Gods Aren't Perfect - OFFICIAL

Prologue

Welcome to Writing Badly On Purpose. All you actual writers out there, upon reading the first eighteen words, will start telling me to "stop using adverbs" and to "never use exclamation marks" and things like that, to which I will reply "you are reading what is essentially a very long crackfic, so why are you expecting good writing?" There's a reason I'm putting that off. Also, I completely disagree with everything you say there. Goodbye.

Of course, this is not focused on telling a good story. It is not even focusing on telling a decent story. I will be shoving as much slapstick as I can, so expect the same quality as a bass boosted "hit or miss" video.

This work was heavily inspired by Legend of Zelda, EarthBound, and other RPGs - in fact, progress will look a lot like getting through the dungeon, murdering all the skeeltons, and reaching ascension except all the heroes aren't Mary-Sues, don't have cheat codes or guides, and can actually talk.

Enough yelling, though.

Let's go.

Not all gods are perfect, as Cielo learned today.

Perfection was always his goal - making gods, or any other living being, was kind of a huge thing where he lived. It wasn't easy to make a god, let alone a good one. After all, they were his creations, and he had to keep those perfect - imperfections, flaws, or anything like that would deduct marks from his final exam. The things he was staring at were nothing more than another mark on his reputation, another blemish on his straight As and useless degree.

"Failures. All failures..." he groaned.

"FAILURE?! LOOK WHAT I CAN DO, YOU-!" A shower of pebbles blasted across the room, nearly cracking his lamp and tearing through his apartment curtain. Yes, he lived in an apartment. Houses were expensive, even if he was an omnipotent god of Creation. He didn't have a stable job, anyway.

With a single hand, he picked up the offender - some teenage girl just the height of his hand. "Incredible. I must've created those in record time," the god mused. He checked his mental records. Only around 0.217 of a minute went into that, and even less thought was put in.

That entire event was a mess beyond compare.

When creating gods or other deities, he always had to be careful - even more careful than with any other creation. Deities were his neighbors, after all, and nobody wanted to live with a freak as a neighbor. Only the finest materials, the greatest ideas - what goes into a god must be of the highest quality. Judging by the state of these new ones he'd made, that endeavor was a complete and utter failure.

"HEY! YOU HEAR ME?! PUT ME DOWN!"

The teenager he was holding started her protests again. With a sigh, he shuffled over to the fridge and took a deep breath, using the icy wind to form a bubble around her. One of the gifts he (and quite a few others in his class) were born with included manipulation of the elements, shifting them from one form to another. Moments passed, and the bubble solidified, trapping the girl in a makeshift cage. A small smirk appeared on his face. That's what you get for almost destroying my apartment. He took this time to check the state of the rest of the kitchen.

Glasses were scattered all over the floor, many of them cracked or even broken into pieces. Reddish stains plagued the carpet. A white-haired girl in the corner was spotted picking up the pieces, muttering something about "not getting paid for this".

He was starting to remember what happened. Yes. It was under the influence of... that drink. Looking at the stains brought the memories back - and a foul taste to his mouth.