Prologue
God is dead. God remains dead. And we have killed him. How shall we comfort ourselves, the murderers of all murderers? What was holiest and mightiest of all that the world has yet owned has bled to death under our knives: who will wipe this blood off us? What water is there for us to clean ourselves? What festivals of atonement, what sacred games shall we have to invent? Is not the greatness of this deed too great for us?
Must we ourselves not become gods simply to appear worthy of it?
-Friedrich Nietzche
In the natural world, we humans are an unusual bunch.
We can’t rely upon our speed or strength to survive. We can’t fly, or breathe underwater, or ward off predators with our poisonous bite. Our one true virtue is intelligence… and despite our weakness, this singular virtue gave us dominion over the whole of the earth.
In his wisdom, though, God saw fit to balance our intellect with another weakness - one which played a pivotal role in the beginnings of my story.
A tiger has its first kill by the age of one. A foal is up and running mere hours from birth. Human beings, on the other hand, are born prematurely. Blind, soft-skulled, and squealing we enter this world; laughably helpless for a period of years. Our weakness proved so crippling, God was again forced to balance us by instilling in womankind his fiercest brand of altruism.
God, apparently, went on to afflict humankind with yet more of his humorous balancing act, until humanity became fed up with it all and killed him. And yet, even we - the most capable of murderers, the slayers of God - must concede that there is a better way.
He who destroys his enemies best destroys them before they qualify as enemies. Herod, and Ramses understood this truth. My mother understood it too.
An attack at infancy will succeed with near absolute certainty.
Little short of divine intervention can prevent the death of a child - and unfortunately for me, God was dead long before I was born. There would be no Nile to sweep me into the loving arms of royalty. No angel in the night.
I am no messiah. I am no deliverer.
I… am despair.
-Nokmar
