Isaac knew that this would be his last day on Earth. He laid on his hospital bed, the beeping of his hospital monitor and the sound of the raindrops his only defense against the crushing weight of the silence, as he reminisced about his life. If he could call it a life at all.
Bleep. Bleep.
He couldn’t remember a time where he could say, with utmost confidence, that he was satisfied with it. He recognized that might have sounded melodramatic, but that was the only thing he could feel on this solitary deathbed. And how could he see it in any other way? He had spent most of his childhood as a mere victim of bullying and betrayal by those he considered friends; then, as a young guy, he was stuck with a family that saw him as a massive disappointment. As a grown adult, he had done nothing more than to work a 9 to 5 job with no real career prospects. Wake up, go to his job, go back home, sleep. By the time he had realized this was no way to live, it was too late. He was now an old man, bedridden in a hospital room, and sick — an old man that understood this was the end of the line for him.
And yet, he had nothing to show for it. He had been nothing more than a hamster on his wheel, unable to even think that there was a world outside the cage.
People say your entire life flashes before your eyes in the few moments that precede your death. But not for him. He felt the icy hand of the Grim Reaper slowly approach his throat, yet he could barely recall his own story. There was nothing worth remembering.
The only thing he could think about now is that no one had shown up. Not even the nurse.
Bleep, bleep.
Why me? He asked himself over and over again; an echo that threatened to overwhelm him. He had been an honorable member of society for as long as he could remember. Sure, he might have had a few problems when he was younger, spent some years in prison, but he had paid his dues. He became a better man, helped his neighbors, reintegrated himself into the public. And all of that, for what? How was he rewarded for his lengthy hours of hard work?
With this hospital room. These sickening white walls. The constant auditory assailment of the cries and moans of the other patients. This oppressive dread that had forbid him from sleeping for the past two years.
No one even showed up to his death. The thought came back to his mind. They would find dead him in the morning, clean the bed up, and bury him in some nameless ditch. No one would pay to give a man like him a proper grave. He had long since accepted that nobody would appear at his funeral, either.
Bleeeeeep.
“Would someone... shut that... damn thing off...” he asked aloud with as much force as he could muster, but of course, only silence replied. His voice came out like a mere whisper.
Then he realized what the bleep meant, what the constant drone going on in the background signified.
It was time for him to go.
Is it gonna end like this?
The corners of his vision slowly faded into darkness.
Is this it for me?
The metallic taste of blood filled his mouth.
Everything has been so... pointless. My life has served no purpose. Why did I ever think I would amount to something?
The door of the man’s death den slammed open, but it sounded distant. He could see the doctor rushing into his room from what little vision he had left, his every step echoing in Isaac’s head as if he were far, far away.
Don’t bother. It’s too late now.
The old man stopped seeing anything at all. Darkness filled his eyes. He was not even breathing anymore.
If only I could be born again. I’d do anything to get a second chance.
That was his last thought as his flame finally died down.
...
“... anything?” a deep, yet feminine voice echoed in the obscurity, coming from everywhere at once.
Isaac tried to speak, but he soon realized his body simply wouldn’t comply.
Am I not dead yet? He thought.
“Oh, you most definitely are. I am keeping your soul in this realm with my powers, but as promptly as I let go, you will pass on.” The voice replied to his thoughts.
I... died... Are you the reaper?
“No, I am not, but you did die. It is all right. Take your time. We do have a long discussion ahead of us, after all.”
The man felt like a deer caught in a cage with a bear. The woman had a pressure to her every word that was almost indescribable. Hearing her invoked the image of being devoured alive by a hundred crows in his head. The idea of ‘black feathers’ repeated like an echo. Isaac instinctively knew those two feelings were connected, and that they painted a perfect picture or whoever was talking to him.
She was a predator — one with dark wings — and he, mere pray.
And yet, he felt oddly compelled to listen to her.
No. It’s okay. How long had he spent in this hospital room? Two years? Maybe more. His past few months had been a blur. I’ve had nothing but time to come to terms with it. Who are you? What is going on?
“Ah, I am glad. That makes things easier. My name is Tyrannia. I am a deity; a goddess. The images your brain is conjuring are part of my divinity, but I do apologize. I am not able to control that.”
A goddess? Isaac didn’t entertain the thought of this being a dream, or not real. To do so would be to be naïve. This was happening. The sense of power that filled the air was proof enough for him.
“Indeed. I came here to offer you a deal.”
What deal?
“Serve me. Do my bidding, and in exchange, I will offer you another chance in my own world.”
You... want me to serve you? And you will reincarnate me?
“Indeed.”
Why? Why me?
The woman spent a second in silence, caught off-guard by his question. Then, she sighed.
“Is not just you.” She confessed. “I have offered this to the other three hundred thousand souls that have died in the past couple of days. But no one has accepted yet. I am hoping you will be the one mortal who does.”
The man did not know what the ‘mission’ entailed, but if nobody had agreed to it... What kind of task could she be talking about? And why would he be the sole individual to undertake it?
He thought about what made him special, but he drew a blank. He considered himself smarter than most people, but then again, most people did. He was well read and educated, but he doubted he was anything special in that regard. Could it had been his mental condition, then? If so, no wonder no one had accepted her offer.
... what if I say no?
“Then we will part ways.” The deity sighed again. “Your soul shall travel to whatever realm souls in this world go to, and I will go back as if nothing had happened.”
Isaac made his decision in a split second. Tell me about this mission.
He knew that, whatever he wanted him to do, he would do it. He could not let it end this way. No matter what.
Turns out, a goddess can ask you to do pretty nefarious stuff. Lesson learned.
So let me get this straight. Isaac ‘said’ with a sigh as a headache settled in. How did his brain hurt when he was dead in the first place was beyond his understanding. You want me to... help you fight a war? Kill the heroes? Start a religion in your name?
“Indeed.” The goddess replied as if that was the most normal thing to ask someone to do. “All of that.”
I’m having a hard time wrapping my head around this. The man admitted.
For the first time, Isaac found himself thanking the fact that he was dead. This woman was asking him to murder seven people at best, several million at worst. He had no doubts that if he were to be an obstacle to her, she would have already killed him as well. That was without mentioning the whole ‘start a cult’ or ‘wage a world war’ part of the mission.
“How so? It is very easy. There is going to be a summoning ritual three months from now on. The souls the other deities have carefully picked will reincarnate as heroes - humans with a bit of divine power and special abilities. We will get stronger, and once they are summoned, we kill them one by one. In the meantime, we will spread my name and turn people to our side, and eventually, we will fight the gods themselves. Is there anything you do not understand?”
No, not that. Your plan, I get. The man replied. He realized this goddess was either extremely slow or so smart that she jumped around in the conversation without realizing people could not make the same mental leaps she could. Why do they want to summon heroes? And why do you need them dead?
“Oh. I had a... war with my seven siblings a long, long time ago. It was a grand conflict that involved almost every being in the world - though most of them were on their side, rather than mine. Events happened, I lost, and was sealed. Apparently, that is not good enough for them. They are trying to force the seal open, and have the heroes battle me in my weakened state.”
And you want them dead to prevent that. Okay. That part I get. What about the religion part?
“A god is only as powerful as their followers. Does your world have no deities?” she asked, in what Isaac read as genuine confusion.
As in people running around throwing fireballs and fighting world wars? No, we absolutely don’t.
“Hmm. Then let me explain. A deity gains power from their believers. In this world, religion is absolute. Everyone is born into one of the seven churches there are. Or the eight they used to be. When a child comes of age, they swear fealty to their god. We take a part of their power; they receive our blessing and protection.”
I get it. I think. If people join your... church, you called it? Then you get more powerful. The old man mentally repeated, trying to confirm her words.
“Indeed. Right now, I have a few hundred followers scattered around the world. The few remaining members of the demonkind, if I were to guess, as well as the few others who worship me but are not demons. That is enough to keep me alive, but not sufficient to face the heroes on my own.” she clarified at the end.
Right, right. The headache was getting worse. What about the ‘war’ part of the deal? Surely if you are so weak, then-
“It will not be soon. But it will happen. My siblings will know of my escape as soon as I get a significant amount of power. Still, hunting me down will not be easy for them. We will use that time to build an army out of my followers. Gather allies. Rally the people against the old gods. Build a nation that can withstand a global war. And then, we will take the fight to Valvaroth — the home of the gods.”
Isaac spent a couple of minutes in silence, mulling over her words. There would be a summoning three months from now on. His mission would be divided into three stages.
The first one would be the first three months. Get stronger, maybe gather a party of people that supported their cause, if something like that was an option. Then, after the heroes get summoned, kill them. The goddess had specified that it would have to be a one-by-one kind of thing. To avoid detection, Isaac guessed.
Once the heroes were out, they would have to start preparing for the upcoming conflict. Spread her religion and raise an army, one way or the other.
Eventually, they would have to face the gods directly and wage a global war against them. With a side dish of building a world-spanning empire and rallying the entire population of the planet to their side, if Isaac was reading between lines correctly.
Of course, the goddess trying to recruit him would be an evil one.
Now Isaac finally understood why no one had accepted her offer. Morally, it was a bankrupt proposition. Kill innocent people, start a cult around Tyrannia, wage a world war... Thousands, if not millions, or tens of millions, would die. Then you would have another significant group of the public brainwashed into the goddess’ religion. He knew they would have to use heavy-handed methods to spread her world — at least if someone’s personal beliefs were such an important part of one’s life in that world as she made it seem. And all of those victims would be harmless individuals. Civilians, peasants, holy men and women. Heroes as well; seven of them.
No good, honorable person would accept a deal like that. Only the most heinous of souls would even entertain the thought. And those types of individuals were craven. Which lead to the other reason people had been rejecting her.
The difficulty of the mission. This would be one hard, drawn-out conflict. Any of the three phases of the plan would be a suicide job on their own, let alone all of them together. Tyrannia had no allies, no nation to wage a war with, barely any followers left, no power...She was alone against the entire world. She was but a woman, an immortal woman, sure, but at this point, she was barely above a normal person in terms of divine power. And she was fighting against seven others all-powerful deities.
She was the losing horse in the race. Even a blind man could see that.
That was without mentioning the fact that she was clearly on the wrong side of history. No goody-two-shoes kind of girl declares war against the entire world and gets sealed. This goddess here? Refined ways of speaking aside, she had to be one mean, hateful bitch. No normal person would willingly choose to follow her.
And yet, Isaac didn’t mind at all. He was now sure that his condition was the reason Tyrannia had come to him.
Isaac had always been aware of his... differences from the rest of his peers. At some point, he might have been like them: caring, warm, hopeful, and able to form healthy relationships. But years and years of betrayal and solitude had taken that away from him. The man could not feel the same things other people did. Sure, he could superficially care about someone, and pretend he was disgusted when the situation required it, but it was nothing more than a mere mask.
It had been a while since he had actually felt anything. He still had feelings; but he theorized he was just so numb to them he couldn’t even begin to understand them.
Truth be told, he did envy normal people, despite everything. He desperately wished he had lived a normal life. He was very particular about the way he presented myself, the way he looked, and the way he interacted with people and his peers, but in the end, it hadn’t mattered. For one reason or another, people just didn’t want him around. Thanks to that, he had long since come to hate this issue of his. He had always thought his inability to truly sympathize and care for other people was the root of all the problems that plagued his life. And the reason he had died alone. But now... he wasn’t certain. It might have been a blessing in disguise all this time. This chance was given to him because of this condition, after all. That was one of the few good things it had. He didn’t feel regret or morally attached to any situation. Isaac could see a man die and be on with his day like nothing happened.
But even then, could he kill someone? He wasn’t sure. He wanted to say yes, but despite what every edgy teenager would say on the internet, saying you can murder someone and actually pulling a blade through someone’s heart were completely different things.
Either way, the idea of assassinating someone for power seemed logical - if morally bankrupt - rather than scandalous to Isaac. People have done it since time immemorial, and if Tyrannia’s tale is to be believed, then not only on Earth but also in other worlds.
The man thought about her offer for a couple of seconds, then made his decision. He felt like a man selling his soul to the devil; selling everything that made him human in exchange for a second chance.
And yet, he felt nothing.
If his humanity was the price to pay for this chance, then he would gladly accept that trade. Most people would have considered a monster either way, so he did not feel like he would lose that much.
“Let’s pretend for a second that I agree with your plan. I get summoned, then what?” Isaac began after a few minutes. “How do I kill the heroes? How do I spread your word?”
“You shall be my prophet.” The goddess declared, the hint of a twisted, pleased smile echoing in her voice for the first time since she had entered the room.
