Eight Gods on a Windowsill

"Where am I?" Whisper said aloud to himself, amidst all the darkness that was all he could see. Nothingness. Blackness darker than void stretched as far as the eye could see. He attempted to gather his bearings, only to be met with more darkness in each direction he looked. "Last thing I remember was I died."

"Very good." Came a low deep voice, rumbling like quaking mountains.

"You can't be here." Whisper exclaimed with shock. He wanted to run from the voice. But, he couldn't move. Or rather, that there was nothing for him to move. He couldn't feel anything. He just knew he existed and that was it. "Rather, how is it I am here?"

"You're dead." Came the voice again.

"But, so are you."

"Exactly." Came another voice, more nasal than the other. This voice Whisper hadn't heard for a very long time. "We all are."

A light pierced the darkness, directly from above Whisper's head. He finally could see himself amidst the blackness. But, there wasn't much for him to see, the light only illuminated so much, leaving all else in the never-ending void. He looked at himself better. He indeed was still all there. His lithe athletic body, two-toned skin, feathers, and a constant stream of hatred in his veins. He just couldn't feel it. He felt lighter than he'd ever felt, almost weightless. Nothing seemed different. He just knew he was dead. There was no denying that. So, how was it he was wherever it was that he was with a body, seemingly unharmed by anything? He even noticed he had two arms.

"How?"

"How doesn't matter, Whisper." Came the first voice again. "The why doesn't either." The owner of the voice suddenly walked into the light. Whisper knew immediately who the voice belonged to. The image of his face was burned into his mind. He looked as though Fenrir had become a man. Or, perhaps the inspiration for Fenrir. Something like that. A wolfman for lack of better words. A large barrel-chested man with muscles for days. The scars on his skin spoke of days long gone. His fur was gray and white. Well, it was more white than gray, but it also didn't mean much. All the elder Minor Ones were beginning to show signs of age. Perhaps, their time was coming to an end.

"Kaddyr."

"I am not the only one here, you know." Kaddyr said with a smile.

A few others walked into the light and Whisper began to realize just how come he'd been beaten so easily. Yog was the first to follow Kaddyr from the shadow. He was more metal and arachnid than man. If steampunk was given life. His spidery body slinking and skittering along. Usually, he was the loudest of the Minor Ones, his footsteps were hard to hide, yet they made no noise. Ban'iel followed Yog. Whisper knew from his antlers alone. The grace and poise he took as he emerged from the darkness, antlers first, belied the calm nature of his being. It was the kind of movement that made him the most intimidating of them all. Ban'iel may have very well been the fairest of them all. His features were the very thing the ancient civilizations immortalized in stone. His large eyes and fine brown hair made him the perfect model. His demeanor was that of a pensive hermit. And then, there was Tiamat. Her eyes raged like fire. Smoke billowed from her nose. Much like Whisper's daughter, Yrh'danyr, Tiamat resembled Esperyn. A large serpent of a woman. She was imposing and fierce. However, she paled in comparison to the monster that followed her. An even larger elephant of a man, Grammel the Lord of the Land. His trunk swung with each step. His skin was gray and leathery. Whisper could feel the realm he was in quake. Grammel really made a presence.

"There are many here." Grammel remarked, his nasal voice coming more from his trunk than lips. "Many more shall come."

"There is even one here, we all had forgotten, Whisper." Yog added, "One that would have sided with us a long time ago when we were divided on how to go about making anew what those Great Ones had created." He snickered. "One that would have once found justice in what you wanted."

"Who is that, exactly?" Whisper asked confused.

The others parted, allowing a slender harpy of a woman to make her way through. The air of her being was so defined and dense, full of insidious power, Whisper found it hard not to want to bend the knee to her. "Me." Came a deep sinister voice full of allure. Whisper's eyes followed the apparition before him. Large Markhor horns upon her head, eyes full of hatred, scales, and spikes, blacker than night, ran the length of her body. A tail of a lamia. Large black wings.

A sudden jolt hit Whisper's mind. "Lillith."

"Yes, Lillith." She responded. "Welcome to the Phantasm Fields."