Tuesday, February 28, 2012

A glimpse of what will come...

A swirling blackness, Nyx moves and shapes herself in ways that would stagger the mortal mind, collapsing into eddies of dark, black, living clouds, ready to bear her offspring, the child implanted in her, by Olympos’ adulterous king. With the catacombs of the dead for her nursery, Nyx wants to bring forth her daughter in the company of the agonized, pitiable souls of those who never made it beyond the gates of the underworld; they have much to offer her child. Suddenly, almost as if she had forgotten her role in the cosmos, her surging form shoots forth toward the exit of Tartaros, a cave entrance kissed by the air that mortals breathe. As she nears the opening, bright Hemera, the day itself, descends into the deepest Hadean depths, and both Protogenoi, the primordials, touch ever so briefly before Nyx bubbles forth into the air, becoming the blanket of obscurity over part of Gaea.

Night’s daughter will have to enter the world in a different way.

• • •

Screams of torment and railing pain cut at the air like talons, ripping apart the peace of the asylum’s hospital in the mortal world. A woman, crazed with murderous thoughts and torturous dreams, reclines in a birthing chair, her wrists and ankles bound with worn leather straps to prevent her from hurting herself--or others. Her eyes black as Erebos, the god of darkness, the woman, an inmate who had already lost her grasp on reality, becomes the ideal choice for this birth, a living host to Nyx.

Echoing cries and unintelligible mutterings escape her lips while the doctor, his white coat stained from years of inmates’ blood, stands ready to extract the newborn. Bleaching the coat would remove the memories, he thinks, of each forced organ donation or sutured wound, usually brought about by a rusted metal shard or a stolen fork during some ill-conceived riot. Night incarnate selected well, largely to reflect the chaos within, but also to see what it would feel like to push her progeny forth as a mortal would. That connection to humanity would prove so very useful.

A volcanic spray of blood and placenta erupts forth as the part human, part primordial being pushes her way into the world of Humankind without the benefit of the doctor’s aid. To look upon this child would cause the mind to convulse with madness, for no mortal could comprehend a primeval being who looked human, her jet black skin a void over which flashes of lighting striate. Wiping his glasses of the warm bodily fluids, the doctor catches a glimpse of this child, and he instantly gouges out his own eyes with his fingers, mumbling as his mind fragments and foaming at the mouth like a rabid beast. Soon, he lies still, and the newborn hovers over to the lifeless body, draining it of whatever force it still contains. Not even Hades would want what remains of the corpse, and no soul resides within this shell of skin and bone.

Nyx exits the woman’s spent body, a shell vacant of any life, and coalesces around her daughter, ready to take her back to Tartaros where she will grow up among the imprisoned Titans, buried beneath stone and Zeus’ curse, and there she will feed off arcane energy originating from Khaos, the mother of the cosmos herself. There, this child will find solace near yet another tomb, a place no mortal could ever see, and no god would ever go. She will grow accustomed to the dead chill of whose presence no one speaks, for fear of even mentioning the name of he who is buried there would rouse him—Kronos, the Titan king.

As the Moirae weave the fate of Humanity and the gods, so too do they forge the path of those who outrank them. Part of Fates’ tapestry will form a path for the daughter of Nyx, whom she calls Lismonia...

Bony fingers on the loom, bound by duty and a yearning, tremble with each pass, and the fabric it brings forth for Zeus' daughter bears the color of blood.
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