Work Text:
In a desolate Land, one that seemed to have been abandoned by God as well, there was a decaying village. All the crops inexplicably died, no matter the season, while heavy rains caused floods almost daily.
The inhabitants of the village had started to forget how it felt like to look up and see stars, for now all they could see were dark and threatening clouds, the warmth of the sun rays soon forgotten.
The situation was so absurd and ruinous that some children grew up without ever knowing what happiness felt like. Epidemics started spreading, some caused by spoiled food while others having rats as culprits.
The inhabitants didn't know the reason behind all the catastrophes that hit their poor village, and in a sense it was as if they had been cursed: each time a villager tried to leave that doomed Land, they always ended up dying mysteriously.
The fact that they lived in the middle of nowhere certainly didn't help.
Shamans started growing in numbers too, strange rituals getting performed under the pouring rain. No one knew what the purpose of these jackals was but, as the catastrophes kept growing in number, a general hysteria started to spread - as fast as a disease - until the «good villagers» decided to start an actual witch hunt against these shamans.
And just like that, the blood of dozens was added to all the already existing calamities.
«God was dead»
«God has abandoned us»
«God never existed»
To try and justify what was happening, many were the rumours that had spread, some more catastrophic than others. Soon enough, the village that used to be renowned as one full of devotees to the Divine, soon became a heathen one.
There used to be a church in the main plaza, one that counted many worshippers between the community. It was organic, it was loved, and everyone shared the profound faith in a supreme God.
However, as the months went by - and together with them their sanity, the Church began to crumble down, not only in the literal sense; in fact, many were the villagers that had abandoned all the hopes for religion.
After all, who would ever want to believe in a God that left them to die?
And in truth they were frightened by the destructive nature of the Divine, the possibility of denying its existence more appealing than accepting it in all of its fury.
However, Faith is part of human nature and no matter how much one tries to suppress it: when difficult times arrived, a more deranged version of Faith was going to throw them into fanaticism, until parts of their own being were going to be forgotten.
On a particularly tempestuous day, when hope had already succumbed to dejection, a strange man appeared on the main road of the village. He wore a long cape that covered all of his clothes, leaving only his head visible.
And what a sight it was! Impetuous horns that seemed to stretch up to the sky... a tall figure that casted a long shadow everywhere he went... a pair of violent eyes that scrutinized everything;
It didn't take a shaman to know that a Divinity had appeared.
The man... no! The God refused to say his name, letting the villagers refer to him just as «the helper». He wore a sympathetic look on his face at all times, one that was full of pity and understanding.
As expected, the Divinity had been welcomed quite harshly, incredulous looks turning into scornful ones as everyone slowly realized who they were dealing with.
At first, the villagers had run back to their homes, frightened by the sight of someone who looked to be a Devil; there wasn't a single person that didn't connect that fateful arrival to the Apocalypse. However, as the mysterious creature made all the clouds disappear with a simple snap of his fingers, a long lost flame had lit up in the villager's hearts.
Because hope springs eternal.
Because no one wanted to accept a meaningless life.
The supreme entity never elaborated on his origins, never letting people know his thoughts.
Not the villagers cared about such frivolous details: the only thing that they deemed to be of any importance was how many things that entity could fix. The nameless divinity soon proved his worth - and omnipotence - by indulging the village with some miracles: not only he made large fields of crops grow just by raising his hands, but he also cured the sick and created new sources of freshwater.
He built houses where debris and ruins used to be, brought peace in the village by bringing together shamans and infidels: there wasn't any need for any Church, not when the Divine was there with them.
And even when bitter villagers - who had lost too much - threw rocks at him, faulting him for all the catastrophes that had happened, the mysterious entity just apologetically bowed down.
He became a hero, venerated and loved by everyone: the new hope of humanity. The children grew up healthier than before, while farmers and fishers easily provided food to their families.
Society had started to move forward again, and everyone was much happier than before.
And everything seemed perfect just like that, men and women peacefully working side by side with the nameless entity. However, as new tunes of peace arrived, the villagers had more time to think and to question life, continuous questions filling their thoughts.
They could never understand why all those catastrophes had happened to them, exactly how they couldn't explain the sudden appearance of the «helper».
At some point, some villagers had elaborated the theory that their previous God had suddenly disappeared, maybe fading away together with the church. And with that, many started to think of building another place of worship for their newly found God, who had been born in a storm to help them build a new Empire.
The theory had been welcomed in the community so well that one ever questioned the entity, never taking into account his aspect, which clearly resembled a demon.
Was it a form of delusion? Was it madness? Wasn't it part of human nature to believe in the absurd rather than factuality?
"You who graced us with hope are going to be venerated. Tell us, where would you like to see your Church be erected?"
At some point the village chief had asked the entity - his God. And once again, it seemed like all the cynicism, all the skepticism, had been an act, a facade; after all, when the chance to experience Faith one more time had been given to them, there hadn't been one single villager to complain.
"There is no need for a church," the apparent God had replied, maybe too aware of his position to accept such an offer.
"A God needs a home between us mortals."
However, the chief had insisted - how could he not? - and his words had felt like a knife piercing through the entity's heart.
"I am no God, please. I am merely a sinner," he had said, his voice sounding almost desperate, as if calling him a God was a blasphemy.
And maybe the chief would have understood that particular thing if only he had tried to listen - to care - ... but he just couldn't, not when his village had suffered so much.
It was better to misinterpret the reply he had received, to twist it in such a way that would have saved him from the rotten seed of doubt.
"Then God is dead. A Land of sinners such as us is more than happy to welcome you between us, oh our great Lord."
A Devil that refused to fulfill the role he had been given by nature and a village that wasn't ready to accept the cruelty of their real God; illusions that seemed to work in symbiosis.
Back then, the entity just closed his eyes and walked away, off to do more good deeds in what was an attempt to mask his tendency to destruction.
Because he indeed was a Devil, one that had never learnt how to stay in his lane.
And the whole village had followed him, ready to serve him to the very extreme end, faking ignorance when interrogated about the actual identity of their new God.
After all, it was better to live in that mutual lie with the greatest and yet most miserable Sinner than to accept and confront the fear of the actual Divine.
Even if disaster awaited them because of it.
Even as new clouds threatened the sun.