Creating Precedents.
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Earth-5H1N3, Year 2001.
Urbs Beatorum Homines, Capital of the Living Island, and Mutant Country Krakoa.
Beatorum was a city of fantasy, not unlike Avalon, and splendor, not unlike Xandar. It was, after all, a city built by Aragorn, plotted by his daughter, and approved by Spark.
It was a city in which every nook and cranny had a purpose—a self-sufficient city that operated at nearly 100% efficiency at all times. You couldn't find unkempt properties, trash, unregulated structures, wasted resources, plot holes, security hazards, or any other type of 'inefficiencies' no matter how deep you looked for them.
It was a city that, even without the help of the mutants running it, could still operate at the same levels for over a year.
When this city was created, Aragorn—under the suggestion of Seraph—acknowledged that not everything could be idyllic and paradisiacal. Humans—mutants or not—needed a certain unsavoriness and 'inefficiencies' in their lives; otherwise, they would make space for it. The so-called darker side.
To combat this desire and find a non-malign release for it, Seraph suggested they create a regulated Red District. Since mutants came in all shapes, sizes, models, varieties, and types—especially so with their mutations—for some of them, a Red District might be a necessity.
Some of them had mutations related to sex, lust, desires, eros, and all manner of licentious cravings. Some of them had mutations that allowed them to induce an effect similar to the high of drugs on others. Some of them had mutations that allowed them to be subjected to certain otherwise deadly practices and not only come out unscathed but enjoy it while at it.
With how skewed Aragorn's morality was, he saw no problem in them partaking in these activities so long as no one who couldn't heal was harmed.
That's how, in one unassuming corner of the Red District, a certain bar called the Hell Hole came to be. Its owner? Someone known as the first natural mutant of Earth.
"Namor, the same as always!" A man whose voice made the glassware in the Hell Hole tremble spoke with the familiarity of a regular after taking a seat on a reinforced bar stool.
"Jugger, are you here to heal your pride once more after taking a beating during your mandated counseling sessions?" Namor spoke with facetiousness that came out eloquently to him.
"NO!" The Juggernaut slammed hard on the bar counter, yet the metallic structure only vibrated slightly. "Nobody beats the Juggernaut!"
"Hey! Easy on the Vibranium counter!" Namor moved quickly over the stricken place and, with practiced ease, polished the surface with a damp cloth. "Even for me, this thing is expensive."
"Hahahaha! They're at it again!" A massive blob of a human laughed at their antics.
"Shut it, Dukes! You're also part of the reason most furniture and fixtures are either Adamantium or Vibranium! Do you want me to charge you for it? This wasn't cheap!" Namor said while pointing accusingly at the chair holding strong despite the weight of the massive man atop it.
"Hmm." Blob made a sound of acquittal and returned to his high-calorie protein alcoholic drink.
"Jugger, I said your pride, not you. I know better than anyone how hard the psychologists of the island hit!" Namor turned to Cain Marko with a sympathetic look.
"GRRRR." He growled in acknowledgment. "The little blue lady hits like a demon, always on the weak spots—not like the Juggernaut had any, but you know."
"Yeah, don't I know?!" Namor placed a large—bucket-sized—glass of Mephisto's Tears, a 190-proof drink created with the help of a certain mutant who could stack an additional kick to every degree, in front of Cain Marko and served himself a shot of the same. "I went in because, as a former terrorist, the council mandated I get counseling sessions before my liquor license was approved. Somehow that ended in my childhood trauma being aired out like dirty rags on my face." He took a swig of his shot.
"Did the little fishman cry?" The one who asked was another patron of the bar, previously known as Avalanche.
"Oh, please, Dominikos! As if there's been anyone who came out unscathed after a session with that demoness!" Namor rolled his eyes at Avalanche and called out his bullshit. To his words, the other customers also grunted in sympathetic approval.
"... This is all Magneto's fault!" Avalanche sold out his previous boss.
"Aye!" All the customers raised their drinks and downed them in support of that statement.
"I was never a terrorist, yet I was ordered to attend Seraph's psychological torture sessions." The one who said that was none other than Logan, his voice carrying the wild traces iconic to him and the laments of a wounded animal.
"Hey, Wolverine! Why the heck is your daughter here?! How many times have I told you this is no place for kiddies?!" Namor snapped at Logan.
Sknt!
The one who replied was Laura, with her claws extending menacingly.
"She's got a special permit now." Logan nodded to Laura, and—reluctantly—she pulled her claws back in and tapped on her P-Link. A holographic black card with a draconic eye came to life.
"... What the hell?" Namor asked what the other patrons were thinking.
"Aragorn..." Laura said in a monotone.
At her words, more than half of the present clientele shivered.
"Not to risk a beating, but what was he thinking handing a Black Pass to your girl?" Gunther Bain, also known as Unos the Unstoppable, asked Logan.
"Some fucked up bastards did some fucked up shit to Laura before we met," Logan growled out. "Aragorn said there's not much innocence to protect, and that if she was old enough to... It doesn't matter. The point is he favors her, so he gave her the Black Pass."
"Mature..." Laura said while pointing at herself and looking absolutely pleased.
"..." The other patrons, seeing the obvious shoujo saying so, wisely saved their comments for themselves.
"..." Laura looked around, and seeing that no one was making fun of her like usual, she nodded in approval. Then she pointed at the holographic Black Pass and said, "The tab... on me."
"..." The others looked at Logan while processing her generous statement.
"It's Aragorn's money, either way." Logan shrugged.
"Heya, missy, if you need anything, just say it!" Unos cheered before ordering his preferred drink.
"I'll kill for you," Juggernaut commented with as much simplicity as Laura's usual words.
Sknt. Her adamantium claws came out, and she said, "I kill too..."
"Hahahaha!" The bar erupted in laughter.
Logan placed a reassuring hand atop her head. He obviously got stabbed for that but was used to it by now, and told her not to go overboard with Aragorn's money.
In the midst of the joyous atmosphere, the automatic hardlight doors opened, and one of the most famous men on Earth walked in. He carried himself with a poise that made it clear to all others that they were beneath him.
"If it isn't His Majesty, King Victor von Doom. I don't think my establishment is a place for royalty, Doom," Namor addressed him.
Doom looked around, his eyes stopping briefly on Laura's P-Link. With nothing but a glance, he recognized it as one of Aragorn's and not one of Seraph's.
"I can't say I find truth in that statement when the prince of Atlantis is the one behind it, can I?" Doom asked.
His words gave pause to the others present in the room—except those who didn't care, like Laura and Juggernaut.
"Tch! Who told you? Magneto? Or was it Aragorn?" Namor asked, visibly displeased.
"Are you a fool to believe Lehnsherr or I have the time to gossip?" Doom asked, coming to a stop in front of Namor, behind the Vibranium counter. His eyes twitched slightly after recognizing the metal.
"Aragorn, then," Namor said.
"Not exactly. Earlier today, he said I should contact you about Atlantis. I inferred the rest," Doom said.
"There's a great distance between what you say Aragorn told you and me being an Atlantean prince." Namor didn't bother to hide the suspicion in his eyes.
"Maybe for you. To me, it's all a logical, seamless transition," Doom called him an idiot without having to utter the word.
"... Did the arrogance come with the crown, or was it a thing from before?" Namor quipped.
"..." Doom stared at him, not bothering to reply.
"So?" Namor said, displeased with Doom's silence. "What do you want?"
"Latveria is interested in making friends with the Homo mermanus. A direct approach to this desire, without the necessary considerations, could be misinterpreted as hostility," Doom explained.
"... You want me to act as the intermediary between both kingdoms?" Namor asked after realizing what Doom was implying.
"You're an Atlantean prince, are you not? This falls under the responsibilities those of royal lineage must bear," Doom said.
"No, I understand that... It's just that my relationship with the current king and queen is not amiable. There's a reason an Atlantean prince resides among the surface dwellers," Namor said, visibly uncomfortable.
"..." Doom, again, said nothing and just stared at him, waiting for more information.
"By birthright, I was meant to be the ruler of Atlantis, but there was a prophecy. I know for you surface dwellers, a prophecy is nothing more than a phony construct often used to con you out of something," Namor said while eyeing the disbelieving looks the rest of the patrons were giving him. Not Doom, though.
"Prophecies can be both a phony construct and a reading of the possible future. Whether to be taken seriously or with contempt depends on the speaker. A prophecy from our draconic acquaintance could be considered a divine statement, whereas believing one from an untrustworthy source might tell more about your intelligence than your future," Doom said.
"I don't need you to tell me that. Like His Majesty, I too wield the arcane arts," Namor said, waving his left hand as a sorcery mandala appeared around it. "The problem lies in the difference between our societies. On average, out of ten Atlanteans, four have an innate affinity for sorcery.
"In about a million humans, maybe you'll find one with an innate affinity for it. Even fewer make it to adulthood without falling prey to dark sorcerers or demonic influence. The last one of your kind to reach adulthood and make use of their talent was that scary fox woman who thought it was a good idea to teach Aragorn sorcery," Namor explained.
"The Ancient One," Doom nodded.
"Yes, and that was centuries ago—before you surface dwellers discovered America. Now you can see how important a role sorcery plays in the Atlantean kingdom," Namor spoke with the weight of experience in his words.
Doom nodded at him to continue.
"So, prophecies are taken seriously, given their due importance. Also, contrary to the usual method—the one used by most other seers—our prophecies were not done by reading the future but instead by predicting it. Do you know of Laplace's demon?" Namor asked.
"I understand. Your people calculated probabilities from an almost astronomical amount of information instead of peering into the future. So when the seers of the rest of the world lost their ability to gaze at the future, your people didn't notice. That's remarkable," Doom praised, recognizing what should be acknowledged.
"Yes, hence, once again, this explains the validity of prophecies in Atlantis. A few centuries ago, long before I was born, a prophecy spoke of three children capable of bringing great prosperity to the kingdom or despondent peril. Should they unite, Atlantis would achieve something even beyond its apogee era," Namor said.
"Something?" Doom asked.
"It's unknown what that 'something' is—only that it would uplift the kingdom beyond whatever grandeur it has ever experienced," Namor clarified.
"You were one of those children, I presume," Doom said, certain he was not mistaken.
"Yes, I am. The prophecy goes into detail about the conditions under which we would be born—an eclipse, low tide, heirs to the heads of the clans with a stake in the throne, born at a specific hour, and all the other little details that make it hard to claim it was all a coincidence.
"The three children in question were, obviously, me, as you inferred, the current king, Attuma, and his queen, Dorma. The kingdom was not run by idiots, so when the three of us were identified as the foretold, they mobilized to ensure we became childhood friends.
(We're going with this look for Namor.)
"From before I can remember until my last days in the kingdom, the three of us were always together—being taught together, caught in mischief, training and sparring, sharing our meals, and more. We were all that we had, especially since our parents didn't raise us to avoid sowing discord among us."
"You both fell for Queen Dorma," Doom stated, cutting straight to the conclusion.
"...Yes," Namor admitted after a long sigh.
Clink
Laura stood from her seat and placed her cup of lemonade milk in front of the forlorn prince. She gave him a look that spoke volumes of sympathy.
Namor didn't know whether to take it as a hit to his pride or be thankful, but under Laura's innocent and ignorant gaze, he caved. Giving her the best crooked smile he could muster at the moment, he said, "Thanks, Laura." She nodded back and returned to her seat.
"That was nice of you. Who taught you that?" Logan asked, arching an eyebrow.
"Aragorn said... victims of cuckoldry need delicate care," Laura said nonchalantly.
"PFFFT!"
Multiple sprays of liquid flew across the bar.
Namor, who had just taken a sip of the lemonade milk, stopped and poured it down the drain with a pained look.
"What did Aragorn teach you? Why would he even teach you that?" Logan grumbled.
"Continue," Doom said, his tone carrying more command than request. Outwardly, he showed no reaction to Laura's 'sympathy,' but inwardly, he had already predicted what would follow. It was easy for him to recognize that Laura harbored no deep empathy for Namor—or anything in particular—and that, based on the P-Link hanging around her neck, she was connected to Aragorn in some personal way.
"I was not cuckolded," Namor said, his narrowed eyes shifting from trembling patrons to shaking ones. They were clearly not trembling or shaking out of fear of his retaliation but rather from holding in their laughter.
"Dorma chose Attuma before I even had a chance. I confronted him—after all, he knew what I felt for her. He said he would not place his brother's happiness above his own, that that was not how a king should behave, and... he was right," Namor admitted with both acceptance and resentment.
Oftentimes, logic clashes with emotion. In this case, Namor knew Attuma was right, but that didn't mean he felt no sense of betrayal.
"He was right," Doom affirmed.
"Yeah, well... I was a teenager. We all were. I didn't have the courage; he did. That's when I realized that, indeed, a king takes, demands, and claims. A king doesn't expect his subjects to follow unspoken rules and promises based on brotherhood.
"Attuma was right. That meant he was better ruler material than I was. Still, I swallowed my feelings, buried them deeper than the trench, and continued with my life. We all kept growing together. I might not have been the best king material between the two of us, but I was still a prince, and I understood my duties to the kingdom.
"Should Attuma prove to be a faulty king, I knew I had to be there to admonish him and help him return to the right path. So while Dorma and Attuma grew closer, I observed with as much clinical detachment as I could muster. I stood by their side. I helped them where they lacked.
"Just like the prophecy foretold, under the three of us, the kingdom was moving toward a better future. Then came World War II. Naval conflicts were often waged above kingdom cities. Battles razed the coasts to the ground. Later, radiation spilled into our seas.
"If you factor in the contamination the Industrial Revolution had already poured into the oceans, the rising ocean temperatures due to the Greenhouse Effect, and the disappearance of coral reefs, you'd know that Atlantis had to act," Namor explained.
"You came to the surface," Doom said. Before coming to speak with Namor, he had already done his research. He knew Namor's first appearances on the surface dated back to World War II.
"I volunteered. Part of me needed some time away from the growing warmth between Attuma and Dorma, and another part knew I was the best choice due to my familiar physical appearance to surface dwellers.
"I surfaced, and you might know the rest. I began actively involving myself in the armed conflict in pursuit of a faster end. I also sought to grow my influence in human society, hoping to steer you guys toward a 'greener' future," Namor said.
"And where that didn't suffice, you had the strength and might to push your ideals by force," Doom added.
"Yes. And that's how I came to know Max Eisenhardt—Magneto's birth name—but that was long after I decided not to return to the kingdom. While I was on the surface, aside from all the suffering and bloodshed that came with WWII, I also saw how some soldiers had someone waiting for them back home... and I had none.
"The kingdom needed me, I was smart enough to know that, but I didn't need it. Attuma and Dorma needed me, but being near them only caused me pain. I wanted to find a place or someone who needed me as much as I needed them.
"And like I said, I was raised into the role, so I was responsible enough to know that I needed to sever this dependency the kingdom had on me before parting ways with it. I worked hard for a few years to leave capable supporters in my place, and then I departed.
"But... can you guess what happened next?" Namor gazed at Doom with a defeated look.
"The prophecy," Doom summarized.
"The stupid prophecy!" Namor took a swig of a shot of Mephisto's Tears that he had poured during his talk.
"The stupid prophecy!" The patrons all took a swig of their drinks, even Laura.
"The three children must be working together, otherwise only peril awaited Atlantis," Doom added.
"Yes. And Attuma and Dorma, like the king and queen they were, couldn't allow my departure," Namor lamented.
The rest of the customers connected the dots and realized why he had said they didn't have the best of relationships. Attuma and Dorma had stood in his way and had wanted to outright kill him.
"Attuma was a hard bone to crack, and Dorma was a sorceress of uncontested might, but even then, I had already made a deal with Magneto. He sent Astra, that fanatic teleporter of his, to pick me up. So before any real confrontation could ensue, Astra teleported me away, and that was the last I saw of them. I kept to the surface, they kept to the underwater," Namor ended his tale.
"...This doesn't help me," Doom said, with no care at all for Namor's aching heart. Yet, neither Namor nor any of the patrons cared about it. They were not the type of people who expected empathy from others. To them, it was only logical that Doom was solely concerned with his objectives.
"What do you even hope to achieve by 'befriending' them? What are you after?" Namor asked, understanding that Doom was not simply seeking friends for Latveria.
"...Aragorn informed me that Atlantis has been affected by the ongoing nuclear war above their territory. I also want to shift the battlefield from a maritime conflict to a continental war," Doom said after some deliberation.
"That's just stupid. Why would you want the war to happen near your borders? There's no bene—... You don't have nukes, do you?" Namor stopped himself mid-question, realization dawning on him.
"I can confidently say that even if the war escalated into an all-out conflict of everyone against Latveria, as long as the confrontation happened inland, we would come out victorious. But if the war continues on its current path, in the end, we would have to face the victor while being at a strategic disadvantage... the terrain would hinder my troops," Doom confessed. There was no detriment to his honesty.
Everyone in the bar, due to their origins, had limited access to the outside world—more so than the other Krakoans—and Seraph also monitored them rigorously.
"I see. You want to ally with Atlantis to make the seas hostile to your enemies, or at least unfavorable," Namor concluded.
"I have already set the bait in Latveria, but I need the final push to make them abandon nuclear warfare and move the war inland," Doom said.
"...While I can't introduce you to the royal couple... I can teach you about our customs and traditions. I could even tell you about the key locations of our kingdom, if that helps," Namor said after careful deliberation.
"Oh? You would betray your people?" Doom asked, his stone mask betraying none of the disgust he felt at the notion.
"No, nothing of the sort. You said Aragorn guided you to me, and you also have some information about the kingdom's territories in the Pacific, right?" Namor asked. Doom nodded.
"Then, if he's involved, it's only a matter of time before he simply forces his desires in the matter or hands you the needed information on a silver platter. He wants you to do this, doesn't he? I don't know what vested interest he has in you, but like Laura over there," he pointedly looked at Laura's P-Link, "you carry one of his necklaces." He pointed at the P-Link hanging from Doom's neck. "That thing, on this island, holds more authority in certain affairs than even the Council."
Several of the customers reached into their shirts, pulled out their Links—the type created by Seraph—and nodded or grunted in agreement with Namor's words. Laura looked down at her P-Link, then at Doom's, and began comparing them with curiosity.
Hers was a clear, diamond-like jewel, similar to Aragorn's. Doom's was a dark green emerald, one that matched his color scheme perfectly.
"Let's start with Atlantean etiquette," Doom said.
"Sure. First of all, we are not very keen on physical contact, so you should avoid offering a handshake..."
In this unassuming corner of the Red District of Krakoa, Namor unknowingly handed Doom the ammunition he needed to bring Atlantis under his control, effectively setting the prophecy in motion. Would this lead to Atlantis' prosperity—or its Doom?
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Earth-199999
~4025 BE (Before Emergence) ~ 2000 BCE (Before Current Era)
After assessing the damage caused by the drought, I came to two conclusions—or rather, realizations.
Number one: The direct damage caused by the drought and shifting weather patterns was less severe than I had expected.
While it can't be denied that mountains of corpses were lost to the famine the drought spurred—and to deaths by dehydration—it wasn't severe enough to justify the historical records of fallen kingdoms left and right.
Number two: The fall of a kingdom is often more disastrous than the cause of its fall.
No matter how many lives were lost to the drought, the number paled in comparison to the death toll following the collapse of each kingdom. Rebellions were among the leading causes of death, war came in second—surprisingly—and plagues ranked third.
Most population centers had such poor waste and corpse disposal systems that I wondered if the resulting plagues weren't as deadly as the Black Plague only because humanity was still sparsely spread across the world—limiting the movement of disease vectors between cities.
Sadly, the most prevalent victims were children.
When I was human, and my family moved around Central and North America, I once visited a Guatemalan piggery. I was studying in a private school, and they often took us on school trips outside the capital to learn about rural life or other 'educational' topics.
Naturally, since we were all kids from affluent families, they didn't take us to the slaughterhouse but to the pigpens, where the little piglets were kept.
I was a cynical child, so I asked the caretaker how he managed to kill the pigs after raising them. The answer was unsurprising: he simply saw them as food—or profit.
During one of the most brutal battles against the bugs, I saw too many of my comrades die, so I began following the caretaker's philosophy. I started viewing my brothers-in-arms as soon-to-be slaughtered victims. It became easy to ignore the gore when I had already accepted that they would die.
I took the caretaker's words to heart. He had said the first step was not to name them, so I seldom learned their names. This memory resurfaced because I saw humans adopting similar practices.
I've witnessed some strange shit over these past millennia while acting as A'Heelah. Near the top of that list were the sexual 'sacred' rites performed by the priestesses of Inanna.
Inanna—soon to be known as Ishtar—was the goddess of love, war, fertility, lust, and sensuality. Then there was her very public relationship with Gilgamesh (a human). These were the precedents for what later became known as sacred prostitution and sacred marriage.
Sacred prostitution was born as a way to honor Inanna. The temple priestesses were divided into two groups: celibate priestesses and those who participated in fertility rites, which typically involved ritualistic sexual practices.
They believed that to transfer divine blessings and fertility, they needed to engage in ritual intercourse with priests or strangers as an offering to the goddess. However, the only thing they were transferring were STDs.
Then there was sacred marriage. Seeking to emulate Gilgamesh's union with Inanna, subsequent kings would 'marry' Inanna through her priestesses. Logic? There wasn't much of that.
But even with how strange those practices were, nothing—in my eyes—was as bizarre as humanity's ability to renounce their protective instincts over their offspring to lessen emotional attachment in case of death.
How strange is that? Parents refusing to bond with their babies until they were certain they would survive. That's unnatural—especially for apes.
They often wouldn't even name their children, referring to them simply as 'boy,' 'girl,' or 'it.' When the drought was at its worst, it was common to find children over the age of seven with no names, living like pets instead of family members—and not the kind of pet that was treated well.
Such bizarre shit. I'm quite unfeeling myself, and that's putting it nicely. For example, I flooded this planet without batting an eye at the death toll. I also bear partial responsibility for this drought and the resulting deaths, yet I feel nothing about it because I consider it necessary. But even to me, this feels unnatural. Cold. It surprises me.
I understand the deeper reasoning behind the practice, but still—it doesn't sit well, seeing so many pure souls tainted by their harsh living conditions.
So, in the hopes of soothing my aching, cold heart, I decided to focus on buying children a few days before their deaths. And while I was at it, why not help my Caravan Nation rake in some brownie points on the karmic scale?
Thus, in the year 2000 BCE, my Caravan Nation returned to the Cradle of Civilization.
Before I stopped the cooling of the Atlantic, I had sent my Caravan to the tropical stretch of Africa through the Red Sea. The next era would see a growing importance in maritime fleets, so I figured I'd get a head start for my Caravan Nation while also keeping them away from the heat—both literal and metaphorical—that the drought was going to bring.
Now that I was bringing them back, I decided to divide them into three groups.
The largest group would be stationed in the Mediterranean Sea. The two smaller ones would oversee the Red Sea and the Arabian Gulf.
The Red Sea group would oversee trade between the Canaanites, the Egyptians, and Punt. The Arabian Gulf group would manage trade with the future Babylonians, Elam, the Indus Valley Civilization, and Dilmun. Meanwhile, the unfortunate Mediterranean group would bear the brunt of trade in this era.
(Split between those three bodies of water.)
Normally, splitting a group of people like this would incite dissension. In these times, instead of roads, there were paths; instead of cars, there were carriages; and instead of planes, there were dragons. Physical distance equaled identity distance.
Under usual circumstances, dividing my Caravan Nation into three parts would result in the creation of three distinct peoples.
That's fine by me if it happens, but even then, I'll probably just use portals to solve the problem.
Soon, news of the return of my Caravan Nation—along with me—spread, and in the ports of several cities we visited, I found high-ranking officials awaiting us.
It might be a mistake to call it my return since I never left, and my SplitSelves were working hard 24/7 collecting souls. But it is indeed the return of my A'Heelah persona.
In every port, aside from the high-ranking officials awaiting me, there were also merchants—after my Caravan Nation's wares—and those in need of healing, the kind their deities' miracles couldn't grant.
With just a glance, I could tell we had the usual afflictions of the era: STDs, respiratory infections, parasitic diseases, waterborne or gastrointestinal illnesses. I saw a few plagues and epidemics, and, of course, leprosy couldn't be missing.
"Mah'ahib, go deal with the merchants. I'll take the sick away—I don't want them spreading sickness unnecessarily among the healthy," I told the leader of the expedition I was boarding.
The ships of the Caravan Nation were, for the era, advanced galleys with both oars and sails. Unlike most current vessels, our ships used plenty of bronze in their construction.
"Your will shall be done, A'Heelah," Mah'ahib lowered his head slightly in a curtsy and descended the ship with an entourage of assistants.
These were the people who kept the accounting books, helped with the math, tracked inventory, and held information needed for negotiations, like the prices of wares in other ports and such.
I turned to the sick prole and the high-ranking officials, who were looking at me expectantly and with some badly hidden reverence.
My body split vertically in two. The crowd gasped. I ignored them. One of me walked to the officials, the other to the sick.
"Do you know of any well-aired location where we can go to deal with your ailments?" I asked the sick woman closest to me.
"A'Heelah, the ports are the most spacious locations nearby. Otherwise, we would have to go close to the outer walls, but..." She glanced at the lepers isolated in a corner of the crowd. "They are not allowed to cross through the center of the city."
"How idiotic. Most of your diseases are more contagious than leprosy," I said offhandedly while tracing my eyes across the crowd.
My words stirred them up a little, but just enough for murmurs to spread—nothing like widespread panic. I was blasting them through my empathy with :Reassurance:, so they remained civil.
I turned to the open sea and pointed with my tail.
The waters churned like boiling geysers before a column of steam and water rose. The sickened crowd and some of the port's onlookers stirred—some in wonder, some in fear, some in reverence.
By the end of the wharf—or was this small enough to be considered a dock?—the water made way for a portion of bedrock I elevated with my telekinesis. The new land stretched into the sea, curving into a circumference.
When I leave, this should help this port—and my fleet—whenever they return for trade.
With that done, I turned to the sickened humans, pointed at the new land with my tail, and said, "What are you waiting for? Let's heal you over there."
Healing had become a routine task for me. I already had certain guidelines I followed like a script. First, I would tell them about the worst-case scenario their ailment could lead to. This was to scare them—because emotions are the best teachers in humans: fear, happiness, pain, pleasure, and such.
Then I would teach them how their ailment most likely began—dirty food, sex, poor hygiene, and so on. This was in the futile hope that they would learn how to avoid landing back in the same problem.
After that came the healing, which I carried out while advising them on how to identify disease vectors.
"Let's see... You've got an infection. You don't need to know what that means—just that it implies filth. There's nothing new about that, but this particular infection... Did you stick your penis in an animal?" I gave a deadpan, pointed stare at the patient. Based on the glimpses I caught from his stray thoughts... he didn't.
"No! That goes against the teachings of the temple!" he almost shouted but kept the presence of mind to understand who he was addressing.
"I see. Then that means you stuck your penis inside a hole that had probably taken some animal penis—or a human penis with a thing for zoophilia. Are you partnered?" I asked.
"No. My wife died about ten cycles ago," he confessed.
"I see. Then you're just very unlucky to have mated with someone not particularly hygienic. This is quite the risk, you know," I said in a faked solemn tone.
"Risk? What do you mean, A'Heelah?" The man didn't kneel to plead for my help because he was currently seminaked inside the temporary tent I cast with illusion magic.
"First, the ailment would have spread to your testicles, then to your guts. While the ailment festered in your internal parts, your testicles would have grown larger and larger. It would have reached a point where a bull's testicles would have shared a similar mass to yours."
The man shivered, turned pale, and sweated like a pig about to be sacrificed.
"And this is only about the physical appearance. The pain would be as if your testicles were constantly burning in boiling honey!" I emphasized the terrible picture of his terrible future.
"NO!" The man looked down at his testicles as if they were the corpse of his firstborn son.
"Then, one long night of agony... Boom! Splat! Your testicles explode!"
The man turned to the side and puked.
"I know... It's terrible. And the worst part is that the inflammation would put pressure on your blood ducts, so you wouldn't die of blood loss. Imagine it—your testicles gone, your dick feeling like a chariot wheel was constantly grinding it against the sharp rocks of a coral reef, and you're too weak to take your life.
"Maybe a week goes by like this until your body finally gives up, and a guide comes for your soul... A terrible death."
The man broke down in tears. Needless to say, he would stop forcing himself on his neighbor's—the goat fucker's—woman.
The lesson of the story? There are no good men here.
On that same day, the goat fucker's wife also visited me. So did the goat fucker himself.
The most common STDs were the drip (gonorrhea), syphilis-like diseases such as yaws, bejel, and other treponemal (bacterium) infections. There was also chlamydia.
Needless to say, infections of all kinds—due to poor living conditions, hygiene, and food—were the staple. I cured about 100 cases of tuberculosis a day, along with multiple cases of pneumonia.
Then there were the physical wounds, which in most cases were mutilations or badly healed fractures.
As time passed, I focused on buying dying children, and rumors began surfacing about me eating them. It was not the first time such rumors had spread. The last time, they claimed I was raising the slaves I bought as cattle. More often than not, the originators of these rumors were the deities they worshipped.
Regardless of the rumors, if your nameless child was a day or two from dying, it meant your living conditions were just shitty. In such desperation, no fool would reject gold—or livestock, or food, or water, depending on what I bartered their children for.
The fact that, afterward, even if they met their child, they would not be able to recognize them after they underwent a life-changing transformation brought by good food and a healthy growing environment only served to strengthen the belief that all children I bought were never to be seen again.
A century went by, and around 1894 BC, in what was left of fractured Akkadia, the Amorite king Sumu-abum founded Babylon's first royal dynasty. This was the first step toward the Old Babylonian Empire.
His successors—Sumu-la-El, Sabium, and Apil-Sin—expanded Babylon's influence in the following decades. In 1810 BC, Hammurabi was born—the one who would later become Babylon's most famous ruler.
Hammurabi was an ambitious king who expanded Babylon into an empire by conquering neighboring cities. He reminded me a little of the Akkadian Empire. Larsa was conquered in 1763 BC, Mari in 1761 BC, and Eshnunna in 1755 BC. Behind all of these conquests, my SplitSelves followed, collecting souls like in a Black Friday spree.
Hammurabi was resourceful enough to centralize his administration, improve taxation, and grow his military. He also built canals and irrigation systems to improve agriculture and promoted trade and diplomacy with neighboring regions and my Caravan Nation—not to mention the famously renowned Code of Hammurabi.
After his death, the empire began to decline. As the saying goes: strong men create good times, good times create weak men, weak men create bad times, and bad times create strong men. His successors struggled to maintain unity in the empire.
Around this time, I was contacted by Yahweh again.
'I don't think it's time for the Exodus, is it?' I asked.
'There is no clear time for the Exodus. Verily, it shall come to pass in this millennium, yet no man knoweth the hour nor the day,' Yahweh replied.
'How can that be? Thou art the one behind the Exodus. Surely, thou shouldst know,' I asked.
'Lo, it hath come to pass across many realms and on many occasions. Sometimes it bringeth forth a great stirring, a nexus that begetteth other events. Yet between the years of 1800 BC and 1200 BC, the Exodus doth unfold in some manner, without fail,' he said.
'Is that why there are early and later theoretical dates for the Exodus, as well as a possible metaphorical reference to the Fifteenth Dynasty of Egypt?' I asked.
'Yea, and in realms where the hand of the divine is stayed, where metaphysical workings are diminished, the Exodus doth oft take shape through the workings of nature. And thus, the appointed time is moved, for the Nexus accepteth aid from earthly signs and wonders,' Yahweh explained.
He meant that in realities with less magic and divinity, the Exodus tends to coincide with the repercussions of natural events, like the soon-to-happen volcanic eruption of Thera, circa 1628 BC.
'I see. Then I may set forth my plans now and choose whether to bear it out by mine own strength or to seek aid from the forces of nature,' I said.
'Thou hast spoken wisely,' Yahweh said.
Planning and carrying out an Exodus is no simple business. For instance, if I threw a bunch of Semitic peoples into Egypt at this moment, aside from war, no Exodus would happen. Egypt is currently too fragmented, going through the rough patch known as the Second Intermediate Period.
There are several precedents needed for the entire operation to succeed, and I cannot make haste and waste.
The Pharaoh of the Exodus was the villain of the story—at least from the Bible's point of view—but was he simply evil because it was part of God's plan, or was there a reason behind it? And what of the Hebrews—how did they end up in Egypt? Were they there simply because they had come following Joseph?
These are some of the political and social details I must pay attention to. I also have the whole Ten Plagues to think about, not to mention splitting the Red Sea—or the Reed Sea, which was also not accurately described in the Bible.
I think this time, I will go with a subtle approach. My poor secretary—last time, when I flooded the planet—did not have it easy. Moreover, the Olympians—Zeus' generation—have been gaining presence in the Mediterranean.
They started with the Mycenaeans, and soon the Minoans and Trojans followed. They even have believers in some Anatolian and Hittite cultures.
(That's considered Anatolia.)
It is not a problem that they are gaining presence on Earth. The problem is that they have bought into the alarmist propaganda of Omnipotence City, fearing me. To make matters worse, not long after the battle against the dark elves, Bor Burison died.
It obviously was not me—I respected the man. He was everything Odin was not as a ruler. Heck! The guy was not even killed! He simply died of Aether poisoning, and even then, it took a few centuries. But facts matter not in the face of propaganda and alarmism.
Someone—I am not saying it was Odin—spread rumors that I might have been involved in Bor's death. These rumors claimed that it was retaliation against Bor because he had made the honorable choice—at least from their perspective—to share the information he had gathered on me with the other pantheons.
These rumors may or may not have spurred something in the foolish Skyfather of Lightning. It all reeks of an Asgardian conspiracy, probably someone—who is likely not Odin, of course—manipulating the volatile Olympian pantheon into testing the waters against me.
Whatever. Not like I care. But this and many other reasons—mostly the stress levels of my secretary, whom I have come to care for just a little—led me to choose the low-key approach.
So, I began planning!
First of all, I flew to the Thera volcano, or Santorini for us modern dragons. I exited the material plane, dived into its caldera, into the crater, down its main vent, and reached the magma chamber.
I constructed a quick spell and wove it like the equivalent of a lid strapped to a C4 block—one ready to be opened and detonated with a flick of my tail. With that, I had a remote-controlled Ten Plagues generation device.
Well, it would not generate plagues instantly, but with the appropriate calculations and the correct stirring of certain events, I could flap-of-a-butterfly this shit out!
Next came a bit of politics to ensure the Pharaoh of Exodus' time discriminated against Moses' people.
In the current Second Intermediate Period of Egypt, things are not looking good for them. Famine, rebellions, and fragmentations spurred by drought are taking a toll. In other words, they are currently weakened.
If I could gather an invading group sharing some similarities with the future Hebrews, humans would draw parallels between the two, and then whatever resentment was left behind for the invading group could be associated with the Hebrews.
Language is the easiest way to go, so the invading group would have to be of Semitic origin. Semitic people could be easily found in the Levant. I scouted for a few decades, but there was never a large enough clan that could have a chance at ruling over the Egyptians.
In the end, I did not form a single homogeneous group but rather a coalition of tribes or clans. It was not an easy process. I could not outright brainwash them because:
A. That is disgusting, and as I have said multiple times, a certain path to alopecia.
B. This was an operation meant to span a few centuries, and I do not have the patience to dedicate so much of my attention to it.
Instead, the more subtle approach was to steer them toward a path they themselves desired. Given the harshness of their living environment, it was not difficult to tempt them with the idea of the fertile lands of the Nile.
So, slowly but surely, the coalition began to gather in the northeastern part of the Nile Delta. They entered the Egyptian kingdom under the guise of merchants and mercenaries.
Egypt was so fragmented at the time that the coalition was able to leverage military strength and alliances to gain a foothold. They had more modern weaponry in the form of composite bows and chariotry, which granted them an edge over the native Egyptians, who were less equipped for warfare after centuries of strife had dragged them back.
Through these alliances, currying political favor, and sometimes force, they started to gain control over more Egyptian territory. By around 1650 BC, the Hyksos—what the Egyptians called them, meaning "rulers of foreign lands"—had established control over much of northern Egypt.
This marked the beginning of their official rule over Egypt, the Fifteenth Dynasty.
The Hyksos were not bad rulers per se. They brought military innovation, like the same horse-drawn chariots that the Pharaoh would later use to pursue Moses. They also adopted Egyptian culture, architecture, and belief systems, all in the hopes of bridging the cultural divide.
However, it could not be helped—cultural tension was unavoidable as the native Egyptians resented their foreign overlords.
Decades passed, and according to my computing power and probability predictions, it was time to detonate the Thera caldera.
In 1626 BC, two years later than its original eruption date, the resounding cracking of power, far beyond that of nuclear bombs, greeted the Mediterranean.
With a VEI (Volcanic Explosivity Index) of 7—two lower than the Toba Supereruption—tens of cubic kilometers of ash, a tsunami wave of up to 100m (~330ft), and ash fallout spreading across the eastern Mediterranean, reaching Anatolia, Egypt, and the Levant, the eruption flapped its butterfly wings for me.
As I was enjoying my malevolent but necessary work, with my eyes on the present and the future at the same time, I noticed something peculiar about the causality of this eruption. The tsunami sank a trade city; this would give rise to the myth of Atlantis.
'I thought the Mexican Atlantis was this universe's Atlantis.'
-Yeah, this island is not even in the Atlantic like our (my) Earth's Atlantis.-
>No, no, this makes sense. Long before the future founding of the Mexican Atlantis, there were already stories and myths of Atlantis.<
|How curious, the Multiverse used us (me) to create the Nexus Event of this reality's Atlantis sinking.|
The eruption did as expected, disturbing weather patterns for centuries to come, especially as it unleashed a series of events that would culminate in the Ten Plagues in a few centuries.
On the more direct side of consequences, Crete, 110 km (70 mi) south of Thera, suffered tsunamis and ashfall, leading to economic collapse. Knossos (the Minoan capital) was also affected by the eruption. These combined factors weakened Minoan power, which would eventually lead to the fall of the Minoans to the Mycenaeans (mainland Greeks).
As for the Hyksos, famine—caused by a decrease in sunlight and droughts brought on by changing weather patterns—further destabilized their already challenged rule.
The Hyksos reign survived for about a century, but their control over Egypt began to unravel. Ahmose I, a prince from Thebes in southern Egypt, led a military campaign to expel the Hyksos from Egypt. His resistance grew out of nationalistic sentiments and a desire to restore Egypt's independence from foreign rule—to Make Egypt Great Again!
Ahmose I began his campaign by attacking the Hyksos' capital at Avaris (in the northeastern part of the Nile Delta), which had been fortified with strong defensive walls. The guy fought tooth and nail, the losses were great, but the flame of nationalism burned bright.
He eventually succeeded in breaking through these defenses, and after several battles, he captured Avaris and drove the Hyksos out of Egypt. And so, their rule came to an end.
To repay the Hyksos for their great service to the future of humanity, I made sure they found a comfortable land to settle in the Levant to the end of their days. Honestly, that reward was more of a bonus; their ledger in the Karmic Scale was the real reward. As I said, they were not evil rulers, and their intentions were never to cause harm. So, where intentions were concerned, they were trying to do good while being selfish.
They were not good either—just human.
With their departure and the end of their rule, I had succeeded in creating one of the first precedents for the future Pharaoh's hatred of Semitic peoples.
'Yahweh, do I need to create my own Joseph to migrate the Hebrews to Egypt?' I asked after making contact with him.
'It is not needed, for the Nexus Event shall see to it that the Hebrews find their way into Egypt, whether Joseph be or be not,' Yahweh explained.
That was great. I didn't have to stage the creation of another Noah—a Jacob (Joseph's father) this time.
Time passed, and just like Yahweh had said, incited by an Egyptian Vizier, Semitic of birth, named Joseph, the Hebrews made it to Egypt and were accepted due to the good relationship between Joseph and the Pharaoh of the time.
Now, I just needed to wait for the events to unfold as planned.
In the meantime, I decided to make a few rounds around the Olympians' territories. Just because they sought my downfall didn't mean I would avoid them.
This was currently my planet, after all. I saw no reason to avoid them.
There weren't any classical Greek structures known in history at the moment—those would be built in the latter half of the next millennium. However, what I did find was a divine presence more prevalent than in any of the other divine territories.
If someone were to ask how often the Olympians fornicated with mortals, the answer would simply be 'yes.' I could see why Gaea particularly disliked them. It wasn't solely that they seduced or enticed them, as some, like Aphrodite, did. It was that they saw them as playthings.
I'm dismissive toward mortals—like the average human barely noticing an ant and moving on with their life. The average human wouldn't go out of their way to squash an ant, nor would they try to destroy an ant hill just because its destruction would bring pleasure. The average human could do so and might do so, but not out of twisted pleasure.
But the Olympians were like that child with a magnifying glass that everybody knows has a problem and will make it to the news when they grow up. They were twisted, just like the pleasure they sought.
They were so disgusting that I wanted to erase them, but I stayed my hand, knowing that the timeline needed them. Not necessarily them, but the mortals that survived them.
How ironic. They saw themselves in relation to humans much like humans see ants, yet the ants, in this case, were the only reason they escaped my judgment.
I decided to stay on the outskirts of their territories, fearing that my disgust would flare at them 'accidentally.' While in these remote regions, I came upon a crevice in one of the small, arid islands of the region.
There was nothing remarkable about the island itself, but I noticed it because of the stench of a divine curse. Wondering what was so hated as to be cursed like that, I morphed out of my dragon form and floated into the crevice.
The crevice opened up to a large chamber with towering stalagmites and looming stalactites. There was a pungent sulfur stench, and the overall temperature was considerably higher than that of the sunlit surface.
Contrary to the architecture of the age, I could actually find walls, frescos, columns, marble statues, and other rock-based creations that any modern dragon like me would easily spot as Greek—which made no chronological sense. It could only mean one thing: this was connected to the Olympians.
I took a quick look around, my All-Seeing eyes gazing through the solid matter and providing me with all kinds of useful and useless information. I quickly located the source of the divine curse's stench.
I'm sure that if this were a horror movie, this whole ordeal would have been the preamble to a jumpscare. The bearer of the curse snaked its way, zigzagging around the stalagmites. Hissing and clattering sounds made for the heartbeat-stopping backdrop. The almost total umbra, except for the beam illuminating the entrance, perfectly set the mood for a real horror-thriller experience.
"Hiss, what a distinguished guest I have this cursed day. A'Heelah in the flesh!" The raspy yet unmistakably feminine voice of the curse bearer echoed throughout the chamber.
"Technically, my body is not made of flesh, but I'm indeed here. I came following the stench of a divine curse. I had no clue I would find the bearer of a curse from that wretched pantheon," I replied calmly, my eyes following her as she snaked around me behind the cover of the towering stalagmites.
"Oh? What is this? The notably neutral A'Heelah is expressing bias against a pantheon? I find that not impossible to believe when the pantheon in question is the sordid Olympians." Her words were laced with as much venom as her fangs dripped.
"Oh, that's simply a misunderstanding. I'm a very biased and selfish individual. I simply don't share much with mortals because I see no point in it. They are as ephemeral as their lifespan," I said with honesty. I saw no point in keeping up appearances with this pitiful woman.
"Are you sure your words hold no contradictions? If we are as ephemeral as you claim, then why have you been healing the ailing since before the times of the deities?" she asked.
"Oh, so you know about that? I thought most linked my healing activities with the arrival of the deities to the world," I said, genuinely surprised.
"When they recognize your faith and then trample on it while they pierce through your vow of celibacy with nothing but lust-laced sadism in their eyes, you start doubting their words." Her words, somehow, came out like a whisper that was shouted with rage—unbridled wrath.
"Besides, in this crevice, a bit deeper, you can find wall paintings older than anything they taught us, with you in them. I can show you if you dare follow me. But first, could the esteemed guest answer my question?" She was getting closer, and seeing how my eyes followed her, she stopped hiding behind the stalagmites and rock formations but kept to the shadows.
"The fact that something is ephemeral and that, in the end, it would have little to no meaning in the long tapestry of your life doesn't mean you can't appreciate its beauty, hidden by its brash exterior.
"I don't particularly like mortals, but I don't disrespect them—like the Olympians do. I'm not vicious nor overly benevolent toward them. I keep a neutral good standing with them, sometimes neutral evil, sometimes neutral chaotic," I explained.
"... I see... You're different from the image you project..." She neared me in her silence, only the friction of her scales against the warm ground belying her stealth. "Is your dislike of them why you kept away from these lands for so long?" She stopped a short distance away from me but still used the shadows as cover.
"Should I call you Gorgon or Medusa, girl?" I replied with a question.
"So you did know me? Did you lie before?" The sound of several sharp hisses followed her question.
"I didn't lie, but I knew of you long before you were even born," I said.
"... Ah, I see. You're All-Knowing or something similar... Medusa, please." Her words whispered a heartfelt plea.
"Yes, Medusa. I kept away from these lands because of how distasteful Cronus' offspring are. The ones I can tolerate could be counted on one of my hands—if you remove four fingers. And maybe Demeter on a good day... maybe," I replied.
"Oh, there's one that is salvageable from the basket of rotten apples?" Her curiosity was piqued.
"Yeah. Putrid, rotten, rancid, and spoiled as they might be, somehow, one golden apple is unblemished amidst the others. She is the goddess of the hearth, home, and family—a symbol of warmth and hospitality," I said.
"Hestia?" she asked.
"Hestia," I affirmed.
"..." The silence stretched.
"Are you going to come out of the shadows?" I asked.
"What if I don't want to?" she replied.
"I'll either light this place or make the shadows recede." I made a small glowing ember appear between us, then made the shadows wiggle unnaturally.
She slowly snaked her way out. She had the classical appearance of a Gorgon, a descendant of Seth. A serpentine lower body of dull green scales, a humanoid upper body, sharp teeth and fangs, and snakes attached to her scalp for hair. Coupled with the yellowed, slitted eyes, she was a classical Gorgon.
Except she was the result of a divine curse, not the creation of the Elder God Seth.
"You don't need to close your eyes," I reassured her.
"Will you stay as you are, A'Heelah?" she asked, barely above a whisper.
"Yes," I said simply.
She slowly opened her eyes, her snake mane following the movements of her sight, and finally, her slitted yellow eyes locked onto my slitted, color-changing ones.
"..." She waited, and waited, and then, "You're immune?"
"From my perspective, it'd be stranger if I weren't," I replied.
I hovered closer to her and observed her soul with careful consideration. It was bright, with few blemishes—most likely those born from her tragedy—and, like divine chains, snakes curled around it, their fangs securely biting into it.
All things considered... "You're quite beautiful, Medusa," I voiced my honest thoughts.
"A'Heelah, is this pity I hear, or are you perhaps... mocking me?" Her words were hissed with anger and hurt.
"My eyes—do you think they are beautiful?" I hovered around her and returned to her front so that our faces were just a short distance apart. However, thanks to my hood and the manipulation of its shadow, she couldn't see my face—only my eyes.
"..." She glared at me for a moment with her slitted yellow eyes before replying. "I like them. I don't know about others, though."
"Do you think they are just beautiful?" I asked.
"Are they not?" I could see the gears turning in her head.
"They allow me to see different truths, sights, views, and many other things for which words are not enough to describe. Among the things I can see are souls. Your soul, considering your age and despite the divine curse, is beautiful.
"You're rather the pure-hearted maiden, even after what Athena and Poseidon did to you. Looking back into the past," my eyes gained a green hue as I peered into time, "your soul possessed such radiance that I have only encountered it in a certain erofu—within your age group. What those two did to you is an affront to that beauty."
"You do know it all, don't you, A'Heelah?" she asked with a sad smile, realizing I knew about the circumstances that led to her current predicament. "And... what's an erofu?"
"Erofu is a species of personified beauty with seduction," I spoke the truth.
"Like Aphrodite's nymphs?" she asked.
"Similar, yeah," I affirmed.
"I was once said to have beauty no mortal could match, like the nymphs," she said with a forlorn look.
"I can vouch for the beauty of your soul—I've only seen children exceed it." And based on what I saw in the past, she was indeed one of the most physically pleasing mortals I'd ever seen.
"... Ah... A'Heelah, are you perhaps one of those?" she asked with a strange look.
"I'm not attracted to mortals," I deadpanned.
"I apologize. I didn't mean to imply that," she said apologetically.
"That's fine," I dismissed her apology. I cared not for her implications. "So, you said there were some wall paintings around here, right?" I was interested in seeing which tribe they belonged to.
Like so, she had me follow her deeper into the crevice. I had not expected to find Medusa after following the divine stench, but I can't say I'm disappointed. Those Olympians disgust me. Maybe it's time I take some payback.
What would happen if Perseus were to die to the Gorgon? Or if he came to slay her but she wasn't here?
'Hehehehehe!'
-Hahahahaha!-
>Fufufufufufuf!<
|Kekekekeke!|
}%&%$#$&&$!{
Fucking Olympians!
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