Chapter Text
THE LAST THING YOU REMEMBER is the cold, unforgiving gaze of the eyes of Mercy.
You are standing in The Courtroom once again — the fated place of the Immortal Realm where all Mortals receive their Judgement, once their time on Earth comes to an end. It is here, where the Good and Evil of a human soul is weighed, where it is decided by the Gods whether a Mortal will spend their time in the Afterlife in reward or in punishment, before being reborn again.
You have spent millennia in this room, and you would say that you know every nook and cranny like the back of your hand. The pillars of glossy white marble, the gold accents adorning every elegant arch, the impossibly high domed ceiling — they are all a part of you, simply the very purpose of your existence.
It feels so familiar, yet so different — perhaps because you are standing in the wrong place, looking around the room from the wrong perspective.
Instead of standing behind your dais, you are right in the middle of the room, your feet planted on the raised, golden pedestal. The place where Mortals awaiting to be Judged stand.
Yet you are not a dead Mortal — you are far from both words.
You are the Immortal, Princess of The Court, Goddess of Sinners, Temptation.
How shameful.
Your eyes scan The Courtroom, taking in just how grandiose the room looks, as always, and how your onyx dais looks empty and forsaken today, separated from its owner. You have not been told why you have been summoned here today, but you know something definitely isn’t right. If everything was fine, they would have asked you to stand behind your dais as per usual, to do your due duty, to represent the mortal sins and sinners in a Judgement. Now, you have obviously been discovered to have done something wrong, and you fear to find out just what awaits you.
Truth be told, you’ve never really been a stickler for the rules. So, there are quite a few instances that could have landed you here. As for which one — well, you’ll just have to see. Pray and find out, as the Mortals like to say.
Though, it couldn’t be about… that incident, could it?
A voice resonates throughout the Courtroom. It’s deep, powerful, and utterly overwhelming. You cannot describe even just a fraction of its essence with words, but you like to think that it reminds you of the rolling thunder on a dark, stormy night, or the crashing of raging waves against the jagged surfaces of towering cliffs. It is everything all at once, a beautiful cacophony of beginnings, growth and life themselves. It envelopes you, its sheer force almost suffocating.
That must be him. The God of Life, Ruler of the Immortal Realm, The Beginning.
You do not see him, but you feel his presence, which is more than enough. No one sees any of the Ancient Gods — The Beginning himself being one of the four. No one, not even the other Immortals themselves.
He speaks, to you.
“Temptation, Goddess of Sinners, you have been called forth to the Courtroom today to face the consequences of your actions, before the Court and the Immortals.”
A chill runs down your spine.
”It has been discovered, that you have meddled in the Fate of a Mortal past his time, one Judged to be a Sinner. This is treason to The Court, to The Underworld, to The Immortals. What do you have to say for yourself?”
…
..
.
The weight of his words slam into you with even greater force than the very sound of his voice, something you had once believed to simply be impossible. Your breath catches, and the blood, or rather, the golden ichor, in your veins, runs cold as ice.
How did they find out?
You thought you had hidden it well enough, but apparently, that wasn’t the case. Furthermore, the incident had happened a while ago, so just what had occurred for them to dig it up again?
But really, why had you been stupid enough to believe that no one would eventually know about it? About him?
You remain silent. It would do you no good to lie and contest the accusations. You keep your breathing even, awaiting The Beginning’s next sentence. You must not show weakness. Not now. Not ever.
“You do not deny it then. Very well.”
You keep your expression impassive. Emotions are flaws. Your flaw.
”For your foolish transgression,” The Beginning continues, “You shall be condemned to the Mortal Realm as a human. You may only return to your Immortal form after you have fixed your mistake.”
No.
All you seem to be able to see, hear and feel in that moment is panic.
They are going to strip you of your powers, your title, your everything.
No.
They can’t do this.
You whip your head around the Courtroom, your eyes frantically darting around, onto the sights of anyone who would save you, anyone who could find it within their stone-cold, unbeating hearts to care. The Courtroom is unusually filled today, with many Immortals turning up to witness in-person such a rare spectacle — the punishment of a young, rule-breaking, traitorous Immortal, who somehow, unfortunately, just happens to be you. You vaguely register familiar faces in the back of your mind, and how almost everyone is here. You are but a minor Goddess, yes, but still. Yet, even in such a big crowd, one that you personally know no less, to seek out the presence of just a tiny semblance of pity, you find nothing.
All you hear are their mocking whispers, and all you feel are their scornful stares burning into your skin, stripping you of whatever little dignity and honour you have left to your name. You clench your fists, your fingernails digging into the flesh of your palm, feeling exposed, vulnerable and utterly powerless.
You should have known. No one would help you. Because of course, the Gods do not feel. Or rather, they do not give in, nor act on the emotions they experience, especially the ones in the forms of leniency and pity.
It’s weakness. To the Immortals, to feel itself is a weakness — a hue that tints one’s worldview, an impairment to sound judgement, a shackle weighing down raw power. It is what differentiates Mortals from Gods, for it is the flaw of emotions, that makes humans weak.
It is not that the Gods are unfeeling machines; they still do experience emotions — as you currently do — though their feelings are diminished and not as consuming as those of Mortals. The sole reason of this, is to ensure that decisions made for Mortal lives are not clouded by the hues of emotion.
Funny how that just can’t seem to apply to you.
The very purpose of the Gods, is to maintain the balance in the universe, to rightfully serve justice in both punishment and reward. And right now, in the unfeeling eyes of the Immortals, you are in the wrong, no matter how painful, how overwhelming, how justified the reasons that drove you to do it were. You still did it, even when you should have known better, when you should have suppressed those horrid feelings, and so you only deserve to face the consequences.
Some might say the Gods are cruel, but that’s simply what makes them so powerful.
And really, you realise, too late, just how true this is. Young, naïve you had stupidly given in to an instance of weakness, a fleeting spark of empathy and pity for a human, only for it to now cost you everything.
Because, well, emotion is the fatal flaw of humans, even more so for those Judged to be sinners. They’re guilty of giving in to the temptation of their emotions, relinquishing themselves to their consuming feelings to commit acts of evil in the name of — hence your name, ‘Temptation’. You were created to reflect them, and so, it turns out, their fatal flaw is, coincidentally, also yours. How fitting.
And yet, that’s not all there is to your predicament. If nobody was willing help you out of the kindness of their hearts (because the Gods are not kind; they can never and will never understand kindness — the Gods are but cruel!), no one would help you even with an intention in mind and an advantage to gain.
Immortals only do things with motives and purpose hidden within, their best interests always held in mind. They only offer their divine aid to the Mortals whom they deem worthy, to those whom they believe can make enough of a difference to the world, to those who truly need and deserve power — as only these mortals can return the favour in the way the God helping them desires. The sole reason a God would stand up for another, would be when the potential benefits outweigh the risks. To curry favour with them for future aid and support, given that the situation guarantees a high chance of success.
But in your circumstance, sadly, both conditions do not apply. You have been found guilty at the hands of The Beginning. Why would any God want to risk themselves, to serve their head on a silver platter to the all-powerful Ruler of the Immortals, to side with a traitor, then be branded as one and cast out too?
Next, a young Goddess like yourself, albeit relatively powerful, does not hold that much influence to be useful, in the eyes of the Immortals. Besides, you represent Evil. Nothing good will come from siding with the flawed. Everyone knows that.
And also, unfortunately for you, a third barrier also stands, because the other Immortals never really liked you anyways. For many reasons, but that’s a long story to be dug up another day.
How ironic things are turning out to be. The Goddess of Sinners, Judged to be a Sinner herself.
You are getting desperate. As much as you don’t like it, you know that she is the only one who has the power to help you here. So, in a last-ditch resort, you turn to her.
She sits behind her glimmering crystal dais, watching the scene unfold, cruel amusement sparkling in her eyes. The golden child of the Court, the favoured Goddess of the Immortals. Your sister, Virtue, the Goddess of Paragons.
She stands for everything virtuous of humanity — morals, strength, judgement, goodness, representing the Mortals Judged to be Paragons in the Court, and naturally, who wouldn’t favour Good?
She meets your eyes, giving you a small, almost sad-looking smile. If you didn’t know better, you would have thought that she pitied you.
But you know your sister all too well, and you see how her eyes shimmer in mirth, silently mocking you in her beautiful gaze.
I never thought I would see the day you would beg me for my help, sister.
You hear her lilting, angelic voice, sneering at you, right in your own mind.
I knew you were bound to slip up like this. How many times have I told you before? It's your imperfection — to feel too much. But it can’t be helped, can it? You’re the Goddess of weakness and well, temptation, after all. You just… give in.
She titters at her little joke, looking too pleased with herself for it.
With all your willpower, you resist the urge to storm over, grab her by the collar of her ivory gown, and slap her in her infuriatingly innocent-looking face.
You smartly choose to block her voice out of your head instead.
But what were you expecting, honestly? The both of you hate each other to the very core, with both sides more than aware of that. It was always destined to be this way, written in Fate from the very start, because how could Good and Evil ever coexist peacefully together?
If it were her standing in your position, you think to yourself, bitterly. The Beginning would have probably given her a lighter punishment, simply because he favours Good. And even if he didn’t, the other Gods might have stood up for her, and pleaded for a lighter punishment on her behalf. Merely because she had been born lucky, destined to be the beautiful, untouchable swan, while you were the ugly duckling, your feathers tinted by the touch of Mortal evil and sin.
But the funniest thing is, your sister is far from a virtuous Paragon herself.
The lottery of Fate is an unfair one, and the world is just cruel and twisted like that, cracked by the fractures from the skewed perceptions of morality.
You swallow hard, forcing your despair and rage deep down into the pit of your stomach. Inhaling sharply, you tear your eyes away from Virtue, and instead look up to the Goddess of Justice. The one who wields the greatest power in the Courtroom, and the one who will ultimately condemn you to your fate: the Judge of the Court, Mercy. She dons her gilded, golden gown, her dark hair flowing behind her ethereally, her features poised and impassive as ever. She sits at her rightful seat behind the Dais of Judgement, the very epitome of judiciousness. Her eyes lie closed, almost peacefully, her lashes dusting her cheekbones delicately, as fabled to be. You await in trepidation for them to open, for her to make her Judgement, as she always does and will do.
And at last, she opens them. They bear into your eyes, your body, your soul, her golden orbs hard and unyielding. Her eyes truly are beautiful, swirling pools of liquid gold dotted with flakes of bronze, powerful and crushing. They are the colour of balance and justice, the hue of absolute judgement, the very ones used to weigh the Good and Evil in a Mortal soul.
You have heard, from the Judged Mortals, of how the divine gaze of Mercy burns through and pierces into their entire being, how it sees every single part of their lives — every joy, every sorrow, every sin, how it knows everything that is, was or could have been theirs. In her gaze, one can truly reflect on the life they have lived, and truly feel the crushing weight of their crimes, or the enchanting warmth of their righteousness.
For the Mortals judged as Sinners, when you bring their souls to the Underworld to face their rightful punishments, sometimes they tell you, how the eyes of Mercy are both a curse and blessing. A curse because they are nothing kind or compassionate or merciful at all, and they are the very ones that sentence them to punishment forever; but also a blessing, because simply being able to have such an ethereal, mesmerising final sight before eternal damnation in Hell is a form of mercy in itself.
But, well, you suppose that’s what evil-doers deserve.
Though, you finally understand what they mean now, having felt it first-hand in full force. Even as a Goddess, plus a rather powerful one — if you dare say so yourself — if you already feel the Judgment of Mercy so profoundly, then how do the Mortals withstand such an intensity that is surely amplified for their weaker constitutions?
You bring your gaze to Mercy’s, your eyes wide and pleading, begging her through your gaze for amnesty.
Mercy says nothing, her eyes never leaving yours, as she raises her sacred symbol, the Gavel of Judgement. Its smooth, polished surface catches the sunlight streaming through the glass windows of the Courtroom. You heart stutters as it glints ethereally in the soft light, and as it strikes the sounding block under the guide of the hand of Mercy.
The harsh thud resonates throughout the Courtroom, firm and final. Your fate has been decided. When Mercy refuses to grant clemency, one will face the full wrath of their rightful punishment, as will you.
All is quiet.
Deep down, you had already expected this to happen, so you don’t know why you still feel disappointed, or betrayed even, upon the layers of fear and panic you already carry. You’d only just been foolishly clinging on to faint, fraying stands of hope that you thought you could salvage.
Hope that a mother would want to save her own daughter.
But your mother is the Goddess of Justice. You have erred, so she must give you your rightful punishment. And what is right for you is decided by the Ruler, The Beginning. He is an Ancient, and the Ancients can never be said to be wrong.
It is sad, but it is the truth. Mercy will not spare you just because you are her kin. She simply cannot love you, the way a mother would.
It is quiet. A deafening silence, one that pierces through your eardrums, like the knife of your fate driving through your soul, painful and breaking. The echo of the gavel rings in memory, seared into thought.
The world around you starts to spin. Suddenly, you feel tired, so tired, and everything feels like it is floating away from you, just shy of your grasp. So close, yet so far, like a distant dream of another lifetime once lived.
In your last moments, you wonder, if you regret helping that human boy.
No, you decide. I’ve saved someone who’d suffered too much, someone whom I’d deemed worthy. I’ve given him another shot at life, which he deserved.
But what you don’t realise, is that you will soon wish that you hadn’t saved him. You will soon realise, that it might have been better, had he truly died back then.
Your mother is still watching, as you collapse to your knees on the pedestal, while your consciousness fades away into nothingness. She’s still holding your gaze in her cold, unforgiving one.
It’s the last thing you remember.
Everything fades to black.