Divine Heresy Part 2: My attempt at science fiction.

Divine Heresy Chapter 4:

Mirror Image
1989 Current Age

Inside the maze of halls with his eyes closed, following a path stored in memory, Set remembered an official that Seraphat’s ancestor had ushered into an audience chamber centuries earlier. Set knew his destination but avoided calling it into his conscious mind. The man was an envoy for a Company seeking to colonize planets in the Centurai system. Set had rejected five of their petitions and warned that he would only tolerate one more meeting. Desperate to have Set convince the other Gods, they invested in a clone and wrote a unique genome for it. The group spent many million Hekats training him in every conceivable subject, including history and culture. Unfortunately, the envoy had never left the building of his birth. After greeting the God in a polite manner, he immediately asked about the habit of giving the planets Aegyptian names. His expensive training had referred to the Immortal only as ‘Lord of Set’. Before the Second Inquisition, most of the Gods were still imagined to be kind rulers. Set laughed and said, “You are indeed confused about the nature of reality. In each case the name, colony and deity are one and alike. No distinction between the ‘us’ is possible.” He killed the man personally and placed a moratorium on discussing interstellar settlements. The message informing the colonization group of its banned status explained that even an ideal sycophant and ten billion kilometers of empty space could not protect a heretic from the Gods. This event inspired Set to create a training program and restrict the practice of clones, which had been emulated throughout the Imperium in a limited form. As the wisest among the Immortals, his will was Sacrosanctus to the others.

When he opened his eyes, Set had arrived at his personal research center. It was a gratuitously large laboratory imported as a whole from the previous royal palace, containing experiments abandoned centuries ago. This had been the only place Set could enjoy the memories of his past lives. Now the room was tainted by his renewed presence.

The lab had a steel door leading to a circular balcony. It was purposely designed to hang over the Cavern of the Night, allowing Set to take measurements without leaving the building. The shield wall kept out the worst of the dust storms, but the Immortal enjoyed having a gentle breeze blow through his quarters. The Hadron field was modified at great expense to suit this simple need. The Mirror stood on the balcony, waiting. Set had not seen him in over a year. It was almost perfect. Set focused on perceiving the timestream, preparing to make his first real choice as God. Always before the Immortal had trusted his training and instinct. The role of Set was to manifest a result, not conform or interact with the passage of space and matter. He turned whim into law and the laws became tradition. Tradition was the only thing Set feared, because even a God could not change patterns without facing the repercussions. However, he knew relying too heavily on any past, real or imagined, could lead to a parasite mentality. Ancient Tarots banned by his predecessors had a card for this concept, the Towers. Any truth located in the present becomes unimportant when futures appear nemetic, crystallized to established orders. When humans believe in myth they lose the chance to dominate the present. Set considered the horrors he could unleash with a single misstep in either direction. The Immortal decided not to presume a decision was settled and let his Mirror break the silence.
“This desert disgusts me.”

Set almost laughed. He had once told Seraphat the greatest gift to give a God is surprise. This opening was unexpected, but Set followed the lead. “We need the desert. Our planet’s entire energy supply is located in Cavern Noctis.” Set gestured at a cloud of fog visible beneath the balcony. Hydrogen mist curled and rose from the ravine as the enormous temperature changes of the desert night released the gases. The Sun’s heat caused the ice to contract during daylight, the pressure protecting it from melting. “If we didn’t maintain a desert around this site for a hundred kilometer, we would lose the Deuterium.”

“I though you despised the Journeymen and their influence on your Planet.” The mirror placed a particular emphasis on the word ‘your’. Bitter and resentful, but subtle tones hinting at a passive, unanswerable challenge. Salamis was an inept teacher, but time would tell. This one might not be sufficient to complete the vision. Set wanted to test him further before making a final choice.

“The mechanics are a relic. They never shaped anything to match our inventions. The real danger is refusing to let them trade. More important is whether you know why UNITV exists.”

The boy scoffed. “Do you think I’m stupid? They continue the holy mission for our brethren. Except you, of course. The Immortal Set is supposed to spend his life training the replacement. That was your holy mission.”
Set sighed wearily. “This is to be expected. I discovered the reality myself years before this point. You are what I chose to create, remaining on the surface and yet stuck in a cave. No. UNITV does not simply aid the Nine Immortals. Modern Journeyman transports are equipped with sufficient technology for that. The holy mission is acceptance of a sacred task, the protection of a secret word. Not even the priests know the truth of our blood. Did you read the
histories I sent?”

“No. I’m sick of learning from books. You tell me.”

This one was so far from where he should be at this stage, Set momentarily reconsidered his calculations. He was too young for the Passing. The smallest mistake here could become a fatal infection that would breed unimaginable pain. The Lord of Set is order. Order requires justice, the payment of debts. The only role of God is to decide when humans die. He decided to place his Mirror in submission and self-doubt. That would limit his future options. Set had to take the offensive if he ever hoped to destroy himself.

“How can you hope to be me without knowing who I am? If you had read Satyrus, you would know the humans lack a collective defining trait. Each person is completely unique. They are capable of, no, forced to decide between a concept and any logical opposite. Examining their selections is impossible, because our first Ancestor learned that foreknowledge of a result would contradict the very act of decision. The process is complicated, and frankly I’ve always been a little amazed humans could synthesize it into a coherent consciousness at all. My point is that despite the infinite flaws and differences that divide them, the mortals share a single fate. They will live, and they will die. After becoming a God we developed Alkhemic symbols that proved the connection between this certain knowledge and the choice. The study of society meant nothing until we converted it to numbers. The parallels with quantum mechanics are stunning. This universe operates on the observer effect. Discovering a motivation for choice meant we could never understand the result itself. Even in our case, we are forced to rely on an inaccurate Haruspex. So Set unFragmented created a training method to ensure the Immortals would reach the peak potential of every desirable trait. UNITV handles the process for those Gods less inclined to mind details. But even my method has not reached perfection. There have been failures.”
“Failures? What do you mean by unFragmented? Answer me!”

Set felt his mouth begin to open and conquered the impulse to obey. Despite himself, Set was impressed. “The priests have been teaching you voice.”

“Someone had to. You’ve been ignoring the schedule since I reached manhood.”

“That’s precisely my point. Manhood. Humanity. Satyrus forgot the only aspect common to everyone: A basic set of ingrained commands that rule their lives. Genetic markers to determine everything about an individual, except the choices they can make. Acid chains in the nucleus of cells that allow them to...”

The Mirror interrupted, “Enough. I’m done with your word games.” Set noticed his scion was moving nearer, hand twitching almost unnoticeably toward a folded belt. The clone stepped forward and repeated itself, “I am not a fool: You can’t distract me. Such weak methods are pathetic for a God. I see through this deception. After you die, I’m going to burn your body and take the sample from myself. I will destroy your eternal memory, even while conquering the System in your name.”

Set sought peace in the desert night. “I know. We see the same vision. But you interpret the results of a choice, which not even the original Set could fully encompass. And you miss the cause entirely.” He had designed a special reflector for the balcony’s silk awning, to alter the path of the photons released from the dome above. Set felt uncomfortable without an infinite space of stars. He also changed the religious schedule to ensure any festivals that required his attendance took place at night. It was imperative that he could locate the threats to his Holy Path. Tonight Earth was moving through the Tenth Sword: A great prince would fall. “Very well. No more games. The truth is that you are not human. Not even a copy of man. You may have their appearance and form, but we both lack the...let’s just say the price of Immortality was altering the way we inherited genes from the original. Any khemist who examined your body would immediately notice the nucleus of every cell is completely empty.”

Set’s clone stepped back, eyes wide. His hand moved to his face unconsciously, temporarily setting aside the plan. Set was satisfied at this outcome and continued, “Haven’t you ever wondered why we banned heritage clones? People began to ask why our genes weren’t breaking down as well. This was the secret mystery of the Elder cult. The Fragmentation was neither the time of Tyrhenneus nor the ensuing chaos after our enshrinement. It is the Nine’s method of metamorphosis into Gods. When the public discovered we were not complete mirrors of the divine, they revolted. The others subdued them because this was our sacred promise. Order. I made the decision to keep the secret by including the term in Official Histories, albeit in name only. The First Inquisition took a century to destroy that information and renewed the drive to colonize. We wanted to start over in a manner that could be controlled. Normally the schedule calls for me to share this years ago, to prevent an uncomfortable Passing. Such as this awkward scene.”
The mirror took a step toward his aged reflection. “I am the image of the God Set!”

Set looked away, moving to the balcony. Nothing in his words or actions betrayed a trace of emotion. “I’m afraid not. You are a mutated version of something that once neared an imagined ideal. And barely that now. Tell me, do you dream?”
“What?” Set could tell his question had upset the clone’s mental calm more than the revelation of his identity as a holy monster. There was no correct answer to this question. The boy was trapped. The Mirror began pacing angrily, considering his treatment at the hands of Set. Excellent. His rage was hot; it would be a decisive weakness. A Deity defined by reason must never show emotions, even if he can feel them. The boy had stopped walking. “I feel only our true potential. I can choose. Your betrayal failed to remove my ambition.”

Set turned completely and placed his arms on the balcony. The desert was so quiet. “That was never my goal. An unnecessary byproduct of leaving you in the hands of the Collegia Pontifex, I suppose. Priests are all born with a hidden desire for Aristocracy. God might fill their minds but they secretly view their office as a stylized ownership. My purpose in ignoring you was something else entirely.”

“Then what?” Set heard a rustle of cloth, and his Mirror stepped closer. “I wanted you to hate me.”

The answer’s honesty shocked the clone. For a time he felt nothing. Then the awful importance of the statement washed over him, and he almost dropped the knife. The contradictions were terrifying. “Liar. This is a trick. I am free from emotion. These attempts to break me only harden my resolve. Your turn was wasted in the desert, crying for their lost humanity. You cared nothing for me!"

Ignoring the clone’s slow approach of his unguarded back, Set replied, “Should I have pity for a God? My loss is yours as well. Consider that over a hundred of us have progressed since the unFragmented Set. If the result of our effort is this moment of shared abomination, then maybe we are exactly the same. The Immortals spent countless lives building a gate around humanity to defend against wolves, only to find the predator inside trapped among the sheep. Our greatest success is that we have not exterminated humanity.”

The Mirror moved closer and used a tone that signified menace. He stopped two paces away, thinking of the differences in how he imagined this moment. Salamis had said there would be a fight. “My success depends on this action. What kind of God are you? If there were any doubts before, consider them gone. Those mistakes are not mine. You failed!” His anger echoed across the sand. Set answered softly, speaking into the dunes.

“Did I? It’s hard to read the skies tonight. My sight inside is clouded by the presence of this station. But either way, the deed is done. The chain breaks with me.” Set turned away from the balcony and the boy saw dark red covering his father’s arms and neck. He was holding the same knife as the boy, a silver-titanium alloy with electrum gold inlays. The scene on the hilt was from an Aegyptian myth of the God who ate his children. A blade forged for a single kill, used twice. Set had carefully slit his wrists and stabbed himself deep in the chest. Both mirror and image dropped their knives simultaneously. The clone stepped forward, hand reaching to his reflection. The Immortal tried to speak but blood poured from his mouth instead. Set fell backwards over the railing, down through the mist and into the cave of unending night. Hours passed before the Chief Priest dared enter the personal quarters of God. The Mirror had promised to call as soon as he finished. Salamis saw him kneeling on the balcony. Still staring out into his desert, the solitary figure wiped away his tears. The young man focused, eyes closed, and stopped his body from trembling.

The Pontifex Maximus stepped outside and smiled serenely. The sacred task was complete. Seeing the stained knife on the ground, he bent to pick it up. “This will do.”

“STOP!” The awful command of the voice hit the priest, who froze while swallowing and nearly choked. The student had never demonstrated this level of control in training. It seemed the Passing had been beneficial, after all.

Set stood. He showed no sign of the remorse and confusion he felt. “I am no longer the Mirror. We are the Image itself. Leave the blade. Our progress will continue in the traditional room. The chain is complete.”

The Pontifex dropped to his hands and knees, groveling before his new master. “As you command, my eternal Lord. Remember, however, I am ever your most loyal servant. I serve no other. Will you be taking the drugs he denied you?

“In a few years, when this body looks older." Set replied. "Time is the only enemy now.”

“And the body?”

Set returned to the balcony and stared into the curling mist. “Gone. Leave me to think. We have a great deal of blasphemy to reverse.”

Salamis bowed and backed away, closing the doors. Walking through the corridors he began to sing to himself, a song he learned as a child from the previous God. Even the guards dared not touch him; they served Set and the Passing was known. He laughed out loud, considering the concept of a dead Immortal. The Pontifex had expected some guilt for his role, but he was experiencing only elation. In a place where mortals walk alongside Gods, Salamis knew monotheism was the only heresy.

    Divine Heresy Chapter 5:  

The Inquisition

The following is a record of the final Interrogation of the banned poet Satyrus, convicted of engaging in the Elder Heresy and Sentenced to Death, Current Age 1500.

Prime Inquisitor: The Immortal Serapis has ordered me to inform you that the date of your execution is set. Your Malus will be exonerated at noon tomorrow.

Satyrus: Thank you. Is that all?

PI: I must admit your response surprises me. Does it concern you this life will end in sixteen hours?

S: Should it? I don’t see why. My words will live on.

PI: Every one of your histories is already burnt. This heresy will die with you.

S: Unlikely; I was not the first down the path. My books simply spread further than others. But if that’s true, why are you here? Has the undying Serapis sent you to record my last words?

PI: The Council of Sol Deios has ordered a second Inquisition. Your death will herald a new period of Reformation within the Imperium. The old patterns will finally be annihilated. I am here because the Immortal Serapis wishes to know the motivation for your heresy.

S: So your God has a potent sense of irony. Let him ask me himself.

PI: My tolerance extends only so far. I am not here for your amusement. You can die slowly, mercilessly now, or painlessly tomorrow. I’ll ask again. What was your motive to lies about the Gods?

S: A historian does not lie. His job is to report the facts.

PI: Facts need to be interpreted. The Inquisition does not dispute your facts. We are punishing your interpretations, particularly your synthesis of the Fragmentation. When did you first believe that the Gods were an imitation of the pagan pantheons?

S: When I learned the real aftermath of the Siege of Cairo. All human knowledge until that point was consolidated in one city. That which the Elder deems useless, he destroys. But why explain a life that has already ended? I would like to speak instead of my historical hypothesis.

PI: The Immortal Serapis said you would try this. Continue.

S: I will speak only because the past can be preserved in a single word. For instance, do you
know the origin and meaning of my name?

PI: I only care about your reasons for this suicide.

S: In my case, a history and the reason for it are the same. Now, as for Satyrus? PI: I assumed it referred to the pagan God Saturn.

S: Not at all. My name is derived from the Greek Satyr plays. They were gone even before the Siege of Cairo, when Tyrhenneus burnt the Library at Alexandria. Only one Satyr play remained extant when the Nine Immortals were born. They destroyed it after they executed the Elder God, because it mentioned the religion of ancient Aegyptos. The Nine Saviors could not let such damaging information spread. Thus, the First Inquisition. I am honored to be the cause of the Second. You have ensured my Immortality.

PI: Now I see why you are being executed. You are a terribly attractive virus.

S: Ahh, the faulty logic of a religious fanatic. A Pontifex cannot see how little risk I actually pose to the Immortals. The initiated can only safely be allowed a small view of the Elder cult without realizing their role in it. To your tyrants, ideas are corrosive, not words or even myself. And since they cannot kill the reason for my history, you attempt to strike at the source. But I am not the source.

PI: Regardless. Your cancer cannot be allowed to infect the Empire. This heresy ends here. S: Perhaps. That was the key aspect of the Satyrs. They were unreliable. I will explain my
history, on the condition that you not interrupt again.

PI: That won’t be necessary. The specifics of your heresy are well-documented.

S: I’m glad my words will be preserved. Maybe some future god will read them aloud as a lesson in killing ideas.

PI: The Immortal Serapis only wanted to know your opinion of the human past, so he could better understand their condition.

S: ‘Their’ condition? Has the Inquisition become an aspect of the Divine? Will you be preparing your own or will UNITV provide them? Humanity is in for a difficult few mille if you’re the best candidate for Immortality available.

PI: Silence, Heretic. I can listen no more. The schedule for your execution has been advanced.

S: To when? And on whose authority?

PI: The choice was yours, but the authority rests with the Gods. Earlier today you were fed a meal laced with mycotoxin nanotransmitters. The Immortal Serapis has read your heresy and decided to key the machines’ release trigger to a certain phrase. The one word you used most often in your histories; humanity. But I did make you a promise in the name of the Gods. It will be painless.

S: Then your god has a sense of humor as well. Good night, Inquisitor. Give my regards to the Abomination.

Divine Heresy Chapter 6:

Ten Years After the Passing
2000 Current Age

Set had trained his mind to the point that he could block memories from the past. As a child, he usually forced acolytes to perform the mundane tasks of everyday life. Now an adult by any standard, Set realized the source of his flaws but still had no idea how to confront it. He could only ignore the problem at present. He was entering the upper atmosphere of his sister’s planet, a woman he met twice. Isis resembled a golden Elysia from above but the air was still thick with heavy gasses and acid clouds. Set adjusted his angle of descent to a calmer pace and decelerated the small ship. The other pilot spoke nervously. The Immortal was operating the craft alone but his mind held documents, production records, and intelligence reports. He specifically ordered it not to speak or touch anything. Set felt anger that his servant would disobey.

“Do you want me to adjust the entry rate or calculate the thrust, my Lord?”
Set considered his options. This man could die without any immediate effect, but he might need a skilled pilot later; he was scared of re-entering space. What would the real Set do in this situation, he wondered. Never waste talent. Rule through honor. Honor requires discipline and humiliation. Destroy him from within.

“Do you want to be me?”

The Pilot immediately sensed the danger. They were alone, and knew there would be no consequence for this murder. Set had not even bothered to learn his name.

“Forgive me, Immortal One. My words were not insolence but submission. I meant only to serve you effectively. I will not speak.”
Set smiled. “Thank you. What was your name again?”

The man opened his mouth then shut it again tightly, chipping his canine tooth. He erupted into a cold sweat and stared straight ahead, silent. Set laughed.

“I like you, Paul. You are quick. After seeing a small part of my pain, perhaps now you will indulge me in this little distraction.”

The man nodded. Their small craft entered the lower stratosphere and the turbulence stopped. Except for Isis, night cloaked this side of the planet. The landing pad was illuminated in a gaudy fashion. Isis was vain, though not the real concern; Set was almost sick at the idea of three weeks of fawning supplicants and meaningless diplomatic negotiations. Nothing would change as a result of this meeting. There were no heresies to eradicate, no more insurrections to confront. He had never considered the possibility that living as a God was more tedious than being the Mirror. Nothing prepared him for this boredom. At least in the tower he was free. Set had grown to realize the intoxication his mortal Priests associated with control was actually an early stage of the suffocation that comes with absolute power. He nodded to the pilot, who reached for the message panel and sent a greeting to air control. Set was pleased with the choice not to kill his only guard. It may prove useful somehow. The shield dome flashed down as Set dropped the craft into an empty spot near the hanger. She was beautiful, as always.

“Welcome to Isis, finally. It’s a shame we needed to call the Council of the Sun for you to leave your cage. I think you two will love my station, or else find love somewhere here.”

Set embraced her quickly, then backed away to a polite distance. “There was no pressure change when the shield opened. How did you do that?"

“We can talk about it later. Your lodgings are the best, even better than mine. I wanted to ensure you come back. Now, we’re just waiting for Anubis and Horus and then everything starts. We’ve prepared rooms for you and your pilot...what was your name, dear?”

Set turned his back and began to walk toward the hanger. He was slightly embarrassed, but could not admit a mistake so early. Paul took the hint and coughed, saying, “Forgive me, Lady Isis. It was shocking to meet a woman of your grace and bearing. I am Paul Asklepios, Centurion in the Royal Air.” The man was swallowing blood but had the intelligence not to bow and initiate formalities. Paul simply stepped mutely behind Set. Isis caught up with them, took the lead, and broke the silence.

“Actually, the pressure does drop for a short time, but not even at a level that machines can read. We flood the dome with breathable air at the same speed that it gets sucked out. Every visitor helps oxygenate the planet, one ship at a time.” She walked onto a ramp and sped down into the depths of Venus. The other two followed suit.

Set examined his surroundings, calculating the depth and strength of the structures. He cursed his intelligence agents and reminded himself to remove their bloodlines from service. No one told him the city was underground. The halls would only hold ten men side by side and no mechanical units over ten pes. He wondered if the air jets could be used as a defensive weapon. Set noticed the texture of the walls and almost gasped at the sight of elemental magnetar, unbreakable and worth more than platinum. He almost considered holding his plans until he discovered the source. “So why even have the dome then? You would need to pipe the gas in at twenty thousand kilometers per second. It’s a waste of energy, since that much air on a planet this size is like spraying water into a hurricane.”

Isis increased her pace. She had met the previous Set many times, and this was not what she expected. “Well the dome is for protection, otherwise Isis would be all dirt and holes. I wanted a few hundred thousand acres for ceremonies, farming, and just to keep my people and mind sane. Humans spend most of their life in boxes, although for some reason that never becomes obvious until you try it underground. And the wasted air is just a delivery mechanism. We have jets outside the field designed to spray a cocktail of heavy earth metals as the air rushes out. The main reason my Alkhemists can’t control the environment is the high acid content of the atmosphere. Even the storms and elemental irregularities are manageable if you counter the basic imbalance. Believe it or not, the dome helps with that too. Anyway, we’ve been doing it for five hundred years. The air is almost breathable. Then we just open the top and let in the Sun. The planet will bear our name, and I will be complete. If only I could live long enough to see...”

Set ignored her and asked himself what her vapid demeanor meant. It was a mistake not to meet the others in person before moving. According to Set’s histories, her intuitive ability came from a clear vision into human choice. Isis was the only Philosophos among the original Nine. Her skills were another unknown factor. Too many variables make the equation impossible to solve. Set began to lose control of his mask and turned to Paul. “So just the parks are the only above ground?” Whores, temple prostitutes, filthy orgies dedicated the pagan goddess of degenerate sex. Clearing his head, Set tried to continue in a friendly tone.

“I suppose everyone needs a release. My people are relatively free. We don’t have a problem with antisocial pathologies. I restricted access to the Cavern Noctis to protect the ice.” His spies had never left the garden. Set was not sure what seemed funnier at that moment. The weakness of his information network, or the fact that he was going to kill their families. He noticed Isis staring at his odd expression. “I was just thinking that we could have UNITV send you a few hundred thousand kilos of oxygen, hydrogen and nitrogen from the Cavern. Ten shiploads would change the atmosphere of your planet faster than a million tourists.” He laughed, as did Paul. Paul’s manhood hid his insincerity. Useful, indeed.

Isis appeared satisfied. Maybe she had been wrong about Set. They were not known for generosity. “That would be wonderful. No, it would be perfect.” The belt stopped. The walls were still magnetar, although they had traveled several kilometers. “Paul, this is your room. Right across the hall from your Lord. The festivities begin at dawn tomorrow.” Set thanked her, and Isis excused herself. Paul looked at his Master and bowed deeply. Blood dripped from his mouth as he leaned inward. They both entered their rooms without exchanging a word.

Set momentarily paused, feeling a sense of regret about finally visiting this beautiful island. He did not repress the emotion, rather he tried to enjoy and remember the fleeting sensation. In a short time, everyone on this planet would be dead. He even allowed himself a pang of remorse for the loss of a loyal slave like Paul. Appearances were important to Set so he supposed the Image should be maintained, at least for the sake of his Mirrors. As he suspected, this meeting changed nothing. History is always written by the survivor.

  Divine Heresy Chapter 7:  

Satyric Myths, Introduction to Volume Six: On Tyranny

It has often been noted that, given humanity’s current situation, the continuation of my craft is unnecessary. Similar opinions can be lumped together under the title ‘The Irony of History in an anti-Historical Age’. In other words, why place a value on dead civilizations if the present and future will be the same? My enemies would say these poems attack the Gods simply by existing. I would respond that humanity still has much to learn from them. Do I, in my official post, propose the rise of the Immortals should mark the end of History? Of course not. First, it is the realm of poets alone to test traditions and expose the underlying basis of human knowledge.

That job remains incomplete. Second, my critics apparently believe the Imperium has always been a fixed entity. This is plainly not the case. The patterns of government, society and life shifted drastically after the Inquisition, along with the attitude of the Immortals. Our new monolithic humanity arose not from policy or genocide but from the annihilation of even theoretical resistance to the regime. People do not change. The Gods merely eliminated inconvenient concepts like Libertas and Civitas. These archaic virtues arrogantly presumed that man, not Immortal, stood at the center of creation. As a result we have become singular, dependent, and indivisible, just as the Gods intended. Weakness is a relative term, you see. They stripped from individuals the ability to advance, obliterating bloodlines, races, even languages that posed a threat to the Dominate.

The sole example against my theory is the Historical usage of Fragmentation. The Undying Set knew such a powerful word could never be hidden, except in plain sight. So the Inquisition transmuted the period of conflict into the Holy Mission against a heretical demigod. In reality the Immortals represent a continuation of Tyrhenneus, not the original Nine. By choosing to alter the past, Set perfected a weapon developed by Imperators since the beginning of
civilization. Every pre-Concordata society had two competing Histories. Maintaining the state required a narrative of warfare, victory, and development; concrete signs of progress to appease the masses. On the other hand, religion emphasized submission in order to gain an eternal reward. Strong nations were connected and preserved by elements of both systems. While these separate styles had mutual characteristics, for instance a reliance on Divine approval, you must never confuse them. The two are more diametrically opposed than potential and kinetic energy. The inherent conflict became obvious when aristocracies tried to legitimize a dual position into actual control. As the saying goes, two hands can hold but one idea. Combining this type of contradiction is necessarily dangerous, although the Pharaohs managed to find a balance. However, it should be stated that the Aegyptians were not destroyed until the Elder God turned their own illogical methods against them.

For good or evil, the Undying Set completed and mastered this technique. He has united faith and government into one body, making the state itself and not its leader the object of worship. The efforts proposed by Set seem remarkable only for the subtle restraint of a perfect mind. His primary tool, above all else, was History. The Immortals transformed the past into nothing but a vehicle moving toward the present future. Which brings us back to my original point, the validity of this practice. In the face of such skilled antagonism, it does indeed appear that the ancient myths will soon become an extinct form. But indulge a tired poet who wants only for his enemies to hear this final question: Does the death of our collective memory render my art worthless, or infinitely more valuable?