"All Gods are real now," they said. They didn't say they could escape.


1. Mystic, Connecticut

"All Gods are real now," they said. They didn't say they could escape.

It wasn't anything you paid much attention to. They were there in the back of your mind, tucked between your mother's birthday and your first math teacher's name. Just a thought that came up from time to time and disappeared without much consequence. Sometimes certain things triggered it, like a bunch of little kids on a school trip at the Museum De Diis, clutching their clipboards and lunchboxes with gap-toothed smiles on their faces as they lined up outside the entrance.

Nothing gave it away, not even the blast itself. Not the ringing, not the deafness, not the silent begging to run. Ash clouds had turned the dawn sky grey, the buildings rippling like a flame off a lighter, and everywhere the sparks. Every circuit, every resistor, every fuse, blown to pieces by the sheer power of electricity.

And there they stood, surrounded by the sparking fence and coils that bound them in that exhibit together. 'Fight Like A Girl' it was called. Female war goddesses pulled straight from mythology and antique pop culture from the past eight hundred-ish years, put in an exhibit together. Now free, standing amongst the ash clouds, the rest of the exhibits bolted for freedom past their crow wings and many limbs, their feline fur and serpent scales growing out of their bare bodies. Looking back at it, probably wasn't the best idea to put those ones together. 

We all realised it too late though. The giant screens upon every skyscraper displayed the warning bell in their final seconds before shorting out and exploding. The radios hissed and screeched static alarms, but all came far too late.

Now the blast has long stopped ringing, though the dust clouds are still heavy in the grey sky. Many died in the explosions across the globe, many more died from the cables and coils that still leak sparks. What's left of us have fled from the cities, making for the countryside, trying to gather supplies and relatives that survived, taking weapons or turning household tools into them. I don't know how long we'll last, we have next to nothing and they're still prowling the ruins they created. Soaring through the skies, slicing through the waters, patrolling the lands, you name it.

The gods are out there. They're angry at us. And I don't blame them.

 - From the diary of Margaret Henderson, dated July 13th, 2759, the day after Breakout.

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