Prologue
A Deamon’s Obsession
Game of the Gods #1
“We wear the mask that grins and lies,
It hides our cheeks and shades our eyes,—
This debt we pay to human guile;
With torn and bleeding hearts we smile,
And mouth with myriad subtleties.
Why should the world be over-wise,
In counting all our tears and sighs?
Nay, let them only see us, while
We wear the mask…
…let the world dream otherwise,
We wear the mask!”
-We Wear the Mask
BY PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR
Prologue
Two gods sit across each other in silence inside an empty, pure white dimension untouched by time and space. A dimension created by the God of Fear.
Fear, dressed in an impeccable suit and tie, focuses on the game in front of him and moves his glass rook forward. He brushes his dark bangs from his golden eyes. A wisp of a smile graces his face as he leans back in his seat, silently challenging his younger twin brother.
The God of Terror takes a drag from his cigarette, blows smoke up in soft rings. His shaggy hair sports a golden strip in his bangs that matches his mischievous gold eyes. In his rugged clothes, he smiles sharply. With two fingers, he nonchalantly moves his blood-filled glass bishop into harm’s way, ready to sacrifice him for the bigger kill to come.
Terror takes the cigarette from his lips and smashes it onto the corner of the glass table. The marks it leaves stands out in this white world, bringing a sense of wrongness. Without pause, he grabs a fresh cigarette from his pocket and with a snap of his fingers, lights it up.
“So,” Terror squirms in the uncomfortable chair made of twisted silver. He pulls his knees up and leans against them, draping his arms across. The tip of his cigarette drips ash onto the pure white floor. “Are you such a sore loser that you won’t even talk to me?”
Fear moves his pawn forward and without hesitation, smashes Terror’s blood-filled bishop. Glass and blood explodes onto the board, seeping out into the other squares. He leans across the table and with his blood splattered hand, grabs the cigarette from his brother’s lips and crushing it under his foot.
“Be quiet.”
Terror leans in and blows the last puff of smoke into Fear’s face. He peers down at the board and with nimble fingers, smashing Fear’s pawn with his knight. Glass shards fly across the board, littering the playing field.
He leans back into his chair and with a lazy grin says, “A little birdie told me that once again you were frolicking with the humans. You just can’t lose with dignity, can you?”
“I merely lost a battle, not the war.” Fear replies, monotone. He takes his rook and smashes Terror’s knight. Blood runs across the board.
Terror laughs, standing up. He casually kills another piece as he walks towards his brother. Fear focuses on the board, his face expressionless but watches Terror from the corner of his eye. Terror walks behind him and slumps over, wrapping his arms around Fear’s neck. Draping his head over his brother’s shoulder, Terror peers at the board as well.
“You were destined to lose the day you chose to side with the humans. Deamons, with their magic and undiluted rage, are the true terrifying creatures. No matter how much you try to deny it, I proved it in their world by winning the war.”
Fear kills off Terror’s rook on the board and blood starts to overflow, dripping off the sides. “You’re wrong. Humans are selfish and controlling, making them the most fearsome. They hold onto their beliefs and convictions with such tight fists that they destroy all in their path, including themselves.”
Fear grabs his handkerchief and meticulously wipes off the blood on his hands. “Our pawns, those humans and deamons, diverted from the path we laid before them. In the end, the war ended with a treaty made by both parties, not the bloodbath we desired. Neither of us won.”
Terror smiles, exasperated. “It was the humans who first proposed a treaty, making them the losers but...fine.” He stands and with a shrug, walks back to his seat. He grabs his other bishop and smashes Terror’s pawn. “Even though I won before, we will have one last go. This will be the war of wars to decide once and for all who is the most fearsome and terrorizing of species. Humans or Deamons. It will be a battle against-” Terror picks up his brother’s queen in one hand and his own in the other. “- your most powerful human and my most powerful deamon crafted by our own hands. Winner takes all.”
The two queens shine brilliantly and without a second thought, he brings his hands together and crushes them. Blood seeps between his fingers. He opens his hands, letting the blood and glass rain down onto the board.
Fear smiles coldly. “I accept.”
The two gods lock gazes and with heartless grins, peer down at the chess board looking like the remnants of a battlefield. The bodies of the glass pieces lay crushed, shattered among a field of red, the blood so thick the squares all but disappear. The only pieces standing in the aftermath were two glass kings, facing off amongst their fallen comrades with nothing to lose and nothing to gain from victory.
“Then, my dear brother, let the games begin.”
