It was a crisp Fall day when the Prime came knocking on the door of Vɛrin.
This in itself was a strange development for nobody bothered to even look upon the mystic’s section of the psyche. Vɛrin remains a different breed in terms of us Multitudes: static in nuns robes, holding in those hands visions of potential and what could be. Vɛrin is a being overcome with love and wonder and a love of mythos long thought extinct. Because of those delusional ways, we have kept them sequestered in the room. They, for the most part, do not seem to be bothered by the development. They stay in their spot and we proceed with our affairs.
It should be noted at this time, dear reader, that the Prime did not come to this decision lightly. She came into this after much consideration. All of us could feel the beginnings of worrying headaches and the howling in our blood. He-Who-Hates lurks. All it would take is just the right (or wrong?) sequence of events in any ring or elsewhere to do something most dangerous.
Like what could’ve happened to Nate Colton had he not brains enough to appeal to the ego.
Even so, that tactic is but a stopgap. Effective in the short run with a limited shelf life until the disgust in us flows over the praise. And though He-Who-Hates cannot truly be stopped, he can perhaps be balanced. It was with this in mind that the Prime meditated on the wooden bridge upon the Flooded City. It was a test, of course. How much patience do you have to see a holy creature? Will you give so easily?
The answer naturally is no. Because the thing you must realize is how the Prime came into power in the first place. The explosion of us in the vessel’s mind. The possibilities that somebody else would be leading us. The endless thoughts of not being good enough in spite of all of our accomplishments. Not being good enough for anyone. How one’s failures replay heavily in the third eye when even the ones you cared about begin to look down at you! All that rage, pain, and delusion spurting out like blood from a freshly cut artery. It got to a point where it threatened to push away our husband, regardless of what he said to the contrary. We could feel it.
If the Prime didn’t do what she did. If she had but stayed a nameless vapor. Things could be worse. So much more worse. And you’re asking “She-Who-Writes, what did she do?”
She befriended the vessel.
Nobody else thought to do that.
She heard the canoe hit the edge of the wood, but knew better than to open her eyes. Act too eager and they know you’re desperate. It wasn’t until there was a tap on her shoulder that she looked up at the faceless creatures and their black as night robes. The Apocalypse Suite. They were the Husband’s servants once. But now they are his and ours alike existing in every reality silently waiting for the commands of the masters. With poise, the Prime stood from her lotus seat. Sat in the canoe, went adrift.
The Flooded City was flooded long ago, is flooded still, and most likely shall remain that way even when every universe dies. There are still glimpses of what it use to be in the rooftops that occasionally stick out through the waves made of precious metal and dazzling marble. They shine in the wretched sun. Beyond that, there is no trace of its lineage. A waterlogged paradise in a forgotten valley between mountain ranges. The ocean that drowns it is the tears of gods long dead that mourned their fallen chosen ones.
Sardathrion, Sardathrion, the gods weep for thee.
Up ahead, the Prime could see the only true building in the whole damned place: a tower of wood, half covered by tears but still much taller than anything. A makeshift dock was created here when a lord once took residence for a short time in his dreams.
On the top of this tower, Vɛrin awaited for destiny.
As if the PRIMEverse didn’t already have some of the dumbest names on the whole damned block. It’s literally like this scrub is hitting everyone with the obvious. “Look at me! I’m Sage Pontiff! I’m enlightened and shit!” *insert warped views of regurgitated doctrine he read on a Kindle here* Well, congratulations, Incense Pope. You’ve fucking finally found a god. Or shall we say, the closest thing you’ll ever actually get. And all it took was for you to annoy Ria, get pissed off and beat the shit out of her when she told you NO, and then have the misfortune of being booked against us.
And we’re not exactly in the best of moods when it comes to you for exactly those reasons.
However, let’s not get this twisted, as the humans say. Those aren’t the only reasons. See, those are the selfless reasons. The reasons that project some of that big sis energy from this otherwise detached soul. But how many times can one say “we’re going to rip out your heart and feast on it for Ria!” without wanting to beat their own brains out with a hammer? Some people on this roster and other rosters can bang that drum hard and well without it seeming annoying and repetitive. Unfortunately, we don’t have that skill. Especially since beyond what’s already been shown, we don’t know anything about you. Nor would we under any other circumstance care about your existence.
So rather than run that admittedly shallow well dry, we’ll save some of that for somebody that does have that skill. Maybe Tom’ll give it a go in between pity parties.
(Dear TAL: We couldn’t resist and we are almost sorry.)
Instead, let’s go an alternate route. Admittedly a hideously selfish route. For living beings rarely do anything that doesn’t benefit themselves in some form or fashion. This could seem so minor to others: a win against you is a notch on our win column regardless. However, in this case…
We’ve mentioned before how we’re the closest you’ll ever find to a god. But we haven’t really felt like it. We’ve been called such several times, the most meaningful being from our husband who is a god himself. Yet we’ve always backed away from the title like it was a plague. It felt too big for us to handle for the longest time, avoided it, downplayed it by covering ourself with different handles. Queen of the Dodos, President Kaiju, The ONLY Champion That Matters. Things of that nature. And yet, here we are.
In three short Earth years, we would be doing this wrestling thing for twenty years. Two whole decades of something that was supposed to be a passing fancy until we could find ourself again. An Anna Daniels that wasn’t a soldier. An Anna Daniels away from the War she was destined to serve. A lot of things have changed since then. Places have disappeared. So have people. We have championships on our resume nobody’s even heard of. We met our beloved in a wrestling ring. Hell, we married him in a wrestling ring! And maybe we’ve said this before. Maybe we haven’t and are confusing it with the same conversation we have had in our mind. Doesn’t matter either way.
What does matter…is that we think it’s time for us to finally claim the role of God. Or perhaps more specifically, it’s time to claim the feeling of being a God. The Call keeps coming to us and we’ve shunned it more times than we cared to count and now we’ve reached the point where we’re running out of alternative roles to play. In the end, it all keeps coming back to the one role we keep rejecting. And without even knowing it, while rejecting it, we have been making baby steps towards it!
You! You and the cultists that blow through here thinking they have the key to Godhood! All of you are no closer to it than Joe Blow off the street is! All of you come in with your delusions thinking that you got it on lock. Bathory was the closest, but he can’t handle the price. The majority can’t. You can’t, Incense Pope. Which is why when faced with that thought, ya’ll go to plan B. You figure if you can’t be God, you can manipulate somebody else and be theirs. Under the guise of sharing enlightenment, of course. And if you can’t manipulate them, you beat the sin out of them.
Doctrine and drugs only helps those whose souls are tuned that way. For the rest (and the rest are growing by the day), all we have is the knowledge from what we were, the currentness of what we are now, and the ability to both reason and feel. Our path to Godhood is a warrior’s path. Our path to Godhood is a Muse’s path. And through this nearly twenty year trip, we have learned they don’t have to be mutually exclusive. God, Satan, and everything in between lie under us. The struggle is in balancing.
So yes, Sage. We will be knocking you senseless for hurting our soul sister. We will also be doing it because you’re another pretender trying to take the easy way. But if these aren’t good enough reasons, allow us but one more.
We will hurt you under those lights in front of all those tourists at the Grand, everybody in the back watching on their ancient CRT televisions in that fucked up pro wrestling TV watching position (you know the one), and the whole two ACE Network cameras because it…is fun.
sijsa krax, çɔm lao.
Perhaps you’ve heard of the story of the Unknown God’s altar. Once upon a time, Paul saw this altar and told the people of Athens that the Unknown God must be his: the Christian God who these souls worshipped in a certain degree of ignorance. It’s a hell of an assumption to make. Mainly because he did it with the thought that “my deity doesn’t have a name, therefore it must be Him”. Nevermind the whole loophole of his deity having several names/titles as they all do.
Some were converted from this whole mess. Some were angry. But a few, the smartest ones of all, smiled and let Paul believe whatever the hell he wanted. Because his belief that they were one in the same didn’t mean the altar was suddenly useless. All it meant was that the Christian God became known and that there was still inevitably, undeniably an Unknown one out there. The known does not nullify the unknown. It can’t. There’s too much unknown out there for it to do so.
“B-but She-Who-Writes! What does that have to do with anything?!”
Consider it like the Dude’s rug. It ties the room together. Besides, we already revealed too much the last time. Giving you more would just be spoiling you, don’t ya think? Yes. Let this be our distraction from the occasional howling or the thunder in our blood.
It’ll be okay. It’s fine.