Gods did not die easily.
That was one of the great lies mortals liked to believe, that if something bled enough or screamed loudly enough, then it was gone forever. But divinity did not work that way. Even when a god’s body was torn apart, scattered into pieces, burned, crushed, or otherwise ruined beyond recognition, it did not truly end them. Given enough time and will, they could simply pull themselves back together again.
Reformation was the usual method. It was slow but very reliable.
A wound from the divine spear of the Triumvirate, however, made that process exceptionally difficult. The power etched into such a wound clung stubbornly, gnawing at the god’s essence and preventing it from knitting itself back into a complete whole. Still, it wasn’t as though a dead god was without options. Far from it.
No, if reformation was denied, then rebirth would have to suffice.
Rebirth was riskier. What emerged on the other side would not be the same being in full. Memories would be fragmented or missing entirely. Personality would be warped, reshaped by circumstance and environment. But the core, the divine essence itself, would remain. And that was what truly mattered.
The soft, unsettling sound of skittering moved through the grass atop Mount Kaukau. It was not much of a mountain by most standards, really little more than a tall hill, but it rose high enough to provide a wide view of the land below. That alone made it valuable. More importantly, it was reasonably secluded, elevated, and rich with symbolic significance. A suitable place for a ritual, even a crude one.
The dead goddess stood there, her ruined body propped upright by seven spider-like legs that had grown from her torso at unnatural angles. For the past two days she had watched, observed, and learned. The Witch of the Void was gone now, destroyed beyond recovery. What remained was merely one of her many contingencies, a shadow of intent left behind for moments exactly like this.
This world was deliciously vulnerable.
Magic barely existed here, thin and brittle, barely acknowledged by its inhabitants. But that was no obstacle to something that had once reshaped realities. In fact, the lack of magical awareness made things easier. There were no wards, no watchers, and no rivals worth mentioning.
There was another reason she had chosen this place. Beyond its suitability for a half-decent ritual, there was the matter of the people. Humans came here often. Walkers, hikers, tourists. They wandered freely, blissfully unaware of how exposed they were. Unwitting victims, practically delivered straight to her in a steady stream. She had observed this pattern carefully.
The dead goddess had dragged that infuriating, curse-touched hero along with her across realms. That, at least, was unfortunate. If she could not have Ganymede, then they would. For now. There were always alternative plans she could use. There were always other paths to power.
A defenceless world could be raised into an army. An army could conquer another world. And from there, she could finally return and kill her sisters properly and permanently.
Yes, this was acceptable.
She would begin carefully. Stick to the trees. Pick off the unaware, one by one, build strength.and numbers. Once she commanded a force no mortal army could hope to resist, she would begin the process of rebirth in earnest.
Yes. It would be easy.
The corpse noticed its first target. A human, female, middle-aged—or perhaps older, it was hard to tell with these fragile bodies. Likely in her eighties. She had drifted away from her pack of humans and was now heading straight toward the treeline, alone and deliciously unsuspecting.
The corpse pivoted smoothly atop its seven legs and began moving toward the forest, careful to remain unseen. Discovery too soon would be inconvenient. Even a dead god understood the value of patience.
The human stopped just short of the treeline, kneeling beside a cluster of weeds that humans insisted on calling flowers. She bent down and began picking them, humming softly to herself.
If the dead god could still smile, it would have.
Instead, it relied on the legs sprouting from its limp, ruined body.
It crept closer.
The woman never noticed.
Then, in a single silent motion, the corpse lunged. The forelegs struck true, piercing the woman’s neck. Her body went limp instantly, not even managing a scream.
No one saw the dead god drag its prey into the forest.