As species meet each other, so too do their gods. And as the Galactic Union welcomes Humanity, their gods prepare to meet those of Humanity. But as the gates open, only one figure emerges; a skeleton wearing a robe, sandglass, and scythe.
The idle chatter in the room dies down as the human’s divinity enters. Many of the younger gods in attendance nervously shift in their seats, and the elders look up with weary acceptance. A chair slides away from the table that all are seated at, turning towards the newcomer.
“My apologies for being late and alone. The others could not come, so they sent me as their emissary. You may call me Death.”
One of the elders stood and bowed, and the rest of the assemblage lowered their heads in respect. “Welcome, Death, to this meeting of divinity. We accept your apology, and ask that you elaborate as we feast. Please, enjoy our gifts.” Here, the table became populated with sumptuous meats and filling drinks. As they dug in, Death did their level best to not touch those nearby, recoiling should contact with another be imminent. Pleasantries were exchanged, food and drink were consumed, and soon idle chatter returned, though somewhat hesitantly.
“You asked me to elaborate on my being the only one to attend, yes?” At this, the elder nodded and all waited with bated breath. “Humans, peacefully may they rest, have had and lost many gods and goddesses over the eons. Yet I have remained, steadfast and unchanging. I have tended to man and god, accepting them all regardless of their origins. Tyrant and child, civilized and wild, man, beast, god… All are equal in my eyes. All are deserving of rest.”
“I am the only one here on request of the current heads of the various pantheons, for they all see me as the only one who can be trusted to meet with you all. The current elders of human faiths are losing power and dying, and I had to make sure they would not leave too early while I was away, hence why I was late.”
“But gods do not die!” Death turned their gaze to a young insectoid god, dressed in the accoutrements of battle. The war god seemed to shrink at Death’s gaze, which was even and emotionless.
“Oh, but gods do die, young one. I have been there as the ancients of old withered from lack of belief and comforted them as they came to grips with their sudden mortality. I watched as icons of blind and zealous rage skyrocketed to power and crashed in a smoking crater of failure, never seeing that their demise was inevitable. I have tended to the aging gods who managed to hold believers amongst the mortals over centuries, the resurrected ones who found new faith after centuries of being without. More importantly, I have seen gods fuse together in order to stay alive, casting aside pieces of themselves which would either thrive or wither at the mortal’s whims.”
“I noticed,” said one of the elders, “that you dare not touch any of us.” Death nodded, and the elder continued. “Am I to understand that your touch is lethal?”
“The humans certainly seem to think so, as do the young ones here. I’d rather not run the risk of proving them right unintentionally, this is supposed to be a friendly meeting after all.”
“Were any of us here to be on the edge of losing all our followers and withering into nothingness, what would you do?” Here, many of the oldest turned their gazes upon Death.
“I would do for you as I have done for others in such a situation. I would be there for you, in your final moments, and ensure that your passing was a peaceful one. And as I am there for you, the humans will be there for your erstwhile followers. They will record the names of gods that are not theirs, in memoriam. In respect. I like to think that they have learned from me as much as I have learned from them.” At this, the elders nodded and smiled, standing and walking away from the table. As all gathered rose and made to say their farewells, the young insectoid war god glared at Death, and in their people’s hearts arose a desire to crush the weak fleshbag humans.
“You will not kill us, weak human emissary. No god can die.”
“It is not the gods who kill each other. It is the worshippers who decide whether or not a god continues to exist.” Here, Death lifted the sandglass into the young war god’s view. It’s surface shifted to bear a likeness of the war god, and the sands within began to flow. “And it seems that your followers are soon to decide your fate. Farewell, and restful sleep to you.”
Wow that was awesome!
