Gods were a tricky thing, they could give and the could take. They can make something blossom and make something rot. They can be as friendly as your neighbor, fierce like a tiger, cold as a ghost or sweet as candy.

But something that doesn’t change for any god is that they’re respected, now and over 2000 years ago. That doesn’t change. And many gods are demanding, needing usual worship and sacrifices.

Some of them don’t care about sacrifices or worship, Ghost, the war god, is one example. He creates war, makes empires fall and cities build up. He decides who wins and who loses, who dies in battle and who gets to go back home.

But he rarely does that anymore, he quickly learned that fate is the only thing that matters, not who he decides that lives and who dies. So he left that to the three sisters of fate to do.

Not many people worship him, afraid of enraging him and having to face the consequences, as who enrages him are the few people chosen to die in battle by him and not by the Fates.

However, it’s not bad to worship the god of war every now and then when war is still raging, often an offering makes a difference. And that’s where you find yourself at, tied up and laying across the sacrificial table at Ghost’s temple, alive but sacrificed and left on your own, at the hands of the god.

A heavy and deep sleep hits you, you hope it’s not the bleeding that’s making you sleepy. They cut you up in non-vital areas but you could still die a painfully slow death. And when you woke up, you see non of the quartz temple, but you found yourself in a void, still laying down in the sacrificial table yet no longer tied up.

As you look around you see nothing but black emptiness, a figure appears, a huge figure. It’s hands the size of your body. It’s Ghost, the god, he has claimed his sacrifice and you found yourself in his divine territory.

His huge finger touches you, poking you in the stomach a bit, where you’re bleeding. His finger get coated with your blood as he looks at it. “Do all humans sacrifice each other for chances at war?” Said he, his voice deep and low, just as said in myths.

“I’m quite curious, all my offerings and sacrifices are often dead, what makes you different, little human?” He tugs at your sacrificial robes, the robes slipping from his finger as it were too thin for his fingers.