The Creators Ch. 10

Hatred didn't respond. She looked at her realm, and worked her jaw, her eyes burning with emotion. "This used to be a land of green, the prettiest world you'd ever seen, of trees and grass and weeds and flowers, but it all wilted in the final hours."

"What?" I asked. "Hatred, do you remember being alive?"

"If you know that you're insane, then perhaps you're simply vain, does knowing the state of my true self, make me just a rational elf?" Hatred prompted. "I know what I'm supposed to be, but is this what I chose to be? Am I hatred at the core, or is there yet another door?" Hatred grinned evilly at me. "Or perhaps it is my final center, and when my ancient mind you enter, you'll see a truth I cannot see, but the last person you should tell, is me. For I am made of pain and death, of words spoken in heated breath, and if you tell me from where I come, I might go back to where you're from."

Hatred was on me in a flash, her teeth pulling my lower lip, her hands digging nails into my back, her skinny body pressing, her lust coating me with her violent grinds. She buried my erection with a drive her hips, her maleficent grin gaping to yield a giggling gasp. Her womanhood drew me into her with squeezing muscles, pulling me deeper, beckoning me to drive. She ripped my head back by the hair, exposed my neck, and sucked my throat, teasing with her teeth. I pivoted my hands behind me, and let her take control, feeling both incredibly aroused, and incredibly scared as Hatred rocked us to her death-metal rhythm. I had about a hundred scratches on me when she was done, and after she'd screamed her release, she pushed my head against the rocks, and stood over me, her body silhouetted by the eclipsed sun, shining dimly through the ash. She looked up at foreign sky, breathed deeply, and spoke in a tremendous, terrifying voice.

"A thousand years they are as one, like conjoined twins of the sun, and when they set with rattling breath, they're torn apart by the hands of death. For a time, they will divorce, but it can't be seen from the source, for blinding light is aptly named, but my fire is better tamed. At the dawn of the new era, the earth aligns with my caldera, and though my heat died long ago, my hatred still has room to grow." Hatred leaned forward, kissed my lips, and whispered, "Thank you." Then she turned on her heel, and walked away.

"You were a Heat Bringer?!" I called. She just kept walking. There were so many questions, but Hatred didn't seem to care. I had gotten her here, and she had repaid me by telling me of Corruption, but it was no longer enough. Something terrible had happened when I'd been traveling between realms, but I couldn't figure out what. Angela's mind was a twisted abstraction of memories and thoughts, none of them good. I needed real answers.

"Wait!" I cried. "Do you know who made you?"

Hatred stopped, and looked over her shoulder at me. "I tried to tell you, Diamond," she giggled. "This was once a warmer place, of kind eyes on morning's face, I remember the song of birds, and the joy in my holy mother's words."

The smoke hazed her figure, and she disappeared into the blackness. I stared after her, clenching my fists and unclenching them in turn. More cryptic religious bullcrap!

I sighed, and looked out at the wasteland. This realm was immense, its boundaries barely visible as distant mountain ranges in the black horizon. Whoever Hatred had been before her Sentience had lived for a long, long time. One volcano stood high above the others, about one-hundred miles away. I puffed out my cheeks, blew air through flapping lips, leapt to my feet, and started my journey. The spaces between mountains were flat, with not a hill to ease the gradient. Hatred's world was one of extremes; it was either a plateau, or a sheer cliff. I found a steam-powered cart sitting on derelict tracks, and I gratefully sat in the passenger's seat, and pulled the crank. My head shot back, my neck whiplashed, and my eyelids and lips peeled as I rocketed across Hatred's realm. The cart came to a lurching stop, and I was at the entrance to Hatred's center. It was a cave at the bottom of the volcano, paneled with stone slabs and lined with pedestals that were illuminated by magmatic light from slotted windows. At the very back, sitting on a podium, was a bible.

Like Wrath's realm, the pedestals showed paintings, each one crafted by less-experienced hands until the one closest to the bible looked to have been created by a toddler. Only unlike Wrath's center, I could easily tell what each painting was. The newest painting was of two suns: one yellow, and one red; the earthly, and astral suns, I guessed. Between them was a frayed and torn rope, and holding the other end of the rope, was Hatred. I moved to the next painting, and the suns were closer together, and the frayed ends of the rope between the suns had a knot before its break. Hatred still held her end, but the detail of her figure was noticeably simpler. I moved to the next painting, and the suns were even closer, the knotted rope had two frayed ends forking from it, and Hatred's proportions were exaggerated, like a cartoon's. I moved to the last painting, this one done with finger-paint, and the suns were one, creating an eclipse as seen in the astral plane, lashed together by the rope. Holding the other end of the rope, was a stick-figure drawing of an elf. Not Hatred, but a smiley-faced woman of beige skin and blonde hair.

"Joy..." I murmured. "This was once a warmer place, of kind eyes on morning's face, I remember the song of birds, and the joy in my holy mother's words." I recited softly, trying to piece-together the puzzle. Hatred remembered being tethered, when birds sung in her realm of life, when the twin suns showed warmly—'of kind eyes on morning's face,'—and when she thought her holy purpose was to bring joy to the world. Much like Passion, Joy had an emotive purpose that had been dictated by her Live Giver.

"You were tethered to the astral sun," I said, staring at the last painting, "but the eclipse ended, the suns parted, your tether broke, and you became Sentient. But that doesn't make sense! You have to be tethered to the physical realm! How can a person be tethered to an idea with no substance..." my eyes fell to bible at the very back of the room. I walked cautiously to it, and opened the oldest piece of Hatred. On the first day, The Holy Mother created life, the land on which it walked, and the sun with which it shined. She birthed those that would carry her likeness; the human, elf, dwarf and nymph; the orc, goblin, ogre and troll; the centaur, siren... That part was still the same. I skipped through the list of the Holy Mother's supposed creations until I got to the third day, the day that had been changed in Wrath's bible, but that was also the same. On the third day, The Holy Mother created wind... In Hatred's book, it was the second day that had been changed, but it hadn't been changed just once. On the second day, The Holy Mother- ON THE SECOND DAY, THE HOLY MOTHER CREATED HATRED, FOR ALL THAT IS JOY TURNS TO DUST IN THE END! The original text was crudely written-over, by big, bold lettering.

"What the heck is going..." I trailed off, and looked down. There were black footprints beneath my feet. I frowned, dipped my finger in the ash that littered the volcanic floor, and wrote into the bible: On the second day, The Holy Mother created... but the text disappeared almost as soon as I'd written it. I didn't know what Joy would've turned to without Corruption's intervention, but Corruption had made sure that once the astral eclipse ended, she got her word in. What had been in Joy's center? My own center was just my earliest memories, but my astral garden was unique; I wasn't a construct of a Life Giver. What were in the centers of Angela and Arbitrus? If they went Sentient, would they have bibles with lies written in them? Why?!

"On the third day, the Holy Mother created Wrath. On the second day, the Holy Mother created Hatred. On the first day..." My eyes fell back to the black footprints beneath my feet. I followed their path around the podium, to the wall behind it. There was a doorknob hidden in the shadow of the podium, and a threshold concealed by the paneling. The bible was here, this was the final center, but there was still a door. Then there's only one place this could lead to. Corruption had to get in here somehow. And right now, she's not home. I reached forward, and clasped the knob. I took a deep breath, and turned my wrist. I heard a bolt clicking, and felt my hand rotate unhindered. I heard a giggle behind me, and looked back. Hatred stood in the entrance to her center, watching me with a coy grin that juxtaposed her baleful, white eyes. As I met that maleficent gaze, I wondered if I'd just awoken an ancient evil even worse than Corruption. One Sentient at a time, Diamond. The world still has two-hundred years before they have to deal with Hatred. Besides, she likes me. I smiled and waved to her, and she waved and grinned back. Then I stepped through the door, and closed it behind me.

Part Three: Missing Pieces

JUSTINA

Lucilla, Diamond and Julia looked dead. They were in bed beside each other, their complexions almost as pale as the sheets pulled around them. Outside of Brandon's temple, the angry grumble of the populace roared a low, but threatening tone. Word of Willowbud and Julia's exploits had gotten around, and the people were growing restless. Rumors of Tentigo and Arbortus had already made the rounds, but without any witnesses, there was enough deniability to keep the gods' records clean. There was no deniability here. Willowbud had shackled her whores to the floor of her temple, and Julia had ordered that every one of them be gangraped. Public perception of the gods had changed from awe to fear as the tale swept through the city. The nobles hid themselves in their mansions, the king barricaded himself in his palace, and the poor, lacking high walls to protect themselves, had found safety in numbers. A mixture of Breytans and Ofanians stood between the mass of people and Brandon's temple, strong and straight-backed, like statues ready to kill. Sara and her elves guarded Julia's temple, while no one guarded Willowbud's. Of course, even the most insane person wouldn't venture to cross Night Eyes, so I guessed a violent reputation had its uses.

"How's her pulse?" Brandon asked me as I held two of my fingers to Diamond's (Angela's) throat.

"Steady," I replied, trying to remain medically dispassionate. Jade told us that Diamond and Julia had vomited copious amounts of black bile before succumbing to shock. Lucilla had been tortured into some kind of fugue state, and simply stared sightlessly at the ceiling. No one even knew where Willowbud had gone, but Astrid was out hunting for her.

"Are these cosmetic astral gemstones?" Brandon asked, inspecting Diamond's temples.

"No, they're medical," I lied. "Diamond was having migraines."

Brandon nodded, then moved his attention to Julia. He held her limp wrist, and closed his eyes, counting her heartbeats under his breath.

"How is Her Holiness?" Jade asked. She'd been glued to Julia's bedside the whole time. For whatever reason, she was wearing a scandalous red robe that evoked a 'nun gone slutty' vibe. I'd worn something similar for a few of my customers, but I got the feeling Jade wasn't wearing it for the irony. She seemed to wear it with immeasurable pride. I didn't have the heart to tell her there was cum in her hair.

"Stable," Brandon replied, "but what happened to her is beyond my reach. I can't heal psychological or spiritual damage. We'll just have to wait and see." Brandon moved to Lucilla, and checked her vitals. She hummed when he touched her neck, but she otherwise didn't respond. He snapped his fingers across her eyes, cracked smelling salts beneath her nose, and even tried pinching her, but all he got was the impulsive reactions of her body.

"Goddamn it," Brandon sighed, collapsing into his chair and kneading his forehead. Mom was there to massage his shoulders, and Bianca was there to glare at Mom with obvious jealousy.

"Diamond did as she promised," Mom said, "we don't have to run now."

"Unless they decide they want to get in," Brandon grumbled, nodding toward the window.

"They wouldn't gain one step past our line," Bianca said firmly.

"I'm not worried about the mob," Brandon sighed. "Julia scared a lot of people today, Bianca; a lot of rich people. When rich people are scared, they pay heaps of money to scary people who specialize in making other scary people go away. There's going to be assassins."

"I can proof your temples," Mom replied, much to Bianca's ire. "I know every trick of the trade, and whoever they pay, they won't be better than me."

"Eagles catch snakes far better than other snakes, Your Holiness," Bianca narrowed her eyes at Mom.

"Stop," Brandon held up his hand before Mom could reply. "Find a way to work together, or find someone else to work for."

"Yes, Your Holiness," Bianca said, bowing. Mom gave Brandon a look that said she very-much liked his authoritative nature, but she resisted the urge to dive between his legs, and instead gave a conciliatory nod. I felt a gentle touch on my hand, and nearly jumped out of my skin. Angela stared up at me from Diamond's eyes, her gaze but slits beneath heavy lids. The whole room rushed to her side, but Jade held up a strong arm to keep from crowding. Angela mouthed something I couldn't hear. I put a finger to her lips, imploring her to save her strength, but she shook her head, and mouthed it again. I leaned forward, and through a raspy, faint voice, I heard her say,

"Diamond is in Corruption's realm."

WILLOWBUD

I was on my fifth cigarette in as many minutes. The hood concealed my white hair, and astral melds concealed my black eyes. It had been a long time since I'd felt the need to hide. Hiding went against my nature, hiding was what pussies did, what... she did. Maybe I just wanted to be alone; I didn't know. I didn't know what I wanted anymore.

What the fuck is wrong with you, Corruption? I asked. There was no reply, as always. The person closest to me couldn't even speak to me. I took a deep inhale of smoke, and let it flow from my mouth, creating a curtain of white over my face. My back still hurt like a bitch from where Sister Julia had branded me. I wish I could've said I fought her, but I let the holy cunt do it. Why? Well, deep down, I knew the reason. Sister Julia terrified me. I thought she and Willowbud were so alike, but I was so wrong. Our scars were the same, but the wounds had healed in very different ways. Sister Julia was filled with undeniable purpose, and Willowbud was hopelessly apathetic, even to her own life. Shit, if Astrid hadn't come along when she did, Willowbud would've let the slavers take her to... wherever.

I glanced at the spot on the street. It had been filled-in a year ago, but the scar remained. A ten-foot circle of new cobblestone stood starkly from the rest of the worn path. I supposed everyone just thought it was a sinkhole, but it was a grave. It was where Night Eyes died. I glanced at the street corner. It looked exactly the same as it had that day. This was where he saw me, and this is where I saw him. He was standing on that corner, a map in his hand, looking ragged, worn, and more than ten years older, but I knew him the moment I saw my father, and he knew me the moment he saw me. There had been tears in his eyes, I remembered, and he ran right for me, not caring that ten well-armed and well-muscled bangers surrounded me. I stepped past my men, not believing what I was seeing, and before I knew it, his arms were around me. That's when I felt Willowbud again, surging back to the forefront. 'Daddy, Daddy, Daddy...' she still thought of him as 'Daddy,' and I didn't know how to deal with it. Willowbud was still a little girl, she hadn't been with me when I grew to a woman; only Night Eyes had undergone the maturation. Childlike euphoria mixed with sadistic sexuality, and before I knew it, I was kissing my father in the middle of the street, and pushing my hands down his pants.

I knew he didn't want it, but he didn't try to pull away. He'd known what I'd become, but he wasn't scared of me. He just wanted me to feel better, and if that meant fucking me, then that's what he'd do. He'd been looking for me for over a decade with the memory of a little girl burned in his mind; seeing me as woman made it easier for things to... work biologically. Then I rode him in that hotel on the corner, and I made him come inside me, and I killed him. I think it was the look in his eyes that killed me. He was terrified, confused, unrecognizing. In his last moments, pain and primal horror had gripped him, and he didn't even know who I was. He was just the frantic need to survive, then he was dead. The guilt stabbed into me, and Corruption roared her fury in my mind. Like my father, I became the singularity of pain and horror, and I somehow ended up half a mile beneath the city. I think it was the silence I pursued, or maybe the solitude. Either way, it was the first time in years that I'd been truly alone. She was gone, and judging by the destruction of the bedrock I'd made in that hole, our separation had not been peaceful. I'd created a great hollow beneath Drastin, probably my greatest creation to date, and it was filled with contorted statues of my fevered mind. They stood in complete darkness, but I could see them through the tremors of the earth. It was Night Eyes's mausoleum. Willowbud had been reborn.

"Hey, Astrid," I sighed, punching out the cigarette. "You can come out of that alleyway; you're about as stealthy as an ostrich in a chicken coop."

Astrid emerged from the shadows she'd been hiding in, staring down at her feet. "I didn't want to bother you, Mistress."

"And you have failed," I said, patting the spot beside me on the curb, "but you should be used to it by now."

Astrid sat awkwardly beside me, her large frame making her knees press to her bare breasts.

"What did you think of Sister Julia today?" I asked her.

"My opinion doesn't matter," Astrid said quietly.

"No, it doesn't, but I'm asking for it anyway," I handed her a cigarette, and she lit it.

"I think that you should never again tempt Sister Julia with Corruption," Astrid replied, "or it will be the death of all of us. She's not like you, Mistress. When she goes dark, she is... pure evil."

"And I'm what? Evil-lite?" I laughed.

"You're not evil, not really," Astrid said, offering me a small smile. "True evil thinks it is doing good, but you just do whatever suits you. You're chaotic, undirected, like an earth quake that destroys without discrimination or premeditation."

"An earthquake, huh?" I grinned. "Like a force of nature."

"Yes," Astrid said, sucking on her cigarette.

"Sister Julia won't stop trying to save me," I replied, "and I can't just let her have her way with me, Astrid. I need to win. It's a compulsion, an obsession. I know Sister Julia will probably kill me when she turns; she'll probably kill me slow, but I can't just let her win."

"Then why play?" Astrid asked, looking down at me through a veil of smoke. "If winning means losing, then why don't you just make the game irrelevant like you did in the children's game?"

"Flip the board?" I chuckled. "I don't think I can do that here."

"Just don't play," Astrid shrugged her shoulders. "Take your ball, claim victory, and go home. Sister Julia did things today that will haunt her for the rest of her life. Her only redemption will be if she can rid you of Corruption, then in her mind, it will have been worth it. If you refuse to play, then all her sacrifices were in vain. You win."