The Origin of God

“So? Ask your question, servant.”

I admit that I was disoriented. It took me several seconds to go straight from being in the middle of dying to speaking with Fyth. “Um, I’m dying right now,” I said. “This seems like an awkward time to have this discussion.”

Fyth just looked at me.

I sighed and resigned myself to dying before finding out the answer. “Very well, why do you want Nero to become the Demon Lord?”

Fyth’s bloodless lips pursed tightly before he snarled and stalked away. While he did that, I examined myself. At least I seemed to be whole here, in whatever this place was. It would have been weird to go around, even in this liminal space, with a hole where my chest should be. 

A moment later, Fyth returned and threw a book at me. It appeared to be old, with yellow, tattered pages and faded ink, but when I opened it, it only allowed me to open it to one specific page. Trying to turn the page or check the previous page just led to the entire book closing.

“There are two titles that must exist,” Fyth said from between gritted teeth. “So long as one or the other does not, the world will continue to produce Heroes and Demon Lords. Only a Hero can become God, and only a Demon Lord can become the Devil, and ascension requires tempering oneself against one’s counterpart.”

I frowned at him, not understanding how this answered my question.

Fyth clicked his tongue. “Read it,” he ordered.

The Origin of God

Once upon a time, the world was beset by peril in the form of five Demon Lords, one for each of the five largest countries. Each one desired the world itself, and each one had their own idea of what form their rule should take. One wished to rule a world of humans, another of everything but. One wished to become the puppet-master of a peaceful utopia, while another desired freedom for all and stability for none. And the fifth wanted to rule over naught but ashes. Once their countries had come to match their ideals, they moved to take control of the rest, and the clashes between the five Demon Lords destroyed entire nations in a matter of months. For a long time, it was thought that no one could stand against them.

Then, however, four Heroes rose to fight these Demon Lords. They each chose one of the four lesser Demon Lords and, with their armies, went to defeat them.

They had only just begun their journey when the fifth and strongest Demon Lord died on his throne. The world cheered his death, believing it to be a sign that the Heroes were destined to win.

However, in his wake rose Fyth, a Demon Lord just as powerful as his predecessor. Like his predecessor, he refused to cooperate with his fellow Demon Lords. Scarcely a year after he rose to power, he went to war with the other Demon Lords. He travelled alone to the castles of the other Demon Lords, where the armies of the four Heroes and the four Demon Lords were locked in combat. In the first three countries he visited, he laid waste to Demon Lord and Hero alike. In the fourth country, however, the Demon Lord was too strong. Fyth and the first, strongest, and last remaining Hero were forced to cooperate to eliminate the Demon Lord, and when they finished, Fyth left the Hero his life and returned to his country without a word.

“There is but one Demon Lord left!” humanity cried. “You must defeat him!” they cried.

Though camaraderie had grown between them, the first Hero knew and accepted his duty. He gathered his weary army and traveled to Fyth’s country, where they assaulted Fyth’s fortress. And yet, from within that fortress came only Fyth. He brought with him no allies. He had taken over a dead country, and there was no one there alongside whom he might fight.

“Why have you come here?” he asked the first Hero. “Were we not allies?”

“And yet you are a Demon Lord, and I must strike you down to protect the world,” the first Hero said with grim determination.

Fyth bowed his head. “And if I refuse?”

“Then I shall take your head regardless. Heroes and Demon Lords are mortal enemies. That is the law of the world.”

That was when Fyth glowed brightly. “If you say the law of the world is that I must kill you, then I reject the world.” With that, he vanished, ascended to a plane beyond that which mortals could perceive, where he would become God.

And yet, the first Hero could not accept that resolution. He could not allow the Demon Lord to become God, fearing what havoc he would wreak upon the world. He forced himself to ascend as well, leaving his army behind to return home without him, and he became God instead, casting Fyth down as he did.

I shut the book and returned it to him. Then I stared at Fyth. There was something strange about the story. It called everyone else by titles. Fyth’s was the only name contained within it. I sucked in a breath. What if it wasn’t referring to him by name, but by title?

“Assess,” I said. There was a moment of resistance, my skill refusing to work against someone it didn’t have permission to scan, then the resistance folded in slightly, just enough for me to see a single title amongst a sea of corrupted data.

Hero.

The fifth Hero. Fyth.

I stared at it until it faded.

Fyth’s voice was rougher than usual. “Your question is answered, my debt is paid.”

Suddenly, a vice gripped my throat, not squeezing tightly enough to block my airway, but immobilizing me easily. My hands scrambled for purchase against the hard, bone-like fingers as Fyth’s tar-like features drew close. From this distance, my eyes could finally see through the darkness covering him. Sour bile rose into my mouth. I tried not to look at the decaying form that held me captive. There were traces of the appearance he'd taken that once - red eyes, a few strands of black hair - but most of his upper face was putrid, flesh threatening to slough off altogether, and black veins of poisonous blood running underneath. He shook me once, hard. “You will not bring this up again.”

A weight wrapped around me, binding me. I stilled, eyes wide.

He laughed harshly in my face. His breath stank as much as ever, and I finally realized that this wasn't the smell of unbrushed teeth but of an entire body rotting from the inside out. “Indeed. You cannot disobey my orders. What did you think it meant for me to own your soul?” Fyth’s lips drew back to bare yellowed and tartarous teeth in a poor imitation of a grin.

“W-why -”

“Did I not exercise this power before?”

I couldn’t nod, not with his hand there at the base of my jaw, immobilizing me, but he understood regardless. “Because it would be boring.” Then, suddenly, the anger faded as quickly as it’d come. He released me and allowed me to retreat. He sounded tired as he continued, “And because I am not all-knowing. And because turning you into nothing more than my puppet would require more points per turn than I can afford.”

“Points?” I asked, struggling not to cough. He’d mentioned something about that before, but I’d been distracted at the time.

Fyth sighed heavily. “Such a curious servant I’ve purchased. Yes, points. When God and I wish to meddle, it costs energy. Points. As God, he gains those automatically through nothing more than existing. The world does not consider me an entity, however. He stole my place from me, and now I am nothing more than a fragment of data left to rot. I must enslave souls like yours to obtain more energy.”

I touched my hand against my chest. “Then why use it now? If it costs points to do.”

“That is how important it is to me,” Fyth said. “Telling you to kill without binding you? One point. Telling you to check the lookouts without binding you? One point. Offering you only one option in your evolution, knowing it is the option you would most likely choose, regardless? Fifty points, although I retook those when you demanded to be shown all your options. Binding you to a course of action? Two hundred points. Your soul, even after my adjustments, still provided me with several hundred points, but every intervention reduces those points. Imposing my will is too expensive to waste on anything less than something vital to my existence.”

I gasped at the discrepancy. He’d spent 200 points just to stop me from talking about his identity? I swallowed hard and firmed my expression. “Fyth.”

“What.”

“Please take back those points, if you can. I won’t bring it up again, regardless.”

He snorted. “I already admitted that it is a weakness. No. That is a risk I am unwilling to take.”

I took a step closer to him. “Those points were bought with my soul, right? So they belong partially to me. So take them back and use them on something worthwhile, not on throwing a tantrum and demanding I not bring something up again.” He was glowering at me now. I stopped moving closer. It felt like the world was getting thinner. I would probably return to reality soon, and then I’d die. “Fyth, please. I don’t like you. You’re cruel, and rude, and annoying. But I love Nero, and I am grateful to you for sending me to him. I won’t betray you." I smiled wryly. "Not that I could anyway, since I’m dying right now. Remember?”

“And if I forced you to kill your Master?” Fyth sneered. “Would you remain loyal after that?”

I stared coolly at him. “In such a case, you would have betrayed me first, and I would stop at nothing to destroy you, even if it required tearing through this binding and shredding my soul in the process.”

Fyth stared at me in silence for several long moments. Then he let out one loud bark of laughter, and the weight of the binding lifted. He raised his hand and, like a magician performing a stage show, made grand, sweeping movements that drew the eye. He closed his thumb and first finger together into a circle, and through that circle poured liquid darkness. He caught it in a cup that appeared from nowhere, then handed it to me. “Drink.”

I obeyed, though I rather expected it to taste nauseating. It did. It was sludgey and sticky and gritty and somehow also clumpy, and parts of it were hot, while other parts were ice cold. It was honestly the worst taste imaginable, and if I weren’t already in the middle of dying, I was sure that my body would have seized up and died from sheer disgust. The moment I finished drinking, though, warmth bloomed through my body like slipping into a hot bath, so pleasantly comfortable that it made me dizzy for a moment.

I only realized that I’d closed my eyes when I felt Fyth’s hand slide down my bruised neck and onto my chest. “Do you remember what I told you about your Master’s death, servant?”

I swallowed hard, wishing I could back away from whatever it was he was doing, but I felt too weak to move now. “You said… um… that you wouldn’t let me escape that way. What does that -”

“What makes you think I'd let you escape me this way then?” Fyth pushed hard against me, almost like he was attempting CPR. Vertigo swept over me, and I watched with morbid fascination as his hand slid into my chest, much as it had the first time we met. I felt hard fingers wrap around my heart. “You should learn to do this yourself,” he murmured, “but I will offer you my instruction this once.”

There was a jolt, and something like electricity filled me. The world around me flickered, and I saw my Master’s face for a second. He looked frantic. Then it was Fyth, staring at me with wry amusement. There was another jolt, and another flicker of reality. Nero’s golden eyes filled with despair, then Fyth’s red eyes with nothing but indulgence. “Close your eyes, dear servant,” Fyth said. “The third time hurts.”

I did, and there was a third jolt. It did, indeed, hurt. A lot. I screamed.