Kneeling, looking down at the swirling galaxies and dancing lights with wide, mesmerized eyes, Myra stared. Meanwhile, Atlas stood in front of her, frantically waving his arms.
His apartment, resting unnaturally in the void of galaxies, dematerialized. Beautiful galaxies of various sizes moved and rotated in the far distance as two massive ones, their spirals clashing, turned in a vortex of chaotic energy.
The Central Divinity Interface, his globe of An-Ki, surrounded by a metal chassis and consoles, faded into the abyss. A purple nebula with energies arcing through it like lightning took its place and stars twinkled around it, giving the scene an ethereal vibe.
'How do I look?!' Atlas mouthed frantically as Wisp shifted from a bird into a bright blue comet, flying around the scene. When it didn't respond, however, his eye twitched, and his head snapped to Myra.
She gradually looked up, her form the same as before her ascension: a dark elf with ruby eyes and dark hair. Youthful, as if she were still in her twenties, it looked like her age had reversed.
And it had. Before the goblin army began its assault, age had begun to show on her dark elven figure. Dark elves only lived to be around eight hundred years old. After taking in the Chaos Gene, her figure and beauty had transformed, becoming more youthful and erasing the signs of aging. Her body had returned closer to its prime, and her newfound powers masked weaknesses that were still present. Now, after ascending once more, she was youthful and full of vigor again, though she had yet to realize it.
What Atlas noticed was the sharpened, more vibrant appearance of a dark elf in her prime. Predatory ruby eyes, muscle-toned body coiled like a serpent ready to strike. A cold, unforgiving stare.
A cold, unforgiving stare? With pursed lips and a posture that screamed danger, she radiated the energy of someone ready to kill.
Taking in a slow, deep breath, Atlas struggled to keep his composure under her intense, silent gaze. It felt very different being face-to-face with a being who had killed to survive for hundreds of years. Even with no power on obvious display, her aura carried the hardened edge of someone who had endured war, seen tragedy, and done whatever was needed to survive.
Her next words were sharp, filled with intent, but also respectful.
"Greetings, God of Tenebris. I, your humble follower Myra, first of the..." Myra paused, blinking. "...Dark Elves," she said. Her expression darkened slightly. "Greet you."
Silence fell. Her gaze remained locked with his, intense.
'How do I look to her?' Atlas's mind wandered briefly as flashes of all the different forms his powers had taken raced through his thoughts, and he couldn't look down at himself then and there, before he finally spoke.
"Hello, Myra," Atlas said.
His voice was casual, but the words came out darker, deeper- tinged with a shadowy edge. It still held his usual tone, but it also sounded more fitting for a shadowed god.
Her dark elf ears twitched, eyes studying his figure.
"Thank you for-" Atlas began.
"Where is the real God of Tenebris?" Myra asked coldly.
"Hm?" Atlas glanced down at himself. He looked the same as usual. The problem was it didn't look very godly. Black sweatpants, a loose-fitting white shirt, and probably a very messy appearance. 'Ah, shit. When was the last time I showered? Brushed my hair? I probably look like a hobo-god… Why is my voice- Wisp…' His eyes flicked toward the mini flying comet.
Atlas sighed and clasped his hands behind his back, mentally cueing the voice to drop and return to normal.
"I am your god, and their god, and whatever god the others have decided to call me," Atlas said dismissively. "Excuse my appearance. I've been busy… with the chaos."
"Your… my god?" Myra repeated slowly, her eyes scanning him again. A normal, not-fit man being compared to her battle-hardened, model physique. Atlas could only imagine the mental deflation she was experiencing as he frowned.
'Well, all I can do at this point is cement that I am the god. Her opinion… well…'
His fingers tapped against his forearm before he reached out and snapped his fingers for dramatic effect.
The world of An-Ki bloomed beneath them- its clouds and landmasses shifting underfoot. Surprisingly, she didn't rise or fall back from her kneeling position like he thought she would. Instead, her eyes snapped to the ground, darting across the emerging features of the world with wide, studious eyes.
"An-Ki. Your world," Atlas said, watching her very carefully. "Ebonvale."
The world spun, zooming in on the desert of her homeland, drifting through the cave entrance of Ebonvale. Myra's eyes wavered with emotion as Zark, his hair now graying from age, and her children, Xanveris and Xelvanya, huddled around the burning husk of an Arachne.
"She hasn't returned for weeks," Xelvanya whispered, voice thick with emotion. "Do you think she…"
Zark's expression was tired. He looked less energetic than he had weeks ago, and a sorrowful glint danced in his eyes.
'Good timing,' Atlas thought, cueing the scene to fade.
The vision shifted, now revealing the ruinous battlefield of the Smiling Tree.
Miles upon miles of scorched and blackened land. Husks and corpses strewn across the fields in grotesque, corrupted forms. Dying creatures, dragons and Primordials, claws twitching toward the sky, begging for any kind of help. Even dragons don't want to die when they feel life slipping away.
And in the far distance, a withered tree stood with its branches drooping lifelessly. A massive chunk of its trunk had been torn open and its entire form now tilted toward the battlefield, threatening to fall and crush everything and everyone beneath it. The Primordials and dragons struggling to recover, the flailing corrupted beings severed from their connection, and the last bits of unburnt greenery fighting to survive.
"It seems you don't have much time if you want to save them," Atlas grimly stated, watching and listening as the groans of the tree echoed around them. "The Smiling Tree of Wishes will fall soon."
Myra, meanwhile, was gritting her teeth, her eyes shooting up at him.
"You ordered the tree's defeat," Myra stated with a dangerously sharp edge. "Are you going to help them?"
"I can't," Atlas said, eyes glazing over the twitching dragons. "This world is still in its youth. For miracles to occur, I need divinity accumulated through worship. And there isn't enough."
"So they're all going to die..." Myra darkly lamented, to which Atlas nodded. "But their deaths weren't pointless. They saved the world."
"But unless you return, there will be no mention of them. They will fade into history. Forgotten. Like sand in the desert."
She rose, and she looked angry. Atlas's hand immediately returned behind his back, fingers rapping against his forearm.
"Sand in the desert... I know well of this. We, my people, know well of this," Myra fumed, red crackles of lightning splitting the void around her. "Why did you place my people in that cruel and unforgiving wasteland?! So many I loved, we loved, have died!"
"I... I had to eat my kin. We all did!"
On one side, an enraged dark elf glared with energies crackling around her, seemingly ready to snap. On the other, Atlas stood with a calm and relaxed poker expression- though he was far from it inside.
The world beneath them violently rotated, drawing her ire downward. Myra's eyes widened. In the sands of the desert stood Myra, and so many others she once knew, dredging up terrible memories and causing her energies to collapse away. Her breath hitched seeing their faces again, including the ones she had to eat.
They were walking, walking with skin beginning to char and peel away. Once pale and beautiful skin, now raw and blistering. The close-up slowly zoomed out. Their entire tribe, still alive, marching in one direction.
It zoomed out further. And further.
Myra shrieked loudly, her nails digging into her scalp and drawing blood.
Just beyond, in the opposite direction they were walking, were the lush green forests and mountains.
Atlas winced, watching her horrified expression as tears began to swell in her eyes, guilt eating away at his conscience. He gripped his forearms tightly, jaw clenched, gaze falling as remorse entered his expression.
'I feel like shit… but I can't tell her the truth yet. I need her for the Weaver War,' Atlas thought grimly as this revealed a misleading truth. His chest ached and his head buzzed. 'Shit…'
While she collapsed to her knees, tears beginning to stream down her face, grieving, "We were right there? If only we had gone the other way…"
Clearing his throat and steeling his expression back into something firm and composed, Atlas spoke with authority.
"You need to return."
Myra's tearful eyes rose to meet him.
"They will die. Your people yearn for you. Selena, the dark elf who birthed the goblins, will return in twenty-six cycles. The cave your people now use as an outpost for expeditions is part of Selena's form, hibernating. And another great war will soon begin."
"Another one…?" Myra croaked. "Where?"
"I don't know," Atlas admitted grimly. "It may be tomorrow, twenty cycles, fifty… It could be on another continent or right next to your people. But war is coming. Another god approaches."
Loud snaps of bark echoed through the abyss.
But it was the mention of her people, not the dragons or the tree, that made her stir again. Slowly, she nodded and rose to her feet.
A red mist began to rise from the floor and swirl around her. She was silent. Atlas gave her one last nod as she composed herself, her form still shaken.
"Until next time."