User blog:Drix153/Can a Mouthless God Scream?

Can an emotionless god fear?

''Lub-dub... Lub-dub... Lub-dub...''

Can a dead god suffer?

''Lub-dub... Lub-dub... Lub-dub...''

Can a mouthless god scream?

Lub-dub, lub-dub, lub-dub...

The pulse is strongest in the heart of this dreamscape, for lack of a better word, and always quickens during my ministrations. I reach out and touch the ebb and flow of its residual life-force. It's simple enough, comparable to the anima mundi of my homeworld. The memories withheld come swiftly and sharply.

There was a war eons ago. Then came the flood: gods against gods. Something tore open the fabric of the universe, rending that which separates existence from nothingness. The Void swallowed everything. Only this corpse remains, and even now it is slowly being subsumed from within.

But I've seen these memories before and they're not what I came for. Softly, I coax the strands to unravel. The echoes of the past will fade away to become fully realised. I focus my thoughts and consider the words that I've been taught.

What can change the nature of a man? Belief.

Lub-dub, lub-dub, lub-dub...

I repeat the mantra over and over inside my head to the rhythm of the god's heartbeat.

Belief is clearly an internal force. Yet through sheer determination it can be applied externally so as to manipulate the continuous world. If enough beings will it so, what is incorrect becomes correct; left becomes right; and up becomes down. What's more, we know that life after death exists... because of us. Our underworlds and afterlives are shaped and wrought into existence by the collective beliefs of the dearly departed.

In light of all this, is it so far-fetched to think that a woman who knows herself as an irredeemable monster, whose beliefs are reinforced by those of her former friends and colleagues, is awarded eternal unrest in her pursuit of ascendancy? I alongside many others have recognised the power of belief. It can make dreams and nightmares reality, and actuality imaginary.

Lub-dub, lub-dub, lub-dub...

The dreamscape around me begins to shift and alter in shape. I cease my disruption of the flow of its life's blood. I know the consequences of persisting. Besides, I'll return again during the next rotation. The energy I've taken will serve me well. I withdraw from the heart and turn my attention elsewhere.

''Lub-dub... lub-dub... lub-dub...''

I walk the halls of the ancient temples on Mazcab. The spirits there haunt my every step. They know what I know and cry out, unseen and unheard by those who remain. The culling never ceases. My followers labor dutifully, reworking the pipelines that sustain these lands despite constant interruptions. They know the price of failure.

''Lub-dub... lub-dub... lub-dub...''

Back in the Abyss, I watch and guide when necessary. Sacred clay is essential. My impling workers gather it. It's straightforward and hardly ever requires any oversight. On the other hand, the production of the vessel demands most of my attention. It involves a lengthy process of sculpting and firing the clay just right. There's no room for error; otherwise we must begin anew.

''Lub-dub... lub-dub... lub-dub...''

My presence continues to grow stronger within the Spirit Realm. The forces I conjure pale by comparison. In time, I will have what I need. Those loyal to me and my cause will find themselves greatly rewarded. The rest will come to know me and what I offer them. Willingly or not, they will see. They will... believe.