yutzen

(another one from the archive, this one an experiment in trying to make some original mythology. Part of a series I intend to expand later. Also a prompt story, this time provided by Impressions of Detail at Cohost. I'll miss 'em in particular)

A lightning-scarred temple, dedicated to the overthrow of every God

"The following story came from Ferigozi sources; the version presented is sourced mostly from Romíz of Vilavendi, with a few adjustments of my own to include details found in other versions.
The various retellings of this story were retrieved with unusual levels of fidelity thanks to pre-Refuging carvings keeping the details relatively straight in comparison to others, and presumably allowing the verbal tradition to remain fresh as newer generations had reasons to ask. Very few such carvings appear to have survived, however, thanks to the tale being spread by a highly radical faction within pre-Subterraneum society, which blended into the rest upon collapse and refuge. One can can only speculate on how many versions of the story were lost during the turmoil that followed.
As with most myths, and nearly every tale I've compiled in this volume, attempting to track down the true origin of this tale has been impossible so far."

Before our time, before our beginning, before anything we know... there was nothing. And before there was nothing? There was a time and a land, utterly different from ours and yet so alike in many ways. With peoples who perhaps labored and frolicked like we do, may have loved and warred like we do, and spread across whatever world they had to themselves, in such distant times. Who perhaps rose to a peak of strength we could hardly understand, reached heights well beyond anything we've known. And, in the end, who either saw their downfall little by little as their world left them behind, or saw it fall apart around them and collapse, taking them with it into nothingness... Leaving nothing behind, either way.

Or rather, almost nothing. But we will get to that.

Like many of us, these peoples had Gods of their own, and in that time, that meant far more than it does now. A whole, outlined pantheon born of them, of the land itself, of every concept and every rule that made their world what it is. A willful place it was, far more than ours, where their power and influence was felt far more than anything we ever saw. Anything that could be revered, that could be served but never ruled, would find itself represented, embodied outright. Concepts could be whole courts of deities, each aspect bestowed a name, a mask and a will, all of them ruled by the one that represented the whole. And the people of such a land, their creators and subjects alike, would have to bow, and pay their respects, lest these beings with perfect control of their domain turn it against them.

No one knows how long this order lasted, but it couldn't have been long. With deities both kind and cruel, orderly and fickle, lenient and tyrannical, all vying for the same people. All demanding tribute, sometimes especially if it meant spiting another... We know that, eventually, the realm was overburdened by their dominion. Too many divine rulers for the people to appease, with whims and rivalries that came and went ensuring one or another would always be displeased with those below. And there is only so much a people can take before resentment starts to brew... And with it, ideas.

It began with yet another squabble between gods. Two domains opposed, and their worshippers caught in the middle, unable to sate both. Which ones, no one remembers anymore; what's important is that someone snapped that day, and wondered if the only way out of these dilemmas would be to end one of the two parts. At that stage it was near-unthinkable, it might've even been a joke, a less-than-serious vent, but as soon as the very idea passed through their minds, the very moment this very pointed anger settled into a concept... It got a mask and will of its own.

They called him the Lord Defiant. His was a mask of chiseled bone - sometimes bleached blank, sometimes carved with swirling patterns - and his will was with the people, demanding only they stand rather than bow, even if it was against him. He stood against rules and law, and the more hidebound they were, the more ferocity he showed them... He was of Defiance, of Rule-breaking, of Transgression... And in this world, where the rules of nature had divine avatars, where the laws of reality and the gods that enforced them were oft one and the same, he found it easy to take the mask of Deicide itself.

From there, it snowballed; As with any new idea, as soon as one gave form to something that'd been unthinkable just moments ago, it grew roots that wouldn't budge - and in a world where such an idea had a face and a voice, said roots grew quickly and deeply. And once the people knew the concept was real enough to be represented, those that had been tyrannized the most quickly knew exactly who to back.

It was when the Lord Defiant let those that followed him breach the laws themselves that war became inevitable. When those under him could harness the gifts of other gods, that had not granted them to those outside their circle, let alone servants of this upstart. When those closest to him managed to combine said gifts, and forge together new powers and methods from components whose lords despised each other. It is said that the true point of no return was when fire and water were made to work together in one place, in one single arrangement, achieving things not yet dreamed of... That was when it began.

With ever-growing numbers on his side, and his own nature as the very breach of the laws wielded against him, the Lord Defiant and his many followers stood their ground for a long, long time. But the others never stopped; even seeing their fellow divines die in the battlefields, felled by what should be their followers, and the world around them warping and cracking to accommodate the shift, only incensed them more and drove them to fight with ever-greater ferocity. And in the end, with their numbers and their power, they earned themselves a bloody victory...

But when the time came to execute him, the Lord of Death refused, stating it simply: What would stop this lawless being from breaching their laws as well, teaching how to do so, and returning himself to their realm with all the other dead in tow?

And so, the gathered gods decided to imprison him instead. The Lord Defiant was restrained in the depths of his shattered temple, where all their stolen gifts had been wielded by unworthy hands. Layers upon layers of seals, each crafted and put in place by a different divine, were layered through the walls, through wood and stone, each made as unbreakable as they could manage. When they ran out of temple, in turn, they were forced to construct further walls, and the pillars to sustain them, just to support every seal and lock they wished to put between them and the Defiant one. Even as they worked, these pieces of prison twisted themselves to match the house of worship within...

But it worked. Each of the gods did theirs best to bar the prisoner from their own gifts, so that he may never escape, no matter where he intended to go, and no matter how long he had to attempt it. It never truly barred his influence, of course, as even afterwards the people could still find themselves twisting gifts not meant for them, when they stood tall enough... but the Lord Defiant remained there, for the rest of eternity.

And remains there still. For the Lord of Death layered the thickest seals of all, barring him from an ending, fearing that death would be but another avenue of escape to the upstart prisoner. The realm collapsed into dust and nothingness, the pantheons fell one by one, and the masks were ground under the foot of Time and Death, before they, too, came to an end themselves... but not the Lord Defiant, who had been barred from both. The perfect prison doubled as the perfect fortress, and within, he defied the End itself with gifts that weren't his own.

It is said this temple, this prison, tumbles across eternity to this day, the one remnant from the last time around. He is yet to breach it, and perhaps he never will, but his whispers still do... And it is said that, sometimes, when the people of today stand tall enough, defying the higher powers, defying the very end of everything... he reaches out, and aids them.

-Excerpt from "Who is the Lord Below? A Treatise on the Radiant and Cthonic", authored by 'the Ever-Restless Nirrhamidh' (assumed pseudonym; author not yet identified)