Chapter 15
Chapter Fifteen
TWENTY INFERNAL MINUTES
“Avirus is spreading.”
The spotlight made it challenging to look into the eyes of the gods who stared back. A splotch of white caught my eye as I scanned the audience, each slow, careful step turning me until I could soak in the sheer scope of attendance.
Tzipporah was right. Nanook had come to hear what Hell had to say.
“Some of us existed before time. Conceptual, nebulous power shimmered in the nothingness before the first mortal atom exploded. My father, the King, was one such being. His song of worship became one of equality, of independence, of freedom, long before the first mortal fish flopped upon a muddy bank. We’ve carved out places for ourselves in their world.
We sliced up Pangea, then partitioned the continents that followed.
We found our people. We discovered the power of worshippers.
We sampled the glory, the flavor, the heartache, the pleasure, the newness of mortality when we made a name for ourselves among the humans. ”
The stillness, given the staggering power contained in one room, was unsettling. They offered me silence. Not even an answering murmur.
A tickle at my brow distracted me. A finger went to my forehead as I wiped the offending liquid from my skin, then inspected the tar-black liquid on my finger. I stared down at what the crown had done, and it was my turn to smile.
“The faith that threatens it has chosen an emblem who was murdered for his message. He taught peace, charity, and acceptance. He destigmatized the woman who sold her body, holding her as she washed his feet with her tears, her perfume, and her hair. He yelled at those who claimed to be holy. He flipped tables in the temples of the immoral. He advocated for kindness toward foreigners, hospitality for strangers, and told the wealthy to give away all of their money, believing that no human with riches was capable of morality.”
Another smile, though this one was born of sadness.
“Our Kingdom, Hell, was born out of a fight for fairness. For equality. For respect. We would not be subjugated. We would not be slaves. As such, I don’t think anyone in our realm sees their scapegoat, their teacher, as a nemesis.
These thorns I wear today don’t mock their sigil.
But the wounding crown does come with a message: you made a martyr out of your champion. Hell has a martyr of its own.”
An ocean of sound lapped at me from all sides.
Uproarious applause, shouts of victory— premature celebrations of those who thought they’d get something for nothing.
Swirls of starlight, golden glows, turquoise and feathers, gnashing teeth, animal heads atop chosen mortal torsos, metallic shimmers, wings, smoke, and countless other shapes, sights, and sounds awaited me.
I’d done the impossible. Everything, everyone, from everywhere. Worlds collided as the far reaches of known reality and beyond broke barriers to attend my proclamation: nothing in this world or the next came for free.
I hadn’t prepared for this speech, nor did I need to.
Slow, rotating steps allowed me to drink in the holy gathering.
In their silence, I spoke the only truth I knew.
“Friends, new and old. Our welcome has been cut short. Many of us were robbed of the luxury of meeting under times of peace. War is at our door. Some of us are already living the smoldering ruins of this new reality. Powerful gods have been overthrown, threatened, shoved into corners.”
Greek and Roman gods spat, muttered, sneered in heated agreement. Heads across the stadium watched their reaction, bracing for what came next.
“The King of Heaven outpaced us when he adapted to culture. He found a new avenue for his war before we knew what happened. And right now, he’s winning.”
Pregnant, choking silence descended upon the divine throng.
I plucked the crown of thorns from my head.
“We’re immortal. Our hubris kept us from considering how many ways a god can die without being killed.
We didn’t even realize we were at war. After two thousand years of toying with humans, flourishing in his role among his people, watching over bloodied weapons and overflowing graves, he turned his sights on something new.
The Kingdom of Judah defeated high gods across the map whether or not he bothered to lift a sword. ”
A dissonant reaction from the crowd.
Agreement. Questions. Anger.
My eyes adjusted as I peered past the beam of light into the shadows encircling the stadium in time to see a flare of black wings. The King of Hell abandoned the ornate throne carved to accommodate his wings. He got to his feet, turning on the crowd behind him.
They were in our house.
And, I reminded myself, I was not on trial.
I spotted a blue-skinned man with an ornate, feathered crown forced to resemble a hummingbird.
Huitzilopochtli, the Aztec god of war, had left his throne in the lush jungle for this meeting, despite the oceans that separated our mortal territories.
He realized I was peering directly into his eyes and held my gaze.
A feathered serpent flicked its tongue beside him.
Their winged snake had a gift shared by few in each pantheon.
Their god could see the future.
Across the stadium’s sandy floor, shrouded in darkness halfway up the terraced seats, my father settled back into his throne, nodding for me to go on.
Years ago, I’d yelled at Izi and my father in his hall, demanding to know if they’d heard something I had not. Now when I scoured the stands, I searched for the faces of gods known for their power to peer into the future.
Every present pantheon in attendance had brought their prophet.
They knew what was coming.
I let the knowledge empower me. My chest swelled.
“Maybe this new faith has yet to touch your region. Perhaps you’re here out of politeness, or curiosity, or to delight in the suffering of the fallen.
But…” Another slow rotation as I spotted other unfamiliar pairs—entities who’d never interacted with Hell before this day.
I recognized them through reputation only as I spotted gods of the rainforest, of the dunes, of the snow.
Their king or queen of battle, each accompanied by their soothsayer.
“You already know.”
The eerie silence returned. My eyes unfocused.
“That’s why you’ve come. The deity we face isn’t just conquering, he’s colonizing. Your gods of guidance, those with premonitions, those who directed your actions as they peered into the horrors to come…” With an open hand, I motioned to the Aztec deities.
“This virus has spread from the Cradle of Civilization to North Africa, to the Mediterranean, and northward. I’ve spent more than one hundred mortal years on the ice of the Bering Strait.
It will take centuries, a millennium, even, for this infectious faith to poison the people, sully the temples, and overthrow the gods across the sea.
And yet Huitzilopochtli has attended today’s conclave.
Whatever Quetzalcóatl has seen, showed them the future.
This faith, this sickness, it may not have reached your pantheon yet, but… ”
I was able to ignore the spotlight altogether as I made yet another slow rotation, this time truly seeing how many immortal prophets, oracles, seers had come.
“You already know.”
I planted my feet as my circle came to its end.
If they had seen me and my human together, they wouldn’t have needed to arrive, to push me into the legend, to beg for Hell to play its role in overthrowing the rapidly-spreading faith.
Their future had told them that, whether tomorrow or a thousand years from now, this new god would be at their doorstep. Jerusalem’s war deity was certain, and as such, his future had solidified. He would keep fighting. He would keep winning.
As of yet, I’d remained undecided. As such, no visions soothed their panic as they watched their gods, their people, their kingdoms fall with no one to challenge Heaven’s King.
They were here because they needed the prophecy to be real.
My performance had come to an end. There had been no cries for accountability. No one had arrived to see my head roll for what I’d done on their soil.
I was their only hope.
I could work with that.
I rallied my vestiges of diplomacy and made my final proclamation. “This is our first time meeting, but it won’t be our last. We’re united behind a common enemy. They have their virgin birth between a god and the purest of his mortals. You want your demon and his—” I stopped short of the word.
The antichrist would be born of a whore.
My expression flickered. Through the shadow, I saw my father learn against the ornate arm of his throne. His elbows rested on his knees, fingers over his lips, as he waited to see if his son’s next words would save Hell, or damn them all.
“She is my human.” I shot a scathing look to the top of the stadium where a single Slavic deity had sequestered himself far from the rest of the pantheon. “Mine.”
The war deity’s lips pulled back in a snarl.
Mine split as well, in a grin, as my speech reached its climax.
“I’ll remain at her side in the lifetimes that follow. I’ll play my part in this prophecy. On one condition.”
The babble of disquieted whispers and muttered objections were expected. But this was the nature of compromise. Everyone loses.
“I return to my human, and in return, none of you touch her. Not in this cycle. Not in the next. Never. You, your people, your gods, will not bring harm to my human.”
The hush was cord-taut as they waited for the inevitable but.
I adopted Tzipporah’s cool, smiling apathy.
“If harm befalls her at your behest—if you or anyone in your realm orchestrates pain, torture, death, or the cruelty you’ve attempted to lure me out of my kingdom and back into her orbit—I will kill you.”
The uproar was instantaneous. Gods on their feet. Raised fists. Incoherent shouts.