This is a response to a particularly inspiring writing prompt in the Worldbuilding Community. It tells the story of one of the key inflection-points in the lore of one of my settings. I may have written a bit more than I meant to !
All images in this post created by AI in Wombo.art
The swirling clouds around the mountaintop parted to reveal a dragon. Not just any dragon; this was the greatest dragon you can imagine, her scales glittering white in the sunlight, her wings beating slowly and rhythmically as she climbed through the thin air. She was so large that one would hardly notice the white-clad rider on her back.
The peak of the mountain held a slight hollow, and in that hollow was a palace. Although it was walled around with cyclopean blocks, the walls were low, merely serving to hold in place the many terraces of the gold and white marble palace. This was not a place that was at any risk of a siege.
The largest terrace was laid out as an ornamental garden, planters filled with vines and aromatic shrubs. At one edge, overlooking the sheer sides of the peak, was a cleared area littered with ornate chairs; one might describe them as thrones. There were beings on those thrones, each a perfect specimen, each unique.
After a while the dragon came to rest at one edge of the terrace, and the rider dismounted, walking with a heavy pace towards the assembled gods.
"Well, did you do it, my Angel of Retribution ?" asked the eldest of them, an insouciant smile dancing mockingly on her lips.
"Oh hush now, Potnia my dear, be kind to the poor creature, this was someone she considered a friend." The speaker was a heavily bearded and heavily muscled man, his white tunic stained by purple drops of wine from the krater he was sloshing around.
Potnia's eyes flashed fire. "Don't 'my dear' me, you old sot ! You may be my husband, Potidan, but you're not the first and you won't be the last. Defy me again and I'll have Smintheus set his mice to gnaw your balls as we plough you into the ground. The mortals sacrifice their kings to get a good harvest, just imagine the crop from a god's blood and bones !"
The white armoured dragon-rider approached the throne and knelt. Viscous blood oozed down the sword in her hand, dripping slowly onto the flawless white marble terrace. "I have done as you bid, My Lady. Saruattu is fallen, her mariannu scattered or frozen. I have slain my friend Gwasileus Miturri, and set my servant Galtakkik to rule over the ruins in his stead. But I beg you, My Lady, no more. Let me have peace and an end to the slaughter."
Once more Potnia's expression clouded dangerously. "HOW DARE YOU ! You are my Eumenide, my divine avenger. You will kill who I say, when I say. I OWN YOU. Your little shit of a mortal chum defied the gods and had to pay the price. It is YOUR job to extract that payment, in blood, by MY command. If you refuse me, I WILL hurt you."
The kneeling figure held perfectly still for ten heartbeats as the Queen of the Gods ranted and raved at her. The only clue to her feelings was an imperceptible tightening of her first around the sword in her hand. Then she lifted her head. Slowly. So slowly. Her face was a blank, cold mask.
"My Lady, I am Lady Teren, chief among the Eumenides. I am the avenger of the gods, set there at the dawn of humanity. I exist to chastise those who mightily wrong the gods. But you send me out to slay any who offend your over-grown pride even in the smallest way. You have had me carve a path of blood through kings and ordinary folk. You have ruled this world for ten thousand years, and you have become decadent. I am supposed to embody divine justice, and you treat me as your personal common executioner. My sword, this holy sword, is drenched with the blood of innocents that I have murdered at your whim. But it IS a holy sword, and exists to right wrongs."
Faster than the eye could see, Teren whipped her sword around, and plunged it into Potnia's heart before any could react. Ramming it home, she whispered, "And it will slay a god as well as it slays mortals. Few weapons can do that."
She pulled the blade free, as the corpse of the Queen fell to the floor, crimson gore pumping out across the pure white ground. The gods sat, lay or stood with expressions of utter shock on their faces, stunned into immobility by the horror of what had just happened.
It took them long seconds to react as Teren stormed into their midst, slashing this way and that with the long, glittering orichalcum sword. Millennia of casual rule had made them unused to the business of combat, and they had always been immune to mortal weapons, so it was a shock to face a weapon which could harm them. Those habits cost them dearly now, as they faced the most hardened killer in all of Argull.
Bodies started littering the ground, as gods and goddesses alike discovered what mortality felt like. A few tried to wield divine powers, but the sword batted those attacks aside, or the armour absorbed them. Most did not even attempt to fight back, and fled. Those who fled west didn't make it; it turned out that the breath of Teren's dragon also had god-slaying power.
Finally, there were three alive on the plateau. Teren, covered in divine blood and brains, her dragon, and Smintheus, cowering behind his throne.
Pointing her sword at him, Teren addresses the shuddering form. "You, Smintheus. You own the realm of prophecy. Why did you not tell them I would do this ?"
The god looked up from behind his wooden throne. "You saw how Potnia was, at the end. They would not have believed me. This had to be, and we deserved it. I deserve it. Slay me."
Teren lowered her sword. "Go, Smintheus. Your clear sight and humility are your salvation. Tell your mice to speak to the surviving gods. Tell them I will hunt them all down, one by one, as I hunted fleeing mortals. But before you go, give me that key at your belt."
The great black key turned in the lock, and the door creaked and squealed as it opened for the first time in ten thousand years. Through it strode Teren, still drenched with the gore of the slain gods.
Behind the door was a freezing cavern, and in the centre was a massive block of ice. It was rough on the surface, but you could see there was a form within.
Teren took hold of her holy sword with both hands and bought it down on the ice. It cracked and shattered, revealing the captive it held. A slender elven woman, seven feet tall, with a cool haughty beauty and jet black flawless skin.
She stirred as if from a deep sleep, as Teren knelt in front of her.
"My Lady Araushnee, I have slain the chief among the Old Gods, and will hunt down the survivors. I will do it in your name, if you can but tell me why I should let any god, or goddess, live."
Araushnee thought for a few seconds. Even after ten millennia of captivity, she had not seen her freedom coming like this.
"Well, Teren, I am the rightful ruler of this world, as you know. But I know you could have slain me and chose to stay your hand. So return this world to me, and you will be the chief among my demons. We will be the terror of the mortals. They will fear us, and know terrible suffering, pain and despair, for it is what I feed on and gain my strength from."
Then Araushnee's expression changed, from fear-inspiring to thoughtful. "But through all that despair, we will not destroy them. We will always leave them a way to meet the challenge. For only by overcoming the greatest of sorrows, trials and obstacles can they reach their incredible full potential. Driven by demons and fear of demons, they can build the most wonderful civilisation."
Teren laid her sword at the dark goddess' feet. "I will slay the old gods in your name, My Lady, and a new era shall begin today. No longer am I an Angel of Retribution, now I am a Demon of Despair and Imagination."
