In a dim, foreboding dimension filled with pulsating shadows and the faint hissing of snakes, Set crouched in agony. His once-majestic serpentine form was battered and fractured, his emerald scales dulled, and his aura flickered weakly. The wounds inflicted by Herobrine, cut deep, not just into his flesh but into his very essence.
Set's serpentine eyes burned with hatred as he replayed the battle in his mind. "That whelp..." he growled, his voice a low, venomous hiss. "A mere entity dares to challenge an Elder God? Dares to wound me?"
His anger turned to cold calculation. Set knew that he needed power, immediate and immense power, to recover and to plan his vengeance. Suddenly his eyes gleamed in recognition as he went toward a hidden part of his place.
Opening it, he entered there was a lone coffin larger than Set himself. Opening it revealed the body of Centaur, the elder god Hyppus, waiting to be resurrected; without waiting twice, Set used his ability to absorb other's essence, slowly draining Hyppus' essence until there was nothing but ash left.
It was still not enough to completely heal him showing how much it had been injured.
His mind turned to the Serpent Crown, an ancient artifact imbued with his essence, hidden somewhere on Earth. "With the Crown, I will enslave the minds of mortals and gods alike," he murmured, his voice echoing in the cavern. "Their strength will become mine, and the chaos they sow will feed me."
He extended his senses across the Earth, searching for the Crown's resting place. Its faint, familiar energy pulsed like a beacon, guiding him.
"Let Herobrine celebrate his hollow victory," Set sneered. "For when I return, I will bring chaos not just to him, but to the entire Earth. Let Gaia and Herobrine tremble before my wrath."
As Set's laughter filled the dimension, laughing like a third-rate villain who definitely didn't get his ass kicked by Herobrine.
(Chthon)
Chthon stood inside Darque Hold, gazing into the space with a smile, sensing the aftermath of Set's treachery.
"So, you've finally decided to take the bait, brother," Chthon muttered, his voice a silky blend of satisfaction and disdain. He his hand, weaving tendrils of dark magic that danced like serpents in the air. Each thread connected him to the lingering essences of his 'siblings' across the realms.
"The Age of Degeneration is upon us," he said with quiet delight, his words laced with venom. "How predictable you are, Set. Your hunger for power blinds you to the strings guiding your every move. The more you consume, the closer you draw to the abyss."
Chthon's goal had never been a power in the conventional sense. As the first wielder of chaos magic, his ambitions stretched beyond mere dominion over realms or mortals. No, his plan was far more insidious: to orchestrate the downfall of his kind, the Elder Gods, and turn them into something far more malleable, demons.
The Elder Gods had begun to falter and corrupt over millennia. Set, the Serpent, with his greed and lust for domination with his reptiles, was the perfect example of this degeneration. Chthon had subtly nurtured this decline, weaving chaos into their actions and desires, ensuring that every step they took would lead them closer to their fall.
"Let them devour one another," Chthon murmured, his voice a low rumble that echoed across dimensions. "Let their hunger consume their reason, their essence twist into madness. And when they finally succumb, when they are no longer gods but demons, I shall claim them all."
He chuckled darkly, the sound reverberating like the toll of a bell. "Why settle for a single god's essence when I can feast on a banquet of broken divinities? Once they are fully degenerated, they will no longer stand as equals, they will be mine to wield, to bind, and to consume."
While Chthon manipulated his siblings, he kept a wary eye on Gaia and, Herobrine. That entity had proven more resourceful than expected, but Chthon knew that raw power alone could not undo his plans. Their interference might serve to accelerate his schemes.
With a flick of his hand, Chthon summoned an ethereal quill and began inscribing symbols into a piece of flesh, the runes glowing with unholy light.
The Elder Gods walk willingly into his trap. Each battle, each act of consumption, and each fragment of chaos magic released into the cosmos brought his grand design closer to fruition.
"The Age of Degeneration," he mused, his voice reverberating across the planes. "A time when gods will become demons."
The Elder God of Chaos was patient. He could wait. After all, chaos was eternal, and his moment would come.
(Yahweh)
Yahweh sat on a throne of light, his ethereal form radiant. The celestial realm around him was an expanse of endless serenity; his thoughts were consumed by the imperfections of various lifeforms, the potential for something truly magnificent—beings that could embody his ideals.
"Every reptile is greedy, insatiable in their hunger," he mused, his voice resonating like a symphony of light and power. "Sister Gaia was correct when she dismissed them as evolutionary dead ends. They are tainted with primal sins, incapable of true grace or purity. Even men, flawed as they are, carry the same burdens of greed and anger." He paused, his thoughts briefly wandering to Herobrine.
"Though Herobrine… he is different," Yahweh acknowledged. "An anomaly in the chaos, disciplined and resolute. Perhaps there is still hope for man through examples like him. But even then, males are a reflection of ambition, struggle, and imperfection." His gaze softened as he contemplated a deeper truth.
"And Herobrine also doesn't belong in this reality, so he is an exception."
"My sisters, though… they were made perfect. Pure. Compassionate. Unyielding yet nurturing. It is only natural that the beings I create should reflect their essence."
(A/N: A siscon)
Yahweh then took out his sketchbook, "What should they be?" he pondered aloud. "Graceful, beautiful, untainted by the flaws of mortals. They shall serve as messengers of divine will and as guardians of the balance between the celestial and the mortal realms."
"Wings. Yes, they must have wings," Yahweh decided,. "Not like the crude, leathery appendages of beasts, but vast and feathered, radiant with my light. Each feather will shimmer with divine energy, a testament to their purity."
"They will act as defense and attack."
He considered the idea of glowing eyes from Herobrine but dismissed it
Drawing the sketches Yahweh envisioned another function for his angels. "They must not only embody grace but also serve as purifiers. When they encounter corruption, they must have the ability to cleanse it with their mere presence."
"Females," he said softly. "They will be the first. A reflection of perfection, of creation at its finest. Their presence will bring order, peace, and a reminder of what mortals should aspire to. They will carry not just my essence but the best of what my sisters represent."
Yahweh began inscribing the designs for his angels, which would soon manifest into reality.
Yahweh wanted to give his creations their choices whether they chose to be light or dark, male or female forms, filled with empathy.
Someone to judge them if they are in the wrong.
He was very excited about his project.
(Muspelheim)
Buri, the ancient and wise progenitor of the Æsir/Asgardian gods, had seen many strange things in his time. But sneaking into the volcanic heart of Muspelheim, home to Surtur, the flaming giant who could ignite the end of the world with his Eternal Flame? That was a new one, even for him.
He adjusted his heavy, fur-lined cloak as he trudged through the ashen wasteland, muttering to himself. "Surtur's always going on about Ragnarok this, Ragnarok that. Who's he trying to impress with that oversized torch anyway? If he doesn't need the Eternal Flame right now, he might as well share the wealth."
Buri's plan was simple. Too simple. Sneak in, grab a bit of the Eternal Flame, and get out before Surtur noticed. He had managed to carve an ice bottle reinforced with runes to hold the mystical green flames. But as he stood at the edge of the flaming chasm, he realized that "simple" might have been an overstatement.
In the center of the chasm, the Eternal Flame blazed like a defiant beacon of destruction. The heat alone made even Buri's enchanted cloak smolder. A few fire demons milled about, but they seemed more interested in roasting volcanic rocks than guarding the Flame.
"Lazy lot," Buri muttered as he tiptoed closer. "Surtur must not pay them enough."
He extended his ice bottle toward the Flame, whispering ancient words to siphon a portion of its power. Green fire swirled and crackled as it reluctantly flowed into the container. Just as the last spark entered the bottle, a deep, booming voice shook the cavern.
"WHO DARES DISTURB THE ETERNAL FLAME?"
Buri froze.
"Oh, for Ymir's beard…" he muttered, turning to see Surtur himself looming above him, his fiery form casting shadows that danced like living nightmares.
Surtur glared down at Buri, his molten eyes narrowing. "Buri? You old coot! What are you doing in my domain? Don't tell me you've finally decided to challenge me for dominion over Muspelheim."
"Challenge you?" Buri snorted, doing his best to appear nonchalant. "Bah! I've got better things to do than wrestle with a walking bonfire. No, I'm here on… uh… family business."
"Family business?" Surtur's flames flickered with curiosity.
Yes," Buri said, holding up the bottle. "You see, my dear sister Gaia has just married a promising young god, Herobrine, the new God of Lightning. I thought it'd be a nice gesture to gift her a portion of the Eternal Flame. You know, a symbolic thing. Fire for the hearth, unity, all that."
Surtur stroked his fiery chin. "A marriage gift, you say? Hmph. I suppose that's… acceptable. But what about the other bottle?"
Buri hesitated, glancing at the second bottle tucked into his cloak. "Oh, this? This is, uh… personal research. I'm working on refining the mead of poetry, and I thought a touch of the Flame might… add some kick."
"Mead?" Surtur rumbled, his tone softening. "Interesting. Will it burn?"
"If it doesn't, I'll let you be the first to try it."
Surtur let out a rumbling laugh that sent embers flying. "Fine, take your portion of the Flame. But if that mead doesn't live up to its promise, I'll use you to stoke my forge."
"Deal!" Buri said, backing away carefully.
Back in Aesheim, Buri presented Gaia with her gift.
"For you, sister," he said with a flourish, holding out the ice bottle. "A piece of Surtur's Eternal Flame, contained in the purest ice of Niflheim. May it warm your hearth and protect your domain."
Gaia raised an eyebrow, her emerald hair shimmering in the light of the Flame. "This is… thoughtful, Buri. Though I must ask, how did you convince Surtur to part with it?"
"Convince? Pah!" Buri waved a hand dismissively. "He practically threw it at me once I mentioned your name."
~~~~
Buri returned to his workshop, eager to test his other prize. He poured a 'drop' of the Eternal Flame into a cauldron of enchanted mead. The mixture hissed and bubbled ominously.
"Perfect!" Buri declared, ignoring the small explosion that followed.
Little did he know, the resulting brew would become the stuff of legends, bestowing both divine inspiration and temporary fire breath on anyone brave enough to drink it. But that's a tale for another time.
For now, Buri sat back, sipped his mead, and chuckled. "Surtur doesn't know what he's missing."
~~~~
I don't what to make of this, but the creation of Angels is about to be done, and Lucifer will be a female from the Deadly Sin series.
Villains monologue and that is what Chthon is doing.
I hope the short story is good.
And sorry for the monologues, Chthon.