Ω M E G A

Replace her? They would never. They could never. Hers was an everlasting love, an eternal love! The Book of Worlds foretold her permanence, she was the Heart of the Skrulls! “If any dared try to sit upon my throne, I would eat their heart out before their very eyes.” A touch of passion tweaked toward aggression… but only directed toward outsiders. Never her flock! Not yet.

  The sudden influx of atmosphere blows past and through her. A touch of ash, decay and wickedness coating her lungs through her sharp inhale. The very structure of the planet heeded to his whims, a servant eager to be trod upon, like any other. 

    “Is it not enough that my wrath is saved for those who oppose me? Benevolent to the faithful, malevolent to the infidels? I-” am clinging to the frayed, burning scraps of my lover’s soul. Following that which simply is, scanning the horizon beyond her and never once looking down at those beneath her. She wasn’t sure what she might see if she did look down… What might see her, in turn.

    “If they come to resent me for turning from them. If my reach is cut short because their faith no longer carries me, then it will have all been for naught. I will have been for naught.”

“The complacency of mortals is predictable. If they only ever know the touch of your love then they will grow knowing you would never turn hand to them. They will grow to forget you, to learn that they do not need you.” It was exaggerated for younger immortal ears. But it was not really a lie. Not in the way they usually flowed free from their rocky lips, just the breaking down of the truth, letting whole stories linger and be lies of omission.

Bathed in the orange flames of the exploding firepits, Darkseid continues striding forth across the constructed catwalk. “Gods that do not grow, and learn to accept this pathetic lot are destined to crumble, rot, and fall to nothing. Or sit on their thrones, on ancient mountains, giving in to hedonistic desires while they grow weaker.” Of course, it didn’t help when like in the case of Olympians, an evil like Darkseid shows up to split their being and power between themselves and newly created ‘Roman’ simulacrums.

“This is the only way, to take the power for yourself rather than rely on them to give it to you by grace.” Another toys, another little experiment to play with. To force the power of Omega into, to see if she could withstand that which only Darkseid could otherwise wield without crumbling to ash.

   Worship? “Of course they worship me.” She carried them when their prior faith proved fruitless. When they were at their lowest, she rose above and reignited the very furnaces within the spiritual throneworlds that held their broken forms aloft. She was their VERDANT DIVINE! Though, it seemed only in name.

    “They do love me. It is by their love I am given strength, their whispers garb me like silken bolts of belief and dedication…” Fear? They didn’t fear her. They feared how much they could love her. That their love for her could be whipped into a frenzy, turned into a swarm that razed, converted and consumed! But fear her? Their mother?

    “Is- Is it my heart that’s giving me pause? My reciprocated affection? I could not bear to turn my wrath upon the faithful… is that why I am not all I must be?” Merciless. Omnipresent. Like Them? “Can I be a Goddess of Love if I can not love?”

An amused and all too brief chuckle passes from those rocken lips, briefly soaked by an equally fleeting smile. So young, so fresh to this touch of the divine. “They will live, they will love. But if they do not fear you, they will seek to replace you. You can be a Goddess of Love, but what is to stop you from being consumed in the great wave of another’s divine reach?”

To stoke the fires of fear was an important thing for a god to do, at least one such as Darkseid. Not even the sway of an arm, the incline of a head and the wall that holds the window starts to fully reform, deconstructing and coming back together as a bridge above the lesser inhabitants of Apokolips, far above all of the structures and pits that burned like landlocked suns.

Poisoned was the mind by the touch of a mortal heart, freshly carved from marble, not yet ready to stand before the fearsome tests of such a merciless god. Some gods relied their whole lives on the worship of mortals, without it they rot and wither. Those are the weak ones, the ones who fade so easily. “A counterbalance. Love is not love without hate, how can one even comprehend love if they do not know how to hate, know the joy of your grace without fear for what your wrath could bring? Come.” They stride forth, along the newly formed bridge across Apokolips.