A forgotten corner of the world, a distorted space hidden between the gaps of reality, a perfectly undisturbed location within the planet that the existence known as humanity had bent to its thrall.

A lone existence was present, kneeling on the ground.

To his side, a golden ship that thrummed with a light beyond man's capacity.

In his hand, a flawlessly crafted crescent-shaped sword, with a blade that gleamed as if formed of the moon itself.

In his mind, the roar of myriad demons, clamoring for freedom, for release, for blood.

If one were to continue looking, they would simply see an accruement of "junk," dusty relics from a bygone age, fit for display in a museum. Had man some capacity for spiritual aptitude though, the very sight of these weapons would bring fear.

A golden crown, the image of a coiled snake emblazoned into it.

A rod of bamboo, knotted seven times.

A perfectly black cylinder, utterly still to the point that it made the illusion of moving if one looked at it, because it was "still" beyond what the world was meant to actualize.

Legends of another world tell of a demigod named Gilgamesh, who ruled all four corners of the world and collected the very ingenuity of man itself. Everything man could dream of or achieve, he possessed. He truly held the essence of man in his possession.

This being is a collector who had stored his collection in this location, of a comparable nature to Gilgamesh, though there are two distinctions. The first, he has not collected ingenuity itself, but rather products of that ingenuity. In that sense, his collection is inferior to that of the fabled Gilgamesh.

The second is that rather than humans, this being has collected the treasures of gods.

The blade in his hands was lifted up, positioned above his own neck from where he knelt. Traces of blood line the ground, but the being was apparently unwounded.

In truth, he had decapitated himself nine times.

This was the procedure for the ritual, the ritual to recreate gods, the ritual to give him the power to possess domain over all reality itself.

A trite goal, if any. The sort of thing one would expect from a shonen villain, but then again he was rather like a shonen villain, no?

The blade sank into his neck, driving through flesh and lopping off his head in a single stroke.

-And just as his head fell to the ground, it melted into nothingness, the stump of his neck distorting and bubbling as, in the span of a single "instant", a new head was grown.

This is the expectation of the ritual which has now been completed by the tenth decapitation.

The black faded into white.

The being stood up.

The white melted into color.

A chant in a language which no longer existed was muttered.

The void was struck by sound.

The forgotten corner of the world was filled with an impossible power. The lights and sounds accelerated, whirling against one another in a mad cacophony as they compressed like the collapse of a neutron star-

"Energy siphon complete."

...and it all simply stopped.

What had happened is nonsensical, useless, a paltry introduction that explains nothing and satisfies less.

But nonetheless, it is where we begin.

For the energy that was not stolen flowed out of the blackness.

Mankind was analyzed, and those within whom the status of god was sealed were found.

The energy found a new host, and with it did the knowledge. Knowledge of the gods, knowledge of their power, knowledge of their identity. When these chosen humans awoke, they would no longer be the beings they once were. They would be existences that had not truly lived in this world since the creation of Mesopotamia.

And unknown to them was the existence of the Demon Lord who had completed the ritual, the Demon Lord who, as they slept, began the creation of an army.

The Demon Lord who possesses power beyond comprehension shall launch a campaign on the world.

The awakened gods who are incomplete shall wake up in their homes, as they always have, with a new set of memories in the back of their skull.

Let the games begin.

Do make this entertaining.

Charles Dante Richards
The soon-to-be Archmage among the gods stared at the old books in his hands, just as he had for the past hour. He was respected as an extremely intelligent man for many years, but he was not good at learning languages. He was fluent in English, Spanish, Japanese, Chinese and French, which is very impressive for the vast majority of people on Earth, to be fluent in five languages, but he had been trying to learn and interact with people in other languages since he was thirteen years old. It's been twenty three years since he began devoting some of his time towards learning other languages, and it just hasn't been going well. Ironically, he didn't know much of the languages scholars typically learn, such as Latin, Greek and perhaps Hebrew. . . Charles stammered, trying to to engulf the Latin phrases and grammar in his mind, but as always, it seemed to elude him.

In frustration he slammed the book down on the well-built hand fashioned table and went to the kitchen. He felt the pace maker in his brain suddenly fizzle out. "Oh God." Charles thought to himself. The device he had installed kept his brain working after an untimely, massive deprivation of oxygen nearly claimed his life when he was caught by his ankles under the water for what seemed to him like hours. he had consumed way too much salt water, and his body was very deprived of oxygen. He was promptly resuscitated and with cutting edge technology, he could still function as well as he ever had with the new device, attachable to his brain directly through sterile tubing. This was, in effect, a pace maker for his brain.

He felt himself shudder, as if he was in freezing water for a moment, and an even colder shudder rode from the base of his spine into the center of his forehead. He awoke to find himself in the emergency room again. Almost as if he was reliving every moment of his near demise. Surgeon's eyes widened as Charle's eyes opened, and he sat up straight. "What the hell?" The doctors exclaimed. "Sir, you should lie down." Charle's eyes narrowed. "What the hell is going on?' He asked.

"A strange electro magnetic pulse shut your brain pace maker off. You promptly had a massive neuralogical shock that almost cost you your life. You were clinically dead twice already. . . technically you should be due for brain surgery right about now, but that's impossible now. You're neural activity is wildly off the charts." Suddenly the machines throughout the entire hospital shut down. "Oh, my God, your brain waves! Their incredible!" Charle's eyes rolled. "My God, I've been watching old X-Men films again!" He nonchalantly got back on his feet as healthy as ever, searched for his clothes and left the hospital. As people tried to restrain him they found themselves running or grabbing right through him.

There were patience who needed the power from the building to start running again immediately.

Rucks Kennithson

As far as days go this was already terrible for Rucks. He was three hours late due to traffic and he'd written off the car he was delivering. He looked at his left wrist - his watch barely worked but he made it out as midday give or take a few hours. Last he checked he was driving a vintage E-type down the dual carriageway heading southbound. That was probably an hour or so ago? The old bill had arrived by the time he woke up.

He didn't know what happened. It was as if his consciousness just decided to get up and go, he certainly hadn't passed out from exhaustion since he'd just had several hours rest at a motel not 5 hours before the incident. You can imagine how confused he must have been when he slipped back into the world and was greeted by the sound of sirens and the ripped off arse of a car.

Rucks looked around the wreckage, three cars in total one of which had almost flipped. He managed to squeeze himself out of the heap that was once a car and staggered over to the nearest sign of authority. Probably his biggest mistake for the questions that flowed in after that were endless. Was he drunk? No. Sleep deprived? No. Under the influence of banned substances? No. Was he using a mobile phone or other such distractions? No. Was the car faulty? No - in fact it just passed its M.O.T or whatever the equivalent was.

After another hour or two he was free to go. Miraculously he faced no charges and the incident was put down to the car being faulty. Rucks guessed they couldn't charge someone who passed every test under the rainbow. They towed off the E-type to repair it and left Rucks with a courtesy car until it was fixed. He'd explained the incident to the cars owner over the phone and now was left with a simple task - leave it at the garage. Obviously Rucks wasn't trustworthy enough and let's face the facts - it's a miracle he wasn't hurt.

In fact, he felt better than ever. As if he knew exactly where he needed to go - considering the car had no satnav this was a blessing. Just what had happened back there? Rucks shook the thought out of his head, only 50 miles south and he could stop and rest - think this whole thing through. Maybe he was just under the influence of something they gave him while he was in a coma. He didn't think to talk to the paramedics after all, he just eased his foot off the clutch and went on his way. Fifty miles south and with a slight detour to the west - there would be traffic. He could feel it.

"Death God Rising"
Somewhere in North America...

---

"So, does it go something like this, Mom?"
<Yes...dear...watch the toast...wouldn't want to burn it on your first time...>
Listening to the whispering of her mother, Kirsten manages to correctly cook herself a breakfast of toast, all without so much as a single mistake. She was proud of herself, and so were her parents, even though they were dead. Instinctively, Kirsten knew that she had accidentally torn their spirits from their bodies, but they had promptly told her not to worry about it, so she didn't. Their bodies sat crumpled against the wall, staring into space like empty, broken egg shells. All the while, their ghostly embrace envelops their only daughter with warmth, guiding her through the motions she required to feed herself.

In no time, their little girl was sitting at the table on her own, munching away at what little they could afford for her while they were alive. Butter substitute spread on toast, while not exactly a well-rounded breakfast for a growing Death God, seemed to be enough to satisfy the curious gnawing in Kirsten's stomach.

Now, on any ordinary day, Kirsten might return to her bedroom after breakfast and go about her daily boredom. Today was a special day, though. She had the strangest tingling all over her body, almost as if something was guiding her away, out the door and into the streets. Without really knowing why, the young god found herself quickly clothed in her outdoor clothes and walking along the street, skirting casually through the shadows that lined the inner-city street she lived on.

A few interesting people passed her by, strange looks stretched across their faces. Kirsten just smiled at them and kept walking, heading for the place she knew something was calling her from. It didn't take long for her to reach that place, and after the grumpy old man sitting at the entrance spontaneously died, she had no difficulty getting past the heavy front entrance and stepping inside. Her bare feet strangely don't feel cold, even when pressed against the hard, tile floors...

Fairfield City Morgue...is it? I wonder if the person I'm meeting knows I'm coming.

Mizuchi woke up in the dead of the night, drenched in sweat, panting rapidly, gasping for air. Mizuchi looked towards the window, but the binds were closed, he couldn't make out whether it was day or night. Mizuchi looked around his room, grabbing the cup of water on his nightstand, drinking it down until it was no more.

"A nightmare?" Mizuchi asked as he set the now empty cup back on the nightstand, staring up at the ceiling. Mizuchi was trying to recollect the fleeting memories of his dreams, which was slowly fading away from him. "No... what did they call me..." Mizuchi stood up, grabbing the cup of water as he begun to walk out of his room and into his apartment, still trying to recollect his dream. Mizuchi put the cup in the sink and began to walk back to his room, still trying to remember. Without warning, an image suddenly popped up of a dragon in the sea encircling a mere ship. A voice rang inside of his head.

"Please, no! Spare us!" The voice yelled out in Japanese.

Another image popped up with the same setting as before, except for this time the dragon was gone, and the ship was in pieces. Mizuchi sat back, the cold sweat-drenched shirt pressing against his back. As soon as he laid back, another image popped into his head, this time it was set on a nearby cliff side facing the sea, two men were dueling it out, on one side a man with a katana, water wrapped around it, on the other side a man faced the katana wielder with a sword of his own.

"Prepare to fall, water god!" A gruff voice yelled out from inside of Mizuchi's head. Mizuchi almost fell off his bed at the sound of hearing that.

Could it be schizophrenia? Mizuchi asked himself in his head, trying to self-diagnose himself. Mizuchi calmly repositioned himself on his bed, calmly laying his head on his soft pillow.

"Water... god?" Mizuchi repeated the voice inside of his head ever so softly, staring at the ceiling. Without warning, another mental image inside of Mizuchi's head popped up, this time it was a man who held his hand up at another person, who was lifted up into the air.

"Did you know that the average human is made up of sixty percent of water..." A voice spoke out inside of Mizuchi's head, who Mizuchi had a feeling that it was the man who had his hand raised up at the man who was seemingly struggling in the air. "A forbidden art, although, when it comes to people like you, I tend to break my own rules..."

Mizuchi suddenly sat up, getting off of his bed, quickly putting on his normal attire. He had the strangest urge to go to the ocean, although even he couldn't explain why.

"Kami... sama..." Mizuchi gently said as he put on his pants. "That's what they called me..."

"Amen." The word from Raymond's mouth echoed through the church. "Amen" The people in the church responded.... The sermon was over, the priest saw as how the church-goers were leaving through the main door... He sighed and walked away from the altar, taking a seat on the nearby bench. He was standing there and preaching for three hours straight... His legs ached. The man sat there for several minutes, just thinking, until an altar boy brought him a cup of tea. He thanked the boy and took a sip of the tea. It was Earl Grey with a single teaspoon of sugar. Just how he liked it. After he has finished his drink in quiet, he has stood up and said goodbye to the ones that were still in the church. He sat in his car drove home.

It was a rather hot Sunday that day. The sun was scorching the town, and by the time Raymond has reached home, he was soaked in sweat no matter the fact that all windows were open. He looked to the sky and thought a bit, before going to his front door and coming in. The priest has taken a glass of water and drunk it rather quickly. After that, he changed into his everyday clothes and started on his daily routine - cleaning the house, watering the plants, and then after all that, in the evening, praying.

Being immortal means you will never end.

A void. A vast, expanse of completely blank space that went on forever in all directions. In a time when light and dark were the same before the beginning, devoid of light and yet one could see everything at once in a massive, overwhelmingly desolate panoramic vacuum like a night sky without stars.

You will exist past eternity and into the phantasmic naught.

The cold was bottomless. Before the rules of physics had come into play, an impossible cold that amplified with each passing moment. Or rather, a moment that didn't pass, as time had yet to turn. A marked void with a temperature beyond negative infinity.

You cannot cease the simple act of being.

She drifted in a less-than-nothing, locked within the hellish trap of existence. The rules had yet to be made, and in their place was a nature of reality best termed as having purpose in less than nothing at all. Beyond Chaos and Order alike, beyond the Void before there was being and before a mind had ever turned upon itself.

There is no beginning, and there is no end.

And it is in this hell that She lived, not wanting, not desiring, not acting. And so the less-than-nothing remained, undisturbed and unfettered.

...boring.

Utterly.

Sickeningly.

Boring.

"Create."

A system.

I have to create a system.

First edict: Something exists.

Second edict: Possibility exists.

Third edict: What "can be" may become "what is".

Fourth edict-

"Create."

Nothing split into black and white.

Power condensed into a single point, pushing further into itself as if about to burst.

"Create."

Fiftieth edict: Energy exists.

"Create."

One hundred and twenty-sixth edict: The definition of a world exists.

One hundred and twenty-seventh edict: A world is a possibility.

"Create."

The system which applies to the world. The laws that govern the basis of what is. The shaping and molding of what is not and can not be.

"Create."

A light for a world.

A "good" for the beings of that world.

A system has been created.

The first system has been created.

---

Ellona Kisaragi awoke, and was not Ellona Kisaragi.

Or perhaps it was better to say that what had previously been called "Ellona Kisaragi" was itself a falsehood.

What "is" had diverged from what "should have been".

No matter.

The being that had Ascended sat up in bed, a slight smile gracing her features as impossible knowledge filled her mind.

"...how very interesting. I wonder if the others Awoke as well."

"Create."

And so the tragedy began.

Alexander Mond

The constant typing of keys could be heard resonating in Alex's room. It turns out that even online colleges have deadlines, and Alex was up late yet again finishing a paper. Moonlight bathed his desk in a pale light, his fingers methodically clacking against the keyboard, his eyes half closed. He paused from his work for a moment to take a sip of coffee, and stretch his back. Stepping away from his desk he walked over to the window and threw open the blinds. For some reason he really wanted to look at the moon, almost like he was compelled to. Suddenly the room began to spin, and with the sensation of falling the entire room went black.

When Alex woke up he was laying on the floor in his room, the moon still hanging heavy in the sky. He stood up and looked up at the large pale orb, a smile spreading across his face. He had always felt attached to this celestial body, and felt more comfortable at night. It was all so clear now. Alex threw open his windows and took a deep breath, the cool night air rushing in and embracing him. This was his element, his domain. While he was unconscious he had received visions, of the past and of the moon, but there was one of the future. This was the one that interested him. He saw a woman, practicing what appeared to be fencing with some sort of training dummy. She didn't know it but her and Alex were going to become very well acquainted. He walked to his closet and threw on some jeans and his favorite blue sweater and threw some extra clothes in a backpack, along with his laptop and a few other essentials. It would be a long while before he got to the woman, but he had to start sometime. He walked out his front door, and looked up at the sky, all of the endless stars. Alex debated on calling a cab, but decided against it. He would walk til daybreak, and then call one. Sliding his hand into his pockets he began walking down the street, in the direction of the person who would become his chosen warrior.

In an alley in Fairfield, a few of the city's homeless discuss literature in the early of the morning, Eric Dumile among them.

"No man, it's not Cersei, I'm telling you." Eric gives a smile, these men are the closest thing he has to family. He is distinguishable from them though, he still occasionally changes his clothes.

"Bullsheeit. Then who?" A toothless black man named Daiquirius asks, his graying hair in uneven dreadlocks. He takes a swig of his 40.

"Dude, okay. It's going to seem like I'm pulling this out of my ass, but it was totally Little Finger."

"Buuuulllsheeeeit, nigga! Why you playin' so much?" The man practically spits out the alcohol, clearly surprised by the information.

"Fucking Little Finger, man. Look, you can tell he's crushing on Cat, right?"

"Nigga sprung." Daiquirius comments.

"Full on pussy whipped." Another man, "Bazooka Tooth Joe," pipes up, he's an older white man with a severe overbite and dressed several coats too warm. He lives in a really nice box.

"Yeah, well, her sister, is... reverse-pussy whipped? What do you...? What is that? When a girl is sprung--"

"Dick whipped."

"Thanks Bazooka tooth. Okay, yeah, so, y'all might not be far enough in the books yet, but Lysa is basically all over this guy's dick."

"Lil' Finger." A middle southern woman responds this time, her name is "Dixie" and she is missing an eye and her eye patch.

"Yeah. There's actually this whole love triangle because they grew up together, and LF has always wanted Cat and shit... ANYWAY, he takes advantage of Lysa."

Dixie furrows her brow, "How?"

"He gets HER to poison Jon Arryn!" Uproarious yelling and "Aw shit(s)!" follow, in the afterglow of the revelation, Eric digs through his bag, "I actually was thinking about you guys yesterday..." Riffling around a second longer, he pulls out a stack of library books, obviously stolen, all the current 'Game of Thrones' books, and is rewarded with another round of applause from the vagabonds.

Bazooka tooth makes a face Eric can't quite discern, it's either sexual, cocky or thankful. "You really do care!" The face makes it really hard to tell if that comment is sincere or not, Eric gives a curt nod before adding.

"I'm honestly just kind of getting tired of giving you guys episode by episode synopsises..." Eric stands up with a grunt, "figure you can read while you beg or something. I don't know." He notices the look Bazooka gives him as he stands, not quite as vague. "I've actually got somewhere to be right now though, so I'll see y'all later."

"Still pretty early! Ya sure ya don't want no squirrel, it's Frash!" Dixie called after him.

Eric couldn't help but sigh at that, "No, Dixie, that's gross as fuck. I'm going to go get my free meal from McDonald's or some shit like a normal fucking person-- no one ever wants squirrel! We're vagabonds, not mountainfolk... Jesus--You don't even know how to cook a squirrel! Dixie, go to the shelter for breakfa-- Bazooka, make sure Dixie goes to the shelter today." He turned to walk out of the alley again, he could hear a distinctly southern grumble in the form of 'all y'all had to say was 'no'' and an enthusiastic 'Alright' from Bazooka tooth.

These were the people he called "friends."

He put on his headphones with a shudder-- last night... the music had... "spoken" to him. In a different way than normal, the bars gave him rhythmic instructions, some Prophecy Meeting with the savior and the destroyer. It could've just been MF DOOM being weird, but the rhythm was... divine. As he turned out the alley, he turned on his phone, he went to shuffle on the same playlist, and almost as soon as the Deltron3030 track started, he felt the same tingle in his body. This time the song had instructions-- directions. Something big was going on, either that, or he was finally losing it, either way, Eric had his interest piqued, there was no stopping him.

The words were tailored for his each step-- he was headed to the Fairfield City Morgue.

---

So the morgue guard was dead.

Eric was no forensics expert, but he looked like he died because he was an old motherfucker. That isn't really what bothered Eric, nor was it the prophecy thingy-- he knew he needed to go to the morgue, his music had become normal as soon as he got here-- no, what nagged at Eric was the fact that a man could die, and not one person would notice. Why hadn't they noticed? Did it really matter? To be fair he was still pretty fresh, again, not a forensics expert, but the guy felt warmer than everything else. Maybe it was five minutes ago he had died?

Eric couldn't shake the nagging feeling that there was powerful universal symbolism at play here.

He looked at the crowding sidewalks, if one of them died, just snap-- and fell over dead-- would anyone do anything? Probably. But why? It's not like you know them? Even if you did-- so? It was an inevitability. Wouldn't it be better to just walk over the lump and move on? Maybe push the body off the sidewalk for courtesy. He looked at the old guard again. Like this guy was a courteous guy, he isn't going to be in anyone's way... Eric couldn't tell if he was Diogenes reincarnated, or a homeless person becoming a sociopath.

He took the guard's ring of keys, and silently entered the morgue, muted music playing out of his headphones. He took them off upon seeing the dark haired little girl. "Oh... hey?"

"The Loli and the Shota"
Fairfield City Morgue, Fairfield City

---

When little Kirsten turns to face Eric's greeting, everything in sight succumbs to black. Darkness consumes the corridor, erasing all traces of the morgue that they had been standing in just moments prior and replacing it with a blank, featureless world. The darkness contrasts pleasantly with Kirsten's fair skin, giving her a mysterious, ghost-like aura that would create an even stronger contrast with the following words-

"Sup! You heard the music too, huh?"

With a confident smile on her lips, Kirsten twirls on her heel and skips dutifully into the blackness, apparently intending for Eric to follow. Regardless of whether he did or not, they would very quickly find themselves in a larger, similarly pitch-black room, with a few minor differences from the last. Notably, numerous doors lined the "walls" of the room, giving it a definite shape and setting the stage for what was about to occur. Again, Kirsten turns to face Eric with those dark eyes of hers, this time with an expression that was more curious than playful. When she speaks, her voice takes on a distinctively singsong tone, her words following along to some steady rhythm only she could hear-

"Sooo, if you heard the beats as well, you've gotta be pretty damn awesome right? You don't look like it, bu~t..."

Halfway through speaking, Kirsten hops backwards a little and seems to land on some unseen chair. With their owner comfortably seated on nothing, her feet begin swinging of their own accord, completing the image of a playful child that she was giving off. She continues, the smile on her face only growing more curious with each passing word-

"If you can prove how cool you are, maybe I can let you join my crew! You would be my first member, so you would get me all~ to yourself! Tight deal, huh? So what do you say~, wanna play~?"

Rucks Kennithson

As Rucks drove towards Vegas the world became clear. It was a surreal experience, as if he'd just found a landmark which meant he wasn't lost anymore. His knowledge of the world increased at first tenfold, the knowledge of the state's roads at his disposal. Shortly afterwards it increased again, this time a hundredfold, the continent was like an old friend to him. He knew everything about it but still, there was more to it. By the time he could map the entire world his knowledge was beyond the concept of a mortal. He knew more than just roads, he knew the cardinal points at the drop of a hat. Navigation was no longer a tool; it seemed to become a part of him.

He pulled over onto the hard shoulder. His head began to throb, what was happening to him? No one could just gain knowledge like he had. Something happened to him - something beyond his understanding. He wasn't just any old mortal anymore. The wind changed, westerly to southernly it wasn't just a small breeze either, it was a rather vicious gale. Rucks wasn't the superstitious type but even he took that as a sign telling him to keep going - maybe vegas did hold the answers he needed.

The so called messenger of the gods, filled with knowledge about the entire world and yet he remains so clueless. If he only knew, if he pursued his instincts, unlocked his potential. Turned that knowledge into power. Maybe then, he would understand.

Eric Dumile and Kirsten Cherry in...
"To Court a Death God"

---

Following a little girl into darkness, alone. That probably wouldn't hold up in court. Eric did it anyway though, and the way reality seemed to bend and darken around her tiny form made him wonder, had he truly lost it? Probably. It didn't really matter now, she had heard the beats too. She seemed to know more about them than him-- and why was she swinging her feet? He wasn't dreaming, but he couldn't help but feel like he was in some Nightvale/Lolita crossover fanfiction... or something. Despite the fact that all of this meant he had probably literally gone insane, upon hearing the nymphet's question, "If you can prove how cool you are, maybe I can let you join my crew! You would be my first member, so you would get me all~ to yourself! Tight deal, huh? So what do you say~, wanna play~?" He couldn't help but answer with an almost comically stoic stillness.

"Sure."
"Yay~!"
Kirsten seems happy enough with Eric's immediate response, although perhaps a little disappointed by his reaction. All the same, she quickly hops down from her imaginary seat and approaches the boy with an air of anticipation. She leans close, inspecting his face and clothing closely for a few moments before finally erupting into a carefree grin-

"How about it? Do you have any cool dance moves to show me, or something? Or... a game?" By the way Kirsten tilts her head at this last question, it seems like she expects Eric to decide what he should do for her...

...a game? Between that and DANCE, the choice was obvious. But... a game? For a brief second, Eric considered the possibility that he had died, and that this was hell, or limbo or whatever-- and his personal grim reaper was Dolores Haze. Was it any less probable than anything else? Did any of it matter? No. Probably? It couldn't be helped. Still, no harm in playing along, right?

"Sure, we can play a game. What is it? Like scrabble or something?"

"Hmm~, I don't know that game...but I can do Tag! And Hide'n'seek! Lets do one of those!"
Quick Eric, think! What would a contributing member of society do in a situation like this?

"Where are your parents?"

This question seems to subdue Kirsten's excitement, if only a little. Despite this she manages to respond in the same cheerful manner as before, "My parents are dead now, 'cause I killed them~!"

"Huh. They couldn't have enjoyed that." Was all Eric could say in immediate response, 'Why?' is the next question he wants to ask, but he honestly doesn't really want to know. Why was he led here to her? That seems to be the better question. She doesn't seem like a huge threat to his personal safety, but if she's telling the truth (and, call it intuition, call it the dead guard, but something tells him she is), then maybe doing what she asks could work out in his favour. Whatever favour would even be in this situation.

"Well," with this Eric squats down to get at her eye level, "I was always more of a hide'n'seek guy myself-" The moment Eric finishes his decision, Kirsten puts her hands on her hips and shouts a loud, confident, "All right!"

"It's settled then, we'll play Hide'n'Seek! Oh, since you're the one trying out, you get to be it!"
Seemingly satisfied with the outcome of their decision, Kirsten skips a few feet away from Eric before turning and calling back to him,

"Lets play now! I'll go hide, and you count to ten, yeah?!"

"Sure." With that, he closed his eyes and began to count, he noted he had said 'sure' quite a bit today. It was becoming a bad habit, "10, 9, 8..."

Taking that as her cue to hide, Kirsten could be heard giggling and running off somewhere while Eric counts. With her bare feet slapping against the pitch black tile floor, it was quite obvious that she had run off to one of the doors on the side of the room. There's a sound of something sliding open, and then a resounding *clunk* as it closes again...
"3, 2, 1." Eric opened his eyes to... darkness. Well, that hadn't changed. So... where was she? They were in a morgue, she had obviously gone through one of the doors, and there was a sliding sound.

She was in a fucking cadaver drawer.

It was really only a matter of finding the room where they kept the stiffs and going through the ones with handles in her reach. A little repetitive, but not an overall awful experience. Playing hide'n'seek in a morgue with a little girl who claims to have killed her parents and obviously has some kind of magic-- it was quite a surreal experience, Eric would totally recommend it to anyone. When he finally happened upon the correct drawer, maybe 30 seconds later, he had one question for the magical loli, "How did you close it from the inside?"

"I didn't."
A moment of silence follows, during which only Eric's heavy breathing could be heard. Except...he wasn't breathing heavily at all, and the sound was very clearly coming from behind him.

He looked down at the little girl still tucked away comfortably in the body drawer, noticably missing its body. This was silly, a smile crept onto Eric's face as he forced himself to ask, "Little girl?" It took visible effort to restrain a giggle, "Is there an animated corpse standing right behind me?"

"Yup. My name is Kirsten, by the way."
A full out smile broke across his face, this was great, she-- Kirsten, could make zombies. "Kirsten, that's the dopest," He said looking at the cadaver, alive but dead, "How can you make zombies, even? Also, I'm Eric."

"Hi Eric, and isn't it? I actually didn't know I could do it until fourty seconds ago, it kinda just happened when I opened my hiding place. Also..."
Sensing her intent, the living corpse comes closer and helps Kirsten get out of the drawer, setting her down gently at Eric's side. Without missing a step, the little death god bounces off towards their starting location, settling back into her seemingly invisible seat. Eric follows, and when he arrives before her once again, she addresses him.

"You won, so you pass! You're part of my Crew now! You have to follow my rules, but now we can play together whenever we want! Isn't that tight!?"

"Tight is certainly a word for it..."

"So, the second half of the ritual didn't reach perfect efficiency..."

A skew from the desired results had occurred, and in one capacity or another, "gods" once more existed.

Troublesome, if nothing else. The power that gave "domain" over reality was distributed amongst several distinct beings now. Regardless though, the Demon Lord Raavun certainly held the largest piece.

Against a single god, chance of victory was high. At the moment though, no one god could be certain of the existence of the others. For all they knew, each was the only living god. Learning of the existence of him would result in an attempt upon his life, because until he died it was decidedly impossible for the gods to become any stronger than they were currently. They were not able to begin the process of "leveling up" until he was deceased, and so he did not have to be concerned with struggles making them stronger.

If he attempted to kill them one by one, the other gods would certainly notice the energy from a fight, and learning of his existence would be problematic. Attempting to kill them all at once was similarly foolhardy, it was an unneeded risk.

The solution was simple, considering that one knew the opposition. Gods of water, fire, air, and earth. Sun and moon. Justice and death. They would not simply leave one another to exist freely, they would challenge one another for the right to be the One True God, because when only one of them exists that one shall become the One True God.

He then, simply had no reason to fight.

A ripple of energy was sent into the world, burrowing beneath the surface. The subtlety was such that the gods who would oppose him, Magic, Wisdom, Earth, Prophecy, none would realize that there was a true origin point of the energy. It would simply seem as a reaction of the world to the recreation of gods, an appropriate flowing of the life force of the world in response to their rebirth.

From the locations of where each god stood, a beacon of undetectable power born of a forgotten age burst from the world, visible only to the gods through a sense beyond sight, through a feeling beyond words.

The unsaid message was simple, as each god was immediately made aware of the locations of each other.

"Your competition exists. Let the war of the new age begin."

[b]Soren Knight[b/]
Soren fenced with ease, long years of training evident in her fluid movements. Soren knew the motions of fencing so well that it allowed her to think as she went through the movements. It was nighttime, her favourite time of the day. She loved the stillness and tranquility of the night when all was still and the stars shone brightly. She stopped for a moment to look up towards the sky at the full moon that shone a bright, beautiful silvery light. She sheathed her sword and sat on her backyard porch swing, staring at the moon and letting her mind wander.

"Such a beautiful thing, the moon." Soren murmured. "Scientific eveidence of it being a rock in space will never change the fact that it's beauty is unrivaled." In her opinion anyway. Soren took off her sword belt and lay it on the ground, Stretching out on her comfy swing, rocking back and forth as her eyelids grow heavy. Her white-blond hair and silver eyes gave her an ethereal appearance, as if she were made of moonlight. She closed her eyes and fell asleep, the full moon shining brightly and illuminating her yard.

The world is a beautiful place. It is full of natural wonders, and artificial monuments. But most importantly of all, humanity is now this worlds master. There's absolutely no doubt about that. Humans own the Earth, and all in it. That's because they've cast down the Gods and taken their life force for their own.

Indeed, it is foolish to underestimate humans. Yet, at the same time, do not overestimate them. A person can be a genius, but a crowd can never be. That is the weakness and strength of humanity. In that way, humans- no, people- look for shepherds to guide them through the darkness. In the older times, these shepherds were the Gods. Beings of unimaginable power defined and made within human concepts. However, their age was long gone, and the age of heroes began in earnest after that. Indeed, heroes, humans, became the new gods. Why? Because they fit with the system humans had formed better. Of course, the replacement of the Gods was not necessarily intentional. Indeed, Humans enjoy the fact Gods are a possibility.

But accidental murder is still murder, you know? The Gods were dead, and that was the bottom line.

Until now, of course. Now the Gods are alive, and they've came back to grace the world with their presence. Of course, that can mean many things, but those are all irrelevant right now.

Why? Because Changmu is to busy destroying plebs in her generic FPS shooter. Even such a message as "You are now a God" could be called irrelevant. After all, she was in a game. Why would she let something like tha-

And then there was a boom in her room. In the City of Beijing, the first meeting of the Gods commenced between the God of Magic and Goddess of Invention. Indeed, an interesting meeting, but not an unwelcome one.

She took the information he was telling her with careful listening skills, and gave herself a moment to think when he finished.

"It's true, this is awfully suspicious. And weird." She took a deep breath. Humanity was the key here, along with "The World".

"Still, I'm not sure what the course of best action is just yet. Even if we may be suspicious of the world around us, that doesn't change the fact that our "competition" isn't, and is gleefully partaking in this little game."

She closed her eyes, formulating a plan.

"We need to at least build a foundation of power for ourselves. After that's complete, we may be able to organize a meeting of Gods and at least attempt a diplomatic route, though I doubt it. Between now and then, I will send out a blatant and obvious signal. When you see it, come to me."

Lights littered the stage as Kaguya got to her seat. The roaring applause could make a person deaf, but she didn't mind as she was wearing earplugs. She didn't need the applause, why would she? She needed full concentration to win this finale with a perfect score. Also, it didn't help that she didn't understand a single word they were saying. Something about how Japanese isn't similar to European countries in the slightest.

Oh, why was there a crowd and a finale?

It was a gaming tournament.

Why didn't she understand what they were saying?

She was in Greece for said gaming tournament.

How can Greece throw a gaming tournament?

She had no idea, and she didn't exactly care. Honestly, she'd probably just donate the money back to Greece anyway. She had plenty of money as it is, and all she wanted to do was prove that she was the dominate gamer in the world. She didn't need to use any funny tricks, or any god powers. Just sit back, relax, and crush all of the opposition.

Being Kaguya was great. She kinda felt bad for people who weren't Kaguya.

However, the concept of now being a god surfaced in her mind, She would need to plan a lot out, but she could do that while planning. She would need to build herself a religious following, which shouldn't be too bad. Throw up a signs that she is divine, and boom, she has a following.

The question was, how to spread it to those truly faithful? She was in such deep thought her opponent in FreezeRed almost hit her, but she managed to get away from the attack, She had to continue to think and plan, though that should be easy.

Mizuchi looked at the sea, it's infinite beauty sending him into a deep trance. "So..." Mizuchi merely said as he continued to stare across the sea as if there was something more to the sea than just an endless expanse of water. "Water god..." Mizuchi sat down on the soft sand, his right hand unknowingly playing with the sand, picking up a handful and slowly letting the sand drop out. "God of the storms... god of the seas... god of... water?"

Mizuchi suddenly thrust his hand out towards the sea, curving his fingers inward and slowly lifting his hand up, trying to see if he can move the water around. Of course, this was not how it was done, and all Mizuchi accomplished was looking like an idiot. Mizuchi gave up after a few minutes, lying down completely on the sand after tiring himself out. "Perhaps this is all but a make-believe fantasy in my head, perhaps I merely created the fantasies to live out my life outside of my job..." Mizuchi tapped his cheek with his finger repeatedly.

"... No... those... images- no, memories," Mizuchi recalled his memories, the endless sea of new memories filling his head, some were good, some were bad. "They're real, they feel real, I couldn't have made all of this up... but it just doesn't feel... real..." Mizuchi stood up, turning away from the sea, but as soon as he did, he turned right back. The sea beckoned towards him. Mizuchi stepped forward unknowingly, it wasn't he that was doing this. Mizuchi took another step towards the sea, and another, and another, all until he was neck deep in the water.

Mizuchi began to swam until he was hundreds of feet away from the sea line, he didn't know why, but at this point, this was all of free will. It was as if the sea was beckoning towards him, calling him, he knew he was crazy, he knew he was going crazy, but he couldn't stop. Mizuchi dove under the water, holding his breath, swimming deeper and deeper, trying to reach the ocean floor that seemed out of reach.

Mizuchi began to struggle, he couldn't breath, the air that he reserved was all gone. Mizuchi began to swim upwards, but it was too late. Mizuchi grasped his neck with both of his hands, his mouth opened, water began to fill his lungs, he was drowning. Mizuchi closed his eyes, his vision fading away.

Foolish human... A voice said in his head, so deep and dark, so threatening. Am I really to believe that I chose you? I chose you, a stupid human being who can't even control the seas... and now you're drowning? What? You can't even breathe under water? How pathetic can you be? If Mizuchi could have spoken, he would have voiced his opinions by now, but it was too late. Mizuchi closed his eyes, accepting his mere fate.

Suddenly, something hit Mizuchi in the chest, and it hit him hard. Mizuchi opened his eyes, coughing, Mizuchi stared down at the thing that hit him in the chest, he was angry, he was pissed, this wasn't Mizuchi, this was someone else completely. Mizuchi saw nothing, but he heard a familiar swishing noise behind him. Mizuchi turned around, seeing a dolphin quickly swim away.

You inherited the powers of the sea god, his memories, his powers, and yet you have no idea how to use them?! The same voice yelled out inside of his Mizuchi's head. Open your eyes, you can breathe, you are no longer some mortal, you are a god, the god of the seas, do you not realize that?! Mizuchi was stunned, his eyes widened. He could breathe, water was no longer in his lungs, he was unknowingly manipulating the water around him from entering through his mouth or nose, as if he had done it before countless of times.

Who are you? Mizuchi asked in his head.

I am your steed, the weapon that you so once long ago chose, and here I am, inside of your head, waiting to be unleashed, instead I am merely teaching a fragment of what you used to be... sad, is it not? I hope the other gods don't dare lay their eyes on you in such a weak and pathetic state such as this...

Other gods?

The gods who you were once in an eternal battle with, the god of the Night, the god of Order, the god of the Dead, the god of War, the god of the Hunt, the god of the Skies, the god of the Souls, the god of Luck, the god of Vengeance, the god of Invention, the god of Beauty... and finally, we have you, the god of the seas, who is in such a mere pathetic state, having his own weapon have to explain things to him, is it not sad, Mizuchi? Mizuchi opened his mouth to speak out loud instead of through his own head, but before he had a chance to do so, something went through his head.

Do you feel that? The voice in his head asked. Locations. They've appeared, the gods.

How could you tell? Mizuchi asked in his head.

Do not ask such pointless questions, sea god! The voice in his head said. Don't fret, you are shielded by the seas, they cannot bend the magic of the seas to allow themselves to fight under the sea... at least I think, we do not have much time, but it appears I must teach you, is that correct? Mizuchi nodded, opening his mouth to speak once more, but closing it, hesitating.

What's your name?

Aquarius, Mizuchi gave a slight grin, it was a silly - yet appropriate - name for a weapon, especially for likes of a sea god. Laughing? Oh, well then, you can stay like the useless human being you are! Aquarius gave out a slight "hmph" sound. Mizuchi thrust his hands out in front of it, shaking his hands.

No! No! I didn't mean to laugh at your name! Mizuchi was quick to react, Aquarius was his only way to learning the secrets and knowledge of the past sea god.

Then let us begin, shall we? What do you desire? Aquarius asked. Mizuchi opened his mouth.

"Grant me your knowledge, I desire the knowledge of the sea god..." Mizuchi said, completely forgetting about his job as a doctor, about his family. There was something about the way the voice inside of his head spoke, something about it that made Mizuchi completely believe him.

---

Mizuchi held his hand out as he sat on the rock, his hand clenched into a fist holding up his head. Mizuchi changed, he was the sea god, god of the seas, god of the dream world, a god who had once raged war on any other god who dare decided to get in his way, but even he could not lose the grasp of what he once was, which was a kind and loving person.

Even he could not shove those traits of him away, Mizuchi knew that he could not dare rage a war against a god, that would be too destructive. Mizuchi had to somehow play friendly with them, even though he himself knew in the past how violent the sea god once was.

"Aquarius... is there any god near the sea..." Mizuchi spoke, his voice booming out from his mouth with authority. Aquarius, the weapon that the sea god owned, gifted to him by another god oh so long ago. Aquarius gave Mizuchi the knowledge - and thus the power - of the sea god. Mizuchi owed everything to the weapon, who was in its "sea form," which was the form of a trident.

Peer past the veil.

She looks like she is about to rain to the human eye, and suddenly She ices over. And, right when you think the sky is clearing, the thunderstorm starts.

Not a human, people would say if they knew what she once was.

A tuning fork- lacking so much emotional range that hues would strain in order to find the difference between the two. The silver instrument is as unresponsive as she is- until you strike it.
Compartmentalization has taken an unhealthy turn. It isolates any 'unclean' feeling that may arise when dealing with others. Each mental box she creates holds an emotion They deem right.

A gap between stimulus and response to ensure peace. However, she ignores it completely if she believes nothing can ever come of acknowledging is. She stops it from affecting everything. Everything that happens in and outside of her.

This system has stored- or numbed- anything that wasn't part of the regime. But, the best, yet worst part of it is that she is unaware of what she has done to herself. It is a war created in her own head. There is one goal: Annihilate anything unclean. It prevents any emotional or physical pain from entering her life without truly dealing with it. With this, she has been able to cover a wound that has never been there.

She uses it as a major defense mechanism, as well as offensive. Every being is placed into a category with extreme prejudice and arrogance. Evil. Good. These are two slots each race falls into as a whole, and she is too stubborn to take them out. She will not modify them for the fear of finding herself wrong- something she should never be in her eyes.

'Catharsis and Kenosis'.

What does such a being mark as evil?

Not following the rules.

"Not following my rules."

Gods who do not seek to wage war, gods who do not aspire to become true Gods.

Disgusting. Utterly disgusting.

Peace between gods. Only a god of Justice could understand the idiocy of such a task. Only a paragon of good could know its ultimate futility.

Only a god of Order could be this chuuni.

"...learn the system that led to this, then break the ones who break the rules."

An objective had been delineated.