The Birth of a God

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The Birth of a God

Post by Game Master on 8/14/2012, 5:05 pm

The Birth of a God


The Death God stared at the three dragonballs lying in the snowbank as the wind battered the mountainside, causing his blue robes to flap wildly. Sheets of snow fell from the deep gray clouds above, swirling around the jagged peak and piling up on the outstretched edifices.

The frigid environment didn't bother Oroki. No, what bothered him was what he just felt.

Ivander you fool, he thought.

Seldom did the Death God feel anger towards anything. But, this was personal. His own brother had disobeyed his order not to fight Broly. That he had been a minor annoyance. However, he had just did the unthinkable. Ivander had betrayed Master and had disregarded the gift of power had given to him.

Oroki could feel Master's dark energy flowing into his mind. He was able to slip into the spaces between, like a dark tentacle. It caused shivers to race down his spine and his legs to shake. He felt both of his eyes roll into the back of his head.

The Organization is no more. Master's “voice” was cool and collected. There was no emotion behind it, but it held a frightening sway. Although it couldn't be heard out loud, it seemed to reverberate throughout his entire body.

“I have failed you,” Oroki said.

No, you haven't. You are not your brother. Nor are you Balzar, Grick, Rex, or Ralia. They failed me. Yet, you remain loyal.

“We have but three of the dragonballs. That is not enough to complete our goal. Without Grick, I have no means of finding the rest.”

The original plan is defunct. It is time for me to reveal the alternate plan.

Oroki struggled with the pain he felt in his skull. It was as if his brain was being carved open like a turkey. Never before had Master remained this long within his mind. Typically it was in short bursts. Blood trickled from his nostrils and ears. Grunting, he collapsed to one knee. The snow, the mountainside, everything was spinning rapidly and he felt soon he would vomit.

“W-what is happening?”

You hear my voice, but you do not see. Open your eyes.

Oroki's eyes were open. But, Master was not referring to his physical eyes. No, it was his mind's eye that he wanted him to open. It was a sort of natural defense, he guessed. His mind began to collapse in on itself as Master entered, as if it were guarding against an invasion. The surface of his mind could be interacted with, but the depths of his subconscious were fortified.

Lowering those defenses was excruciating. He knew it was something no normal man could accomplish. The Death God had spent decades mastering control over his mind and body. With one reluctant push, he opened his mind's eyes and let Master's presence flood in.

Before him lie only the abyss. A void of pure darkness, far beyond that of the furthest reaches of space. In this place, light had never existed at all. Master occupied all of the darkness, his energy was spiritual, biological, nor mechanical in composition. It was in a reality of it's own. No, it was utter oblivion; more frigid than the snow Oroki stood in. A sort of cold that could only exist in a place void of everything.

Where Master had before used words to communicate, now their bond was closer. He thrust his plan into Oroki's brain, rewired his way of thinking and made him see clear day, what was about to happen. The Death God surrendered himself to it and let Master take the helm.

Stealing the dragonballs had been the easy route. They were a nearly unlimited source of power, ripe for the taking. The other method was painstaking and pure agony. Where as, the dragonballs were opening the door with the key, Master was about to shove his hand through the proverbial door, to turn the nob from the inside.

“Three dragonballs should be enough to get this started,” Oroki said. But, it was not him speaking. Nor was it him moving his feet as he approached.

The dragonballs levitated into the air. From Oroki's eyes, black and violet tendrils of energy erupted forth and wrapped around them, suspending them in the air. He floated up, hundreds of feet into the thick gray storm clouds. Ice clung to his face and stung his eyes. The magical orbs began to shimmer and thrum. Thunder ripped through the clouds, followed by a flash and the deep crackle of lightning.

A moment later, a dragon's roar filled the air, causing Oroki to visibly shudder from the backlash of power. The dragonballs were not just pure magic, they had their own consciousness.

No wonder they're so powerful, they're practically alive, Oroki thought.

Worry not, Master replied.

Within the balls themselves, red eyes gleamed through. The dark tendrils sunk through the protective layer and into the cores of the dragonballs. Oroki felt himself levitating off of the ground. He had seen the plan, so he knew what to expect next. It was going to be the worst part.

He was only the conduit for Master's power to enter this realm. That power was amplified when Master began to drain the Dragonballs of their magic. Oroki felt it course through his own body. A white aura burst forth around him, blazing as hot as a freshly stoked forge. He let out a scream. The pain was immense, like thousands of razor sharp spears being jammed into his flesh and bone all at once.

Among the black tendrils glittering golden strands of energy swirled and churned. They were bleeding the dragonballs dry. The spiritual presence, the dragon, inside of the balls let out bestial roar. Its sound reverberated and shook the entire mountainside. Heavy sheets of snow and ice began to slide down, sending up a great plume of white into the air.

The avalanches bowled through the packed forested valley below, crushing and burying them under hundreds of feet of frigid pack. The immense rumbling of the cracking glaciers drowned out the sound of Oroki's blood curdling cries of agony.

The Death God was engulfed in a veritable sun floating above rocky cliffs. One that swelling in size with each passing second.

It will be over soon. Do not die, Master commanded.

Oroki obeyed.

The light finally faded. The three dragonballs, now nothing more than solid stone, fell from the sky, landing like cannonballs in the ravished mountainside below. Eyes closed tight, Oroki fell too. His arms and legs were limp, streamers of smoke trailing off of his body. Three feet from the ground he stopped dead in mid air, seemingly suspended by nothing.



Wake up, Master command within his mind.

Oroki's eyes opened, his eyes taking in a blur of gray and white. After a moment they focused and he saw that he was staring at the storm clouds above. He turned his head, noticing that he was floating, suspended by nothing, not even his own spiritual energy. Taking control, he levitated his body up, straightening himself.

“What just happened?” he said as he floated over to a outcrop on the side of the mountain and set down upon it.

“Over here,” a voice said. It was unnatural sounding, almost as if the wind itself had spoken.

Oroki glanced to his left. Perched upon the tattered remnant of a pine tree was a sleek black figure. It was ethereal and it seemed to move and squirm like a thousand little worms. Although it was humanoid in appearance, but it had no face, no mouth, no features. It was like a shadow offset from a body, acting on its own.

The dark avatar of Master stood tall and stretched out its arms, as if it were offering an embrace.

“What is this?” Oroki asked.

“The magic was just enough to allow me entrance to this wretched dimension. I managed to only project a miniscule essence of myself here. But, I will not last, not without sustenance. To remain I must consume spiritual energy from this realm, add it into my own,” Master said. To Oroki, the pitch of the voice seemed awkward, rising and falling with each consonant and vowel spoken.

“You will need to inhabit a body to survive, or else you'll disperse. Take mine,” Oroki said. “My life means nothing. I will not allow selfish need to delay your progress.”

The shadow vanished, appearing directly in front of the Death God. Oroki closed his eyes. It then shifted from a humanoid form into a churning black sphere the size of a basketball. In one swift moment a black tendril reached out from the core of the sphere entered through his nose and mouth like some sort of sickening gas.

Oroki's body jerked hard, his back arched unnaturally, to a point that threatened to snap his spine. The sphere shrunk in size until it was gone completely. The white of Oroki's eyes had turned jet black, and his pupil's gold. He let out a deep throaty chuckle, sounding as if both he and Master were speaking as one.

“This world shall crumble,” they said, their voices emerging with that same ominous unison.

The power surging within Oroki's vein was nothing like before. Master had once lent him a portion of his power, but now his power and Master's were one. It felt good to know he was no longer just a conduit, but now was being assimilated. His mind was distorted, nearly displaced by the presence of the being within him. His thoughts were fuzzy and far between, but he knew things were happening, and fast.

The Death God rose up into the sky, bringing both of his hands above his head. Spiritual energy, like black flames, wreathed his body. The mountain below began to crack and splinter like an egg, torn apart the massive pressure of his psionic powers. As fissures spread and let loose a jet of super-heated gas that hissed into the air. Moments later, a rising wave lava bubbled forth and spilled onto the land, melting the glaciers where they had stood sentinel for thousands of years. An immense cloud of steam billowed up, enveloping everything.

Like a thread-weaver, the Death God pulled the lava into the air in great streams, spinning and turning it together. The speed in which Master wove the lava was incredible.
As it cooled it began to harden into solid black rock, ascending higher and higher.

A gust of frigid wind parted the steam cloud, revealing a jagged black tower which within moments had risen hudrends of feet into the air. The Death God floated forward, towards its top. Oroki could feel his mind slipping away. It was a strange sensation, his consciousness flickered in and out.

Do not resist. With the final command spoken, the last vestiges of Oroki's identity became apart of the greater being.

Master landed atop of the glossy black spire. His skin began to shift and bubble outward, turning black as it did. It hardened unnaturally, creating a sort of thick armor instead of puny flesh. A large throne sat in the middle of the platform. It looked to be made of a thousand spines, all tightly packed together. If any mortal sat upon it, they would surely be cut to ribbons. The back of the throne looked as if it were a wall of a obsidian spears, rising up to challenge the heavens.

With the metamorphosis completed, Master took his seat. No longer did he appear human, but for his shape. His face was flat, sporting no mouth, nor did he have ears. The hair upon his skull had vanished, replaced by deep grooves. His flesh was a matte black across his body, the robes he once wore as Oroki had vanished.

The only exception were his eerie gold irises, which no longer contained pupils. They stared, unblinking into the stormy mountains. Gray snow and ash fell, landing upon the throne and the smooth platform, only to be brushed off when the wind picked up again. The only thing disrupting the dead silence was the low rumble of churning lava below.

Master could feel his power slipping away. He was not native to this realm, so he had no place in it. To keep himself in existence he needed to gather as much spiritual energy as possible. For that he had a simple plan. He needed to start small small and work his way up. Sure, he could run about and manually kill by himself. But, that was a lot of work. No, it would be far easier if he had others do it for him, while he conserved as much energy as he could.

Magic could serve that purpose. He had pried through the dreams of many sorcerers, gaining the knowledge they stored of reality bending powers. The logic behind it was quite simple and he rather enjoyed the possibilities.

With a flourish of his hand and a grumble of an incantation, he let loose the spell. Along the length of the obsidian tower, the rock began to bubble up and take shape. Hunched creatures with jutting jaws, long talons, and wings rose up, eyes shimmering a bright gold—just like Master's. Like a swarm of a thousand wretched ravens, they took to the skies. Despite being made of stone, their magic lent their stubby wings the ability to propel them. The humans called the beasts gargoyles. They were wicked and he knew they would terrify their victims.

There were tens of thousands, all flying round and round. From a distance they would look like some sort of black tornado.

“Go forth, slay humans, collect their fleeing spirits and bring them back to me so I might feast,” Master commanded.

The swarm replied with blood curdling screeches, so loud that they would pop a normal man's ear drum. Like a cloud of death, they flew from the spire, heading due east towards North City, which was their first target. The unsuspecting humans would have not a clue of the demise that was sure to be upon them within minutes.

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