Tiamat shifted her weight and drew herself up as her gaze picked out the figures climbing towards her temple. To her eyes, the gods shimmered like precious jewels, each one connected to the world by strands of divine light. It would be so easy to sever those strands. One quick slash, and the world would have one less god.
Too many gods – that had always been the problem with this world. They proliferated exponentially, too swiftly for the world to bear. It groaned beneath their weight, and it suffered for their childishness and selfishness. She could feel it, in the air and the water. Even now, after all she had done to correct it, there was still an echo of the pain they had caused – and would cause again, if someone did not take them in hand.
Tiamat settled back to await her visitors. That they had accepted her invitation showed that there might yet be hope for them. Or some of them at least. The rest would have to be disciplined if they would not accept her as the rightful ruler of this world and all that it contained. After all, had she not created the world? Had she not drawn the stuff of it from the abyss and shaped it to her will?
Her claws bit into the stone and she forced herself to relax. To be at ease. It was difficult. She knew that the beings below could not be trusted, not truly. She had trusted their kind once, and had been repaid with treachery and imprisonment. All for the crime of trying to defend what was hers – of trying to avenge those she loved best.
A part of her yearned to destroy them now, before they had a chance to turn on her. To smash their temples and cast down their heavenly palaces. To claim the skies as she had claimed the seas, and all that stretched between them.
But no – not yet. Perhaps never. She did not wish to wage war on them. She’d had her fill of war the last time. And perhaps a part of her, a tiny part, feared that it might turn out the same as last time. That they might once again separate her from the world she had made.
So, she waited.
“This is not a palace,” Ares said, as the Olympian delegation climbed the steps leading to the apex of Tiamat’s ziggurat. Hundreds of rounded towers rose like mountains from forests of looming pillars. The tallest towers were topped by immense statues of gold, representing unfamiliar creatures – gods, perhaps, or monsters. The base of each tower was girt by a bountiful garden, full of life and sound.
“It looks like a palace to me,” Zeus grumbled.
“No, Ares is right,” Olorun said. “This is a temple.”
“And so?”
“It is a show of strength, father,” Ares said. “Our temples are raised by mortals. Tiamat is telling us she does not require worship.”
“But she desires it,” Hera said, softly. “Look about you – Ares is right. But it is not just a show of strength, but a message of intent. She sets herself above us, beckons us to visit like pilgrims…”
“You almost sound as if you admire her,” Sobek growled. The towering crocodilian lagged behind the others, his great head swinging from side to side. Ares glanced at him. The God of the Nile was ill at ease – not afraid, but wary. Like a beast caught in the territory of a rival predator. Ares felt a flicker of sympathy for the Egyptian deity. Sobek did not wish to be here, but had come nonetheless at the behest of Horus – to give thanks on behalf of his pantheon for the safe return of Ra from the cosmic abyss.
No other gods had dared accompany them. Some, he suspected, were biding their time, watching to see what Tiamat’s intentions were. Others, he thought, were simply afraid.
“There is much to admire,” Hera said. “I admit it. She is powerful, and this place – temple, palace or fortress – is quite beautiful.”
“It is too big,” Zeus grunted, as they came to a wide, flat landing. Ahead of them, a long bridge of stone stretched towards a square structure with a high plateau roof. Massive braziers threw sweet smelling smoke into the air. “She insults us.”
Privately, Ares agreed with his father. Tiamat was insulting them. But unlike Zeus, he was not certain that it was intentional. Olorun seemed to be of similar mind. Like him, Tiamat was something older than the world. Unlike him, her powers did not seem diminished by her return. Perhaps there was something to her claims to have created the world.
He pushed the thought aside and concentrated on the reason he’d come. He studied the shape of the temple, searching for weak points and potential avenues of attack. The structure was beautiful, but flawed. He could bring it down, if it came to it – though given what he’d seen of Tiamat’s power, he might not walk away from such an assault.
Ares looked up at the creature – the goddess – as she perched atop the tallest tower, waiting for them. She radiated strength. Only a fool, or a madman, would attack her head-on.
They had reached the middle of the bridge when Tiamat reared suddenly, wings of crackling light extended. She let loose a roar and called down, “Well met, young ones. I feared you would not accept my invitation.”
“How could we not?” Olorun replied. He crossed his arms and looked up at her. “It seemed only polite to visit you in your home, as you visited us in ours.”
“Not yours, I think,” she rumbled, hovering gracefully over her perch. “You are not of this world, young prince. You smell of starlight and celestial winds. You grow frail here, separated from the cosmic light. Which begs the question – why are you still here?”
“A good question,” Zeus murmured. Ares glanced at his father. Zeus did not trust Tiamat, that much was obvious. Thus far he had restrained himself from acting with his usual bravado. He had made no challenges -–thrown no lightning. Perhaps he had learned something from their battle with Cthulhu after all.
Olorun paused before replying. “I have often asked myself that of late. I came here to bring an end to the conflict between pantheons. I stayed to battle Cthulhu, and heal the damage he caused to the world.”
“But now I have done all that,” Tiamat said, spreading her taloned forepaws, as if to encompass the world around them. “I have fixed what you children broke. I have sealed away the Great Dreamer and healed the madness that afflicted my poor world. I have even returned to you your little palaces – Valhalla, for instance. And yet not a word of thanks have I received, not even an acknowledgement of my gifts.”
Olorun glanced at the others. Ares met his gaze and nodded. Olorun cleared his throat. “Then let me be the first to say –”
“Tyrant!”
Ares turned as the cry echoed over the bridge. Two figures stood at the opposite end of the bridge. One he recognised immediately – Bellona, goddess of war. The other, a tall bearded man – not divine, at least not wholly – clad in robes and armour. It was he who’d spoken. He did so again, stalking forward as he spoke. “Tyrant,” he bellowed. “Mother of monsters and breaker of gods! I am Gilgamesh, King of Uruk and in the name of Marduk the immortal son of Utu, I will free this world from your shadow and cast you back into the starless pit you crawled from.”
Bellona grinned fiercely. “Stand aside, Olympians – we have come for her.”
“Have you, now?” Tiamat said. To Ares’ ears, she sounded amused.
Olorun put out a hand. “Hold – do nothing foolish,” he began. The newcomer, Gilgamesh, was in no mood to listen. He bounded forward, blade in hand. Bellona charged alongside him, her own sword at the ready.
They burst through the crowd of dumbfounded gods and headed across the bridge. Ares watched them go with a flicker of regret. A part of him longed to join them. If there was to be battle, he should be a part of it. But a wiser part of him prevailed. This was not his war. Not yet.
“Bellona…” Olorun began, a look of consternation on his face. “What is she doing?” Celestial light crawled across his form as he prepared for battle. “Are they mad, or just fools? To attack someone who has done us no harm?”
“No harm yet,” Zeus said, smacking his fist into his palm. Lightning flared about him. “You heard that creature – she called the world hers. She means to rule over us. I, for one, do not intend to allow that.”
“Husband,” Hera began. “Do not make enemies where there are none.” But her words fell on deaf ears as Zeus started after Bellona and the newcomer. She shook her head and Ares felt a flash of sympathy – his mother had ever striven to keep Zeus from indulging in his baser instincts, though never with much success.
Above them, Tiamat’s shriek split the air. Ares thought the sound was one of rage – but also something that might have been satisfaction. As if she had been expecting just such an event, and was gratified to be proven correct.
Ares looked up and saw her crouched atop her plinth, wings flaring with cosmic light, claws digging into the stonework. He paused, struck by how quickly her previous elegance had drained away, leaving behind only a bestial monstrousness.
“We should go,” he said, to the others. Sobek nodded, and Hera did so as well, after a lingering glance in the direction her husband had gone.
Olorun looked at him. “What do you mean?”
Ares turned. “We should withdraw. Zeus and Bellona have made their choice. But I do not intend to commit myself to a battle until I know whose side I am on.”
Gilgamesh raced across the bridge, sword in hand. Behind him, the strange gods gawped in confusion, or perhaps surprise. Above him, Tiamat shrieked. Smoke billowed and a bevy of feral creatures burst into view, loping to meet him. “What are those things?” Bellona shouted, as she ran alongside him. A grin split his bearded features.
“The children of Tiamat – she spawns them by the hundreds, or so the gods claim.”
“Which gods?”
“My gods,” Gilgamesh laughed. “I hope they are watching!” He was still laughing as the first of the creatures reached him. “See me, Marduk – see your faithful follower!” His sword slashed out in a wide arc, bisecting the monster in mid-leap. He pivoted, chopping through a second of the beasts. More of the beasts poured towards them. Bellona fought beside him, her grin matching his own. Like him, she too loved battle.
She was a worthy companion. Almost the equal of – but no. His mind shied from the thought of his oldest friend. He glanced at Bellona again. In the days since he had found her digging her way out of the ancient temple, he had come to learn much about her – and this new world. A world much changed since he had last walked it.
His time in the Netherworld had passed like a dream. Moments had seemed like days, and days had passed in moments. But now he had returned, and at last, his quest was on the cusp of fulfilment. The gods had whispered to him of Tiamat’s return and told him what he must do. She could not be allowed to roam free, and he was the one destined to defeat her – for good this time.
Tiamat shrieked. More creatures – serpentine monsters – squirmed into existence, slithering towards them. Bellona stepped forward. “You go. I’ll handle these worms.” Their eyes met, and Gilgamesh grinned.
“My thanks,” he said, and moved past her. Her attack distracted the creatures, and he slipped past, heading for their monstrous creator. Tiamat swooped low over the bridge.
“Why have you come here, little half-god?” she roared.
Gilgamesh extended his sword. “The gods of Babylon will bless me if I defeat you, old dragon. A feat not even Marduk could accomplish.”
Tiamat shook her bejewelled head as if saddened by his boast. “King Gilgamesh…I have heard of you. The spirits of my children whisper your name.” She plummeted downwards like a stone. Gilgamesh crouched, sword extended. He felt no fear as she crashed down on all fours, tail lashing, winging burning the air – only eagerness.
“You came here seeking immortality,” Tiamat said. “But you have found only death!”
Tiamat shifted her weight and drew herself up as her gaze picked out the figures climbing towards her temple. To her eyes, the gods shimmered like precious jewels, each one connected to the world by strands of divine light. It would be so easy to sever those strands. One quick slash, and the world would have one less god.
Too many gods – that had always been the problem with this world. They proliferated exponentially, too swiftly for the world to bear. It groaned beneath their weight, and it suffered for their childishness and selfishness. She could feel it, in the air and the water. Even now, after all she had done to correct it, there was still an echo of the pain they had caused – and would cause again, if someone did not take them in hand.
Tiamat settled back to await her visitors. That they had accepted her invitation showed that there might yet be hope for them. Or some of them at least. The rest would have to be disciplined if they would not accept her as the rightful ruler of this world and all that it contained. After all, had she not created the world? Had she not drawn the stuff of it from the abyss and shaped it to her will?
Her claws bit into the stone and she forced herself to relax. To be at ease. It was difficult. She knew that the beings below could not be trusted, not truly. She had trusted their kind once, and had been repaid with treachery and imprisonment. All for the crime of trying to defend what was hers – of trying to avenge those she loved best.
A part of her yearned to destroy them now, before they had a chance to turn on her. To smash their temples and cast down their heavenly palaces. To claim the skies as she had claimed the seas, and all that stretched between them.
But no – not yet. Perhaps never. She did not wish to wage war on them. She’d had her fill of war the last time. And perhaps a part of her, a tiny part, feared that it might turn out the same as last time. That they might once again separate her from the world she had made.
So, she waited.
“This is not a palace,” Ares said, as the Olympian delegation climbed the steps leading to the apex of Tiamat’s ziggurat. Hundreds of rounded towers rose like mountains from forests of looming pillars. The tallest towers were topped by immense statues of gold, representing unfamiliar creatures – gods, perhaps, or monsters. The base of each tower was girt by a bountiful garden, full of life and sound.
“It looks like a palace to me,” Zeus grumbled.
“No, Ares is right,” Olorun said. “This is a temple.”
“And so?”
“It is a show of strength, father,” Ares said. “Our temples are raised by mortals. Tiamat is telling us she does not require worship.”
“But she desires it,” Hera said, softly. “Look about you – Ares is right. But it is not just a show of strength, but a message of intent. She sets herself above us, beckons us to visit like pilgrims…”
“You almost sound as if you admire her,” Sobek growled. The towering crocodilian lagged behind the others, his great head swinging from side to side. Ares glanced at him. The God of the Nile was ill at ease – not afraid, but wary. Like a beast caught in the territory of a rival predator. Ares felt a flicker of sympathy for the Egyptian deity. Sobek did not wish to be here, but had come nonetheless at the behest of Horus – to give thanks on behalf of his pantheon for the safe return of Ra from the cosmic abyss.
No other gods had dared accompany them. Some, he suspected, were biding their time, watching to see what Tiamat’s intentions were. Others, he thought, were simply afraid.
“There is much to admire,” Hera said. “I admit it. She is powerful, and this place – temple, palace or fortress – is quite beautiful.”
“It is too big,” Zeus grunted, as they came to a wide, flat landing. Ahead of them, a long bridge of stone stretched towards a square structure with a high plateau roof. Massive braziers threw sweet smelling smoke into the air. “She insults us.”
Privately, Ares agreed with his father. Tiamat was insulting them. But unlike Zeus, he was not certain that it was intentional. Olorun seemed to be of similar mind. Like him, Tiamat was something older than the world. Unlike him, her powers did not seem diminished by her return. Perhaps there was something to her claims to have created the world.
He pushed the thought aside and concentrated on the reason he’d come. He studied the shape of the temple, searching for weak points and potential avenues of attack. The structure was beautiful, but flawed. He could bring it down, if it came to it – though given what he’d seen of Tiamat’s power, he might not walk away from such an assault.
Ares looked up at the creature – the goddess – as she perched atop the tallest tower, waiting for them. She radiated strength. Only a fool, or a madman, would attack her head-on.
They had reached the middle of the bridge when Tiamat reared suddenly, wings of crackling light extended. She let loose a roar and called down, “Well met, young ones. I feared you would not accept my invitation.”
“How could we not?” Olorun replied. He crossed his arms and looked up at her. “It seemed only polite to visit you in your home, as you visited us in ours.”
“Not yours, I think,” she rumbled, hovering gracefully over her perch. “You are not of this world, young prince. You smell of starlight and celestial winds. You grow frail here, separated from the cosmic light. Which begs the question – why are you still here?”
“A good question,” Zeus murmured. Ares glanced at his father. Zeus did not trust Tiamat, that much was obvious. Thus far he had restrained himself from acting with his usual bravado. He had made no challenges -–thrown no lightning. Perhaps he had learned something from their battle with Cthulhu after all.
Olorun paused before replying. “I have often asked myself that of late. I came here to bring an end to the conflict between pantheons. I stayed to battle Cthulhu, and heal the damage he caused to the world.”
“But now I have done all that,” Tiamat said, spreading her taloned forepaws, as if to encompass the world around them. “I have fixed what you children broke. I have sealed away the Great Dreamer and healed the madness that afflicted my poor world. I have even returned to you your little palaces – Valhalla, for instance. And yet not a word of thanks have I received, not even an acknowledgement of my gifts.”
Olorun glanced at the others. Ares met his gaze and nodded. Olorun cleared his throat. “Then let me be the first to say –”
“Tyrant!”
Ares turned as the cry echoed over the bridge. Two figures stood at the opposite end of the bridge. One he recognised immediately – Bellona, goddess of war. The other, a tall bearded man – not divine, at least not wholly – clad in robes and armour. It was he who’d spoken. He did so again, stalking forward as he spoke. “Tyrant,” he bellowed. “Mother of monsters and breaker of gods! I am Gilgamesh, King of Uruk and in the name of Marduk the immortal son of Utu, I will free this world from your shadow and cast you back into the starless pit you crawled from.”
Bellona grinned fiercely. “Stand aside, Olympians – we have come for her.”
“Have you, now?” Tiamat said. To Ares’ ears, she sounded amused.
Olorun put out a hand. “Hold – do nothing foolish,” he began. The newcomer, Gilgamesh, was in no mood to listen. He bounded forward, blade in hand. Bellona charged alongside him, her own sword at the ready.
They burst through the crowd of dumbfounded gods and headed across the bridge. Ares watched them go with a flicker of regret. A part of him longed to join them. If there was to be battle, he should be a part of it. But a wiser part of him prevailed. This was not his war. Not yet.
“Bellona…” Olorun began, a look of consternation on his face. “What is she doing?” Celestial light crawled across his form as he prepared for battle. “Are they mad, or just fools? To attack someone who has done us no harm?”
“No harm yet,” Zeus said, smacking his fist into his palm. Lightning flared about him. “You heard that creature – she called the world hers. She means to rule over us. I, for one, do not intend to allow that.”
“Husband,” Hera began. “Do not make enemies where there are none.” But her words fell on deaf ears as Zeus started after Bellona and the newcomer. She shook her head and Ares felt a flash of sympathy – his mother had ever striven to keep Zeus from indulging in his baser instincts, though never with much success.
Above them, Tiamat’s shriek split the air. Ares thought the sound was one of rage – but also something that might have been satisfaction. As if she had been expecting just such an event, and was gratified to be proven correct.
Ares looked up and saw her crouched atop her plinth, wings flaring with cosmic light, claws digging into the stonework. He paused, struck by how quickly her previous elegance had drained away, leaving behind only a bestial monstrousness.
“We should go,” he said, to the others. Sobek nodded, and Hera did so as well, after a lingering glance in the direction her husband had gone.
Olorun looked at him. “What do you mean?”
Ares turned. “We should withdraw. Zeus and Bellona have made their choice. But I do not intend to commit myself to a battle until I know whose side I am on.”
Gilgamesh raced across the bridge, sword in hand. Behind him, the strange gods gawped in confusion, or perhaps surprise. Above him, Tiamat shrieked. Smoke billowed and a bevy of feral creatures burst into view, loping to meet him. “What are those things?” Bellona shouted, as she ran alongside him. A grin split his bearded features.
“The children of Tiamat – she spawns them by the hundreds, or so the gods claim.”
“Which gods?”
“My gods,” Gilgamesh laughed. “I hope they are watching!” He was still laughing as the first of the creatures reached him. “See me, Marduk – see your faithful follower!” His sword slashed out in a wide arc, bisecting the monster in mid-leap. He pivoted, chopping through a second of the beasts. More of the beasts poured towards them. Bellona fought beside him, her grin matching his own. Like him, she too loved battle.
She was a worthy companion. Almost the equal of – but no. His mind shied from the thought of his oldest friend. He glanced at Bellona again. In the days since he had found her digging her way out of the ancient temple, he had come to learn much about her – and this new world. A world much changed since he had last walked it.
His time in the Netherworld had passed like a dream. Moments had seemed like days, and days had passed in moments. But now he had returned, and at last, his quest was on the cusp of fulfilment. The gods had whispered to him of Tiamat’s return and told him what he must do. She could not be allowed to roam free, and he was the one destined to defeat her – for good this time.
Tiamat shrieked. More creatures – serpentine monsters – squirmed into existence, slithering towards them. Bellona stepped forward. “You go. I’ll handle these worms.” Their eyes met, and Gilgamesh grinned.
“My thanks,” he said, and moved past her. Her attack distracted the creatures, and he slipped past, heading for their monstrous creator. Tiamat swooped low over the bridge.
“Why have you come here, little half-god?” she roared.
Gilgamesh extended his sword. “The gods of Babylon will bless me if I defeat you, old dragon. A feat not even Marduk could accomplish.”
Tiamat shook her bejewelled head as if saddened by his boast. “King Gilgamesh…I have heard of you. The spirits of my children whisper your name.” She plummeted downwards like a stone. Gilgamesh crouched, sword extended. He felt no fear as she crashed down on all fours, tail lashing, winging burning the air – only eagerness.
“You came here seeking immortality,” Tiamat said. “But you have found only death!”
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