[WP] "Go ahead, pray to your Gods or whoever the hell you worship and we will see if they can help you now."

You see, my enemies had made a terrible mistake. They thought, in the face of utter defeat, I would hold onto my life like a climber clutching the edge of a cliff.

I could hear Johanneson outside, yelling at me. I was alone in my keep now, I retreated deep into the rubble, wounded. “Go ahead, pray to your Gods and whoever the hell you worship and we will see if they can help you now.” Of course, he was being serious. He was giving me a chance, noble as he was, to pray to the Gods for salvation.

That’s what this bloody war was about, wasn’t it? The Gods, always, the worship of one or the other. We each had the fortune to inherit a deity, a savior, an ancient tradition that followed us as we picked away at our mortal lives. And we would pray, and they would watch, I suppose, granting small favors and blessing great endeavors.

Johanneson with his golden cross and his God robed in wings and light, promising eternal ecstasy for the small price of the blood of nonbelievers. Golgof with his Gods of war and fire, no doubt waiting just over the horizon to strike at Johanneson’s weakened army. Helena, rest her soul. My thoughts trailed off. And now me.

I felt the blood seeping through my fingers. Godless. A curse word in these parts. We built a nation of industry, but we were godless. Great, I thought. Safe. But who can fight the divine, other than the divine? When your rifles rust, and your bullets miss, and shining swords cut through brick and concrete, and minds do not yield to reason?

I could hear them picking away the debris outside. I could hear Johanneson laughing and his men cheering. Poor fools, I thought. I was godless by choice, not by birth. They thought I would hold onto the cliff, but now with nothing left, I just want to see how far I could fly.

I squeezed the gash in my side to buy just a few more minutes. Surely, after a lifetime of silence, my prayer would resonate that much more deeply. They did not accept fealty, not pain, not sacrifice. They wanted for nothing. They asked for nothing. But They would only come when called with the intensity only death could provide. And They would not come for me, nor Joahnneson. The poor fool still thinks he’s won a great victory.

They would come for the cruel beings that play with our lives like marionettes. Tomorrow, I will be dead, and Johanneson will find rust on his sword.

The world faded. I spoke a prayer, my last word, letting my soul carry it into the void.

“Awaken.”

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