Before the sprawling ancient oak; whose trunk bore the etching he’d placed there decades ago, Socmoon hit his knees and began digging with his bare hands. His breathing was labored as his anxiety spiked. The strong box he’d buried here had been forged by a terra wielder, and was worth a fortune, but its content was invaluable. As his nails tore on the embedded jewels, he sighed in relief. Removing the box from its hole, he fell back on his haunches, and laid it in his lap.
His hands shook as he wiped away what dirt he could, unclasped the lock, and slowly opened the lid. The rolled scrolls were yellowed with age and brown around the edges. He feared they would crumble at his touch, but what choice did he have? He’d hidden the box. He’d ran from the knowledge, but it had chased him. By land or by oceanus there had been no escape, and now, the time for hiding was over. The angeli had been reborn.
With a tug of the twine, the scrolls unfurled, revealing the words of an oracle who’d lived during the time of Nathon Bealson:
“Who are the Superians? Really? What are they teaching children these days? I don’t expect them to know the history of earth mind you, but I expect them to know their own. Ignorance could mean their death.
Who are Superians? Please…We are! Or at least we once were. We were the superior life form meant to rule the pathetic humans that cower beneath the pretentious rule of the so called gods. The ones that terrorize their world out of cruelty, and spite, and for their own personal gain. Tyrants, monsters, and the humans call them gods because of the power they wield.
Our power was greater. Our number was greater, until the whole of earth rose against us. We were born perfect in both beauty and form, and then we made the mistake of following the likes of Nathon Beason through the gateway. He believed earth needed saving. Ignorance!
We did not go to earth to conquer, but the humans begged to be ruled. They begged us to take command away from the gods who demanded the highest sacrifices in return for mere survival. Like sheep they searched for a shepherd strong enough to face their suppressors, and we were.
Or we thought we were. How could we have known? The temples to us were buildings that signified wealth and opulence, and the gods did not hold the monopoly on greed. Had we known, perhaps our choices would have been different. Had I known, I would not have smashed the statue of Poseidon who defiled the doorway of the temple I desired for my own. Ignorance! For it was Poseidon that arose from the churning waters to punish my actions, and he did not come alone to deliver retribution to those who’d overstepped.
Our children should be taught the lesson their forefathers learned through the blood that was shed that day. The battle that erupted was catastrophic. The god, surrounded by his element, was indestructible, but our aquis wielders gave as good as they got. We sank one of Poseidon’s precious cities into the bottomless pit of the oceanus he ruled. Had it been him alone we faced we would have triumphed, but such was not the case. From the apex of a mountain, from every far reaching corner of earth, the gods rushed forth to Poseidon’s aid, and in defense of the rule they claimed. They converged against us on the coast where the gateway stood open.
Our arrogance became our undoing. The humans, caught between the angeli and the gods, died by the thousands. The gods, nearly immortal on their own planet, were surviving our attacks, and we were the ones dying. Pride gave way to survival, and we were forced to tuck our tails between our legs and run like cowards.
If only it had ended there, but the Egyptian god had other plans. Stepping through the gateway, he cursed our bodies, splintering our perfect race into four that were incapable of rising against them again. Perhaps it was no more than we deserved, but what the Greek god did next ensured that we would be back. He cursed our minds. The ignorance he gave birth to dampened our fear, and without its hindrance, we will stop at nothing to avenge what was destroyed. The gods are without honor and therein lies their weakness.
There are those who whine and complain about what was done to them. They resent the pain and turmoil introduced with the curses into their lives, but not all. Some of us remember that there were those left behind. Not all made it back through the gate. Not all were accounted for. Not all intend on leaving them behind though it take generations to return. So, on earth and on Superi, we bide our time.
In the age that is, I am the last oracle on Superi. Should another be born, heed my words, for they foretell what is to come. The recreation of the angeli race will come to pass. Aid them! Find the one that can reopen the gateway. Protect him! The future is clear. We will face the gods again. Remember, we were not ruined, merely broken. Prepare the damage by placing the pieces together again, and we will be assured of victory. Do not be afraid to take their strength from them.
And as for the children, teach them well, for they will one day lead us to war.”