Chapter 1

It was just like Sakassen to scheme in his own temple. Isaris did not mind; she relished in the taste of mortal air, in its electric anticipation. Life fluttered all around her, a beating, fragile promise. Soon, all of these beings would be hers, their souls destined for the icy river of the underworld.

They stood in the great hall of his temple, in all of its oppressive grandeur.  A writhing mass of fleshy tendrils squirmed at their feet, covered by a taut flap of skin like an embryonic sack. Sakassen flashed a keen smile.

“Steel yourself, dear Isaris, for you are about to witness a divine creation.

“Must it always be about theatrics with you?” She retorted, but the words escaped her even as she prepared to ridicule him. The mound at their feet writhed violently, with a great squelching of muscle and sinew snapping together.  Isaris stared, and the flesh stared back. Great bulging eyes emerged from the mound, searching frantically, surrounded by a sleek black pelt. Another moment, and the creature materialized before them: a massive panther, covered in eyes that blinked and spun to focus on their new master. Sakassen grinned.

“Look at you; you are a beauty,” he said, his voice sweet as poison.

“Oh, Lustra is going to hate this,” said Isaris. “I must admit, I am impressed. Anything sure to infuriate my indolent sister is worth praising.”

“Forget that judgmental bitch for a second and help me with this thing,” said Sakassen. “We don’t have much time.” The creature began to whine desperately. Isaris stooped to its side. Such an abomination was not supposed to exist. It was Sakassen’s power that brought the thing to life, but it would be Isaris who kept it here. As the goddess of death, she could steady its soul, preserve it in the mortal world. She held a finger to the creature’s temple. With a sigh, it steadied.

“There,” said Isaris. “Now it’s time for my end of the bargain.”

“Ah, yes, the bargain,” said Sakassen. “I am to use my perversions on Cerberac”.

“I wish for the Elves to die,” said Isaris.

“So that the other gods might rally to you?”

It was not like Isaris to make a deal with another god, much less the slimy showman that was Sakassen. But these were not normal times. She and all the other gods had seen the tidings; they had watched the mortal world prosper under the guidance of the Elves. Of course, the fault lay with her detestable sister’s creations. Perfect Lustra, only she could make creatures so flawless they threatened the stability of the gods. With their ills taken care of by Elven magic, mortals saw less and less of a reason to worship. The pool from which most gods sourced their power was shrinking, and Isaris plainly saw that fighting was not far off.

Isaris was not bothered with mortal worship, unlike the lesser gods. Her domain lay with the dead, and no amount of Elven magic would prevent mortals from dying. She did not act out of fear; she never had. Her partnership with Sakassen was an opportunity. On the eve of war, she would ensure as many mortals fell to her domain as possible.

Sakassen shifted his weight slightly, a brief flicker of hesitation in his gaze.

“I’m sorry to say, dear, but there has been a change of plans. I wouldn’t want to incur your lovely sister’s fury just yet, I’m sure you understand.”

“I’m sure you are joking, Sakassen,” Isaris hissed coldly, her words causing frost to creep along the surrounding walls. He backed away. The fool of a god, he would pay his dues for this!  With a flash, she was at the perversion’s side and grabbed it by the throat. The poor creature whimpered as Isaris held it aloft. “You miscalculated, Sakassen. It was my fury you should have feared, not my sister’s.” She crushed the creature's windpipe and flung its body to the floor. By then, Sakassen had already fled the temple. Alone and enraged, she unleashed her fury upon the temple chamber, causing giant ice spikes to erupt from the ground, shattering the walls and pillars around her. The violent outburst triggered a cascading wave of destruction, reducing the remaining temple structure to rubble and ice.

For the next three days, the mortal world was ravaged by beasts, twisted creatures whose features the Soothsayers decried as hellish and evil. Worshippers flocked to the ruins of Sakassen’s temple. “This is our punishment,” the most devout among them cried out, “for turning our backs on the gods!” But most did not pay mind to the source of their suffering. They sought only to fortify themselves. Darkness could emerge from anywhere without explanation; this was known about the world. In tremulous times, all the people could do was turn to the great beacons of blessing in hopes of being the most blessed among the rest.

Despite the destruction of his temple, Sakassen’s power pulsed, and so too did the gifts he imparted to his followers. What had been a peaceful region was now filled with raucous cries of despair and laughter alike. Families living modestly found their coffers surging with gold, investments inexplicably turning out, while those with established wealth awoke to find their holdfasts destroyed by savage beasts. The weak were imparted with newfound strength, and battles that had been brewing were finally hard-fought and won. In a matter of days, order had succumbed to chaos.

At the center of it all was Sakassen, who stood proudly atop his temple, surrounded by a crowd of teeming worshippers. They prostrated themselves, leather satchels held open like gaping mouths above their heads.

“Gold! Who wants gold!” Sakassen shouted; cheers erupted among the crowd as he waved his arm, and a shower of coins rained down upon them. Sakassen grinned. With each thunk of coin against leather, he felt his power surge. It was like a fire had been ignited in his veins, like the very air around him crackled in anticipation of his will. He couldn’t believe how good it felt. Nothing else in the universe could compare, nothing else worth any attention beyond the feeding, beyond the adoration at his feet.

A few hours later, the temple grounds lay silent. All that remained were the mangled corpses of Sakassen’s worshippers and the crows that picked at their bones. Isaris’s attack had been decisive and swift; the Daemons emerged from the shadow of the forest armed with battle hammers and swords, tearing through the unsuspecting worshippers. They could only scream as they were cut down. The blow to his power left Sakassen feeling like he’d been kicked in the ribs. It wasn’t just those at his temple that he’d lost; all across the continent, Isaris’s Daemons had targeted and slaughtered Sakassen’s followers. No matter, Sakassen had a plan, and soon, everything would come to fruition.