Once again, I have been exposed, for I love yandere cults and I am not sorry. Thank you for your request!
For the longest time, you believed that you had been forgotten. Your temple was destroyed, people gone after hundreds of years of change in the world, and there was nothing left other than to sleep in an endless void for a small, provincial deity such as you. When you were important, you had served your community well, gained favors and sacrifices to stay strong and relevant. You brought down the rain and helped heal ailments. Night after night, you watched over your people, making sure nothing would harm them.
But you couldn't have been prepared for something even you couldn't stop.
Mainly other deities and the people they brought with them. In the search to expand their lands, new humans arrived at your sanctuary, refusing to believe in you. Their disrespect infuriated you, but when they brought a new deity along that guarded them, you had to realize you were but a small, provincial deity, and there were gods out there that outmatched you in every shape and form.
Your worshippers fought and stood their ground, and you did all you could to help them, no matter the toll it had on you. If you could fight, you would. If you could stand, you would. And if you could kneel, you would. But even begging for mercy did nothing as the other deities would not listen to someone who had sunken so much that he'd grovel before them. If your followers couldn't fight, they were killed, they fled, but they were hunted, and when only the priests remained, they were sacrificed on your altar to the new god of the region, robbing you of the last bit of power you had.
No tree would grow under your command, the clouds would not rain if you screamed at them, and your temple would not stop withering even though you had to watch it crumble and collapse bitterly. Your time as a guardian was over long before you could have prospered into a strong god with a grand city at your feet. You felt it in every limb and every strand of hair as your power drained, pulling you into the dark void of nothingness where forgotten deities slept. Even in those last moments of conscience, you thought about your people and nothing else. You failed them, and this eternal sleep plagued by the nightmare of their faces would be the punishment for it, cruel as it was.
From what you knew, you'd never wake up from it again. There was no temple, no scripts, no city left to remember you by, and no one would find and call upon your help ever again without even knowing your name. There was no sense of time or space in the void, just an endless, restless sleep for you, and yet, somehow, light returned to you when you least expected it, allowing you to open your eyes.
Unsure what happened, you looked around. You saw people chatting, standing in little groups, and wearing strange gowns you had never seen before. The place you woke up in, looked nothing like your temple, and yet, it was; you could feel it. The stone had your energy, and so did the air. Trees were rustling outside, and you heard laughter akin to that of children, their little feet tapping over the ground as they ran around playing.
Was this another dream? you wondered, unable to believe it was anything greater than a nightmare. It was almost normal. Home. But other than your usual nightmare, you could feel the shapes of your body again, a body you had lost when you were stripped of your powers. Your feet were unsteady, weak, but you could stand and even walk. Just a few steps from your altar, then you broke down, sinking to your knees before you were caught by hands reaching for you, supporting you.
Looking into the faces of the people around you, you didn't recognize them, and yet, somehow, they were familiar. It's been so long since you walked amongst mankind, you must have forgotten a lot, but they helped you up regardless of who you were and what you've been through, carrying you to a throne they erected for you, gave you their food and drinks, and waited on you hand and foot.
What kind of cruel dream was that, giving you back your powers just to strip them from you so cruelly later when it would turn out it was, in fact, just another nightmare? But the days passed, more feelings returning to your body, strength accumulating in a once lost and empty shell, your soul thriving as you were worshipped and cared for. Nursed back to your former self, you once again played with the kids, chatted with the elderly, and helped build a city. Things were too good to be true, but at least they were real this time, you confirmed.
Not every one of your people died. Some fled and escaped, had children, and they had children, and so on, and so forth. This generation had been hundreds of years in the making, but they came back stronger than before with new weapons and new knowledge. You tried to teach them how to build, how to hunt, but they had machines to do it for them now, armor, technology. It made you feel... useless.
Even so, you did your best to give them what they wanted. The new people grew their food differently than back in the day. But occasionally, they'd let you rain on their fields for a while before stopping you, thanking you with a forced smile. When they needed more wood to build, you raised trees for them so they could chop them off, and instead of healing them, they asked for your blessings on their medicine before swallowing it. But at least you were doing something, right?
The only thing that never changed was how much they worshipped you. Every day, on their knees, they'd bow their heads thanking you for efforts... you didn't make. You were overwhelmed with their gifts, countless every day, too much to consume them all, and appreciate the effort you were given. At first, you were overjoyed, but your feelings changed the less deserving you were of their worship. Only being worshipped and never doing much for it quickly began to bore you, very much so. You tried their suggestions, took humans to your bed to keep you company, and reveled in their drinks and food. But it didn't help. No matter how much you tried to enjoy the luxuries, it simply didn't change the feeling of uncomfortable boredom you had at the end of every day. No matter how many humans you allowed to amuse you, worship you, and tried to help, blessing them with what they wanted and demanded with greedy hands, nothing could still your boredom.
Your powers were growing, your fingers itching to use them now that your humans were mostly self-sufficient. But what else could you do while staying in favor of those that saved your life? Resurrected you from the void? You didn't want to go back. Never. They didn't need you, but you needed them regardless of whether they asked for your help. If you were to be forgotten again... no, you couldn't return to how you were before and lose them.
So you stayed quiet about your needs. Long enough so that people noticed the changes, your unhappiness. Even if you tried to be grateful and not worry the others, it wasn't long before one of your newly assigned priests came to you, voicing his concern. Your people loved you, regardless if they needed you or not, and didn't want to see you sad. Every day they'd bring you gifts, tried to please you with stories of your greatness, fearing you might not love them anymore. But you always reassured them, took the fear from their minds that you could feel anything but love for them. They'd happily go around to spread the message about their wonderful god loving all of them dearly.
Unbeknownst to you, you were fueling the fire.
But one day, you couldn't help it anymore and confessed, in a hushed voice, that you didn't feel useful anymore to them. That there was nothing, you could do to stop this nagging boredom, no matter how much they tried to please you. Your powers kept growing, itching and hurting you since you couldn't use them. The priest listened, patted your arm, and said he'd come up with something before leaving, sending you even more people for company that night, making sure you'd forget and relax in the arms of your beloved humans.
However, you awoke to an army of people filling your temple, weapons in hands and bowing their heads to you. It was nothing like before, where your people had been weaponless and begging for help. No, these people knew how to defend and attack on their own. And yet, they asked for you to lend them your power. Bless their weapons, soldiers, gears. Make them strong enough to conquer other nations, other people. All in your name. They were doing it all for you, so you could experience becoming a strong god again.
You hesitated, but a stupid, naive excitement won you over. You didn't realize how much of your power you gave those soldiers of yours. How little you restrained yourself to the point you physically felt pain from losing your strength. But, this time, you had been useful. Finally, you could do something for them. You gave them what they wanted, and they were overjoyed and loved you even more for it. They would go and expand your city, give you more to do, responsibilities, land, and people.
It was too exciting to stay home.
If only you had. You could have been spared from the slaughter, the screams, the blood. From watching your soldiers burn down anything and anyone that crossed their paths. All while shouting your name, claiming you as the god of all they destroyed with their heavenly weapons, like little angels of death no matter where they went.
This wasn't what you wanted. Even if you had been harmed and destroyed before, you watched as other deities sunk to their knees, begging for mercy, asking for your forgiveness. You've been there. You could feel their fear and pain as if it were your own, seeing their body lose shape and their sparks turn to ashes. You've been the small, provincial deity that lost everything. But not anymore. You were now a strong god, fed and supplied with worship and love. Now you were the reason everything went downhill.
And yet, your soldiers returned with success plastered on their faces. You scolded them, screamed what they thought they were doing, while they shrugged and said it was for the better. It can't be wrong; they did it for you.
It wasn't until one of the soldiers stepped forward, pointing his weapons at you, that you realized your existence's real meaning for those that collected here. Yes, they worshipped you. They loved you. But beneath all the heights, there were deep lows. You were their scapegoat. For better or for worse, you were there to take the blame and take responsibility for their actions that they didn't want to face. They didn't need you, but they knew how much you needed them. Using your names was easier than using another human they would have to kill every time something happened.
Their weapons hurt. When one hit you, for the first time in your whole existence, you felt what real pain was like. Your mental hurt had been bad enough, but this made you feel small. Very, very small. It meant that if you didn't do what they brought you here for, fulfill the roles they wanted you to, they never had any hesitations to harm you or send you back to the void you feared so much. They wanted your blessings, your powers, your unconditional love for them because, as a god, that's what you were supposed to do. All while, they would destroy, kill, and do whatever they wanted to benefit them in any way. You were just the puppet on their throne, someone to look up to and curse as they pleased, love and manipulate when needed.
But when you sank on your throne, looking at the many innocent-looking, merry people before you, you still couldn't bring yourself to hate them. Not when they made you what you were. When you were nothing without them. Even when your help and guidance were no longer needed, those were still your people, one way or another. Even when they threatened you, you were their guardian, their deity, perhaps until the end of time. The void had been a scary place, the nightmares hellish, plaguing you. You didn't want to lose these people and return to a place so devastating.
For the first time, you cried, big, heavy tears that they caught in giant chalices before climbing on your lap to coo and comfort you. You couldn't even push them away in fear of hurting them as they kissed your tear-stained cheeks, brushed their hands through your hair, and nestled their little faces in your chest like children searching for the comfort of their parent, your tears upsetting them more than they did you.
But they didn't know that for the second time in your life, you had failed them.
You were just a small, provincial god, but so had been the others that attacked you years before. Everyone always searched for the recognition of their people, doing whatever they could to make them happy, no matter the price they had to pay. The humans failed you long before any of you deities failed them, but you didn't understand that. Not when you only existed because of them, thanks to their greed, their envy, their pride. Their love.
And so, the nightmare continued in your golden throne, very much in the reality you never wanted.
