∼ Divine Symposium ∼

Chapter - 005

Across an inestimable distance, over demon-scapes and molten lands, deep within the domains of sin, a figure unlike that of any pitiful mortal stirred to life. Sitting atop a throne made of the blackest of netherstone, within a towering fortress wreathed of the same make, the figure whose presence pervaded not only the halls but even the lands far beyond blanketed by the citadel’s ever-reaching shadow, rose to his feet.

The impossibly large figure, larger than any man ought to be, was clad in black armor that made him look more like a mountain of dark steel rather than a living being. As he moved, the clang of his greaved footfalls landing on the hard stone of the fortress beneath rang like the approach of an inevitable calamity, sending out not only sounds but also rippling waves of power with every movement.

For that was the power of a god - the presence of a divine.

He walked past motionless armored titans that were even larger than the god himself lining the hall and demonic stewards who stood silently by, as still as statues. The god crossed the long halls of this throne room, walking out into the open along a narrowing plateau extending directly out from the fortress that cut through the sky high above the demonic lands below.

There, at the tip of the world, he looked out on the domains of the Netherworld which were beholden to his divine rule. His large frame was buffeted by the scalding winds of the skies that brought the smell of brimstone and soot, but he did not even budge. He simply stood there, silently watching over it all with a gaze that could be physically felt by those scrutinized underneath.

"It would appear that we have been graced with a - visit," A bitter voice suddenly sounded from seemingly both nowhere and everywhere. "I assume you sensed them too?" It was disembodied and impossible to pinpoint. But despite its ethereal nature, it was distinctly feminine and mature, carrying the underlying notion of what could only be described as ingrained spite.

In response, a low grumble, that sounded more like two mountains grinding against one another than anything a person could produce, emanated from the god clad in armor.

"We all did, hag," A second disembodied voice intoned, so deep and guttural it might as well have come straight from the throat of a beast.

"I was not talking to you, dog." The female voice sneered back, the snide in her voice - palpable. "R'hast, you should know better by now to watch your tongue and not interject between me and my beloved when we speak," Before he could respond, she added. "Exactly how long was it for you to regrow your tail again? Refresh my memory, I implore you,"

At her words, a rumbling growl made the surroundings tremble, so jarring and guttural that it seemed to distort even the space all around.

"Zatrias." The first god, the mountain of steel, rumbled with danger in his deep voice.

Zatrias, The Spited, and R'hast, The Unquenchable. One was the Lady of Envy, Mother of Hatred. The other was the Lord of Gluttony, Eater of Souls.

Both were of the Seven Lords of Sin. The rulers of the Netherworld. Gods.

Yet, in the face of the mountain of steel, R’hast fell silent and Zatrias only let loose a derisive snort then too went mute. Having stopped the bickering gods, a wave of his gauntleted hand made the distortions in the air vanish as if they had never been.

"Were they truly from the Beyond?" Another voice chimed in, this one sounding both snide and wolfish in how it spoke - as if some underlying intentions were hidden beneath each word.

"The remains to be seen," The armored god spoke. "But they were not of our world or realm. That is for certain. They have proven to be able to manipulate Aether and break through the veil of worlds as if seemingly nothing."

A silence ensued. 

"Foreign gods... will their untimely appearance meddle with our plans, my beloved?" Zatrias finally asked, a hint of possessiveness coating her usually bitter voice.

"My seed has been planted, it is only a matter of time before it matures." He responded as if it were a matter of fact. At that moment as he said that, though it wasn't clear, it was almost as if raw resentment could be felt through the Aether from somewhere else. However, it was too faint to pinpoint it to one of the voices.

"Time is no longer any friend of ours." A fourth voice resounded, this one feminine and refined. Yet, it spoke with the imperiousness and arrogance only a god could afford.

"Rha'eh, what have you found?" The mountain of dark steel asked.

"The Pantheon of Chaos is already on the move, as the occurrence of one of their artifacts being unearthed within the Realm of Man will be the catalyst," She answered, speaking as if a queen to a peasant subject. However, despite the clear flippancy offered towards her fellow god, the armored divine did not even react in the slightest.

For Rha'eh was the Goddess of Pride, Vanity, and Vainglory.

"Maeve, they appeared in your domain," He called out into the Aether. "Destroy all that remains of their presence - lest the other pantheons unveil what had happened here and act rashly. We cannot afford our plans to be moved any further along than they already have."

"Hmmm∼ now we wouldn't want that, would we?" An oddly androgynous voice hummed, so sickly sweet and alluring that it'd have any mortal man swoon on their feet and any woman, regardless of their the fervor of their piety, enraptured with desire.

"Amia..." The first god said slowly, sounding a little more jaggedly than even when he had spoken to Zatrias. "Is there something you wish to add?" 

"Oh, Ba'al∼ you prude, no greeting?" She purred lasciviously. "What happened to the early days of your divine epoch - you and I, keeping each other company? Mmm... for decades on end∼"

"Wanton whore! Shut that vile hole of yours that you call a mouth, or I will tear several new ones for you," Zatrias suddenly hissed, not even trying to disguise the bitter jealousy flowing off each word.

"Oh∼ please do∼" Amia practically moaned.

"Amia - enough with the games." He said harshly. "You know that I do not care for them."

As God of Lust and all things depraved, Amia whined playfully through the Aether. But suddenly, the malignant energy shared between them and Zatrias was quashed in an instant as an overwhelming wrath washed over them both. Effectively silencing both of the gods.

The mountain of man had had enough of them both. For there was only so much patience in the one whose divine power was that of rage. That of savagery. That of wrath. Ba'al, Lord of Wrath, Father of Hatred - god of the flame that burned within all living beings. The flame of fury. As none of the other gods dared speak, Ba'al let loose a breath into the Aether that sounded like the anger of a thousand raging souls. "We have more important matters to attend to - such as cleansing all evidence of the foreign gods' presence from our domains."

"But-but wait! - what if they left something behind?! Should we not take some time to investigate first?" The wolfish voice blurted out, managing to overcome Ba’al menace with what sounded like panic born from the greed now unhidden in the tone of his voice.

"We cannot risk it, nor does anything ever brought by those from the Beyond hail any good tidings for our world," Ba'al said resolutely, brokering no quarter.

Rakarm, God of Avarice, made a noise between a whine and a groan, but nonetheless, he did not challenge his fellow god's decision.

"Maeve, I know you heard me the first time - erase the evidence." Yet again, no response came. "Maeve..." Ba'al echoed, his voice now turning dark and filled with danger. The anger coming off Ba'al had all the other gods hold their tongues with bated breath, none of them daring to incur his wrath despite them all being gods.

Finally, there was a response - a deep sigh. "-Fine..." Someone said, sleep and drowsiness evident in the voice that was distinctly feminine and juvenile in comparison to the other gods. 

Back across the near-boundless lands, over multiple domains of each god - the Lords of Sin, a figure stirred.

Within a cave deep within an unimaginably colossal mountain that cast its shadow across most of the Netherworld, Maeve, the God of Sloth, stretched lazily atop a pile of pillows, blankets, and cushions. Her petite body, wreathed in tanned skin and framed by patches of scales, proved her to be anything but human. Along the sides of her head protruded a set of horns framed like that of a crown, adding to her monstrous nature as claws also tipped her hands and feet.

Flitting open as if coming out from a deep slumber, her slitted eyes, ringed by golden irises, peered out into the cave in which she resided. But despite the clear vibrancy and power within those eyes, the indifference and lethargy were evident as her gaze held a distant look. It was with slow movements, her body barely even shifting, that she lifted a slender scaled arm. It hung there in the air for a moment before she stretched out her clawed fingers, palm facing down.

At first, nothing happened. But as her hand began descending, a fiery red glow surrounded her scaled hand and it looked as if it was moving through molasses. The lower it got, the more intense the glow became until small flames began licking the edges. As if her hand was a meteor trying to break through the atmosphere.

Beyond the mountain, deep into the Lands of Apathy, where a certain red-skinned impling once roamed about in search of prey, something occurred in the red sky above that had all the life, powerful fiends and demons alike, halt in their activities to simply stare.

A scaled hand, eerily similar to that of Maeve, the God of Sloth, tore itself into existence. It was colossal enough to completely blot out the sky, the clawed fingers tearing through dark clouds and casting eternal darkness that stretched beyond even these lands. All life stopped to stare in horror at the sight of annihilation which slowly descended upon their land.

Innumerable creatures, titanous monsters, and massive cities old and new, populated by countless daemons and demons alike - all reduced to nothing within but the blink of an eye.

The only thing that remained of this lower stratum within the Netherworld was a torn and molten scar upon the land.

Nothing survived.