The Andier - The War of the Gods ((Ahen-deer))

(From a scrap of scroll secured in the Library of Ardetus)   In the old days, the city of Willowwind towered over the plains around it, its spires scraping the undersides of clouds. It's people, we were an odd group, but we were united under the protection of the great walls. Our technologies were grand and numerous: our weapons blinking around the outer walls, our puppets armed, our very beings giving way to progress. And yet it was not enough.   I can only speculate as to what brought on our end. Perhaps it was the cruelties inflicted by the mountain-eater, Aktinovolia, on her people. Perhaps it was the consumptive greed of the scourger, Pyra. Perhaps it was any number of disputes or grudges or battles between the fickle gods. The end result is all the same.   The first to fall was Aktinovolia, her corpse smashing through the western mountains. In a fraction of a second, a star brighter than the light of the sun encompassed everything in sight. Everyone unfortunate enough to be looking towards the battle was blinded, and any uncovered flesh was seared beyond recognition. Charred bodies filled the streets and the cries of the injured hung heavy in the air.   These first casualties brought with them the crushing reality, and the city of Willowwind mustered for war. God-slayers lined the outer walls, beasts of iron and stone gathered under the shadows of the walls, and the people cowered within their homes.   I could hear the conflict approaching, even from where I was sheltered in the dark recesses of the castle. The earth shook and trembled, the air grew warm like living breath and screams mixed with the near-constant roars that billowed over the plains. The people of the city murmured confidence, dread, and terror in equal measure.   The earth shook violently. Stronger than any earthquake. Strong enough that the sounds of the western wall collapsing reached even me, so far away. My bones trembled with every echoing shot of the God-slayers, their screaming mechanisms grating on my eardrums.   A cataclysmic explosion rocked through the walls, cobblestone vibrating beneath my hands and feet. I thought the castle would surely crumble under itself. And, with a scream like tortured souls, the violent wind tore through the room I occupied; lashing at my face and tearing at my skin. Gravity seemed to give way under the onslaught, and the whole castle was blown away; scattered to the far corners of the world.   I found myself momentarily aloft, my eyes catching only a flicker of the horrors, before crashing into the ruins of the western wall. Before I could right myself, a remnant of the towers crashed down atop me. By sheer luck, it only smashed my arm. The omnipresent heat began to spike, suddenly and oppressively. It swiftly became unbearable. The unmistakable roar of flame filled my ears. I lay there for an unknowable amount of time, the darkness of the tower husk fading to the darkness of unconsciousness and back again. When I awoke, the heat had died away to an oppressive cold, at least by comparison. Only the sound of shifting ruble remained; no hustle or bustle, no shouting or crying, no birds chirping.   I struggled to free myself, slowly shifting the charred stone off of my arm, while trying to keep the husk from collapsing on me. When I finally emerged from my shelter, I found myself amongst absolute ruin: toppled -still burning- towers, crumbled walls, and immolated corpses. Dark, jagged mountains I did not recognize stabbed into the horizon, and a portion of Willowwind was consumed by the shimmering surface of an infantile lake. Over the scattered remnants of Willowwinds great walls, I found the beautiful blue plains replaced with an endless expanse of black ash that was already beginning to billow into the sky in clouds of necrotic black.   For a moment, I thought that the desolation was over. Then-   (The text is scribbled, erased, and scratched out for the next three feet)   -hard to describe. Like how paper tears, so did the sky. From horizon to horizon, the tear grew, objects and colors indescribable visible beyond it. It was entrancing, the most beautiful, the most horrible sight I have ever seen. Blood ran from my eyes, my ears, my nose as I looked at the rift, and something began to repeat in my mind. It was important, I am sure of that, as I scratched it into the ruins around me with my fingertips and fervor akin to insanity. I cannot remember now what I found in the rift, what I found so important. When my madness passed, all of the markings I had made were indiscernible, barely more than scribbles and incoherent words, some in languages I did not recognize. I looked up for the rift, but it was gone. No, it was as though it had never existed.   I knelt there for a long time, my bloody fingertips scabbing over as I stared aimlessly at the sky. The something repeating in my mind was gone and there was a painful absence in its place; like the absence left when an organ is pulled free. I was engrossed in my quiet agony for a long time, so long that when a shaking hand on my shoulder jolted me from it, the sky was pitch black. The group of survivors was small, only ten out of a city of a thousand. Some were gravely injured, surely not to survive the night, others bore only the smallest of injuries. I saw a badly damaged Pokini amongst the group, holding the hand of a small girl. Others, only two that I could see, bore expressions like mine: distant and horrified. Dried blood ran in rivulets down their faces, from their eyes, their ears, and their noses.