War Crimes of the Bishops
An Excerpt of a Potential Fanfic.
The world darkened as all the Observers took their places, creating a triangle with the visitors as the center. The world darkened- then flicked to life.
Hundreds of Gods. From adult to Infant. True forms, mortal forms, fighting in a free-for-all. Weapons lodged in the ground, crowns lying shattered.
Clauneck started, “At the beginning of the war, there were hundreds Crowned by Sister Chemach, and the Void left by our parents’ deaths. But gods are not easy to kill when fully powered and facing a known threat.”
A giant tree erupted from the ground, formes of many screaming faces and jagged teeth. A crazed laugh crossed the battlefield. Leshy in his true form- the youngest of the gods- was a worm and more, surrounded by roaring fires and explosions, devouring all in his path.
He of Havoc. An unknown voice whispered across the scene as gods fled from Chaos’s Maw.
The scene changed. A settlement- then another- and another- sick lying in the street, the dead piled in carts. A plague lives here.
A squid in bronze and gold robes stares coldly at a rival god’s banner as a dark crystal of wrong is dropped into another well. An attack directly at the devotion being received by that god, and a distraction. Duty before battle. Another god removed from play for a while, and weakened by pestilence killing off followers in the meantime. Kallamar vanishes in a dark portal as the first follower drinks from the tainted well.
He of Blight. The unknown voice says again.
Another scene. The song of locust swarms. Fields of crops devoured. More towns. Emaciated people. A child, begging for food, falls at the feet of a red frog. The local god attacks- and is swallowed by the ‘eldritch’ amphibian. This happens again and again. Some villages of followers devoured alive by Heket.
She of Hunger.
The scene shifts yet again. A dungeon, next. Two gods wearing their own symbols and that of a blazing crown were tied to tables. The cold, calculating face of Shamura stared down at them as a torture session began. Even after answers were taken in continued, glee in dark eyes as pain was caused to the pair- a switch to a battlefield with gods and followers caught in silk webs, an axe falling on another god, spilling ichor and severing an arm that simply reformed. The spider's grin is feral as the battle resumes.
They of Might.
And again- Narinder and Shamura back-to-back in battle. Someone almost scores a lucky blow on Shamura and is stabbed through ear-to-ear by a thin chain of ichor with a pointed tip. Another almost catches Narinder and their eyes glow purple before their head implodes. Shamura sags in place, exhausted by the effort.
Another blow aimed at Shamura- and this one, with that same flaming purple crown symbol, is caught in a loving embrace from behind. Narinder tenderly rubs his cheek against the attacking god, who struggles and screams and rots alive. Lights in the eyes of the skull that tumbles to the ground shows what Narinder has done. This one is Dead. But there is no After for them. Death has denied them interest. Other skulls throughout the battlefield show that same light as the sun sets.
He that Lays a Soul to Rest.
Once more the scene changes. Slowly the numbers drop. A green Snake hangs in chains. Their Crown's eye is missing. They speak to a stone tablet as if reciting it.
I am shamed, shamed. I deserve no forgiveness. I deserve to die here, shrouded in sin. I renounced the First Gods. How easily pain made a defector of me.
A door creaks open, revealing Shamura making their way into the chamber, holding a bloodied sword made of the Purple Crown.
I will take whatever punishment is due, but I beg of you, reader of these chronicles, remember: they call their faith old, but they are nothing more than heretics.
Again the air shudders. Showing each Bishop in turn.
He of Havoc, He of Blight; She of Hunger, They of Might. He that Lays a Soul to Rest.
Shamura's group is shrinking. Ten. Nine. Eight. Seven. Six.
A grinning god with a crown with an icy eye, a snow leopard, is cut down and burned to dust by a much older god in purple armor, eyes mad with rage, crown aflame.
A hundred gods surround the siblings. Shamura's hands curl into fists. Their crown glows. Their form stutters. The eyes of a hundred gods turn the same purple as Shamura's eyes as a hundred of infinite hands touch their minds. Each god captured struggles, some more effectively than others, as their weapons are raised to their necks. One by one the hundreds of gods fall. Heads sliced off then imploded. The large god who killed Shamura's best friend falls last, and Shamura collapses back into mortal form, falling to the ground unconscious with ichor streaming from eyes and mouth and wounds alike.
Five remain of hundreds blessed.
The scene goes black, but the vision does not end.
Slowly light filters back in and the final scene is shown. Five gods in a grave yard. Each marker is new, a candle lit before each one. Each one with a different Crown carved into it. Truth’s Crown. The Crown of the leopard. That of the snake that they likely killed. The ones struck down by Narinder, devoured by Heket, starved by Kallamar, shredded by Leshy...
"On this day we remember those lost to the Divine War," Narinder's raspy voice echoed across the graveyard as pyreflies rose from and flew between the graves and into a vast expanse of white light in the sky, "We grant them passage to the After and what waits for them beyond it. The war was not necessary. This world in need of many pillars is supported now by the last standing of the Old Faith."
The scene began to darken, "We did not start the war, but we ended it. All shall be remembered. It may be the nature of beasts to forget and Gods to be forgotten... But we vow not to forget those fallen."
Shamura's soft hissing voice followed the funerary rites, "Until this world ends... we carry the sins of our actions... and our memories of all of you..."
The vision went black once more and faded away, leaving the Observers standing in the Fortune Teller’s tent with much to think about.
