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[b][u][center]Heaven Damned 10

TO DUST YOU SHALL RETURN

for DuskCypher

by Draconicon[/center][/u][/b]

“It is time.”

God looked down at the planet of Babylon through the viewing room, shaking his head as he watched the various members of the ‘Eternal Council’ ascending to the meeting hall. They would be brought low soon enough, their power scattered to the corners of their little realm, never to threaten Heaven again.

Not that they were a great threat yet, but there was always the possibility of someone gaining power over time. The Eternal Council had never seemed that great a danger, but over millions of years, they had gained more and more strength. The number of mortals that spread across the planets of their universe had grown in number, in some ways faster than the angels of Heaven. They were less long-lived, less durable, but they brought something else to the table for the Eternal Council: power, power that came from belief that was as fearful as it was loving, as horrifying as it was worshipful.

In that world, the Seven didn’t need to be loved to be strong. They were believed in, and that was all they needed.

They were not yet a full threat to Heaven, but even God admitted that half the reason he had been able to ignore them was the fact that they were not entirely aware of the fact that Heaven existed. His remaining worshipers in the World Begotten were spread apart, barely existing as less than a fraction of a percentage of the population. Those that did believe in him were seen as kooks, worthy of mockery, and the public at large believed that no other god was possible.

It kept Heaven safe, but the way that the Seven regularly delved into impossible magics, and how other celestial bodies were using magics that could reach out to places unseen, it was only a matter of time before someone discovered that there was more than the World Begotten. If that happened, if Heaven were to be invaded…

Well, he had no doubt that they would win, but the damages would be great. There would be much to rebuild, and the Seven might retreat and find ways of growing stronger. And if he didn’t have to fight fairly…why do it?

“It is time,” he repeated to himself. “Mercy…you have done well.”

“Thank you, Father,” the tiger said, bowing her head with a chuckle. “I would hope that you could trust me to get this done.”

There had been a time when he wondered if he could. Mercy had been lustful, pushing her luck with the mortal followers that they’d been able to find. When he looked in on them, he saw her doing things that would have been anathema to the virtues if it had been anyone else. Even with her, he had fought the urge to tell her off, to take her to task for what she had done.

And if the task had been any less vital, he was sure that he would have taken her to task, for it was against everything that Heaven was meant to stand for.

But it had worked. The plan was in place, all agents had been delivered, and all the preparations had been done.

God reached out to his daughter, pulling her close. He held her hand, and then hugged her. It was strange to do that; he had been so distant from her and from Jesus over the millions of years since the end of Lucifer’s time in Heaven. The constant guilt, the pressure of his memories of Lilith, his anger over the World Begotten and how it had betrayed his vision after Lilith had sabotaged it: all of those things had come between him and his children. But now? Now that things were finally winding down, perhaps there was a chance for him and Mercy and Jesus to start forming a proper family with one another again.

Perhaps, just perhaps, there was a chance that they could properly love each other once more.

As he pulled Mercy closer, they looked through the viewing portal once more. The Eternal Council of the mortals were gathered. Seven of them, ranging from the pestilent Pestilence to the silver-furred Death, were chattering with one another. Even through the portal, he could feel a sense of the power that they carried, and he shook his head in annoyance and disgust.

The Nephilim Theocracy was the result of mortal and demon breeding. Not the fallen angels that had gone to Hell with Lucifer, but the old demons that had escaped Hell when Lilith had died and the portals had opened between one realm and another. They had bred with his mortals, pushed themselves upon the others, and now…now, there were very few living beings in the World Begotten that didn’t hold at least a little bit of demon blood in them. Most were at least half-demon, and perhaps that was why things had gone so completely off the rails for his plans.

God sighed.

“Father?”

“My will be done. Today, my will be [i]done.[/i]”

“Yes…it will.”

She hugged him back for once, and he took some comfort in the fact that he had managed to give her that little bit of compassion. It was something that he had begun to wonder if he had failed her in, considering the way that she lived her life. Perhaps there was hope.

As he watched the rest of the Seven’s servants moving about, ranging from the masked Bishops of Death to the various assistants of the others, it was clear that the Council were the only ones that considered themselves Godly. It was time for them to learn a powerful lesson to the contrary.

God half-expected the guilt to come back, to feel the same sensation that had stood as a barrier to his interference in the World Begotten for so long. His guilt at Lilith’s death had long-since faded, but there had always been something, some hint of her, that had lingered and told him to keep his hands off. Like some guardian ghost, she had lingered, keeping him from ever completely destroying the World Begotten’s population on his own. It had been their greatest shield.

But now, it was gone. There was nothing to make him feel wretched about his plan. It was his time, now.

“They’re in place?” he asked.

“Of course. And the Archaean ship is well distracted; I doubt that it will come anywhere near Babylon before it is done,” Mercy said.

“Then let’s watch…and enjoy the show.”

#

Death stood with his arms folded and his back against the wall of the meeting hall. He watched as his fellow Council members milled about with each other, from the cloudy form of Pestilence to muscled feathers of the eagle of War, and the other four that always kept to each other, almost like there was a division between the closer three and the other three. Death himself didn’t bother to join them; he knew that his presence would silence the conversation, and he was more interested in watching, than participating in either talk.

The meeting hall had been arranged hours before their arrival for a trade talk. It was something to do with the Archaean Republic, he remembered, but what –

The cloud of Pestilence’s power surrounded him. One of his Bishops at his side keeled backward, unconscious and almost wheezing. Death looked back at the shaking body, grumbling under his breath.

“You could have kept that aside.”

“Oh, it’s just one mortal. You have a hundred of them.”

“Yes, but they [i]are[/i] well-sculpted. You could have at least let me move him. It’ll take months to bring another to his level.”

His fellow Council member was one that loved to play with shape. Today, she was quite feminine, large-breasted and large-hipped, with white and black striped fur and a smirk on her long face. It would have been impossible in any other situation, but just as her diseases shifted and changed, so did she. The zebra would have been rather beautiful, save for the green cloud following her around, emanating from every pore. She showed no shame at the ugly thing, and seemed to flaunt it as she leaned against the wall with him.

“A boring day, it seems.”

“Probably,” he admitted. “I would prefer to be doing other things.”

“And yet, here you are. Just doing your duty. Heh. The most dutiful of the Council, as ever.”

He shrugged. As far as duties went, his was the one that required the most. The others merely seemed to play with it, as far as he was concerned. After all, Pestilence’s power over disease and the rampant destruction that it could cause meant that she could destroy an entire planet with ease, but she could also call all the pathogens around and collect them in an indestructible orb, healing an entire planet in the same breath. All it took was a whim from her, either way, and people died.

And then, he had to show up. Then, he had to clean up her mess.

He looked upward. The meeting hall, like most places on Babylon, was open to the heavens, and the stars above flickered down. He half-wondered if he saw a different light as he glanced up, something more golden than the pure white that he was used to. He peered more intently at it –

“Do you think that they’ll have anything worthwhile at all?” Pestilence asked, distracting him. “I mean, we have everything that we need in the Theocracy. This Republic seems rather up itself if it thinks that it can just barge in and make a deal without something far more interesting to offer.”

“At the very least, you’ll have more bodies to play with. And ones that are hardened by magic, if any of the rumors are accurate,” Death said, shaking his head. “Why do you care?”

“Why do you not?”

“Because I come for everyone, and I’m certainly not going to spare anyone that happens to be on the other side of an artificial border.”

“Oooh, scary as ever.” Pestilence chuckled. “You are always so serious. You’d think that someone that fucks around all the time would have found a way to relax by now.”

“And one would think that you would find a way to come up with better jokes, but it seems that you have a terminal illness of believing that you’re amusing.” Death smirked. “Now, what do they actually want? Some sort of trade agreement, from the sound of it, but do you know anything else?”

“Hmmph. If you’re going to insult me, perhaps I shouldn’t even answer that.”

Death shrugged. He knew that Pestilence wouldn’t be able to resist chattering. Gossip was as communicable as her diseases, and just like them, she had an urge to spread. He looked away, waiting for a few seconds –

“Oh, if you [i]must[/i] know.”

[i]Knew it.[/i]

“Their little Republic is on the far end of the galaxy, way back where it all started. Some planet called ‘Earth.’ I think that we used to have a few enclaves out there before the Republic started moving further and further out from that system, before we founded Babylon and built out from here, instead.”

“I’m surprised any of us agreed to talk to them; they’re hardly worthy of much attention, with so little to offer,” he said, shrugging. “Do you know what they want?”

“Who knows? Mortals are satisfied with so little. Perhaps they just want us to stay our hand from their part of the galaxy, heh.”

“Perhaps.”

“Oh? Is Death considering restraining his scythe?”

“Hardly. I restrain myself for no-one.”

That said, he was still curious which of the other Council members had called this meeting in the first place. The Archaean Republic and their Theocracy were hardly good friends. While not at war, they were not comfortable with each other, and for the last few hundred years, had mostly pretended that the other did not exist. To have the mortals calling for a meeting now - and more to the point, having it granted without apparent reason - had him suspicious.

[i]If they wish to stay my hand, they’ll have to offer more than any mortal has. But if they wish help…[/i]

“Hopefully whatever they have to trade offers some entertainment.”

“I imagine it’s some magic or other; they seem inordinately proud of what they have.”

“Magic? Hubris; nothing that they’ve discovered would be worth our time. I knew mortals could be prideful, but that is ridiculous.”

Pestilence shrugged.

The more that Death thought about it, the more that he wondered who in their right mind would have scheduled this meeting. There was nothing that they could get from the Archaeans that they didn’t already have. Mortal magic was hardly equal to their own, and the very idea of treating with them would have been insulting if it wasn’t so novel at the same time.

He tried to imagine which of his colleagues on the Council would have found this amusing enough to do, but none of them fit the bill. Pestilence was too lazy and playful to bother going through something so serious. War would have preferred to drag them into open conflict. He would have ignored them until their time was up. The others were likewise without motive.

[i]…Did someone else set this up?[/i]

The Nephilim Theocracy was entirely reliant on the Eternal Council to maintain itself. While there was a clergy beneath the Council that made the decisions for its day to day running operations, it was the power of the Council that ensured that everything went smoothly. Pestilence ran the medical operations, War ensured that the peace was kept as well as the games of combat that ran red with blood, and so on down the list, right on to him. His power as Death ensured life went on, and they all did their jobs very well.

He couldn’t think of anyone, or anything, that would have the power to set a meeting like this without them knowing. And yet, if none of the Seven had set this meeting…

One of the others [i]must[/i] have arranged the meeting. Nothing else made sense, or at least, nothing that made Death feel comfortable.

Footsteps caught his ears from the far side of the hall. Someone was coming up the stairs from the other side, but rather than the usual murmurs or silence that accompanied past dignitaries that had come to meet with the Eternal Council, they were…singing?

Death arched an eyebrow, and so did Pestilence as they heard the song get louder and louder. The dull conversation of the other members of the Council faded as an old song that none of them had heard for centuries filled the air, and Death’s arched eyebrow rose further in abject confusion.

Whatever it was, it was being sung by very feminine voices. He winced at the sound, wishing that he could pick out at least one male from the group, but there was nothing of the sort. It was all high-pitched, all very loud and nearly discordant, and he folded his ears back as they finally showed themselves.

All females, indeed, dressed more conservatively than he had seen anybody in years. They ranged from barely five-feet like him to five-foot-three, dressed in long skirts that hadn’t been in fashion for nearly five hundred years, and stood with a pride that was most unbecoming of them. They all but strutted over to the far side of the great table that had been arranged for the meeting, their hands folded in front of them, their heads down, but with a glowing pride in their souls that he had not seen in many a year.

“These aren’t Archaeans,” he muttered.

The mice and lambs on the other side of the table bore no resemblance to the people of the Republic, at least so far as he remembered them. They favored dark clothing, sometimes stained with red or gold, but mostly darker shades, and they wore draping things that hid everything but their faces outside their rituals. These women were nothing like that; they wore white and green, soft colors that made them stand out as little beacons of brightness in the darker room. Despite their downcast eyes, they felt…aggressive, almost, and it felt wrong in a very, very strange way.

“No…no, they’re not,” Pestilence agreed. “They’re Christians.”

“I thought they were mostly in the madhouse.”

“They are. I have [i]no[/i] idea where someone managed to get this many of them at once.”

Which was saying something, considering that there were only thirty or so of them. Their souls gleamed brighter than Death was used to seeing, burning with a fervent belief that really did seem to tread almost all the way to madness. He shook his head, his fingers twitching in idle thought for his scythe –

Then one of the lambs at the front brought her eyes up. She turned her fleece-lined head to him, and pointed a black-hoofed hand at him.

“Death! And the rest of the so-called Eternal Council!” the lamb shouted. “We come here at the command of our lord, the one true God! He calls upon you to step down, or he will strip you of your power today, before our eyes and all the others that you have fooled for so many years.

“The time of your reign is over. The one true God, the creator and lord of all that exists, has finally heard the cries of his people. He sees what you have done, and he promises revenge and safety for all his followers. He –”

“Is this ‘God’ of yours willing to put up a fight?” War asked, the red-feathered eagle laughing as he leaned against the table. “I thought you Christians were supposed to be meek, waiting for your ‘daddy’ to rescue you from anyone stronger. Heh. This will be nothing but a slaughter; couldn’t you have brought something more entertaining for me? This will be over before -”

“They’re nothing but deluded mortals; hardly worth killing,” Death said.

The silver-furred cat cut the conversation in half with his words. For a split-second, the lambs and mice went from firebrands to meek creatures, all waiting for the judgment of Death, a power that no mortal could entirely resist.

Then the moment passed. The lamb whipped around to face him once more, both hands on the table as she glared at him.

“God offers no fear of Death, Reaper! If you think that we will be cowed by someone so small as you, you do not understand our faith. The one true God stands above all others, and those that fall in his service will be brought to stand with him in Heaven, to stand by his side at the end of times when the world is broken and the believers are to be gathered to him.

“If you think that we will back down, you’re wrong. This is not a declaration of war, but a chance for you to surrender. War is coming –”

“Maybe in you, when this is all said and done,” the eagle said with a laugh.

“Vulgar!”

“That’s me, and that’s war,” War said, shaking his head. “Heh. Mewling little weaklings. You think that you can just walk in and threaten the Council? Pathetic. I don’t know what you did with the Archaeans, but I’ve been itching for a little conquest of my own for a while. The chance to indulge in a little genocide just got offered up on a silver platter, heh. After I kill you, and then go for the rest of them –”

“Hold.”

Death’s words caught War in mid-step. Not out of fear, but out of curiosity. The eagle looked back at him, eyes narrowed.

For all that Death was one of seven, he was still the first among the Seven in power and authority. His was the final word on things. If the Council was tied on a vote, then his was the vote that broke it. If there was a dispute between others, then he was the one that had to kill it.

The silver-furred cat, shortest of the Seven, walked to the table. He leaned on it, looking the lamb in the eye.

There was fire in the woman’s soul, fire that burned hotter than any belief that he had seen in some time. She was ready to die; in some ways, he imagined, she almost wanted to. For the faith that she held, he imagined that she had been mocked, tortured, even cast out of her communities. The Nephilim Theocracy only believed in seven gods, and hers was not one of them.

He felt no sympathy for her, no compassion. Death had neither, and the Reaper did his job without discretion. He looked her in the eyes, and he gave her one chance.

“If you want this, say one word. Just one. And I will send you to meet whatever waits for you on the other side. But if you do not, leave now. If none of you speak until you reach the stairs, I’ll let you go.”

It was a warning that he gave without entirely knowing why. Some feeling, some gut instinct, much like when he had looked up and thought he’d seen something before Pestilence had started talking. There was [i]something[/i] out there, something that he didn’t entirely understand. Someone had changed the meeting. Someone had arranged it without it being approved by the Council. With both of those being true, that meant that there was someone very, very sneaky operating behind the scenes, and that meant that there was something ready to challenge him and the other members of the Seven.

He wanted time to figure out what that was. He needed information that he didn’t have. This meeting felt too easy, too arranged for the easy deaths of these fanatics. Their deaths wouldn’t bother him, but if someone else [i]wanted[/i] them to die and had manipulated the Council –

“Do it. Our God protects us,” the lamb said.

And they called it. Death shook his head; he had hoped that there was some hint of intelligence behind those zealous eyes, but if they wanted to die, he would arrange it. He held out his hand, and his scythe appeared. His flesh faded, revealing his skeletal form –

And then everything went wrong.

He gasped for breath as the world split asunder. In front of him were the cultists, but overlaid on them was a tiger. Tall, powerful, wearing a white suit that glowed brighter than the sun, the striped feline looked down at him with a smirk that grew broader and broader, toothier and toothier, and he carried with him gleaming power, golden light that streamed over Death and pushed him back.

Pain seared in his veins as the ghostly image of the tiger seemed to grow, looming over him by two feet, three, four, the height and presence of the bigger cat almost like an aura of its own capable of pushing him to his knees. Death slammed the butt of his scythe against the ground, his bony hands holding tight to it as he felt the weight of this stranger pushing down on his mind.

“It is time for Death to obey a true master,” the tiger said.

[i]What…what is…[/i]

“Fall to your knees, and praise me.”

The Brother Grimm gritted his teeth, refusing the order even as his legs shook and tried to obey. The fire in his limbs – he felt it, saw it. It was the same golden light that came from the tiger before him, the same sort of energy that burned in the cult that had come before them.

His weapon had been poisoned.

This was a trap.

“Death?…Death!”

War was the first to act, reaching for the sword at his hip. Pestilence was next, and the remaining four followed. One and all suffered the same affliction, with Pestilence falling to her knees immediately, and the others followed one by one. War held out the longest, growling as he gripped his blade with both hands until he fell to one knee, the other shaking. The others had dropped to all fours, their breath coming in shaky gasps, and their eyes were clenched shut. Only Death managed to keep hold of his weapon as their God’s power seared through him. Only Death did not bow, though he had to lean against the cursed, poisoned scythe to avoid it.

The shock and awe in the eyes of the lambs and mice on the other side of the table told him that they had hoped for this, but had never quite imagined that it would happen. Some of them didn’t recover, but their speaker did. The lamb pointed down at him, her head tilted back with a laugh that was as insane as it was relieved.

“Look at the great Death now! Humbled before God, brought to your knees. There’s nothing that you can do against the Almighty!”

“…”

“Go on, fall. Fall to your knees and beg. Maybe, just maybe, God will spare your lives if you pray for forgiveness. Beg him, beg him if you wish to continue to exist, and maybe he will find pity, and let you live.”

Death, the Brother Grimm, the Grim Reaper: all his titles came to him in that moment, and he held fast to them with pride and anger and duty as he always had. He growled through skeletal teeth, holding tight to the scythe even as it poisoned him, burned him, seared him with a light that was anathema to his very existence. His fury kept him from falling, but nothing could fight back against the power that had poisoned him, ripping him of his strength to crush those that stood before him.

If he had even a hint of his power, he would have ripped the souls from these fools right that moment, but now…

He looked up again, and this time, he saw the source of the golden light. So far out there, so far past the bounds of the planets of the Nephilim, he could see the end of one world and the start of another. He saw the source of the golden light, and more, he felt the power on the other side.

Never had he felt something that could compete with the Seven, but that thing, that golden source, [i]could.[/i] For the first time in his life, Death realized that there was something that stood on his level, and he was afraid.

#

“Hmmph…”

God was surprised that the cat managed to keep from falling, but in the grand scheme of things, it didn’t matter. The other members of the Council had fallen. The trap that he and Mercy had laid for the Seven had taken its toll, and now, the greatest powers of the Theocracy were helpless before him. They could not fight, nor defend themselves against him.

It would have been better if Death himself had completely fallen, bowing to obey him as Pestilence had, and as the others were slowly being bent toward, but so long as they couldn’t fight, then he had already won.

“Father…may I have him?”

God slowly turned his gaze from the portal below to his daughter, and even she seemed to realize the mistake that she had made to ask for Death himself as a pet. God kept his stare firmly upon her until his daughter looked away, the other tiger shaking her head and looking to the white stone beneath her feet.

The idea of giving Death – with or without his scythe – to Mercy was a thought that he dared not consider. She had enough power as it was; if she had the chance to wield even a portion of Death’s power at her discretion, he didn’t want to think about the chaos that would unleashed. No, best to leave that power with him, to have Death be wielded by someone that could control themselves, rather than someone as selfish as she could be.

Despite himself, God could feel his lips turning up at the corners of his mouth. The World Begotten had been stripped of its greatest defenses. Once the golden poison in their weapons and now their veins had wiggled its way deep enough to take control of the entirety of the Seven…. But until then…until the poison had ripped through them…he had other tools to use.

“Open the Gates!”

Angels carried the orders with trumpets, and the great ‘doors’,long since assembled between Heaven and the Begotten, opened. The light of Heaven and the great blue skies that surrounded it were exposed to the great void of space. Galaxie, nebulae and more spread out before them, reaching out into infinity, into the Void itself at the edge of the universe.

Pushed to the edges of Heaven where the great horrors assembled. No angels, these, but creatures made created for destruction and horrific punishment. Great wheels covered in eyes and wings, they were literal engines of war. In his many machinations and ruminations, God had imagined what would run most rampant across the Begotten, and this was his creation, running on righteous fury.

“Go,” God called, waving his hand over the assembled crowd of the holy host. “Go! Rip and tear all those before you. Break the mortals beneath you. Destroy all that is unholy, all that is anathema to the great design. Break this realm, and let us start anew. Be unleashed, my Horrors, My Ophanim, and do what you were made to do!”

With great howls that went beyond the realm of hearing, the Ophanim lunged forward, rolling and then flying through the portals into the World Begotten, slamming into the outer worlds of the Theocracy and setting to work. The cries and screams of mortals filled his ears as he watched, and God crossed his arms with grim satisfaction.

It did not matter to the co-creator of this realm that the mortals were dying, nor did it matter to him that there were some few followers of his caught in the crossfire. This was not a rescue mission, but an extermination. The pests that had infested the universe - the mortals strengthened first with Lilith’s gift, and then with the demons’ bloodline - needed to be brought down. Those that had managed to evolve a few slightly more useful traits needed to be purged with all the others so that when they started over, the universe would not be corrupted once more.

Those with the blood of Hell must go.

The descendants of Caine must perish.

Those that worship the Seven must die.

All of them had to go.

God’s smile grew greater as the screams of the innocent filled his ears. A strange madness that he normally would have called demonic, evil, or improper settled upon him, and it brought with it a satisfaction of order and peace that he had not felt for too long. Finally, the Begotten, [i]his[/i] child as much as Lilith’s, was falling in line. His will would be done, and for the first time, for the very first time since Adam and Eve had been created, he could enforce it on the world rather than suffering the mutations and the manipulation of another.

Lilith had poisoned his world. Now he was fixing it.

Lucifer had corrupted Jesus. Now he would have time to heal that.

And Mercy…

He glanced out of the corner of his eye. As great as his smile had become, Mercy’s grin was even bigger. She looked like she was feasting off the bloodshed of the Ophanim, and it was nearly enough to shock him back from the edge. And yet…

It was something that they could agree on. They could both take satisfaction on the purge of the universe and bring the Begotten back to its roots. From there, they would shape it – no, he would shape it, and Jesus and Mercy would take care of it as they built it up to what it could be.

And he would have mercy, in his own way. He would have compassion for those that lived there. He would give them the quick death, once all Seven bowed to his whims. Once he had that, the Horrors would serve as enticement for the Eternal Council to turn their powers against their own worshipers, humbling them, depowering them, and binding them ever closer to him.

Then.

Then!

Then!!!

Things would be the way that they were supposed to be. One God, one plan to run the World Begotten. The other gods across the realms would see that he had removed Hell’s God, taken their child-world for himself, and that he owned two compared to what everyone else had.

He was God.

He was [i]the[/i] God.

[b][u][center]The End[/center][/u][/b]

Summary: God brings the plan full circle, and the whole thing goes to hell for certain people.

Tags: No Sex, Ambush, Poison, Cat, Zebra, Tiger, Various Species, Cult, Fanatics, Trap, Series, Sci-Fi, God, Magic, Danger, Pain,