GodWithWings
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Ch 83 - Even Gods Need Friends
🕑 Added 2025-08-04 23:27:39 +0000 UTCA/N -
This one should be fun to read xD
Enjoy <3
**
The moment I activated my newly gained skill, Pintre vanished from the mortal world and reappeared inside the throne room I had just shaped.
Wow… its entire body was pulled in? I assumed only the soul would be pulled in, or perhaps Pintre does not have the body at all. This creature might be formed entirely of divine energy and spirit…
Then I noticed that my manifestation, the image I had crafted, sat on the throne like a puppet left behind by its puppeteer. It was not exactly slumped on the throne, but there was absolutely nothing alive about it. So I quickly moved to take control and discovered that it was simpler than I’d expected. Just willing it to move was enough. The manifestation responded as if it had been waiting for me.
I was too impatient. I should’ve experimented with this place a little more before dragging Pintre in…
But there was no undoing it now. The creature was already within my divine realm, and bowing. Its hand remained extended, the cyan sphere still hovering above the palm. But here, in the dominion, the sphere felt different. Less oppressive. Less volatile.
More importantly, I could feel the connection with it.
Come to me.
I willed it and made my manifestation raise its hand. Normally, I wouldn’t risk such an open display. I would’ve done nothing unless I was completely certain it would work, just to eliminate the chances of open failure and preserve the mystery around me, to keep others guessing about what I could or could not do.
But Pintre was the weakest divine being I was ever likely to meet.
If there was anyone I could afford to fail in front of, it was him. Not even my believers. If it ever came to confrontation, I was confident I could subdue him. But if my believers lost their faith in me, then the foundation of everything I’d built would begin to collapse.
The sphere moved.
It floated gently toward my manifestation and stopped just short of making contact with its hand.
[You’ve gained 3.5 Divinity Points!]
3.5? Really? I was expecting at least ten…
For a moment, I felt disrespected. But then I remembered how desperately I had hoarded every single point just a few months ago, how I had counted them, fought for them, and missed on a few opportunities because I was too afraid to empty my divine energy reserves.
After reaching a thousand, my appetite had clearly grown. My hunger had increased.
For such a weak little deity, 3.5 must be a considerable amount.
It ate the fruit offered by my tribe. That alone told me something about its scale. It couldn’t be gaining much at all, ten points would probably be a stretch. If I was right, then this offering represented thirty-five percent of its total energy.
I’ll take it as a proper gesture of respect.
The thought felt natural for a moment but then it hit me.
Am I getting arrogant? This creature isn’t obligated to offer me anything, but it did. However small its offering is, it's still a gesture of goodwill…
But I quickly shook the thoughts off. If I wanted to have the entire forest as my territory, I needed to become the sovereign. I couldn’t afford to become a humble or forgiving god. Mercy or humility was not the pillar I would stand on. But justice… justice mattered. Pintre had offered something of value, and I had accepted it. That meant I had to give something in return. I would uphold the principle I had set for myself - equal exchange.
My manifestation leaned slightly forward. And as I spoke, I willed the voice to come not from my figure, but from every corner of the dominion itself. The walls, the mist, even the pillars. Every soundless inch of the realm spoke for me.
“I have received your offering.”
The words echoed through the throne room as the cyan sphere slowly shifted. Its glow deepened, fading into crimson, my color. The offering had been accepted. The power was now mine to wield.
“Pintre is grateful,” the creature said.
It can speak?
For some reason, I had assumed it wouldn’t be able to speak or at least not in a language I could understand. I wasn’t omniscient. Unless the language was what Velmoryns conversed in, I was not confident I could understand it. I was unable to read Elvish after all. As a lesser deity formed from raw spirit and aura, I had half expected its communication to be limited to gestures or perhaps symbols. But I had been wrong.
“What should Pintre call Him?” it asked, still kneeling, head bowed.
Its voice was soft, sonorous, smooth, almost musical. Yet beneath that softness was a low undercurrent, weighted and slow, like a man’s voice echoing from behind a distant wall. I couldn’t figure out its gender. I wasn’t even sure it had one.
And the way it spoke…
Its phrasing was simple. Too simple. Pintre wasn’t mindless, but its intelligence didn’t feel whole. Something about it remained undeveloped.
But rather than Pintre’s intelligence, I was more troubled by the question it had asked.
I should not reveal my true name; that much is obvious. But then, what should I give it?
The God of Velmoryn, as my title declared? High Father, as my believers called me? Or should I forge something new, something striking, something that might one day shape the future myths?
I considered it. Then cast the idea aside.
I wasn’t ready to risk shaping a name for myself yet. Not without knowing what that would mean. Names had weight in this world. And I wasn’t interested in binding myself by accident.
“You may call me Velmoryn God,” I said at last.
My voice, once again, did not come from the figure on the throne. It came from everywhere at once. I chose to speak not as a man, but as the space Pintre stood within.
“Pintre is grateful,” it repeated, withdrawing its hand at last, though its eyes still did not rise from the floor.
“Why did you seek My presence?”
As I spoke, I tested something new.
From my seat within the dense fog that hung between the pillars, I moved - slowly rising, crossing the space in silence, then hovering above the hall. The mist veiled my form entirely. I wanted to see if Pintre would notice. Would it look up? Would it sense the truth of where I was?
“Pintre was ordered to find the new god of the forest,” it said, voice faltering a little, almost complaining. “Pintre is afraid. Pintre does not want to anger Velmoryn God.”
Its head tilted upward slightly, but it still did not look toward the throne. And it certainly didn’t look toward me.
It seemed Pintre couldn’t sense me. Or perhaps it could, and was simply too afraid to show it. Either way, I needed to move this conversation forward, though I still wasn’t sure what I was supposed to say next.
This wasn’t how I had imagined our interaction would go; I had expected curiosity, perhaps even arrogance - some divine creature swollen with its own sense of importance, attempting to act as if it were on equal footing, or at least pretending to be stronger than it truly was. But Pintre didn’t act like that. It didn’t act like a deity at all.
Rather than a powerful spirit, guardian of the forest, Pintre looked pitiful. Maybe it was my presence that broke its posture, maybe the weight of my realm was enough to make it submit, but I couldn’t help the impression it gave - a creature that hopped around my settlement, peeking through windows, eating from the sacred bowl like a starving animal, and now knelt on my floor pleading like a child caught stealing. It didn’t inspire respect. It inspired pity.
No, Verde. Don’t lower your guard. Even if this is Pintre’s true nature, even if it isn’t faking, I have to remain the same cold and calculating.
“Who ordered you to request entry into My kingdom?” I chose to call it ‘you’ instead of ‘You’. I wanted to see how it would react when I addressed it as a lesser being.
“Mother ordered Pintre… many winterses ago,” it said, the words coming slowly, haltingly, its speech awkward. “Mother said Velmoryn God is kind… and reward Pintre… when Pintre deliver the mess…”
The sentence broke mid-word. Pintre gagged. Its body twitched suddenly, and the half-eaten fruit dropped with a dull, wet sound onto the floor of my dominion.
It panicked.
It lunged down, stuffed the fruit into its mouth, and swallowed hard before looking up again, its golden eyes wide with fear.
“Pintre is scared. God does not punish Pintre…”
I let the silence stretch for a beat, then shifted the conversation back to what mattered.
“What were you supposed to deliver?”
The creature froze, straightened slightly, and then, with a strange tension running through its frame, it began convulsing. Its body shuddered like a cat attempting to rid itself of something caught deep in its throat, and after several jerking attempts, it spat out a small, glowing orb.
I instantly recognized it.
A memory stone…
But unlike the ones I had seen through Avenor, this one gleamed with far greater intensity. It likely contained more memories than the other ones.
Wait, when Pintre said ‘Mother’, did it mean the Goddess? I must confirm this!
Without hesitation, I activated Guidance.
[Memory Stone]
An artifact used to store and preserve memories. The brightness of the stone reflects the amount of power used to imprint the memory. Brighter stones contain deeper or more vivid fragments.
The stored memory can be viewed only once; after that, the fragment vanishes. However, the stone itself remains intact and may be reused. Only one individual may witness each recorded memory.
It’s not safe to view this memory while Pintre is still within my realm. I’ll examine it once he’s gone.
I hadn’t forgotten what happened when I viewed the Goddess’ message through Avenor. If this one carried even more potent memory, and I experienced it directly rather than secondhand, then there was every chance it could affect me far more deeply. I wasn’t foolish enough to leave myself exposed, not even in the presence of something as submissive as Pintre appeared to be.
“I shall accept this fragment,” I said, my voice once again echoing from every inch of the dominion. “Is there something else you wish to tell Me?”
Even as I asked, my thoughts turned to whether I should allow the creature to leave or… make it mine.
“Pintre wants reward,” it said, voice shaking. “Pintre likes playing in forest. But beasts can’t see Pintre. Only two-legged beasts see Pintre… in winter. Pintre wants new Pintre…”
It took a moment to piece together the meaning. The creature’s head tilted upward, its glowing golden eyes fixed on the throne. My manifestation returned the stare, its gaze cold and unmoving, scarlet irises locked onto the lesser deity kneeling before it.
Is it asking me to make a mate for it?
I felt a flicker of amusement and something close to guilt. Not for what I had done. But for what I was about to do.
“Pintre… mortals will not be able to see you,” My voice softened slightly, the manifestation shifting to show faint understanding, a touch of compassion. “Whether they walk on two legs or four, you will remain unseen.”
“What? What that means?” Pintre flinched. “Pintre wants Pintre… a friend…”
Its voice cracked, trembling. It didn’t seem to be faking sadness. Whatever else Pintre might have been, in that moment, I was almost certain it was sincere.
“If you accept My mark, I could become your friend…”
I felt like a fraud the moment the words formed.
It wasn’t guilt that weighed on me though, at least not the kind that came from conscience. It was whether this actually qualified as equal exchange. Technically, I was giving Pintre what it asked for. But I was gaining far more.
Still…
It’s not my fault the deal favors me. And isn’t it better for Pintre to serve a strong god than spend its life stealing fruit from bowls just to barely survive?
As if it had heard my thoughts, Pintre nodded. Its eyes lit up, literally. Golden slits shimmered with emotion, and a smile, jagged and strange, stretched across its furry, deer-like face. For all its towering size and divine nature, its joy was painfully juvenile.
“He becomes Pintre’s friend?” it asked, voice shaking. “How Pintre receives His mark?”
Comments
DemiurgeMal
Verde manipulative little bastard. Lol
