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t3knomanser's Fustian Deposits

Sacrifice

How Random Babbling Becomes Corporate Policy

run the fuck away

Mad science gone horribly, horribly wrong(or right).

Sacrifice

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Building 'n Me
What cost is power? What would you pay for Godhed? When you don't value human life anymore, where do you go? That's where this story that follows comes from. I'm somewhat frightened by the way I can dismiss the pain and suffering of strangers, and even enjoy the fact that each Death does improve the world just as much as it lessens it.

Without further ado,

I wasn't prepared when I drew the blade across her neck. Her eyes had been glazed for hours, her will had been broken in preparation for the Ceremony. But the gout of steaming blood shocked me. My hands were coated in it, and most of it missed the ritual bowl set out to catch the spill of the lifeblood. Trembling, I hoped that it was enough.

I stopped worrying when I felt the tingle climb up my arms; instead of clinging to my arms, the blood all but sparkled with the released energy. Power. I could, with my Mind's Eye, see the sparks of energy leaping from the corpse to my arms to the bowl and back. The circle that had been drawn, and now included him and the other Workers, hummed in response to it.

Power.

I let it wash over me, eradicating doubt, hesitation. I had a fantastic amount of power at my disposal. I had enough to get more- and that's what it's really about, isn't it?

Wars were raging about the globe. Each day, thousands died in violent conflict, one thinking being snuffing out the life of another. Blood sacrifice on a global scale. Each death, a thousand times over, liberated power to mold the world in your image. Power to control, to rule. And we were here to take it.

I reached out into the Aether, sending my will into space, the tendril of my intent lifted by the power of the dead girl, and bolstered by the will of my fellow Workers.

We knew why one senseless war blended into the next with no distinction. We knew why there would never be peace in the world. We knew why killers and cops prey on the weak. Because someone wanted that power. A group of someone's actually. We didn't know who they were, or what they were, or where they were. But they were real. Each one of those deaths was a tithe to them, and they used each one of those deaths to cause a dozen more, sucking in more power, tilting the balance of the world more and more into their favor.

They sought to be gods.

The dead girl at my feet began to twitch, as cosmic energies began to pool and circle around me, the eddies causing random firings in the still warm nerves, spasming muscles that didn't know they were part of a corpse.

One death was nothing compared to the power they were accruing to themselves. In addition to the constant, raging blood sacrifice, there was the massive campaign to accrue worship through Avatars. Pepsi, Mickey Mouse, Tommy Hilfiger were all faces of the Omnipresent War Gods, that worked to ascend.

We had been watching them, and waiting for our moment. This very moment, as I left my body, and propelled all the dreams of my workers into the Void, angling my mind for the spirit world a few inches from the Battlefield- but in a direction most never go- this very moment, their Soldiers were staging a massacre in the name of peace. Two hundred or more were dying in a reprisal strike.

And those angry souls were leaping up, only to be trapped into the spells that these Mysterious Figures had left behind, these unseen movers that propelled human affairs. Hungry spells that were lapping up the souls, and feeding the infernal devices that pushed them yet closer to Godhed.

But I was there. And while one death and the will of a dozen others would do nothing to weaken their power, I was there. And I had enough power, just enough to coopt those two-hundred deaths; I too had spells, and I too had infernal devices that yearned to be eaten.

At the site of the Ceremony, the circle began to groan- there was an attack from without. The Unseen were aware of my actions, and were reaching out with their will to stop us. Even as their barrage struck, I returned to my body, my will collapsed back into the realm of the normal world, and hundreds of souls poured into the space around me, their power swirling with such ferocity that our robes were stripped from our body, and the corpse at my feet began to smoulder. I could smell my hair starting to burn. Fear stabbed at me from twelve pairs of eyes, but I was heady with power, and knew the next step.

It was a game of skill. Power was important. A tank can destroy a boy with a sling; but a creative boy, with a small amount of explosive, can destroy the tank. Even more than power, one must know the soft places, the places to push. Leverage points.

I knew hundreds.

It was almost easy, to flick out my will, and reach out into dozens of spaces. In each space, an infernal machine of an entirely different sort awoke. At my touch, engines of destruction hummed to life, preparing to snuff out millions in the name of My Increase Glory.

The attacks against our ritual grew more vehement. Demons and elementals were starting to take shape, destroying the building around us, pounding at the shield. I realized that my fellow Workers were screaming. They were becomming possessed by the souls I had brought with me, the souls themselves becoming little more than gibbering specters in the confusion. Too much power in too small a circle.

So I consumed them. The souls, my coven mates, I swallowed them all. Those that had been living a moment ago grew slack and drawn, and fed my will.

In silos across the continent, I was bringing to life thousands of megatons of destruction, and with the added power I had just consumed, I was able to finish the job. While the attack raged on around me, I prepared my spells, holding off the massive barrage my sheer will alone. Given enough time, they had the power to crack even the strongest circle. But in ten minutes, the Eastern Seaboard would be a radioactive mass of death.

And while the unseen were powerful, I had one advantage.

I was prepared to swallow this death, and turn it against them. My spells were in place, theirs were not.

I cleared my mind, and preapred to accept the power I had won myself, and in the lowest levels of my soul, plotted out what would be done with it.
  • We knew why one senseless war blended into the next with no distinction. We knew why there would never be peace in the world. We knew why killers and cops prey on the weak. Because someone wanted that power. A group of someone's actually. We didn't know who they were, or what they were, or where they were. But they were real. Each one of those deaths was a tithe to them, and they used each one of those deaths to cause a dozen more, sucking in more power, tilting the balance of the world more and more into their favor.

    There's something I don't like about the flow of this paragraph. Couldn't really tell you what at this hour, but hey.

    You're right, it does need something. Longer, maybe? more details? Spelling could definately use a little work, but I don't think that's why you wanted me to read this. As is, it leaves too much unexplained. and is pretty much unrealistic. With maybe a little more, somewhere, perhaps tell *how* he knows where to hit an unknown army of men that want to be Gods? How he knows to bomb the Eastern Seaboard> How he knows *how* to bomb the eastern seaboard? If they are unseen and unknown, how does he know where to strike? How does he know they occupy a central location? How does he know this isn't just another tithe to them?

    Incidentally, you are really beginning to sound like your father's son. And I'm not entirely certain that's a good thing.
    • Oh, right. I missed the last sentence. Still, it needs more details. Something about it doesn't sit right still.
  • Nice. I kinda think there's some truth here. "They" are working on ascension by attrition, and I don't like it. I'm into ascension by cooperation.
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