Chapter 1 - Genesis

In a massive bleach-white room, roughly half the size of a football field, sits a massive bubbling pool of a viscous fluid, swirling with the rhythm of a heartbeat, or perhaps breathing. Sometimes it shines golden, sometimes a brilliant rainbow, but around half the time, it's a deep gurgling blood-red.

Around the pool, dozens of men and women from various races scurry about with only their heads to be seen. Their white clothes, white lab coats, white shoes, and white gloves all blend in with the soft cotton white color of the room's every inch. The workers can be seen throwing various things into the pool; a strand of hair, a sword, eyeballs, books, batteries, decayed flesh, relics of religions long past, perhaps even a human or two. Truly, the works throw everything into that pool. But even more workers can be seen writing words, no, languages across the room. Everything from ancient to modern, from script to hieroglyphs and pictograms. They all said one thing.

Demi-God

God-man

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A strong-looking, but undoubtedly ancient man dressed like all the other workers watches the workers as he strokes his white beard. His skin split apart as much from his frame as his age.

"It won't be too long now." He says, as an equally ancient but noticeably weaker man glides up behind him.

"Theandrios."

"Mithras."

"How long do you think you have left?"

"Ten years, maybe twenty if I push it. You?"

"I could go thirty, but he should be ready long before then."

"Did you get it?"

"Yes. The final artifact from the minor gods in Egypt. Damn, I hate sand, it's coarse, and rough, and irritating. And it gets everywhere. It's a pity we can't steal artifacts from museums."

"That's ironic coming from you."

"Bah. It's all stolen anyways." Mithras barks.

"We can't bring attention to him. The only relics in museums are powerful ones. And powerful relics get quests. Which means heroes." Theandrios sighs.

"More like slaves."

"Well, would you like to share some wine with me? We have a few hours before they're done writing the glyphs and throwing in the minor relics."

"Of course." Mithras grabs Theandrios's hand in a forced hand-shake.

Thenadrios sighs and walks out of the room, his footsteps not registering a sound on the padded floors.

=<=>=

A few hours later

The workers clear everything out of the room including themselves as Theandrios and Mithras watch them from a large shimmering screen displaying a viewpoint high above in the room. The screen spanned an entire wall of the office and the edges danced like water.

A few minutes pass and the glyphs on the walls of the white chamber begin to shine. The image quakes and the glyphs begin peeling off the walls, being sucked into the pool-turned ravenous vortex.

The two men watch calmly as the vortex also calms, slowly becoming more gelatinous. And at the core of that gelatinous pool, sat the beginnings of a brain.

=<=>=

Several months later

Mithras is perusing over the contracts of the workers, doing his best to make sure he and Theandrios can still pay them at the end of all this, hopefully even with a bonus. He gazes at Theandrios casually setting alight another stick of incense on his desk, of which there were far too many.

"How many of those do you have to light? They're not cheap."

"I don't mind your skylights or constant banquets. We both have to do what we can to stave off our assimilation."

"Speaking of which, have you given thought to what we'll test the boy on first?"

"His godly half is probably our best bet, starting with the most relevant pantheons and working ourselves down the different ladders."

"Won't that be risky? The other gods might notice." Mithras stops writing.

"I doubt it. They're complacent and have numerous children. Even at the end of his first half of training, He'll smell more human than the weakest of demigods."

"Let's get to it then." Mithras gets up and leaves, followed by Theandrios.

They arrive at the bleak and cavernous room where workers sit on white chairs surrounding the pool, reading books to a boy sitting cross-legged, eyes closed, at the bottom of the padded pool, or hole now.

Well, whether he's a boy or not is hard to tell. He's certainly young, and only the size of a 3-4-year-old, but his body and facial features are too chiseled and refined. His muscles bulged under his olive, freckled skin. His hairy is a shaggy and curly mess of blonds, browns, reds, grays, whites, and blacks.

Half the workers read mythology, half read philosophy, but soon they all wrap up their readings and exit the room.

The boy opens his eyes, one purple, the other gray, both with the sparklings of gold. He gazes up at Theandrios and Mithras as they're the only thing to look at besides himself, nothing else has any definition.

The boy shows a perturbed expression at the lack of anything happening.

A worker brings in a cart with an assortment of electronic equipment. She hops down with the equipment into the pit and puts electrodes on the boy's skin. Once done, she moves back to the equipment.

"Starting from today, you will be tested. And if you do not perform, we will leave you here alone until you begin to perform. Do you understand?" Theandrios asks the boy.

The boy tilts his head.

"Begin," Theandrios tells the worker.

She begins to turn a dial and the boy freezes. Mithras averts his eyes as the boy's hair flies outwards and electric coils appear on the boy. The boy shakes and froths, falling over. The air begins to smell of electricity and burnt flesh.

After a while, Theandrios nods to the worker and she turns the dial down, only to turn a different dial up. The arcs intensify and the boy, no longer overcome by the convulsions, lies still, as he becomes a blooming source of light.

Eventually, the equipment gives out and Theandrios, Mithras, and the worker leave the boy motionless in the pit.

He lies there alone for a few hours before gathering the strength to move, weakly. He drags himself to the wall of a pit and rests his back against it. He looks at his hands, all cracked and leaking reddish-gold blood, and the rest of his body is in much the same state. And there he rests and waits for someone to come back. For something to happen and disturb the silence. But nothing happens.

Nothing happens for a day, and the boy sheds his first natural tear. Nothing happens for a few more days, and the boy begins to feel a pain in his stomach, something he's never felt before. He paces. Nothing happens for a few weeks, and he collapses against a wall, huddled in a fetal sleeping position. And finally, Theandrios, Mithras, and the worker walk in with the same equipment.

The pain in the boy's gut is now gone, he rushes over to them and the worker puts the electrodes back on him. He lasts a bit longer this time, suffers a bit less. And then leave him for a shorter time.

This goes on until the boy, while still startled at the beginning of the procedure, gradually grows immune, even energized by the electricity running through him.

"Here, you earned this." Theandrios gives the boy a book. There are no words on or in it, only pictures of handshakes, of agreements, of relationships, and the fallout when they're broken.

Mithras hugs the boy and they let the boy be awhile with his book. Eventually, they take it and put it to the side. The worker shows the boy an ark forming between two electrodes, and Theandrios puts the boy's hands together and points to the ark and then to the boy's hands.

"Make it."

The boy, understanding, tries to produce the thing he sees for what might be hours. And the others watch his struggle. Eventually, he succeeds.

"I think we should move on. He can master his abilities on the outside." Mithras says.

"I agree. Best not to prolong his suffering." Theandrios nods to the worker and she leaves.

She returns moments later with a large basin of water. The boy, seeing a new thing, stops his enumeration with the ark and looks at the basin.

Both Theandrios and Mithras look away as the worker plunges the boy's face in the water. He thrashes until the worker removes his head, only for her to push him back down for a longer period of time. Over and over, for longer and longer, until he's no longer responsive. The worker pushes the water out of his lungs and resuscitates him.

Then they leave him. And on and on the cycle continues. Until he can move a droplet of water. Until he can make a dead hand twitch. Until he can spark a fire. Until stones crack beneath his feet. Until ants bed his call. Until people are enamored by his visage. Until he can beat a weak man's strength. Until he could tell what a book would hold before even reading it. Until he can understand every language spoken, if not speak it.

Until the towers of books filling his cavernous room made it look not so white and bleak anymore.

=<=>=

Years Later

Theandrios and Mithras watch the boy, ageless as he ever was, now 6 feet tall and a hulking beast, finally given a gray shirt and gray sweatpants. He reads a philosophy book that he's read countless times already. The two onlookers have taken a translucent quality with the passing of time.

"I think it's about time," Mithras says.

"What if he's not ready?" Theandrios asks.

"He's grown faster than we anticipated. And we have even less time than expected."

"What's the next test?" The boy asks, interrupting the two.

"There are no more tests." Theandrios answers.

"Then where are the staff? I would like to spar or train with one."

"They are no longer here. They have moved on to better places."

"What now?" The boy stands up.

"All that's left is for you to take what's left of us and leave."

"There's no doubt you'll make many friendships and experiences outside. You'll have to in order to survive." Mithras says.

"I can have a name?" The boy asks.

"Look at you, all grown up. We've been waiting for you to come up with your name. No being could do it for you." Theadrios says.

"Theandrios, I'm tired," Mithras says.

"Me too, you old fart." Theandrios sighs.

Mithras and Theandrios both take the boy's palms to their foreheads and lose their eyes.

"What do I do?" The boy asks.

"Just forget us, forget us into your palm and into your mind. We'll become a part of you. It shouldn't be hard, we're too weak to be much of anything anymore."

The boy closes his eyes in concentration and poof. They're gone.

He opens his eyes to see he's not in the same place he once was. A golden bookcase stands before him, and on it stands two books, one of stone, and one of bark. The names 'Mithras' and 'Theandrios' are written on their sides. He looks around and sees countless rows of ordinary bookshelves, many of them empty, some of them filled with the books he's read.

He walks between the expanse of isles, across the never-ending plane of swirling white and rainbow tiles, underneath the pitch-black sky. And he finds a broad clearing in the shelves and, in the center of it, a large mirror.

He looks at it, at himself, at themselves, at you, and he decides to leave.

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