It was in the beginning that the darkness, having no form and no substance, was divided and given shape by the emanation of the Central Fire. Thus the depthless night was split into the Darkness Above and the Darkness Below, and the light of the Central Fire became a golden seed that put forth roots into the deep waters of the abyss and stretched branches towards the vaults of the heavens. So it was that the Tree of Life was planted and all things took shape.
From the darkness divided came the first of those gods we call elders. Simple they were and crudely shaped in form and spirit, for such are beginnings. Those of the Darkness Above basked in the light of the Central Fire and drank deep of its radiance; those of the Darkness Below were shaped by want and isolation.
The names of those gods are lost to us; all save Kharak, the worm. He alone we remember, out of the many myriads of his generation, though his name is bitter in our mouths and burns at our lips.
Lowly Kharak, a scavenger in the deep who crawled in the shadow of greater powers, possessed by chance a blessing and a curse rare in that generation; he knew himself. In knowing himself he knew fear, and pain, and hunger, for none who know themselves are free from suffering. It is a burden that may be endured, but in the barren depths of the great abyss Kharak suffered alone.
And so the worm-god sought deliverance from these torments. In his seeking, he saw with dim and clouded eyes a distant light, radiant even through the waters of the abyss. Entranced by the beauty of that distant brilliance, he drew close to it; in nearing it, he beheld the Tree of Life.
Captivated by the Tree’s beauty, Kharak wished to be near to it – to possess it, to take it wholly for himself – but its light burned him and he withdrew from its radiance in agony. Yet he did not return to the safety of the darkness from which he crawled, but remained in that place where the light burned but would not kill, and gazed with longing and hunger at the far-off Tree. Many times he tried to approach the light as he paced the gloaming lands, and each time he was burned and driven away.
In time he came to hate the Tree, and in hating it he coveted it all the more. He drank deep of this twinned desire, and became a thrall of his urge to possess and to destroy. He vowed that the Tree and its beauty would be his to possess, that he would have power over it and he might enact vengeance for the pain it inflicted upon him. If it would not be his, it would be destroyed so that no other may have it; If it would not end the suffering it caused him, it would be snuffed out.
The other gods could not turn Kharak away from this path, for there were few that could see the Tree and fewer still that might understand. None gave council to Kharak, for that was not the way of the abyss; the gods that dwelled there dwelled alone. Those who could see and know thought the Tree a thing of no importance, a distant discomfort to avoid and ignore.
It happened then that another god of the deep came upon Kharak in his pacing and his hunger. Its name is not known to us, for Kharak thought that the visitor desired to take the Tree for itself; he killed the wandering god where it stood and devoured its heart, and when he had finished this he desecrated what remained to serve as warning to all others who would dare steal the Tree he longed to possess.
In killing his fellow god and devouring its heart, Kharak grew stronger. He saw that he might draw closer to the Tree than he could before, and he saw too that the other gods recoiled from him in fear. Death was no stranger to the abyss, for even old gods must die, but this was something new: Kharak had learned of Power and the means of gaining it, and for this he is called Khnith-hgor, the First Murderer.
Still he could not reach the Tree, and remained a wanderer in the gloaming places. When he came across other gods he killed and consumed them, and in killing his brothers and sisters he grew stronger and more cunning. His lust-hatred grew ever greater, and yet as his strength increased so did his pain grow greater.
The gods of the Darkness Below could not defend themselves against this new thing, for it was alien to them and they knew not of its dangers. Kharak slaughtered the gods of the Darkness Below, and those he did not kill he subjugated: this too was new. Many gods obeyed him out of fear, and willingly gave themselves into enslavement. Others followed in his wake to feast on the dead and enrich themselves on destruction. A few, in desperation, fled the shadowed realms for the light of the Tree: the light burned away their old bodies and made them something new, and they passed into Creation.
So it was that Kharak walked the god-path of Power and wore its mantle upon his shoulders, and with each god devoured he grew more unified to the principle and the act. His domain grew, and his servants grew old and powerful, yet still he could not reach the Tree.
Now, Sanna was queen in those days, beautiful and terrible as the night. On her brow she bore a black crown, and her dominion stretched from the depths of the abyss to the heights of the Darkness Above, and all worlds of the Tree of Life were found within it. From her palace at Deepest Root she ruled, and to her the mightiest Elders were as motes of dust or grains of sand.
Kharak had seen her long ago, coiled around the base of the Tree, and in her he saw the architect of his suffering; a distant and merciless tyrant, a wretched servant of Death, an oppressor who offered no relief from the pain of existence. His hatred for her was as great as his hatred for the Tree that she tended, perhaps greater. How could she possess the Tree that was rightfully his, when he had so many servants and had devoured the hearts of so many gods? She passed through the Darkness Above and Below with no armies, no court, no retainers. She made no edicts, she enforced no commands. She did not deserve this beautiful thing nor her black crown, she had not earned it; she was weak, and he was strong.
So it was in Kharak’s mind. Yet to Sanna he was no greater now than he had been in the beginning; a worm eating corpses along the spiral path.
Inflamed by hateful ambition, Kharak declared himself King of the Darkness Below in challenge to the Queen of Depthless Night; mighty Sanna gave him no answer, and this enraged Kharak all the more. He retreated to a secluded place and plotted against her. He sent forth Jeser the Prince of Many Faces – he who is called Yeyzir and Daug-Yr-Dagan, ‘pp-ḥtp and the Laughing One – to the Palace at Deepest Root, for he was an old and clever god who had known Sanna long before. The Prince did as instructed and met with Sanna; he was her guest for three days while Kharak gathered his army in secret nearby. On the last night of his guest-stay, the Prince uncovered the hidden door to her private garden and left it unlatched so that Kharak might enter in secret and hide himself there. The next day, before the Prince departed, he walked with Sanna through her garden and they spoke of those things which mortal men cannot know.
Passing by Kharak’s hiding place, Jeser spoke a chosen word so that the worm might hear it. This was the word of betrayal, and by this word Kharak struck mighty Sanna with a grievous wound. He sent forth a signal to his captains and his army assaulted the walls and gates. His war-slaves swarmed through the Palace at Deepest Root, but they found it empty; mighty Sanna, first and only true queen of the world, had no need for servants.
Kharak then took Sanna by force and lay with her for seven days and seven nights; for seven nights and seven days the Queen of Depthless Night fought against him, and her Howling could be heard to the very edge of the abyss. His eye he lost, and the bones of his body were crushed, but the injury he delivered to the Mother of Those Beneath Us was too great: on the seventh night she died beneath his onslaught. Clad in her blood, wounded Kharak rose from her corpse; tearing the Black Crown from her brow he placed upon his own, and from then on was called Shomash Udal – the Scarlet King. He took the Palace at Deepest Root as his own, and declared his sovereignty over the whole of the Darkness Below and Above, and of the Tree and its worlds.
Seven daughters were born of Sanna, seven daughters of the Scarlet King came forth from her. The King saw this, and took them by force to be his brides. Upon their heads he put seven seals so that they might never escape him through death. By them the King sired seven ranks of abominations, those seven orders of Leviathans that are his most beloved servants and march at the front of his war.
Of the Seven, this can be said:
The first bride is A’tivik, beloved of the King. For her loyalty she was rewarded with a great demesne among the conquered worlds, and her children were elevated above all others in wisdom and the ways of war. Though they are few, they lead the hordes to victory.
Her seal is vaduk, “dominion”, for just as she seeks greater dominion over the worlds, so too is she crushed underfoot.
The second bride is A’ghor, the mournful. Her spirit is rent by a wound that she cannot heal, and so she despairs and weeps. She brings forth many children, and her children build great armies in a tide unthinking sent forth to conquer.
Her seal is kifen, “longing”, for what she seeks she has lost forever.
The third bride is A’distat, the vengeful. She wields hatred like unquenchable fire against her sisters and blasphemes upon sacred ground, bringing ruin upon all she surveys. Her children ride out to declare the triumph of the King, spreading pestilence and fear in their wake and drowning the battlefields in ash.
Her seal is hezhum, “desolation”, for her soul was made barren and her heart was poisoned with salt.
The fourth bride is A’zieb, vast and powerful. She takes the form of a great beast and is terrible to behold. Her children fear no weapon nor hidden art, for their injuries are healed and their hides are impenetrable.
Her seal is ba, “wrath”, for by her hate she is forever chained by conflict.
The fifth bride is A’nuht, strong in mind though frail in body. Her children are granted mastery of the hidden arts and are the destroyers of men and of cities. But for their great power the King had them crippled, so that they might not rise up against him.
Her seal is ner, “lack”, for her spirit is restless. Her hunger shall never be satisfied and her thirst shall never be quenched.
The sixth bride is A’tellif, the silent. Her children are openers of the way, who change their faces and walk among Creation unseen and unknown; the war follows at their heels.
Her seal is usheq, “hidden”, for she is lost in shadow.
The last is A’habbat, the Seventh-of-Seven. She alone endures unbroken, though she is smallest and weakest of her sisters. Her children take the shape of men and are mighty heroes; she raised them in secret, hoping that they might destroy the children of her sisters and overthrow the King. They are few, and they have failed.
Her seal is xokib, “hope”, for there is no greater torment. And yet she endures.
With the seals set down upon the Seven and no gods left to subjugate in the depths, the King made of the Darkness Below a kingdom in his own image. He sent forth his legions against the Tree so that he might at last possess what he hated and destroy what he desired, and there was war with Creation.
So it has been for ages uncounted and uncountable, this war without end.
It shall not be said that the King marches unopposed. Countless gods and heroes among mortals have raised their banners and rallied their armies against his conquests. But each in time has fallen; their ages are past, and they as blood spilled in the dust. The wheel turns; we are ground down to nothing.
The Tree of Life rots from its wounds; the Ways Between Worlds fester with poison. The shadow of his presence reaches out across all of Creation to corrupt and consume and destroy; none are spared. The ranks of his slaves swell with those succumbed to Power and its worship. His servants build kingdoms in his name and make straight the path of his arrival, for they find freedom from beastly ignorance in his Law. The last defenses crumble beneath his wrath; his armies approach the Taproots.
The Stars are maddened. The Giants sleep. The Seven Holies are reduced to one. The Princes squabble over their father’s bones. The God of Rust and Glass turns our greatest works to ruin. The path to divinity chains our souls to the city on the shore and its Hanged King. The Winnowing Womb enslaves our flesh. The Brass Goddess is broken; the Serpent has fled; great Udannu is struck down. The heroes are old now, their armies exhausted. The children of A’habbat are slaughtered and scattered. Mighty Sanna is dead.
Threefold Death, high above the depths, watches as they have from the beginning. They who are the end of all things know the course of this war and its ending.
The King shall destroy the Tree; when there is nothing left to devour, he shall choke on the corpse of Creation.
There is nothing more to be said.
Hear now, the Song of Sanna…