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Like vermin, they scurry. Snatching up little dribs and drabs of power, carting them around like their achievements are worth anything. As if the things they do carry any sort of meaning, have any sort of weight beyond the moment they perform them. Ridiculous. He could have swatted them the moment they drew near to his temple, or even the moment they so foolishly cracked the seal that Witch had spun around him.
But it had been so long since he had anything to play with. His master gave him toys, but his playthings lacked substance and will. There was no pleasure in breaking an empty vessel, of tearing apart an already dead thing. To do so was merely tedium. So, when something new drew near and knocked on the doors to his home, how could he turn them away?
They were curious little nits, he found, scrabbling to learn the truths of his prison and decipher the ways of his temple. Did they know the power he bowed before? Did they understand the ways in which they worshiped? He doubted they could comprehend anything he tried to teach them, but that didn’t mean he would stop.
Mites shaking the dust off of his temple, brushing past the frescoes of his victories, of his triumphs in the name of his god without stopping. Foolish little dead things, they were. Did they presume to challenge his throne? To stand before him and demand he fall?
His was the power that subjugated titans, that bent specie to his whim. He was the destroyer of realities, the conqueror of worlds. His blade had tasted the flesh and blood of gods and demons, of creatures much mightier than them. It was pitiful to see them lash out with their stolen powers and falter. They believed themselves to be strong, to be power, to be guardians.
He snarled at the word. Power is not a shield to cower behind, not a tool to fend off invasion. Power is to reshape reality as you see fit, to shatter the cosmos on a whim. Power is to start a xenocide lasting for thousands and thousands of years, to survive omnicide, to prove yourself worthy to the greatest of deities- to wound that which is untouchable.
He watched as they ran back and forth with the small treasures stored away, fending off the curious mindless drones responding to the intrusion. He could twitch a finger and drown them in thralls, could lean forward and erase them from reality, purge them from existence. With but a fraction of a fraction of his stockpile, he could ravage the whole system they claimed to protect and leave it void. He could do anything he wanted, but all he wanted was to sit back and watch.
Finally, they found their way to him. Little gnats circling around looking for blood to steal- impotent were they to his true nature. Still, he could at least allow them the farce of competency. Summoning a handful of attendants, he waited for them to build up enough power. They had to earn the ability to merely stand in his presence, to gain the strength and frequency not to be torn apart- though they hardly knew that’s what they were doing. Blind clumsy fools staggering about, working machines too far beyond their scope to even understand the mechanics of. They knew nothing and yet, for as pitiful as they were, he entertained their tenaciousness.
Finally, after an eternity of watching them scurry around and fail to find what they needed, even as he pushed them in the right directions, they had the fortitude to withstand his true might. He let them approach and laughed as they tried to hurt him. He didn’t draw his blade, didn’t engage. He just watched them run around in terror as he watched. They were going to die- this was certain. At any moment he could slay them all.
Then, the impossible. His amassed power, the great well of strength he built up was cut off. Chains snapped tight and choked his reach, hampered his grasp. These gnats had somehow rendered him weak- rendered him vulnerable. He drew, and he raged.
Flaring his power, his strength, he swiped at them and stalked them down. Their petty weapons, their puny shows of power he dismissed cut into him with boundless fury. These worms he pitied and amused himself with were hurting him; had somehow turned the tables on him and now struck.
Snakes in the grass, liars and thieves and charlatans- he angered and crushed them before him. They would not survive- would not defeat him! Alas, his eyes widened as his failsafe triggered and a new well of power was given to him. He channeled this new strength, focusing on the shackles to his might. If he could break the chains they imposed, free himself from their disgusting grasp, he could wipe them out in an instant. All he needed to was to flare the upended- the damage to his temple would be major, but he would survive. And he would tear their puny city apart. He would upend all of this system and carve their precious traveler into a gift for his witness. He just had to make it, to untangle the knots holding him down-
Just a little more-
He gasped as their attacks sunk harder and deeper and his strength waned. He was so close to victory, so near to success. He could taste their defeat, could smell the acrid tang of the upended- but it was not to be.
“Witness!” he cried, “Forgive me!”