “I am your mother.” Marette let her hand fall away. “That is what gives me the right. To protect you.”

“Protect me from what?” Zeyra stood, now taller than the Goddess who bore her. Who denied her. “You?” It was a pointed question, and it stung. This concealment, this betrayal, the very reason mother and daughter had grown expanses apart. “Perhaps. Have you not considered that this is for the best? That there is a damned good reason I refuse to allow you discover this?" Marette sighed, exasperated. It was of little comfort to the Goddess of Passion, perhaps a reflection of what she was born of. “Tell me the truth, the honest truth, or I will leave you forever.” It was at last an ultimatum.

“Then this, my dearest daughter, is where we part ways.” Marette said without the faintest trace of emotion, though it wasn’t for lack of feeling.

"I hate you, you know that?" Zeyra leveled against Marette, a look of anger, perhaps disappointment on her face. "I know." Marette's simple reply.