To ask the Goddess of Death about what death is like is to ask the Goddess of Love about what love is like. It is questions which elude satisfactory answers. What is Love? Well Love is blinding jealousy and blinding adoration. Love stands tall in the greatest of hellfires and Love kneels besides a bedside. Love is annoying and bitter and ever-so-terribly guarded at what it declares its own. None of what I have stated is wrong, yet if I filled with this book with a hundred pages of metaphor, I would not be able to truly capture the essence of Love.

And so we get to death. Death is the end. Death is finality. Death is a release. Death is failure whilst managing to be a success. Death is a right. One may steal free will and choice and character and one may break a person so irreversibly that they shall never heal, and yet they may never take the Divine Right to Die from a person. How can such a subject be explained?

Through a race. A race in which we all compete. From different starting lines and with different end goals, yet ultimately the race course is the same for all us. A race without a track and a race with spectators of our own thoughts. Whether there is anyone truly watching over us and whether we shall be judged for our performance and by what metric is something we will only discover once the race is finished. The answer is unsatisfactory yet that is the answer I will give.

Some of us run for a long time. Some of us finish almost as soon as we start. But at the end of the day, all of us are competitors in a reasonless race.

– Excerpt from “Death”, written by Goddess Neneria, of Death, in the modern era.

Cold air filled Neneria’s breath as she felt even the ambient light of Baalka’s soul begin to grow dim. She was doing this because of Kassandora. Baalka’s diseases grew weak and faded away. The life from their cells was sapped as they became grey. They did not burn away in the same fashion as when Kavaa healed them, instead they turned to dust or fell flat and unmoving. Great cells that barraged the walls of the ever-expanding, ever-consuming library that was Neneria’s own soul collapsed under the touch. Soil was flipped to cold stone. Dust overtook it all. Dust and cobwebs and still air. Without people and without animals, without spiders or mites, without even footsteps to disturb the untouched works within her. She kept her hands together, she kept her eyes closed, she kept feeling the tears streaming down her cheeks, she kept feeling them drop down to her hands and she knew that the ones that didn’t hit her and instead fell on the cold tiles around her, they just disappeared, not to make a mark in the perfection of her silent soul.

Because of Kassandora and not because of herself. Because of a sister who knew what to do and what to say. Because of a sister who they all knew could do things terrible yet needed. Because Kassandora had said so. Because if Kassandora saw no other way out, then there truly was no other way out. Because of her.

Not because of herself.

Because of her.

Anassa flinched backwards and just about managed to dodge Baalka’s closed fist swinging around in a circle. Her sister moaned a syllable-less sound of pain interspersed by the bubbling of blood which was filing her mouth. It turned from red to black and then started steaming conscious fumes that Anassa sequestered away to the corner of the room with her sorcery.

Well… At least that was her sister’s blood now. But should she be moving with people still in her mind? Anassa decided to take a step away. She loved her sister but… Not once had she seen someone thrash like that when they were put under.

Because of Kassandora.

Not because of herself.

But because of herself. A mad dog may have its madness laid at the feet of its owner, but a mad dog was mad nonetheless. Mad dogs were still put down, no matter how many times they had been kicked or shocked or prodded. “Kass…” Neneria spoke quietly as she used all the willpower within herself to make sure she it did not quiver. “Kass, we are killing her.”

“I am killing her.” Kassandora replied coldly. There it was. That terrible tone she had used back in the Great War. The one that said nothing good could come of such a thing, yet that such a thing needed to be done regardless. The same voice that would come from an executioner who held sympathy for the mad dog he was about to put down.

“But…”

“Four Goddesses versus the life of one.” Kassandora replied again. “Sister true, but so are you and so am I.”

True and correct and needed. Neneria she was smarter to be able to think of some argument. Even better, she wished she was smarter so that she could think of a plan that did not align with Kassandora’s. “I know Kass.” Neneria whispered. She felt a hand touch her shoulder. Kassandora’s grip. Not strong but not weak, it was simply there. “But can we?”

“Would you die for the lives of two sisters?” She asked.

Neneria replied without a second thought. It was obvious what she would do. “Of course.”

And so did Kassandora. “Then so will Baalka.”

With one impossibility, Anassa saw another. Baalka shot up into a sitting position. Dark green eyes, wide with panic scoured the room as she coughed and splashed her noxious blood onto the walls. What wood it immediately touched started to steam and melt with the sizzling sound of frying. Awake and conscious yet with people inside her. What was happening? Baalka’s eyes found Anassa and the Goddess of Sorcery saw the Goddess of Disease begin to tear up. Even her tears were the colour of sickly yellow pus. Baalka weakly stretched out an arm to Anassa.

“A…” A soft croaking voice. “Ana…” And those dark green eyes closed again as Baalka collapsed. Her arm swung off the table, black blood fell from her nose and her sister lost strength. Anassa flinched, standing on the tips of her toes for a moment as she watched the momentum of Baalka’s fall drag her off the table. Her sister collapsed, a mix of pale skin and dark hair that splashed into the black blood.

Neneria felt something new touch her the roof of her cathedral of a library. It’s endless black roof, cold and unmoving, covered in dust even from the downside, suddenly began to shift. A tile began to grow loose. Baalka’s soul mounted a final counter-attack as the world around them twisted. The mountains in the horizon began to grow taller as if they were in the inside of some great beast’s maw. The swamp rolled forwards as adrenaline kicked in for the Goddess of Disease and what vestiges of strength she had left was called upon. Neneria’s tears made rivers down her cheeks, they raced down her cheeks. They made the collar of her dress damp. They streamed.

She had to watch. The sin she was committing was unforgiveable but it would be made even worse if she did not even have the decency to watch and record it. Another book would form in her library for this moment. Another untouched tome that would sit still for millennia. Neneria opened her eyes and saw the world around. Through the walls and the shelves and the literature, she saw the rage of Baalka’s swamps cascade forwards. Waves of black water tried to wash into death’s demesne yet as they did, they faded away as if falling through drains in the cracks. Massive parasites slammed into delicate stained glass that should have cracked, yet instead it was just them that fell down to the ground, forever made still. Cold stone tiles and planks of stone swallowed them.

Yet…

Neneria looked up.

Yet another slate tile had gone loose.

Yet now, the ceiling that should have been dulled with dust was beginning to shine.

And just as Anassa was working up the courage to trust that her sister’s unlimited illnesses would not mar her, she lifted off the ground when Baalka began to stir again. With trembling arms and struggled breathing, Baalka pushed herself off the ground and saw Arascus, still sitting and leaning against the table. Anassa should say something. Anassa knew she should. But Anassa could do nothing as an opaque barrier of crimson sorcery as she shielded her from the poisonous air. Baalka grabbed Arascus leg and pulled herself close. “Fa…”

Whatever trust Anassa lacked, she hoped Arascus did not. Black blood rotted away leather and cloth and even the buttons of silver and gold on Arascus’ coat, but then it harmlessly rolled down his skin as Baalka collapsed, her head bumping on his thigh.

Neneria dropped her arms and Kassandora stepped forward. So did Kavaa. Even Elassa, who had been sobbing on the ground, grew silent as the four Goddesses felt something shift. The swamps around them must have felt it too. The mountains that were taking on the shapes of fangs ready to make their final attempt at stemming death stopped rising. Huge parasites, each the size of a train carriage looked up. Cells looking like fleshy blocks covered in writhing appendages turned to the sky. A sky that was split between an endlessly high library, with chandeliers of dulled metals hanging from equally endless chains and casting a weak orange glow and a sky that was an open, diseased wound leaking a rain of pus began to split. A single pin-prick of white light forced itself through everything like a needle.

What it was, Neneria did not know, but she knew that the white line expanded in all directions. Like water flowing from a tap, from that white line began to shine a blue sky. A blue sky so perfect and so warm that Neneria swore she had never felt such a warmth before, yet she knew there was a moment. There were many moments like that. Neneria wished she could smile, yet all she could do manage was a sad whimper. Baalka’s conscious must have given up. She wondered if on the outside, Of Disease’s life was flashing before her eyes.

But then… If she was dying, why was it that what an endless assault of all disease could not do, a single ray of light from that blue sky did.

A single pane of coloured glass cracked so loudly it could been a single thunderclap.

Anassa watched Baalka, conscious and awake, work up all her strength and grit teeth slathered with a thick and viscous stream of black blood as she dragged herself up into her father’s lap. Her face hit Arascus’ chest as she embraced their sleeping father and although everything, from the floor to the legs of the table to the clothes on Arascus’ body withered and melted away under disease that could poison even stone, he just stayed there, unmoving yet still breathing.

Anassa silently prayed that their father would keep breathing. And she silently prayed that Baalka’s eyes would stray over her. The Goddess of Disease, as measly as she was in her current state, was awake. Impossible. Impossible and never to be done. But awake nonetheless.

Neneria felt her legs collapse and Kassandora catch her arm. From the other side, Kavaa stepped in to hold the tall Goddess of Death standing. Elassa uncurled from a ball and got to her knees as the four Goddesses looked up at that cracking pane of glass. “What is that?” Kassandora asked in her cold tone. What answer could Neneria give? What was that? That was… Well, that was something else. “Is that Baalka?” Kassandora asked. The woman never shut up. Question after question. Command after command. Another pane of glass cracked again to a horrendous thunderclap. The blue sky expanded. A sun was revealed within that blue sky. One of the walls cracked. Then another. “Neneria?” Kassandora asked again. “Can we have an update or what?”

“No one knows Kass.” Kavaa said from the other side. “But I think we’re all hoping for the same thing.”

That was not a sun. It was a meteor of golden flames. And it was coming straight for them.

Anassa listened to Baalka’s crying as she curled up like a kitten in her father’s still arms. She wrapped one hand around herself and snuggled into it as if it was her last lifeline. Anassa could just about make out the mumbling that was almost obscured by the sneezing and sniffling and coughing up of blood. “Please… Father… Don’t… I’m sorry… Please…”

And Anassa, who knew power and power alone, hovered in the air as the room was filled with a poisonous green mist. This is why they shared a father. This is why they relied on family. He could do the things she could not.

From above, Neneria’s cathedral of endless knowledge collapsed like a house of cards as a blazing star fell from the sky. Tidal waves of dust coloured with the different shades of sharp dust from glass swept towards them and then burned away in bright coloured flames of gold and silver. The books in Neneria’s consciousness turned to gold that melted down and reformed into flowerpots. Glorious soil, so rich it was almost black filled them and those pots sprouted roses and daffodils, chrysanthemums and carnations, orchids and lavenders.

The meteorite impacted just before the group. It burst out into flame that wiped away Neneria’s library. Grey column collapsed under its own weight, stone tile was ripped apart by marble checker-boarded with precious metals. Statues to statues to great Divines and great men and women throughout Imperial history rose from the ground. Fountains ripped through bookshelves, books were submerged by waters clear and blue like the sky that had unfurled from the point of entrance of that meteor. Neneria saw a figure of Kassandora carved in marble, her sword held high and forward. She saw a totem of Anassa, proud and tall with her arms outspread as red butterflies swarmed around her. She saw Irinika in a dress of slate. She even saw herself. A version so grand she did not know how it could be her. Yet there she was, forever pristine in a mould of white marble looking as if she was tending to some unseen soul.

The impact point of the meteor exploded in gold flames that died down in a single moment. A man stood there. Tall, taller than Neneria. And broad. He cast a shadow over them all.

Neneria wept under her father’s gaze.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep