The Meeting
The air in the Hall of Accord was older than most civilizations. It was a vast, cathedral-like space carved from obsidian and starlight, its vaulted ceiling lost in a shimmering haze that mimicked the violet and crimson nebula churning beyond the transparent dome. At the center of this immensity sat a table of polished neutron star material, cold and unyielding.
Five figures occupied the seats of power. At the table’s head, shrouded in a robe that seemed to weave itself from shadow and silent observation, sat the Emissary of the Unity. Its face, if it had one, was an enigma. It was the arbiter, the silent gear around which the High Pantheon turned, the oldest and wisest being in the known universe.
To the Emissary’s right and left, the other powers were arrayed. Sage of the Oracle Seers glowed with an internal, haughty light, his form vaguely humanoid but composed of shifting constellations. Beside him, Persius of the Swamp Lords sat within a contained atmosphere of viscous, briny water, his aquatic form flickering with bio-luminescent patterns as he communicated silently with his aides. Opposite him, Khan of the Titan Warlords was a mountain of polished cybernetic armor and scarred flesh, his massive hands resting on the table, one idly sharpening a ceremonial energy blade with a whetstone that hissed with plasma.
And then there was the fifth. Mr. Bishop, Representative of Humans. A man in a simple, dark suit, flanked by two equally unremarkable assistants. In a room of gods, leviathans, and warlords, he looked like an accountant. Which, in a way, he was.
“The attacks on our fringe colonies near our edge of space cannot be ignored,” Sage’s voice was not a sound but a vibration that shook the dust from eternity. “Your primitive species continues its guerrilla strikes, Bishop. We consider them acts of war.”
Mr. Bishop steepled his fingers. “The Terran Accord denies any involvement in the incidents you describe. Our records show no military operations in that sector. Perhaps your star-gazing seers are… misinterpreting the constellations.”
Sage’s light flared. “Do not mock us, human. I could unmake the very atoms of your being with a thought. I could turn your world to glass.”
A faint, almost bored smile touched Bishop’s lips. “Ten thousand years ago, when you first conquered Earth, you could have. You called us cattle. Pets. Interesting, hairless apes. But that was then.” He leaned forward, his eyes cold. “We evolve, Sage. It’s what we do. We see a wall, we learn to climb it. We see a god, we learn to kill it. You are little gods to us now. And we have read your mythology. Little gods always fall.”
The air crackled with psychic fury. Khan chuckled, a sound like grinding rocks. “I like them. They have spine. Unlike the fish.” He pointed his blade toward Persius’s aqueous chamber. Persius ignored him entirely, his bio-luminescent patterns flashing a complex, dismissive code to his assistants.
“This Pantheon is a farce!” Sage boomed. “The Unity’s experiment in diplomacy is a failure. We should settle this as the old laws dictate. By strength of magic and will!”
The Emissary, who had been so still it was forgotten, moved. It did not speak. It did not need to. A single word bloomed directly in the consciousness of every being in the hall, imbued with the weight of a billion years of history:
Peace.
The silence that followed was absolute, heavier than the neutron star table.
---
The Oracles’ home system was a labyrinth of dead stars and whispering nebulae. The twin deities—genetic mirrors, psychic echoes—had no known location. They existed in silence, speaking only to each other, their minds intertwined like roots of an ancient tree.
Ruth stepped onto the barren surface of their last recorded sighting. She closed her eyes and changed.
Her body twisted, flesh and metal reshaping until she stood as a perfect replica of the twin deities. Then, she reached out—into their psychic link.
At first, there was nothing. Then—
"Who are you?" A voice, cold and sharp, echoed in her mind.
Ruth didn’t answer. Instead, she pushed, flooding their connection with noise, with chaos. The link trembled.
"You dare?" The second voice, furious.
Pain erupted in her skull—a psychic counterattack. Ruth staggered but didn’t relent. She shifted again, her form flickering between humanoid shapes, healing as she broke their bond further.
One of the twins screamed—not in her mind, but aloud. A mistake.
"You will die for this, intruder!"
Their voice gave her everything. Ruth’s body morphed once more—into a Super-Speed Deity; Duca, a blur of motion, sh ehad killed years back. She followed the sound, crossing distance in seconds.
Their hideout was a temple of shadows. The twins turned as she appeared, their eyes wide.
She didn’t give them time to react.
One strike. Two bodies fell.
---
Back in the Hall of Accord, the debate had descended into cyclical bickering.
“—your mining operations violate the neutral zone!” Persius’s translator droned, his water churning with agitation.
“Then send your submersible legions to stop us, swamp-dweller,” Khan rumbled, bored. “Let us have our fun.”
Sage was still fuming, his light flickering erratically. “The human’s impunity is the root of this! His denial is an insult!”
Mr. Bishop’s assistant, a young man with a data-slate, leaned in and whispered something in his ear. He gave a barely perceptible nod. He turned and walked calmly towards the great arched exit.
As he reached the immense doors, Lyra, Sage’s ethereally beautiful first assistant, glided into his path. Their eyes met. No words were exchanged. Lyra gave a single, slight nod. The human assistant nodded back once and continued out into the corridor.
Lyra moved soundlessly to Sage’s side, bending to his ear. “It is done,” she whispered.
Sage’s form blazed with triumphant light. He shot to his feet. “Enough! This petty squabbling is a distraction for your true crimes! While you sit here and deny, your agents have struck a blow against the Oracle itself! Two of our cherished ones, the Mage Twins, have been extinguished!”
The chamber fell silent. Khan stopped sharpening his blade. Persius’s water stilled. Mr. Bishop merely raised an eyebrow.
“A tragic loss,” Bishop said, his voice flat. “But again, I must deny any involvement. We are a peaceful species.”
“Lies!” Sage shrieked. “I invoke a recess! This Pantheon must be adjourned until this atrocity is investigated!”
All eyes turned to the Emissary. The ancient being had not moved throughout the entire exchange. But now, it slowly rose. Its shrouded head turned from Sage, trembling with outrage, to Mr. Bishop, who sat with an expression of polite confusion.
Then, a voice, ancient and dry as interstellar dust, spoke directly into Bishop’s mind, a secret shared in a room full of powerful beings who heard nothing at all.
"Well played."
About the author
South-western Nigerian, male and currently based in Lagos, Nigeria.
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