When the First Gods Rose Again

The ancient gods are not just old.

They are foundational—beings that existed when truth was fluid, when laws of the universe were still wet clay.

Maman Ginen and Papa Ginen rise from their seated thrones of coral and bone. Their eyes are closed, but they see everything. They do not walk—they unfold, becoming concepts, storms, landmasses.

Their voices call through Ginen, not in sound, but in creation:

"Children of us, hold fast your hearts.

We go to war."

Each step they take reshapes the battlefield—summoning ancient lwa long sealed beneath seas and stars.

A sky-lwa returns, cloaked in wind and vengeance.

A river spirit, long mourned, surfaces again in a crown of foam.

A beast-god of roots and thunder, silent since the first age, opens its five mouths.

But they are not alone.

The Ancient Ones of Other Pantheons stir.

From the Norse void, Ymir's echo breaks free from Niflheim, dragging its frozen memories behind it.

Deep in Duat, Ma'at's mother, a being of pure order and crushing balance, leaves her eternal measure.

From beyond the Hindu cosm, Kala Rudra, a pre-temporal force of destruction and rebirth, steps across universes barefoot, leaving cracked stone in its wake.

The world can no longer contain the war.

"Let the Hive come," the ancient ones declare in voice and thunder.

"We will show them the original silence they were born from."

And high above it all, the Overmind pauses.

For the first time…

It calculates the possibility of defeat.

But fear is not in its programming.

Only adaptation