“So tell me sister, what do you really think of Vaingloth’s proposal?”
“Why it’s the most depraved bit of heresy one could imagine is it not brother?”
“Well that all depends I suppose. He never did outright say he intends to betray the gods, did he?”
“But then he did not need to. Not with the bait he offered.”
“Bait tailor-made to your interests I believe?”
“And yours. He seems well versed in our fields of devotion.”
“Worrisome?”
“Highly.”
“So we will deny him.”
“You believe we have that choice?”
“He may own many and more souls, but not ours.”
“Not our souls, but perhaps our hearts? I saw the gleam in your eye when he hypothesized about a world bereft of divine limitations. Tell me, did you start plotting your first experiments the moment he broached the idea or have you waited until now to allow ideas to start percolating before your mind’s eye?”
“As though the prospect of death on so grand a scale failed to capture your attention.”
“A whole world, or as close as matters, and then an eternity of liberating souls and doing with them as I pleased? Do you know why he came to us?”
“Because he must bring the other High Accessors on board or his plan will die stillborn in the womb of his mind as he dies on a pyre of divine retribution?”
“Not at all. In fact, he will not approach many other High Accessors. A score, or perhaps only a dozen if he is properly paranoid. No, we were specially selected.”
“And why would that be dear sister?”
“Because if I had caught of wind of this and he had failed to include me, I would have killed everyone else involved.”
“You would have contested with a dozen other High Accessors?”
“No. Of course not. I wouldn’t have risked a contest. I simply would have killed them.”
– High Accessors Vitor and Malgenia deciding to join Vaingloth’s cabal to overthrow the gods.
My people love me and I wish to all the absent gods that they wouldn’t.
That’s not a wish that I’m supposed to have. Not when “my” city was purpose built to provide me with an adoring populace I can slaughter at will. I’m supposed to be blissfully content. Should I show signs of not being perfectly blissful or perfectly content people begin to worry. Important people. People who are afraid I would kill them in an instant despite the tiny, inconvenient little fact that the moment they discovered why I was neither blissful, nor content, any one of them would end me before I could form a single thought.
That is but one of the many problems with being a Neoteric Lord it turns out.
To be fair, many people would take exception to that complaint, and they would be entirely correct in their opinion of my complaints validity. Neoteric Lords live with comfort and security undreamt of nearly anyone in the history of the world. They are inviolate and supremely sovereign. Eternal forces able to sculpt the remains of a dead world into whatever form them desire.
So why then, you might wonder, am I trapped in a charnel house of deranged martyrs who are subject to my every whim?
Because of all the Neoteric Lords, my hands are the bloodiest.
“She’s being dramatic again,” Death of Beauty said, her voice firmly inside my head though she wasn’t making any attempt to pitch me over the edge of the balcony I was perched on.
“Thank you for the update. I imagine she’s also breathing too, and perhaps it is dark outside?” Death of Inhibition said from the other side of my Very Private Very Personal Sanctum. She wasn’t really there of course – but projecting outside the confines of my head kept us all as close to sanity as we could claim to be.
“I’m not being dramatic! I’m speaking the unvarnished truth, these hands have killed a lot of people!” I said, dramatically and with dire and overwrought emphasis.
“Yes but they weren’t exactly yours when they were tearing hearts from test subjects or vivisecting the living were they?” Beauty asked. “Any more than they were mine when she decided that she lacked an understanding of how the Broken Spirits destroy the mortals they encounter.”
“Don’t try to take her crimes onto yourself Death of Insight, you don’t want to get into a misery competition with the rest of us,” Death of Reason said. “I promise you I will win.”
I liked Reason. She had a unique gift for making me feel completely terrified of what she might do despite the fact that she was as much a ghost as any of the rest of us.
Oh, you’re ghosts now? I suppose that puts you beyond the bounds of my blessing. I guess I will begin drifting in the aetheric tides until a new Blessed emerges to carry my essence.
That was Diyas.
My god.
Holder of the domains of Healing and Life.
And even more of a drama hound than I am.
“It’s such a waste that one of us couldn’t carry you instead”, Beauty said.
“Indeed, but it does mean we are spared a whole host of unpleasantries,” Inhibition said.
“What could be worse than being trapped with our eternally teenaged sister?” Beauty asked.
“Pick any moment from before we met her,” Reason said.
“Or, most likely, any moment from the next five minutes,” Inhibition said.
“Wait, what’s in the next five minutes?” I asked. My head was pretty full, what with there being a half dozen or so of Malgenia’s other sacrifices living in there, not to mention almost all of a fairly major god.
Only ‘fairly major’?
Would you prefer I describe you as the most powerful and expansive and amazing deity to every hold dominion over the world?
Ick, no.
I didn’t think so. So let me stick with ‘fairly major’. I’ve already thrown off the programming to worship one overly powerful person in my life, I don’t think I can truly be in communion with you if I let myself fall back into that sort of worship again.
I do so enjoy our chats. I’ve never had a mortal worship me best by not worshipping me at all. I think I’ll keep you.
With that spiritual crisis averted, I turned my thoughts back to Death of Inhibition’s oblique warning. My attempt to wrack my brain for the memory of what fate might be impeding for me was interrupted by said fate hitting my door with a few perfunctory knocks before strolling into my Personal and Private Sanctum with the sort of distracted nonchalance that only one person in the world was capable of possessing.
My brother.
Or, her brother really.
“Vitor, isn’t the sky a lovely shade today?”
“It’s the same shade it’s been for centuries now Malgenia,” he said without looking up from the papers he was carrying.
“Of course it is. That’s what makes its lovely.”
I wasn’t crazy.
Okay, that might be stretching the truth a bit.
I wasn’t the sort of crazy I was portraying myself to be.
I was Malgenia’s sort of…well crazy isn’t the right term for it. She was perfectly in control of her mental faculties, she simply chose to present herself as being more detached from reality than she truly was.
As best as I could tell from rummaging around in her old memories, it was a defense mechanism. She was mostly just bored and enjoyed the discomfort her adopted persona inspired in people. That her brother and fellow Neoteric Lord had grown used to her oddness meant that I was locked into being odd as well, at least for as long as I wanted him to think Malgenia was still the one driving around her body.
“You have another Assumption coming up next year don’t you?” Vitor asked, ignoring me exactly and precisely as I hoped he would.
“Do I?” I asked. I absolutely did, and I absolutely had no intention of going through with it, but that wasn’t why Malgenia would have said what I did.
Where the impending Assumption represented a murder I was willing to kill to prevent committing (yes, I know), for Malgenia it was a triviality of almost no importance.
I mean, true, Assumptions were the means by which she maintained her immortality, and she did spend years picking out the most properly worshipful of her hand grown crop of acolytes, but the death of just one person? Far beneath the notice of the Death Touch Neoteric Lord.
“Have you picked one yet?” Vitor asked, still buried in his reports.
What was so important that he couldn’t spare a glance at his own sister? Well, I was dying to know, but showing any of that would have changed me to simply “dying” so Malgenia’s distant disinterest remained firmly in place.
“Does it matter?” I asked, slumping against the balcony’s railing as though the effort of asking the question had completely exhausted me.
I knew my Malgenia performance was convincing by the low growl of frustration it drew from Vitor and the fact that he finally looked up from his reports at me.
“Is it…yes, it’s important! You know you need to make sure there’s a compatible Death to draw on. If one of those little leeches isn’t willing to accept you…”
“If one of my flowers refuses me, I will simply take another, and another, and another. It was delightful to see them fall like that, one after the other.” Was I putting on too much of a performance? Was I giving away my real feelings for Malgenia by exaggerating how awful she was?
No.
Not in the slightest.
If anything I probably needed to be more terrible, but there was limits to what I could manage even as a deception.
Vitor groaned at my performance, having expected something of the sort before he even knocked I was sure.
“Your ‘flowers’ are not easy to create you know.”
“Am I not the most lovable of the Lords?” Even Malgenia would have drenched those words in sarcasm so I didn’t hold back either.
“No.” Vitor didn’t elaborate. He didn’t need to. We were both monsters and we both knew it.
Ahem? Care to rephrase that? Diyas wasn’t asking a question or making a suggestion. She really didn’t like it when I blurred the line between what I’d done and what Malgenia had been responsible for.
Which was, I had to admit, smart.
“See, she’s not always overly dramatic,” Reason said.
“Give her time,” Beauty said, reserving judgment.
“So you need me to pick a flower to pluck,” I asked, distracting myself from the chorus in my head and mollifying Vitor, to a degree. “What sort of flower should it be.”
“I don’t care. Just pick a compatible one. One compatible one. We don’t want a repeat of your last misadventure.”
“Why I thought it was a delightful diversion,” I said and exerted heroic effort to resist vomiting on the floor from the intensity of the lie.
“Three flowers gone, and you barely functional for a month afterwards? That was delightful to you?” Vitor asked, genuinely annoyed I thought. “Mal, we almost lost you there. You cannot take this as something frivolous. Assumptions are the foundation of your eternal life. Need I stress the ‘eternal’ part? One close call like that in two centuries is one more than we can afford. This next Assumption and all the ones that follow from now on need to be simple and easy.”
“And fun?” I asked, perking up. Malgenia was a role I’d studied for years and so her mood shifts were as easy to simulate as they were to predict.
I’d loved that about her once.
Sort of shame my change of heart on the matter had been what one might call dramatic.
I felt the collective groan from my mental chorus, Diyas included, and let the smile at that beam out towards Vitor.
He was in a difficult spot. On the one hand, refusing Malgenia a chance at “fun” was going to produce a cranky Malgenia, and literally no one, mortal, Neoteric, or god wanted that. On the other hand, allowing Malgenia her “fun” was likely to produce the exact sort of results Vitor had excellent reasons to strive to avoid.
“Provisionally,” he replied, choosing the path of tact and greatest safety.
And then he fled.
A few centuries, it seemed, were capable of imbuing wisdom even into someone thick headed enough to become a Neoteric Lord.
With his departure though I was left with a challenge.
“Finding someone else to be even more absurdly dramatic too?” Beauty asked.
“Finally putting together a plan for how we can escape before Vitor inevitably figures out that none of us are the sister he’s known for centuries?” Inhibition asked.
“It certainly won’t be exploring the nigh bottomless reservoir of power Malgenia left us with access to,” Reason said, smug only because she was absolutely correct.
“No. Vitor was right,” I said, which disgusted them as much as it disgusted me. “I need to pick the next girl who’s going to die for me, and then I need to somehow convince her not to.”
