Gerra took a deep breath, but it felt neverending. She was breathing in for an eternity. There was no way to stop her intake of air. She whimpered, and as the breath intake started, it stopped.
Something warm touched Gerra’s shoulder. She was afraid to turn, lest it becomes a neverending turn as her inhalation was.
“I know what you are thinking.” A warm voice licking soft ringing wind chimes sounded to Gerra’s left. “But for us, and you as well, everything is eternal, neverending.”
Gerra whimpered, afraid to utter a single word.
“Relax, young one.” The voice said and it felt like sunshine on a rainy day. “It is about intention and will.”
Gerra stopped whimpering. “I think …” The thought became words, and the words moved through her mouth as waves of molten lava. “I think … I understand.”
“Interesting.” The voice sounded full of thorns and pits, like a bramble of poison ivy strangling a tree deep in the forest.
Gerra turned. “I understand now why Kortasakh wanted to die, his mind didn’t have the focus.” Standing in front of Gerra was a woman of undeterminable age. She wore flowing robes in shades of brown, orange, green, and yellow.
“Targanishka, pleased to meet you, young one.” The woman bent her head slightly. “Welcome to Godhood.”
“The goddess of nature and the wilds,” Gerra said in an awed voice. “You are a lot more beautiful than they depict you.” Gerra stared into the goddess’ eyes and felt startled when she realized that her irises were a neverending whirlpool of green and brown, swirling and rumbling to unknown depths.
“Oh, yes, the eyes.” Targanishka laughed, it sounded like water splashing in a shallow lake. “We all have them, and yet, humans always fail to picture them either in paintings or sculpture.”
“You keep saying, we and us as if I am a Goddess like you.” Gerra narrowed her eyes, she felt powerful, so powerful, yet something was missing, something was not right.
“You are, as much as I can be.” Targanshika nodded with a soft smile, still, that wrong thing was still there, scratching away at the periphery of Gerra’s awareness.
“Yet, I don’t feel like a goddess.” Gerra finally voiced her annoying thoughts.
“Yes, it is only natural that you feel lacking.” Targanishka patted Gerra’s shoulder softly. “You don’t have worshipers yet. You need worshipers to be complete, and without them, your existence would turn into neverending suffering.”
“But why I became a goddess, and why I need worshipers?” Gerra tried not to stare into the other goddess’ neverending whirlpool eyes.
“The ancient accords state that if you kill a God, you gain neverending present and life of responsibility,” Targanshika said in a firm voice. “As for the worshipers, they are the ones who gave the gods their powers, some of the older gods refuse to accept this, but we, the younger gods, know that worshipers created the gods in the first place.”
“How is that possible?” Gerra felt eternity hanging over her shoulders with each passing moment, how could normal flawed and weak mortals create such powerful entities as the gods?
“It seems unlogical and even ludicrous, but this is real. Gods without worshipers fold upon themselves and cease to exist as soon as they realize their reality.” Targanshika sighed. “I have seen it happen more than once.”
“But can’t I turn back to being mortal?” Gerra licked her lips, how could anyone bear with such an existence? To be a neverending force, yet mere mortals control your fate, was not what she thought godhood was.
“I never saw anyone succeed in turning back the given gift of godhood.” Targanshika waved her hand and the land appeared in front of them. The kid who was Kortasakh, laying in a pool of black ichor, started to disintegrate in front of their eyes. “He tried for millennia, and all he managed to do, was turn into a kid, a kid with godly powers.”
Gerra watched the corpse disappear within seconds. She knew that she still had her boy back home, she needed to survive for him, and if she needed worshipers to do this, then she would gain as many worshipers as the oldest of gods.
“How do I gain worshipers?”
“You choose a new name, a godly one.” Targanshika took a deep breath. “You find an area of human interest or fear that none of the rest of us hold sway over, and you start doing miracles.”
“Miracles?” Gerra looked stunned.
“Yes, tons of miracles to establish a new religion, maybe even a savior or a prophet when your name is known enough.”
If you like this story, check the other parts as well: Broken Fighter, part 1, Broken fighter, part two, Gerra, Broken Fighter, part 3, Kortasakh.
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