Fantasy and Myth

Fallen

A god cannot die. The deity I and my family have devoted our lives to for generations has fallen. At first, I wanted to deny it. Perhaps what had died was something else and my god was still alive, but no. There is no denying the truth. What I have worshiped is dead.

As my mind came to grips with the harshness of the truth, I was forced to face an even darker one. A god cannot die, so whatever it was I'd been serving all these years, it was most certainly not a god. It was a fake, a fraud, and I have been deceived. Generations of my family have been led astray, working and sacrificing for nothing!

Whenever I walk down the streets of the temple district, I see the carvings of wood and marble, images of various "gods", and it makes me boil with rage. Falsehood. Deceit. LIES! I want to burn the wooden carvings and smash the stone statues until nothing remains but ash and dust. I want to pull down their temples and reduce them to rubble, but I cannot, no matter how strongly I desire it.

The faith of the people is too strong. Were I to challenge their beliefs, they would fight against me as if I was a heretic. If I am to free these people from the deception of false gods, I must undermine their faith in them first. To this end, I shall be the voice of doubt, a whisper in their minds they'll never be able to fully silence. When I'm finished, the people will question everything they've held onto as fact. Once they cease to believe, the people themselves will bring down the fiends they formerly served, and I shall provide the weapon to do it.

The false gods thought they could hide the weapon from humanity, but they were wrong. Their error shows yet again they are not true deities. Death to the false gods!

Strapped to my right arm from fingertips to near the shoulder, the armored gauntlet gleams in the light. The metal glove possesses a white crystal situated over the back of my hand, a teal fragment in the middle of the forearm plate, and a chunk of forest green on the outside of my bicep. Thin wisps of magic pull in around the shards like ribbons of smoke before the crystals absorb the magical energy. I shall find the weapon and use the gauntlet to bring it back to the people. Although the gauntlet doesn't have enough insulation to protect me fully, it doesn't matter. When the false gods fall, my work shall be complete, and the whole world shall know what I have done.

I am the purifier, the bringer of flame. I am Prometheus!