The god of Joke

Chapter 16: Shadows of the Past

Tara stood at the edge of the village, watching the storm clouds roll in from the horizon. The wind howled, carrying with it an unsettling chill that seemed to seep into her bones. The gods were coming, and they were closer than ever. Their presence filled the air, like an invisible weight pressing down on everything. It was no longer a matter of stopping them; it was a matter of survival.

The mask pulsed against her side, its power rippling through her, but Tara refused to wear it again. Not until she understood it fully. The visions had shown her the truth—that the mask was a part of her past, her very essence. She wasn't just an innocent girl caught in the wrong place at the wrong time. She was someone who had lived before, someone who had once wielded the power of the gods, and someone who had fallen victim to them.

But she wouldn't fall again.

A flash of light illuminated the sky, and Tara's thoughts were interrupted by a soft rustling behind her. She spun around to find Emrick, his face drawn with worry, his eyes scanning the horizon nervously.

"Tara," he said, his voice tight. "We need to move. The gods are coming. It's not safe here."

Tara shook her head, her gaze fixed on the distant sky. "I know. But we can't run anymore, Emrick. This is it. This is the moment we fight back."

Emrick's expression softened, and for a moment, his eyes held a flicker of disbelief. "Fight back? Against the gods?" He swallowed hard, trying to steady himself. "Tara, we're not ready for this. You saw what happened when you used the mask last time. The power—it's too much for you."

Tara turned to him, her expression firm. "I've seen the visions. I know what this mask is, and I know what I have to do. We can't keep hiding. If we're going to survive, if we're going to save the village, I have to confront them. I have to confront it."

Emrick opened his mouth to argue, but the ground beneath them suddenly trembled. A low, rumbling sound filled the air, and the sky darkened even further. The gods were almost here.

"Tara!" Emrick shouted, grabbing her arm. "We don't have time for this! The villagers need us—now!"

But Tara stood firm. "You go. I'll hold them off."

Emrick's grip tightened for a moment as if he wanted to say something more, but he saw the determination in her eyes. With a sigh, he finally nodded. "Just… just don't do anything crazy, okay?"

Tara offered him a brief, tight smile. "No promises."

He hesitated, then turned and ran toward the village, gathering the villagers for one last escape, hoping to lead them to safety.

Tara watched him go, her heart heavy with the weight of the decision she had made. She was alone now. Truly alone.

She took a deep breath, her fingers brushing against the mask at her side. The whispers were back, louder this time, urging her to put it on, to embrace the power. But she wasn't ready to surrender. Not yet.

Instead, she began to walk toward the heart of the village, where the ground was torn up from the earlier battle, where the remnants of the tower still stood like a broken monument to the past. The air was thick with the energy of the approaching storm, and Tara could feel the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. The gods were closing in, their presence seeping into the earth.

She reached the square, her footsteps echoing against the cracked cobblestones. The energy in the air seemed to shift, and the ground rumbled beneath her feet. Then, a figure appeared from the shadows.

Lyra.

Tara's heart skipped a beat. She had expected the gods to come, but she hadn't expected Lyra to be the one to lead them.

The woman was more imposing than ever, her robes billowing around her, her eyes glowing with an eerie light. Her smile was predatory, as if she were savoring a victory that had been millennia in the making.

"Tara," Lyra's voice was soft, almost mocking. "I knew you would come. You cannot escape your fate, child. The gods are rising, and you are ours."

Tara's pulse quickened. She felt the mask pulse against her side, as if it were responding to Lyra's presence. She fought the temptation to reach for it, to let its power consume her. But she would not give in. Not yet.

"I'm not yours," Tara said, her voice steady despite the tremor she felt inside. "I choose my own path. And I will stop you."

Lyra's smile only grew wider, her eyes flashing with amusement. "Stop me? You think you can stop the gods? You, a mere mortal? How quaint." She took a step forward, her movements graceful and deliberate. "You are nothing but a child playing at power. You have no idea what you're up against."

Tara clenched her fists. The power of the mask was right there, waiting for her, but she couldn't bring herself to use it. Not like this. She had to find another way.

"You're wrong," Tara said, her voice unwavering. "I may not be a god, but I know something you don't. I know the truth about the mask. About us."

Lyra's expression faltered for a moment, and Tara saw a flicker of something behind her eyes—fear, perhaps, or anger. But it was quickly gone, replaced by the cold, calculating mask of the woman she had once been.

"What do you think you know, child?" Lyra asked, her voice suddenly cold. "Do you think you can undo what has been done? The gods are eternal. You are nothing but a fleeting moment in their eyes."

Tara stepped forward, meeting Lyra's gaze with a new fire in her eyes. "You're wrong," she repeated, more fiercely this time. "I've lived through this before. I've made the same mistakes. But I won't make them again. I will end this cycle."

The wind howled louder, and for a moment, everything seemed to freeze. Tara felt the weight of the mask on her chest, a heavy, almost suffocating presence. The gods were close now, and she could feel their power coursing through the air, trying to twist her mind, to take control.

Lyra raised her hands, and the ground trembled again. Dark energy spiraled around her, rising into the sky like a storm cloud. Tara's heart raced, but she stood her ground. She wouldn't back down.

And then, for a fleeting moment, Tara remembered the visions—the truth of who she was. She wasn't just a mortal. She wasn't just someone caught in the middle of a war between gods. She was the key. The one who could either break the cycle or become trapped in it forever.

Her eyes narrowed, and without thinking, she reached for the mask. The moment her fingers brushed against it, she felt the surge of power explode within her. The mask seemed to recognize her, to acknowledge her as its true heir. But this time, Tara wasn't afraid. She wasn't going to let it control her.

With one final, defiant breath, she pressed the mask against her face.

The world exploded.

Energy crackled and tore through the very air, swirling around her like a storm. The ground beneath her feet cracked, and the sky itself seemed to split open, revealing flashes of an unknown, otherworldly realm. Tara could feel the power of the mask coursing through her, amplifying her strength, her resolve.

Lyra's expression twisted with fury as she realized what was happening. "No," she hissed, raising her hands to try to stop it. "You cannot—"

But it was too late. Tara had embraced the mask fully. And with that choice, she had just set the stage for the final battle.