《Volatile Gods》Prologue

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Prologue

February 2024

I remember when they first came. Came? Was that right? They claimed to have been here the entire time.

I was watching the news, eyes still drying from a recent break-up, watching a murder happen on camera, not able to turn away. The man committing the crime looked seven feet tall with thin white hair and an expression that sent terror tremors up my spine.

Gods.

That’s what they called themselves. They showed up in cities and towns, urban and suburban areas, any place that had people.

They abducted people for their amusement. People that were never heard from again. At least that’s what the news said.

The government knew where these gods were, everyone knew where they were.

They would find a house they liked and kill whoever lived there if the poor people didn’t manage to run first.

The army sent tanks, soldiers, airplanes, bombs. They sent everything. But all it accomplished was get a whole lot of people killed.

The news became monotonous, though everyone remained glued to it. Images of

American cities ravaged as if by war.

War. Maybe that’s what it was.

They tried to nuke them once. Only once.

Three gods walked into a small town in New Mexico, killed almost seventy people. So the government tried to act. They evacuated the town, and surrounding area, thankfully not much of a population in New Mexico.

They taped the whole thing. A five star general smiling into the camera, “This may be the last resort but we’ll be rid of the creatures.”

Satellite cameras broadcast the bomb’s flight.

Suddenly televisions lost the image. Static filled the screens only for a moment before another face appeared on them.

A young guy, I couldn’t begin to guess his age. His hair short and platinum, his eyes completely white, no iris and no pupil, with the coldest expression I had ever seen.

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“A nuclear bomb, you call it. An achievement of your science. I commend you on creating something that could kill so many, in such horrid ways. A true masterpiece.” The camera twitched again and we were viewing the bomb again. But his voice continued, “However, it is just a chemical reaction.” We watched as something pulled itself out of the bomb.

“Is that the nuclear core?” someone in the coffee shop gasped.

The bomb itself proceeded to crush itself until it was a giant metal ball that could no longer propel itself forward but plummeted to the ground.

The core itself flew higher and higher. “Do not worry,” the boy’s voice said, “I shall not release your weapon upon you but destroy it safely in space.” The core kept rising until it disappeared.

A bright flash of light. Then stillness.

Static filled the screens.

Voices came on first, “Do we have controls back?”

“I don’t know how they controlled the satellite.”

“I want them dead.”

“Speakers are back on, visual in 3, 2, 1.”

And the news crew came back onscreen, moving quickly on to other news until they could come up with something to say.

Nothing changed, no matter what they tried. We came to learn the boy’s name was The Prince and he led the gods. He came on the screen only once more, standing in the oval office, bodies littered around him. He held up the President’s dead body, “We are not here to take over your government, we do not care how you govern yourselves. But you do not govern us. Choose your next leader wisely.”

I thought he didn’t seem capable of amusement.

The boy continued, “We do not wish to bring disorder but if your attacks do not stop, we will destroy all forms of government and let the rest of you wander amidst chaos.”

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Later that day we learned that a similar broadcast appeared in every country simultaneously. All the current world’s leaders were killed to prove a point.

Nothing could stop them.

After that people went to seek out the gods, blessing them and their coming. We watched demonstrations on TV, afraid to go out. Most of them ended up in massacres. The most brutal people the gods “blessed” with powers and called them Worshippers.

“I guess it’s better than calling them priests,” my roommate snickered.

Time passed. People did what they do best--they adapted.

I lived in New York, where the Prince and his entourage finally came to settle.

They took over a skyscraper condominium in the Upper West Side. Let’s just say the market values in the area plummeted. I could afford an apartment there now.

It was a testament to New Yorkers that only ten percent of the population moved away. And none of the businesses.

There was nowhere to run to anyway. Every major city had one now. No one knew how many wandered the world.

I worked in a coffee shop, no, not Starbucks, in downtown Manhattan. The business district; I’m not a complete idiot.

You may be wondering why I am chronicling this event. I’m not.

This is my story. My life I want to write down. I need to write down. I certainly am not a natural born storyteller.

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