God of Nothing

There weren’t always dragons in the Valley. For centuries, it had remained untouched by the chaos that blossomed throughout the Divine World. To the north, the Burning Range scorched a line of fiery cliffs through the lush green terrain, mirrored to the south by the formidable presence of the sky-rending Bloodstained Mountains. Situated between these awe-inspiring behemoths, resting peacefully amidst wild grasses and creeping patches of Blood Fire Blossoms, stood the Valley’s only structure: the jagged and unforgiving Vermilion Mountain.

Tartarus, God of Nothing, stood impassively atop the dragon’s regal head as the golden-scaled beast plummeted from the sky like a falling meteor. A moment before impact, his darkly-armored form tensed, and with his gaze still fixed on the sight of his companions doing battle below, he leaped effortlessly into the air.

A heartbeat later, the immense dragon struck ground with a thunderous boom that shook the meadow and sent an explosion of dirt and stone into the sky.

By the time the dust settled, the sounds of fighting within The Valley of Tricksters had fallen silent, and the other members of the River of Death—a name his companions had insisted upon—were beginning to regroup.

Tartarus left them to chatter amongst themselves and floated gently down to stand beside the dragon’s still form. He glanced briefly at the deep rent in the creature’s serpentine neck, watching as thick golden blood spilled out and soaked the torn earth.

“You have my sincerest apologies, Orel, God of the Golden Sea” Tartarus said, his emotionless voice a perfect match for his blank expression.

With a gloved right hand, he pushed a few tangled strands of black hair away from his pale face, before reaching out to give the dragon’s lathered snout a gentle pat. Tartarus’ shadow, a pool of inky darkness, danced and capered around his feet, completely ignoring the presence of the sun.

A strange intensity lit Tartarus’ dark eyes as the golden glow within Orel’s gaze began to dim. In the back of his mind, the scratching, itching whispers that he was cursed to endure in place of his emotions quieted for a blessed moment. On his right, his shadow also grew solemn, and it leaned in, its attention riveted on the dying beast.

“I know that dragons are often…irrational in the weeks following rebirth,” he said quietly. “Should luck favor you and grant you a quick resurrection…do not approach Vermilion Mountain again. I will not be…”

Tartarus trailed off as he noticed that the dragon’s bulky form was already disintegrating into swirling eddies of mana. A light breeze quickly swept the golden particles high up into the air, merging them with three other identical clouds that shimmered invitingly in the sun’s light.

Four down, Tartarus thought, watching the sparkling mass. One more to go.

A coughing giggle caught his attention, and he turned his inscrutable face in the direction of the last dragon still drawing breath within the Valley. Not far away, a scrawny, youngish-looking man was sprawled on the ground next to the wheezing form of a blue-green scaled beast. His angular face was topped by a shock of unruly brilliant red hair that waved back and forth, and his piercing green eyes sparkled as he talked animatedly to the distressed dragon in a sing-song voice.

“You really, truly like it?” he giggled, waving a small cylinder containing a pale pink liquid in front of one of the creature’s cavernous nostrils. “Hysteria wine is—hey! Why are you shaking like that? Wh—”

A large gray spike struck the dragon between the eyes with a jarring crunch, killing it instantly.

“Hey…hey…HEY!” screeched the God of Ecstasy.

Pouting unhappily, he pulled the stopper from the vial and downed the purple liquid in a single swallow. Immediately, he began to squirm and kick his scrawny legs—that were poking out from between faded purple shorts—against the ground.

“I was about to—”

“Enough of your games, Dionysus,” Tartarus interrupted, his voice not budging an octave. Lowering his outstretched right hand, he said, “Or…I will have Nyx shave you with a pair of Nightmare’s claws.”

Dionysus’ shabby yellow singlet rustled as he leaped to his feet, shaking his head vigorously. He spun, almost falling, before orientating on a slight, almost invisible figure that stood with two others about thirty yards away.

“Nyyyyxy!” Dionysus howled, sprinting towards her. “DON’T! I SWEAR—”

Tartarus watched impassively—while his shadow clapped its hands and smirked—as a dark apparition, that looked like the very darkness of night itself given form, stepped from nothing and grabbed the scrawny man by the throat

“Inebriate, do not move so quickly near my beloved,” whispered a cold, heavy voice.

“Ihg…I..FerGt,” Dionysus choked out, struggling to pry the hands from his neck.

“Nightmare, my love. You may let him down,” said a bewitching voice that rustled the senses of all those present—save for Tartarus who endured another surge of biting whispers. “Teaching D anything with violence is a fool’s game.”

Nightmare sighed, clearly unwilling, but a moment later, they faded like the night giving way to the dawn, releasing a now limply hanging Dionysus. The scrawny man gasped, and his wild green eyes widened as he hit the grass. Immediately, he sprang back to his feet, his mouth already open.

“I said…enough.”

Tartarus spoke the words evenly, but even the faint breeze stilled at the terrible, chaotic presence lurking behind each emotionless syllable. Unbidden, his shadow spread out, its clawed, elongated fingers creeping in the direction of the red-headed man.

Dionysus nodded emphatically, shrinking backwards.

Tartarus turned to address a well-built man with skin the color of molasses.

“Anubis, take your jackals and scout ahead. You know what the tricksters are like. Although they left this place long ago…be so kind as to make certain there isn’t anything unpleasant waiting for us before the Hall of Fallen Echoes.”

Anubis nodded once, without speaking, and turned on his heel. The chiseled muscles in his back rippled as he raised a massive hooked staff above his head. There was a click, and the golden length split evenly down the middle. Anubis relaxed his grip, allowing the separate pieces to fall from his hands. Halfway through their descent, they began to change, morphing into large glowing forms.

A few seconds later, a pair of massive canines stood staring up at their master with adoring eyes. Their tongues lolled as they fidgeted and waved their tails in anticipation.

Anubis gave each creature’s rusted-orange hide a welcoming rub and then took off at a blistering sprint across the grassy meadow. The jackals barked excitedly and raced after him, and together they made for a dark opening that lay at the foot of Vermilion Mountain.

Tartarus watched as the ever silent God of the Dead became a blur of movement, before he turned to Nyx’s other side.

“Lord Yama,” he said, addressing a blue-skinned bull of a man who stood with his eyes closed and an expression of satisfaction on his round face. “There will be plenty of time to stuff your face later. Your senses are the sharpest. What’s inside the fragment? Is it the Civilization of Dreams?”

Lord Yama smiled, his straight white teeth bright amongst his thick black beard and twisted mustache.

“The Hall of Fallen Echoes is…loud,” he said, his voice a low rumble. “I will know more once it has been calmed.”

The moment he finished speaking, he reached into a drawstring bag that he held in his left hand and pulled out an enormous spirit-bird leg. Taking a large bite, he chewed vigorously, his purple eyes staring insolently at Tartarus.

Ignoring the God of Death’s gluttonous behavior, Tartarus nodded at his words, having expected as much.

“Then, let us depart. Nyx, as the smartest and most devious among us…would be so kind?”

“Of course. Anything for the esteemed God of Nothing,” said the lithe woman in a breathy voice. With a smirk, she rose a few feet into the air, causing the darkness shrouding her form to shift and ripple. Power spread out from beneath her feet like billowing smoke and quickly enveloped them.

Tartarus stood in impassive silence as he felt his position within the Valley shift by a little more than a mile in a single slow breath.

I shouldn’t be here, he thought. Kali is one of us…but allowing these emotional fools to drag me from the Ashen Citadel was still a terrible idea. The whispers grow stronger far too quickly…

Tartarus knew that he would probably have to stop after they passed through the hall and ask the others to help him suppress the whispers. With their help, the task would take him minutes instead of a weeks.

The darkness began to recede as Nyx drew back her power, and Tartarus immediately glanced around, examining their new surroundings.

They stood before the broad entrance to a circular tunnel that was hewn from the sheer cliffs of Vermilion Mountain. It was unnaturally dark inside, and even with his enhanced eyesight, he couldn’t see more than a few yards past the threshold.

With a thought, Tartarus pulled a minuscule amount of mana through his Immortal Core and sent a globe of light floating forward into the cloying darkness.

Dionysus suddenly shrieked, and his thin body spasmed as he hurled a trio of small sparkling rainbow vials towards an imposing figure that stood inside the tunnel.

Anubis didn’t so much as flinch as the objects approached him. With a wave of his hand, the vials shattered again the wall, splashing rainbow liquid across the vermilion stone; instantly, the surface began to writhe and scream as if possessed.

Everyone, except for Dionysus, flinched and took a step backwards.

“Oh…it’s you,” Dionysus said, sounding unruffled. “It’s poor manners to sneak around like that, you know.”

He strolled casually past Anubis and was soon gobbled up by the darkness.

“Is D…crazier than usual?” Nyx asked.

“I find it difficult to tell year on year,” Lord Yama said, shrugging his enormous shoulders. The bulky plates of darkly-colored bone armor that covered him from the neck down shifted about organically as he moved, creating the impression that they were a part of him.

Dionysus has always been mad, Tartarus thought, pushing down a sudden surge of insistently scratching whispers. It’s one of the few things I have in common with that substance-abusing experimentalist.

He didn’t notice, but his shadow reached out and tried to wrap its hands around his throat.

Anubis, who had been following Dionysus with narrowed eyes, shook his head and turned to face Tartarus. Raising a hand—that was now covered by a thin golden gauntlet—he beckoned them forward, indicating in his silent way that the path was safe.

“Come,” Tartarus said, ordering his globe of light to move ahead of them. “The fragment’s energy signature is growing stronger. It won’t be long before other pantheons arrive.”

Not waiting for a show of assent, he stepped into the tunnel, gesturing for Anubis to join him. The God of the Dead nodded and fell in beside Tartarus, leaving Nyx and Lord Yama to bring up the rear.

After walking unerringly down the steep, straight tunnel for more than a mile, the globe of light finally revealed the jackals. They were sitting alertly before a carved stone doorway; behind them, an opaque vermilion barrier blocked the way forward.

The moment the jackals saw Anubis, they both jumped to their feet and ran up to him. They huffed and yipped softly, before heeling without an audible command.

Tartarus caught Anubis’ attention, but the god only shrugged, indicating that he didn’t have anything further to report.

Suddenly, Dionysus stuck his head through the barrier and blinked at them. His face moved through a range of mostly unreadable expressions before finally settling on one that wavered somewhere between curiosity and confusion.

“Who are you?” he asked in a soft, almost childlike voice.

“Not this again,” Nyx grumbled. “Let’s see if you remember this!”

With a quick motion, the Goddess of the Night launched a sphere of darkness at the scrawny man. The power morphed as it flew, growing a pair of vicious looking curved shears that began to snip and slice the air.

Dionysus shrieked, and his head vanished back out of sight.

“Nyx,” Tartarus said in warning, but she only threw him a grin and slipped through the barrier. Lord Yama, who was munching contentedly on a fresh bird leg, and Anubis, who once more held the hooked Staff of Jackals, quickly followed after her.

Tartarus paused, forcing the whispers to quiet, before he too walked unhurriedly towards the barrier.

#

Located in the depths of Vermilion Mountain, The Hall of Fallen Echoes was a vast rectangular space that was enclosed by immense vermilion stone walls. On the roof high above, small lights glinted and sparkled like stars, radiating a pale light down onto an unusual landscape below.

Tartarus was alone. He glanced around, searching for any sign of his companions, but the polished ruby-red floor to either side of him was conspicuously empty. There was no sign of them in front either: the way forward was blocked by a small forest of tall willowy trees that were completely overgrown with burnt-orange flowers. On the left of the forest lay a miniature desert of white sand-dunes, and to the right glittered a brilliant jade-green lake. Tartarus looked closer and saw other, stranger details: a pool of lava bubbled amidst the dunes, an obscure amber-colored structure hid behind the trees, and, above the water, colorful clouds of gas swirled in geometric spirals.

I can’t sense the others at all…The Hall of Fallen Echoes must have done something, he thought. But the information Kali gave us…it didn’t mention an ability like this. I wonder…has the hall been feeding on the power of the Realm Shard?

Tartarus turned and found that the vermilion wall behind him was completely blank. There was no sign of the doorway or the barrier. It was odd considering that Dionysus had been able to stick his head back through earlier. Tartarus reached out with his senses and probed the wall. He should have been able to sink his awareness into the surface, but he was instantly rebuffed by a formidable presence that permeated every molecule of the stone.

The hall thinks to divide and conquer, Tartarus thought. A commendable strategy…but, misguided. My companions are the ones that allow me to hold back…

Suddenly, a surge of power came from the direction of the forest. Unhurriedly, he turned, his gaze coming to rest on three figures who had appeared a dozen yards away on the ruby-floor. Dressed in identical black cloaks, they stood as still as statues with their heads bowed, obscuring their appearance.

As if prompted by his attention, the central figure took a sudden graceful step forward and bowed silkily; in the same instant, they glanced up, revealing an incredibly detailed mask that resembled a silver and black cat’s face. With alarming suddenness, the surface rippled and the figure spoke.

“Welcome to the Hall of Fallen Echoes, Tartarus, God of Nothing,” purred a throaty feminine voice.

She straightened from her bow, and her gleaming yellow eyes fixed on him.

“Did you know? The Trickster…he warned me you would come,” she chuckled, and the cat’s face smirked and licked its lips. “Of course…that was a few hundred years ago, ” she continued, sounding thoughtful. “Isn’t it odd? If he knew the Realm Shard would open…why did he build such a grand manor in its path?”

“We were never that close,” Tartarus replied, shrugging.

Without warning, the cloaked figure standing on the cat’s left dashed nimbly forward and somersaulted high into the air. They landed easily in front of Tartarus, and the spider’s head mask they wore came alive as its dozens of eyes shifted about and its twin fangs clicked menacingly.

Tartarus didn’t react, but his shadow turned its hands into claws and tried to eviscerate the cloaked figure.

“Don’t,” he said simply.

The spider sighed dramatically and made to turn away.

Tartarus didn’t need the rush of whispers to catch a telltale flicker of movement, and he instantly sent a gray spike flying towards the figure’s mask.

There was a faint ripple, and the spider’s head turned translucent, allowing the spike to pass through harmlessly.

“So mean!” cried a cheeky voice.

Without saying a word, Tartarus followed up with another trio of spikes.

The spider snickered teasingly, and his form faded, turning into a ghostly apparition that danced and cartwheeled back to stand beside the others.

“Enough,” Tartarus said as the whispers began to push against his mental restraints and his shadow raged. Just because he tolerated the childish antics of his companions didn’t mean he would allow the hall to take the same liberties.

Pinning the cat with a blank stare, he said, “You know why I am here thief. Tell me what you must.”

The cat blinked lazily and said nothing.

A moment later, the last cloaked figure straightened, revealing a mask with the likeness of an orange coyote. The coyote barked out a quick yipping laugh and said, “It’s so very simple God of Nothing. Pick any path and cross the hall!” He grinned, exposing the coyote’s sharp teeth and pointed at Tartarus’ feet “But, be warned, should you fall…your echo shall become our brother.”

Tartarus looked down and found himself standing on a golden circle that branched into three thin golden paths. He cast Mana Vision, granting himself the ability to view the flow of mana within objects and quickly scanned each path. They all led deeper into the hall, but of the three, the path that wound its way through the forest was by far the most dangerous: there were at least a couple hundred creatures concealed in the foliage of the trees. In contrast, there was only a single…thing hiding in the lava, and three spiny beasts lurking beneath the surface of the lake. But, he didn’t like sand, so the desert was out, and while he could fly over the water…that was most likely against the hall’s rules, given that the path led under the water.

“The middle path. Can you tell me more?” he asked the cat.

She purred and mockingly said, “I could tell you a great many things. Alas, God who feels Nothing, I doubt you would truly understand…”

The cat winked teasingly, and before he could reply, the trio of masked figures faded away.

Tartarus stared at the vacant air as he worked to quiet the whispers. Her implication was clear enough, but that particular barb was almost as ancient as he was. It no longer held the power to send him into an immediate frenzy. Out of sight behind him, his shadow howled silently and clawed at his back.

During his brief walk to the edge of the small forest, the only noise came from his footsteps on the smooth stone floor. The scent coming from the flowering trees give him the impression of caramelized honey, and although his sense of smell was little more than a tool to him, he didn’t find it unpleasant.

Tartarus paused a dozen feet back from the tree line. Crossing his arms, he inspected the creatures in the trees. They were a species he vaguely recognized called Devil's Mantis. The large triangle-headed creatures were using their ability to flatten their chitinous carapaces and change their color at will to become invisible among the branches. A being less powerful than him probably wouldn’t have been able to sense them at all. They were quite adept at altering the mana within their bodies to mimic the pattern displayed by the trees.

I’m not walking into that, Tartarus thought, eying the limited space between the branches. Casting one of his favorite spells, he drew a torrent of mana through his Immortal Core and imagined thirty gray spikes, each a yard long, forming above his head. The instant they appeared, he sent them slicing silently forward, aiming for the trunks of thirty different trees.

The entire action took less than a second: not enough time for the Devil's Mantises to react. With a cracking, splintering crunch, thirty creatures were simultaneously struck by a spike and killed. The force behind each blow was significant, and the tops of the trees danced wildly, sending countless burnt-orange petals flying into the air.

A moment later, a cacophonous clicking, hissing wail rose up from the forest.

Tartarus backed up, giving himself a bit more space to work with as the first of the black and orange, five-foot tall creatures dropped to the ground. Reaching behind his back, his gauntleted fingers clasped two familiar grips, and he drew out a pair of simple gray bladeless hilts.

Devil's Mantis are not native to this area, Tartarus thought, watching the creatures at the edge of the tree line. That means someone has been bringing the hall things to eat.

More than fifty had gathered already, and they were tapping their bladed forelegs together to create a rhythmic clicking that grew louder as more mantises dropped from the trees. They wouldn't attack yet. The intelligence directing them had to know that the creatures didn’t stand a chance. Most likely, its strategy was to wear him down with numbers and then bring out something much more formidable once he was fatigued. It was a foolish notion.

Tartarus raised his weapons and held them out in front of himself. They were identical, right down to the words inscribed in soothing red script along each cross-guard: “Sometimes there are no good options.”

“I suppose, the Trickster put you up to this?” he asked. His voice wasn’t loud enough to be heard over the racket the mantises were making, but he knew the hall could hear him. “I can imagine the kinds of fanciful tales his silver tongue has whispered…but, if you are wise, you will abandon whatever plan he has concocted and quickly reunite me with my companions…”

Taking a deep breath, Tartarus reached into the depths of his mind and began to relax the mental restraints that worked tirelessly to keep the whispers suppressed within his shadow. Instantly, the bitting, itching, tearing sensation in the back of his awareness surged, sensing freedom for the first time in decades. Knowing he would likely regret it later, he focused on the Devil’s Mantises, using their sheer numbers, close proximity, and the obvious malice they were showing him, to drive the whispers berserk.

Suddenly, Tartarus smiled faintly, a reaction he had no real control over. The whispers were flooding his mind, demanding control. He tightened his grip on his weapons until his gloves creaked, trying to anchor himself to reality, but the scratching only grew more insistent. His smile widened, exposing stark white teeth. A chuckle escaped his lips, and then he was laughing, his shoulders heaving. His laughter grew louder until tears formed in the corners of his eyes and slid down his cheeks. It wasn’t enough. He screamed, trying to vent some of the pressure that was building within his mind. Behind him, his shadow no longer moved of its own accord; it had grown perfectly still and now behaved just like a regular shadow.

Barely able to think coherently, Tartarus pulled mana through his Immortal Core. He split the flow and channeled a stream of power into a pair of ashen-hued crystals that were attached to the pommel of each weapon. Instantly, both hilts lit up with a deep inner radiance, and a smooth gray crystalline substance flowed out from the hollow where the blades would normally be.

Tartarus began to shake as his body was wracked by series of violent tremors. He wouldn’t be able to maintain his sanity much longer. Roaring, he poured a torrent of mana into his weapons. A moment later, he heard a faint crystal chime, and he cut the flow of power. With a flick of his left wrist, he uncoiled a thirteen foot whip that now hung from the hilt held in his left hand and sent the serrated length skittering across the floor.

Suddenly, the rhythmic clicking hiss that had continued to swell, cut off, and the hall fell deathly-silent.

Perfect timing, Tartarus thought. His vision beginning to darken around the edges. With his unremarkable features fixed into a snarling grimace, he hefted the enormous curved war scythe—that had formed above the hilt clasped in his right hand—and lay the thick haft across his shoulders. It was time to silence the whispers.

#

The sound of the Devil's Mantises’ barbed feet striking the red stone floor was deafening. Tartarus laughed, his eyes bright. Stepping forward, his body blurred as his left arm swung in a wide arc. With a flick of his wrist, he sent the serrated length of the whip slicing forwards. It struck the approaching swarm with a series of sickening crunches and row of mantises were cut in half; orange blood sprayed into the air, and the pieces of their lifeless bodies collapsed to the stone.

Tartarus spun, pulling the deadly object towards himself before using its momentum to send it whistling back towards the hissing mantises. It hit in a wide arc, cutting through eight or nine creatures as if their tough carapace was made of paper, but dozens more stepped over their twitching forms.

The snarl on Tartarus’ face relaxed into a fierce grin. The whispers were no longer raging against him; they were raging with him. He made one last lightning fast attack with his whip, cutting down another handful, before the rushing Devil's Mantises drew too close for his weapon to be effective.

Tartarus danced backwards as the mantises reached him and sent blades slicing towards his head and neck. With a thought, the serrated length of the whip began to flow back into the hilt, deepening the weapons radiance and storing the power for later use. Quickly reaching behind his back, he snapped the hilt back into its sheath and then grasped the haft of his scythe with both hands.

As a throng of mantises skittered towards him, Tartarus swung the vicious curved blade in a defensive arc while simultaneously casting a spell. There was flash, and a dozen flat gray discs formed in the air behind him. Without prompting, they began to fly about in a complex pattern that deflected attacks to his back and sides.

Tartarus lunged forward and whirled, swinging the scythe around his body faster and faster; the shields moved with him, intuitively making room for the movement of his weapon. The press of bodies didn’t allow the mantises to escape, and the air was filled with the grotesque sounds of death.

By the time Tartarus ceased spinning, he had carved a path into the center of the clicking horde, and the bodies of the fallen were already turning into glittering clouds of mana. In the split second before the mantises registered that his movement had stilled, he cast another spell: a wave of force exploded outwards from his body in a wide circle, throwing hissing creatures in all directions. Capitalizing on their disorientation, he dashed froward, scythe spinning.

A few minutes later, Tartarus dissolved his weapon and replaced the hilt with its twin behind his back. Reaching out with his will, he gathered the enormous cloud of golden mana that hung in the air and pulled it towards himself. He drew the power against his skin and quickly began to absorb it through his pores, storing it within his body. The whispers were as blessedly still as his shadow, and Tartarus felt the urge to lay down on the floor and close his eyes, but he knew well enough that it would only be a temporary reprieve. Like a drug, the near euphoric silence that he experienced after he killed never lasted for very long, and the come down was always…unpleasant.

Once the air was clear of mana, Tartarus strode to the golden path and followed it back to the tree line. A few Devil's Mantises still clung to the tops of the trees, but they made no threatening movements, so he ignored them. He continued onwards into the forest, his footfalls rustling a dense carpet of orange flowers that covered the ground. Not far ahead, he could could see the amber building that he had noticed earlier, and judging by the direction the path was leading, that was his destination.

After walking for less than a minute, Tartarus arrived before a small courtyard that was fenced off by a tangled line of vibrant orange poppies. Set back across a neat lawn, sat an undecorated square building with no windows and a single closed door. Aware of the time constraint he was under, he followed the path through the courtyard and up to the plain rectangular entrance. Reaching out, he turned the handle and pushed the door soundlessly open.

“Come in and take a seat, God of Nothing,” purred a warm, familiar voice.

Tartarus gave the figure wearing the cat’s mask a nod and stepped inside, closing the door behind him. The inside of the building was just as stark as the outside, save for a pair of plush, comfortable looking arm chairs, and a small table that sat between them. Crossing to the closest of the chairs, he sat down. The table was laden with a selection of exotic cakes and a glass of sparkling orange liquid. He ignored the subtle insult and focused his dark eyes on the burning yellow gaze of the cat; she reclined in the seat across from him, her slender bronze fingers wresting casually in her lap.

“Will you reunite me with my companions now?”

The question hung in the air between them for a long moment.

“No,” the figure said finally. “Maybe you are beyond my tricks, but the others…they are far less dangerous on their own.”

“The others are not the true danger,” Tartarus replied.

Conversing with another being would shorten the time he had left. He could already feel a faint itching in the back of his mind, and his shadow was beginning poke its head out from behind his back.

“Why not allow us to pass? Did the Trickster put you up to this?”

“Oh, no!” the cat laughed, shaking her head. “It’s the exact opposite. He told me to carry you gently across the hall on a cushion of air.”

“And you won’t heed his words?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Why?”

The figure didn’t say anything for another long moment as she appeared to struggle with a decision.

“The power inside the Realm Shard,” she answered eventually. “It’s safer if it remains where it is…”

“Does it belong to the Civilization of Dreams?” Tartarus asked, sitting up a little straighter in his chair.

“I will tell you nothing more,” she said firmly. “If you…value a single being within the Divine World, turn around and leave this place. Swear an oath on your Immortal Core, and I will return your companions…”

Tartarus leaned back in his chair, his expression blank.

“That’s impossible. Besides, can I trust a single word you say? Are you not wearing an echo of Laverne, Goddess of Thieves?” he asked.

“Would it really make a difference if I wore a different face?” Laverne asked.

Tartarus shook his head.

“It wouldn’t. Will you risk a singular existence like yours for the Divine World?”

The cat’s lips twisted into a wry grin.

“Its not a risk when the only other alternative is guaranteed to end with my utter destruction.”

Tartarus watched Laverne for a few more seconds, hoping she would elaborate. His shadow was slowly circling him, its hands occasionally reaching out to grab at his head. The whispers grew louder with each repetition, and he was finding them increasingly difficult to ignore. Suppressing them wasn’t an option this time, not after he had killed so many, so recently; it would only make things worse. His only hope was to seek his companions’ aid and hope they were powerful enough to calm him down.

“Have you finished rearranging things outside?” Tartarus asked, standing up. He moved around the chair and walked slowly towards the exit.

“Please, don’t do this!” Laverne whispered suddenly, her tone pleading.

He stopped, his hand outstretched, “My companions?”

After listening to the angry silence for a moment, he pulled the door open and stepped through.

The Hall of Fallen Echoes had changed during his talk with the being pretending to be Laverne. The forest had disappeared, so had the desert, the lake, and whatever else used to exist. He wasn’t alone on the polished ruby-red floor though; hundreds of echoes—beings that had died within the hall and left a portion of their consciousness behind—stood around him. He recognized many by appearance or reputation, and he even knew a few personally: Kannon, Goddess of Mercy; Sun Wukong, The Great Sage; Thor, God of Thunder, and…Dionysus, God of Ecstasy.

“I’m terribly sorry for this,” he said softly, watching the silent crowd for a moment.

Taking a deep breath, Tartarus closed his eyes and allowed his shadow to take control of his mind.

***

Thank you very much for reading the first chapter of God of Nothing, a prequel to the first novel of a series I am currently writing. This adventure is set thousands of years before the main story, and it explores the history of certain characters and events that influence the central plotline of that novel.

This it the first piece of writing, other than my novel, that I have written. A couple of weeks ago, I was laying on the living room floor, staring up at the ceiling, when my girlified sent me the link to this challenge. Given that I was currently floor levels of stuck and desperate to avoid editing previous chapters of my novel, I decided to give it a try. I had a great time using the starting sentence provided by Vocal as inspiration and then allowing my imagination to run wild. If you enjoyed my writing, or you have any questions or a comments, please don't hesitate to contact me. I would love to hear some feedback.