Immortals and Empires

Chapter 7: Betrayals

The "Prophet" takes his place among his devotees.

Dream is betrayed by an old friend.

The "Prophet" meets the Destroyer. By the end of their tense conversation, they've come to an agreement.

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A/N: The amount of betrayals in this is just. *chef kiss*

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Ah, the Prophet of Tahitian. Powerful, both in the magic sense and now political sense. He stood before the Altar in the Temple of Tahitian, the candlelight having turned cyan the moment he stepped in.

The sacrifice was bound beneath the altar. His finger lifted their shaking chin,

"Is he pleased?"

"He's satisfied." A silk gag silenced the quivering sacrifice. The Prophet smiled. "He's pleased. Very pleased."

"Wonderful. Shall we sacrifice it now?"

"How have you been sacrificing them?"

"A simple attack to their soul so there isn't much of a mess afterward."

The Prophet didn't respond to that at first.

"...Is there a problem with our sacrifices? Is- is Tahitian unhappy with us-?"

The note of panic was evident in their voice.

"Not at all," The Prophet began. "He merely wants you to make better use of your sacrifices."

"How?" They asked eagerly. The Prophet, once again, said nothing as he rose and walked to a row of candles. He lifted two and was quiet as he watched the scintillating cyan flames.

"Your fire has been blessed by him. Make use of it." Quick as lightning, he jabbed one into the sacrifice's arm. A stifled scream fought to escape into the air. "You need not sacrifice so many, just make use of each one to the fullest. Burn them alive, bury the ashes in the Temple."

They paused. "...That is what Tahitian... asks...?"

The Prophet smiled. "Yes. He says he is very proud of you all, and that doing this is all you need to earn his approval."

Just like that, their hesitance faded away like ice cubes in a dessert, and they rushed to comply.

Just like a puppet.

The Prophet smiled.

- - - - -

Dream was exhausted as hell, and also quite fed up with everyone lately. He didn't attend the more frivolous council meetings, instead choosing to stare blankly at the walls in his chambers.

When would this end?

Every single war...every single time. He should've gotten used to it by now, but he hadn't. He realised he detested Ink, leaving him in the aftermath in the victory of a war.

No, he corrected himself. No one ever wins wars. No one ever ends a war happily victorious.

A tragic victory, then.

I shouldn't stay here for long. Rumours will spread.

Dream let the thought fester before deciding to head it, leaving his chambers and the Palace to meet the people outside.

Dimly, he wondered how much betrayal would filter their faces when they looked at him.

- - - - -

Déjà vu was a curious thing.