***
I had barely moved into my newly-completed tower when the Elf army arrived. I was standing on the highest parapet with Gimpkie, the foreman. He was a High Goblin and one of Shimbles’ descendants. His Lunchdrake was perched behind us. They were surprisingly docile now that High Goblins had plenty of lesser goblins to feed their mounts.
“Master, please don’t smite me for pointing this out, but is that an army of Elves amassing at our border?”
I peered over the horizon. “No,” I said. “It’s an army of Elves, Humans, Dwarves, and frog-men.”
“Should I still be worried?” he asked. They hadn’t quite mastered the art of thinking for themselves, no matter how many times I demanded it. Something about a paradox.
“Go down and organize a defense,” I said. I leaned back against the bronze door. Why was it always me they were trying to tear down? Why did they target the goblins, the only creatures on this planet that actually deserved to live?
My thoughts were cut short when the voice of Lux entered my mind. “Brother!” he said. “Are you prepared to fulfill your duties?”
Of course not. I didn’t answer.
“The High Priest of the Elves contacted me today. He asked for aid in his war against the goblin hordes.”
“Sounds like a standard prayer.”
“You misunderstand, Brother. He did not pray. He appeared before me through means arcane and mystical.”
I was impressed. I really didn’t think an Elf would be the first creature to stare a god face-to-face. Other than goblins, obviously. And that one Elf in the woods.
“He claimed that after receiving a disturbing prophesy regarding the Dark Lord (whom I assume to be you), he redoubled his efforts to abandon the mortal plane and become as gods.”
“Good for him, I say. Shows gumption.”
Thundorious cleared his throat and spat. I really wish he wouldn’t do that while I was down here. Thunderstorms are annoying enough without knowing where they come from.
Lux said, “There is no good in his hubris. He has attempted to become as a god. The time is upon us, Brother. You must destroy them all, for it is your destiny and your burden.”
I sighed. “Lux, one last time. What were you hoping to gain from this experiment?” There was silence as Lux tried to think of an answer. Just as I thought. “You didn’t have a plan, did you? Or did the plan just keep changing? You never knew what your goal was. That’s why you want to end it.
“Well, I had a plan. I wanted to see how things live under adversity. I wanted to see lives that meant something. I’m the only one who cares a bit about creation, and you’re trying to tell me to destroy it.”
“We drew straws. It was decided.”
“When one of your priests, which means he worships you by the way, comes to your home to converse, you should congratulate him and welcome him as a brother. That’s what he earned.”
“Brother,” Lux said. “Need I remind you how we became gods.”
We killed the old gods and took their place. “This is different,” I said, hoping to convince both of us.
Lux didn’t say any more except, “Attend your duties.” His presence left me.
Out of frustration, I ripped out my rib, and with it the hope that a race—any race, I didn’t care which anymore—would someday build itself up to be our equal. The Rib of Hope is what they called it later. I tossed it all the way to the other side of the world, where it probably landed in a farmstead or something. In retrospect, it probably wasn’t the most rational or dignified response, but it was cathartic at the time. Cathartic and very painful.
Gimpkie returned. “Shall I sound the charge, master?” He was wearing armor forged from dragon scales. He had the respect of all the goblins. He had ten wives and forty-seven children, most of which were even alive. Was I to destroy him, too, a hero of his people?
The Alliance army was growing closer and closer to my tower. If they reached the walls before the counter-attack, they would surely eradicate my goblins. Would I then be grateful that my task was partially complete? What gave them the right to commit genocide when I was Acerbus, God of Senseless Genocide?
They might even kill me if they attacked. Now there’s an interesting thought. I couldn’t destroy the world then, now could I? Imagine Lux, watching from the Celestial Realm, waiting for me to slaughter the world, only to see me being speared by one of these four kings. Oh, it was too perfect. The look on his face would be worth dying for.
Any one of these kings could do it, but whom should I allow to kill me? They could easily storm my castle, lay waste to my goblins, tear down my throne, and have my head. These four kings, with their cushy birthrights and their giant armies—they could smite anything they wanted, and they never earned their positions. They didn’t know what it was like to starve or suffer.
No. Those jerks weren’t going to kill my goblins. I was. Wait, no I wasn’t. No one was killing my goblins, or any other race for that matter. Lux can go become the God Of No One Cares What He’s the God Of. And that would make me the God of Telling Lux to Shove It.
I liked the sound of that.
“Take them down, Gimpkie. But not too quickly; I have a prophesy to deliver.” I hopped onto the Lunchdrake’s saddle. “And Gimpkie?”
“Yes, sir.”
“When this battle is over, I want you to add a wing to my tower.” Then I was in the air. I led the Lunchdrake through the clouds to the enemy camp. When I was just above the command tent, where the four kings sat around a table waiting for news of the battle, I jumped off. The Lunchdrake immediately went on a lunch break.
I, meanwhile, magically changed my form on the way down. I had jumped off the drake as a beautiful barbarian king with raging muscles and a studded leather vest. And a lot of small bits of iron armor. The goblins respected that sort of outfit. When I landed, I was a frail old man in a white robe, who had to hunch down over a walking stick just to shuffle forward at an infuriating pace.
It felt like centuries had passed by the time I got to the war council. I kicked open the door and held my staff aloft in the most Lux-inspired pose I could think of. “Gentlemen,” I said. “Could you tolerate the presence of an old man for a spell?”
According their primitive approximation of minds, they knew better than to turn away a mysterious old man on the eve of a battle. “What is your name, oh wizened one?” asked the King of the Elves.
“They call me Dulcis,” I pulled from the top of my head, “and I bring terrible news of the future.”
“Worse news than an Acerbus (mighty be the Smiter) destroying all creation?” The human king was surprisingly shrewd.
“Fear not,” said the king of the frog-men. “The coconuts will be spared.”
“And my gold too,” said the Dwarf King. “Very reassuring. Gold to count and coconuts to…” he took a moment to try to finish that thought, and gave up. “The important things will survive. The important thing is that we will win this battle and hopefully enrage Acerbus (mighty be the Smiter) to wreak divine justice upon us. But what news does this stranger bring?”
“That you’ll lose this battle, and you won’t be Smited.” Obviously, I could have just not smited them of my own accord, but they had to earn it. Otherwise, it would have been a hollow survival.
“The horror!” the Elf king said with a gasp.
They actually wanted me to kill them all. How had Lux managed to brainwash absolutely everyone but me? “Yes, yes, very disappointing. Acerbus—“
“(Mighty be the Smiter),” said the kings in unison.
“—Will prevail today. But he will not take vengeance. Instead, he will live in his tower and slowly take more and more of the world for the goblins. But someday, from the most humble of houses, a young man will rise to greatness. He will travel to the heart of the Dark One’s territory, and lay waste upon Acerbus—“
“(Migh
ty be the Smiter.)”
If this was going to keep up, I’d have to find a way to discourage people from saying my name. Bad luck, perhaps. “—And thus he will prevent the Smiting.”
Blank stares. Crickets. A ticking clock.
The human king spoke first. “But why would we want to prevent the Holy Smiting?”
I made a snap decision. I was making a lot of hasty decisions that day. “You, King of Men, shall not be spared! The Smiter shall tear down your house, destroy your kingdom, and lay waste to your land. His goblins shall overrun your country and all your great works will be forgotten.” Was that relief in his eyes? “But from your lineage shall the hero be born. He shall be the one to defeat the Dark One, whose name shall not be uttered.” And just to sweeten the pot, “He will also be granted a wish.”
“Any wish?” asked the king.
“Any.”
“What if he wished for the Smiting to continue unabated?”
I ran a finger down my torso to see how many more ribs I could spare. I wasn’t going to let someone kill me just so he could wish for the end of the world. What was a good, prophetic way to prevent that? “Only a man pure in heart and a lover of life shall be capable of defeating the Dark One—”
“(Whose name shall not be uttered),” they all added.
I invented teleportation that very moment, just to get away from them faster. True story.