I used to ask myself whether I was an evil individual. I was a god of life and death within a large universe, the sole decider over who lived and who died. Billions, trillions over the course of existence would come to me, begging me to let them live for a few moments more. While I would give them those precious moments, I would never give anything more. Mortals had to work towards immortality and few ever made it.
Was I condemning those mortals to their fate? Perhaps. Was it always by choice? No. Their bodies were broken. They simply could not go on any more.
When my universe finally perished, I was cast out, doomed to drift endlessly. I discovered though that I was not alone, there were oh so many more like me, deities with vast power yet left with nothing. I also discovered that these beings mostly came in three forms: the Corruptions, driven insane by endless hunger, ceaseless power; the Voidborns, beings born outside of universes, cold and angry that they could not create the way others could; and us, the Decay-Lords, deities no longer with homes.
The ties between these groups were never easy. Through no real faults of our own, the Decay-Lords were always targeted, forced to pick a side. Become a ravenous monster or become a being of nothingness. So the Decay-Lords sought sanctuary together, making tedious, awkward truces with others, just so we could keep our peace.
Deathven was our home. A paradise in a sea of emptiness. Others knew that we gathered there, but we were always left alone. Voidborns and Corruptions alike would wander by and wander in, but our truces were always upheld. No one was to ever be harmed in Deathven.
Of course, someone had to take advantage of our peace and honour.
You see, if you are not a Decay-Lord, you are not allowed any weapons inside Deathven. They would be confiscated, secured and locked away, then neatly delivered, sometimes with a bow, upon leaving Deathven.
But that means nothing if a being IS a weapon.
None of us expected a Voidborn to turn his body into a detonator, to cause himself to explode. In mere moments, and huge swathes of Deathven were no more. A cult of Voidborns had left us with a painful message, that we were not safe. Our treaties meant nothing to the Akronai, a group of entities that wanted nothing more than to see every Decay-Lord turned or destroyed.
Part of me wishes I had been present, to help save others less fortunate. As soon as news got out, wandering Decay-Lords flooded back home, often bringing allies with them, to try and put everything back together, but by then, it was too late. The damage had been done, the foundations had been ruined. We rebuilt Deathven. We had to, the Decay-Lords needed a home. We moved on.
Not completely though. Those who could would regularly return to the ruins of Deathven. Salvage efforts, despite what happened, persist. Sometimes we would find something alive among the ruins. Most of the time, we would just find things to take back home with us, to take back to our new home.
But ever since the Shattering, none of us have felt completely safe.