What heroic epic wouldn't benefit from complete gratification? Why should fantasies not explore their characters' desires to their fullest extent? This is for those who have always wondered what it might be like to play goddess.
Special thanks to the volunteer editors Alias_Omega and LaRascasse!
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Long had legend foretold the return of the sacred guardians. Many a story and song proclaimed the grandeur of ancient battles which had been won by their hand. But the yawning expanse of time faded memories of their presence, thinning over the centuries, as tales of great winged saviors fell into disrepair and were forgotten. Mankind came to know an epoch of peace and prosperity, and did not call upon the swords of their guardians, praying the need would never arrive.
Five, they were. Five warriors who held dominion over the realms of men, safeguarding them from greater evils than their mortal minds could fathom. They were five of many.
Zonova, Dawn's Hammer and second of the five, heard the distant battle cries before any of the others. She rallied her sisters to arms, and together they watched as peace met a bloody end. Mankind had been cast into turmoil once more, warring fiercely with swarms of beasts borne from the shadowy wildlands to the east. The lands sang with the clash of steel and bone, and The Five kept vigil from on high, enraptured by the melody.
They heard the prayers of generals and foot soldiers alike, men and women who knew naught but a war which spanned generations. And by The Five's presence alone among the people, their will was bolstered. Gifts of strength and fortitude were bestowed upon their subjects, until a day came when the swarms amassed at their border. All battles drifted together like planets to a star, drawing in every warrior to make a final stand for their survival. The goddesses of war lingered close overhead. And when thousands of voices cried out for aid, they heeded the call.
Zonova followed close behind her sister Drita's right hand, streaking to the battlefield in great beams of light. Their wingbeats joined the booming drums, and their radiance shone upon the innumerous upturned faces. Armies which stretched to the horizon in either direction eclipsed the terrain beneath their feet, and every man and woman raised their eyes to the glory of divine retribution.
One by one, each champion joined the fray. When Zonova made landfall, scattering a horde of beasts, her coming was heralded by gasps and screams. Bathed in light of stars, enrobed in ethereal silks, and armored in rage and beauty. She was resplendent, the purest white of sacred fury, as she brought her hammer to bear.
As most fell to their knees or froze in awe at her majesty, there was one man who continued to fight valiantly. He didn't flinch as she felled swathes of enemies. He didn't stare at the trails of stars and glimpses of constellations left by her passing. He was of one mind, for the battle at hand. Where knights and generals lingered at the rear in all their engraved finery, this one soldier showed more valor than any of them. Dark of skin and black of hair, he would have blended with the masses but for his lithe limbs, which flowed through his sword as though they were a single entity.
The soldier began anticipating Zonova's pattern of attack, and was swift to follow behind. When beasts stumbled, hesitated, screamed at the sight of their comrades being massacred, he was there to take advantage. Heavily armed yet lightly armored, he darted about with a rigidly controlled finesse. Where the goddess stood tall and bright, he was like her shadow, mirroring her every move as well as one with mortal stamina could.
Though his actions made little difference to the massive ring of corpses left by the hammer's blows, it was the men and women at their back who benefited. As Zonova battled to protect the realm, so too did the soldier to protect his brothers and sisters in arms. He herded the creatures when they attempted to slip through, harried them when they rallied, and hacked at the masses with his greatsword at every opportunity. His fearlessness in the face of divinity and slaughter inspired others to surge forth with renewed vigor, and Zonova rejoiced at the flash and clang of weapons on flesh, flanking her attacks.
When the brave soldier began to tire and fade, he took a blow to the shoulder and fell to one knee. His broad back heaved with his breath, and his fingers clenched furiously into the wound where it wept red. Zonova, Dawn's Hammer, was at his side in the space of a breath. She did not bend to him, nor did she pity him with reassurances.
"Rise," she commanded, the first she'd spoken. "Rise and fight. They shall honour your memory." The words crackled with energy, and resonated as though proclaimed from far beyond. The soldier met her eyes fearlessly, gritting his teeth. When she offered her hand, he took it, and his wounds and exhaustion fled as the goddess willed it so. He remained standing only for the time it took to thank her, before he set upon his foe with renewed vigor.
When at last the seething horde broke and made to flee, The Five took wing and divided them up. The armies of men pursued as long as they were able, drawn beyond the limits of their flesh to continue the fight. Dawn broke upon the battlefield to see only a few hundred of the enemy remaining, scattered like ashes to the wind.
Zonova walked the fields of dead with her sisters the following day, untainted by the bloodied earth beneath their feet. Not a one of them took to the sky out of reverence for the fallen, but deigned to tread among them. The glory of each warrior's passing was properly honoured, the wounded were healed at their touch, and Zonova was worshiped by crowds of adoring faces, who wept and prayed wherever she went.
The retreating sun at day's end hearkened the departure of The Five, each to their own unique ritual following a grand battle. Drita, to her soaring flight above the clouds. Ymelia to her silent meditation. Virena to a long hunt. And Rona to her forge. But Zonova, rather than ascending the highest mountain peaks to contemplate their grandeur, appeared to the soldier who'd fought at her side.
She wore simpler vestment of long fabrics winding endlessly around her body, and a look of curiosity as she materialized in an unusually lavish tent. Exquisitely embroidered fabrics and furniture were widely spread beneath the capacious vaulted canvas, and an array of bestial skulls was perched atop pedestals in its center. Zonova smiled as she reclined on a small couch, watching silently as the only other occupant washed and dried his face and neck in an ornate basin opposite her.
When the soldier caught sight of her, pure white amid the crimson and gold, he straightened. The momentary hesitation held not a hint of fear or nervousness, as his implacable eyes stared shrewdly.
"Your Grace," he said, kneeling and pressing his forehead into the plush rug. When silence draped itself over his shoulders, Zonova frowned.
"Have the scriptures been forgotten? Lost to the ebb of the century's tide?" The man did not answer. "Arise," she commanded, every word carrying considerable weight. "Blessed be thy strength, bloodied be thy path."
He sat upright, but remained on his knees in a rigidly disciplined posture.
"We are honored by your presence, Your Grace. Long has it been since our hearts were ignited by your radiance. Longer still since your likeness appeared before mortal eyes." His tone wasn't explicitly suspicious, but neither did it exude the fear and awe of the praying masses from hours earlier.
"These are not accommodations of a common foot soldier," Zonova stated, ignoring the implicit question. "You are not who you appear to be." Her gaze bored through him as she spoke, from eyes of purest black which possessed neither iris nor pupil. Unnatural stillness dominated her form, rendering her warming aura like that of a bright star: steadfast and reticent as the celestial wonders, utterly motionless but for the gleaming strands of silvery hair which floated freely through the air.
"General Mui Zuay, if it please Your Grace," he said, crossing his forearm over his breast with a slight bow. "Champion of Malkesh, and Slayer of Dragons."
"
General?
" asked Zonova, eyes flaring unblinkingly. Zuay met them. "How intriguing."
With a twirl of her fingers, a crystal goblet manifested in Zonova's hand. She conjured and sipped from it in a single motion, finally casting her gaze about the tent.
