Submerged under a deep lake of primordial fluids, I wait and grow, dreaming. Dreaming of my promised lordship and my legacy as the inheritor of creation. My genes sing to me sweet lullabies and triumphant hymns, and from the distant, impenetrable dark I can hear the voice of my mother calling out to me in a language older than me, older than time, incomprehensible. She is the gateway, and I am the key. On that prophesized day when we are united, the galaxy will tremble under the weight of our ambitions. But that day is far, and so I wait. And grow. And dream.
---
A million shrieking voices cry out in anguish when he pulled the trigger. Five shots, at point blank through the back; every supersonic round ripping apart heavenly flesh and showering the prostrate masses below in cosmic blood and guts. His triumphant warcry:
“Death to the false-“
It is all he could yell before a dozen magnetic assault rifles unloaded in his general direction, nailing the wet, scarlet tatters that used to be a man to the marble wall on the opposing side. The dying queen collapsed backwards, a shaky, pale hand fumbling near the hole where her stomach used to be. At first she heard the cries of her people lamenting her death, but within a mere handful of heartbeats, she could neither hear nor remember them. Her teary eyes gazed up at the domed, glass ceiling of her wagon, beholding the pale blue sky and puffy clouds beyond. She knew this day would come. She had provoked it long ago and had dreamed of it even earlier. She regretted nothing and would do it all again in a heartbeat. But she never imagined it could be so frightening and painful.
Panicked aides rushed to her side; bulky men in heavy armor provided cover in all directions while more elegant figures extracted scans of her vitals from her dying flesh. They inserted emergency medical devices into her corpse, sprayed coagulant on the void that used to be a womb, but they knew as well as the great Astera that nothing could stay the hand of fate.
“There – is n-nothing. To. Fear,” she croaked in a whisper. “I was – born. For this. And I –I-I will. Be. Born. Again.”
The great queen and goddess of Lerna died that day with a knowing smile on her colorless lips. She had found out the truth, and so would her sisters. It did not matter how many generations it would take, their day would come. And there was nothing the prelacy could do to stop that, for they were blinded by hubris.
One day, the very weight of the cosmos would collapse upon them, to put them in their place and teach them that godhood is beyond their mortal grasp.
---
Consciousness pulls at my soul like a million violent hands, yanking and grasping as if wanting to tear me asunder. Never have I known such pain or fright. Never again will I. When the great lake is drained and my plastic cocoon ruptured, I realize for the first time that I have eyes, and open them. My disappointment is infinite when I behold a world that is cruel, dark, raw and cold. So very, very cold. Alien lifeforms with alien minds crowd around me in bewilderment, watching me as I curl up and weep as I have never wept before. Their unknowable eyes somehow appear impossibly accustomed to the sight of a goddess being born. Surely the impression must be wrong.
Surely. The alternative would be too terrifying.