As I continue my reading of the Godsrain Prophecies’ dire predictions of the deaths of various gods, it should be noted (and will be, in the compiled report for my Lady), that their existence as a collection brings into question the validity of each one. I believe that a corollary of the Windsong Paradox explains this best (as unsettling as this discovery of “prophecy” has been, I relish the opportunity to apply one of my favorites!): each individual prophecy exists independent of the others, as if they each occur in their own solitary void (note, for example, the mention here of a living Pharasma).This means they cannot all be true and, per the corollary, the chance of any of them being true is lessened¹. A reassuring thought that I am happy to consider!
¹In all fairness, a counter-argument could be made that one of the Godsrain Prophecies is correct in full, with all others either invalidated by its truth or purposefully created to mislead, but I tend to believe my initial theory (perhaps, if nothing else, because it is a bit more comforting).
—Yivali, Apprentice Researcher for the Lady of Graves
The wound that kills Asmodeus has ached for countless eons, and still he has no memory of how Ihys drew blood. He knows the war between them, can hear the ringing battle cries as he fought hard for order, and Ihys, sympathetic fool, set chaos in his sights. He sees his brother’s hand outstretched, can feel the arm against his back, remembers what it tasted like to plunge his sword into his kin, but never feels the moment that some blade or nail sliced at his leg, has only blood upon his hands to prove that he was hit.
Some days the cut is barely there, a scratch upon his surface, a moment’s irritation as he moves from place to place. But other days, it festers into leaking, pulsing wetness, a shooting pain that drips and strikes and stops him where he stands. He spends those days in agony, sealed deep within the Catafalque, encouraging the rumors of his secret chamber of delights, returning only when the wound has calmed itself again.
He’s known, somewhere inside himself, that this would be what felled him, but somehow, in his final steps, he still feels disbelief. How can one cut unravel everything that he has been and done, the worlds that he has built and wrecked, the Hell he has created? He stumbles through the empty hall, his body crashing to the ground, a rictus of shocked agony carved deep into his face. Perhaps it is a mercy that he cannot see what happens next, does not perceive the brother who emerges in his place. Ihys, summoned by the force that kept the gash forever open. Ihys, who, with sorrowed glance, replaces him upon his throne. Ihys, who believed in taking mercy on the mortals, giving them their freedom even when they broke and twisted things, seeing good inside their souls as something worth the sacrifice. Ihys, now the Prince of Darkness. Ihys, Lord of Hell.
Deep inside the Catafalque, the new god works deliberately, taking time to understand the Hell his brother wrought. He finds a few things to preserve—the contract of creation and its binding power on the gods, the prison that holds Rovagug, whose key he’s now charged with keeping—and vows he will uphold them in Asmodeus’s name. The rest he’s ready to unmake, but slowly, with the greatest care. This time he will not act in haste. This time Hell works his way.
He first visits the archdevils, his enemies of ages past, who greet him with their surface smiles and offer false obeisance—some dripping poison-syruped words, some sharpening their blades and fangs, some gathering a mass of shades to wait for new wartime demands. But Ihys understands their ways and flaunts his new divinity, his scepter Archstar swinging in a show of all his power, and while the peace he gains from them may be a prelude to a war, he makes each of Hell’s denizens sign contracts to a new decree—a kinder, gentler punishment for those whose souls have damned them there, a way for those to free themselves who want to choose another path, a safe route as they journey back up from the depths of Hell.
He's visited by deities—some curious, some threatening—who see the shifting way of things and wish to understand. And while Pharasma alters how her psychopomps send souls to him and Sarenrae applauds an ancient ally on his newfound life, the Four Horsemen of Abaddon begin to seek advantages, to plan some future action they may one day undertake.
With Hell remade to suit his likings, Ihys settles on his throne, turns the power of his gaze to fixing mortal things. He pores through every contract that he must now enforce, underlining loopholes that invalidate the cruelest clauses, marking for destruction those he cannot bend or change. With every small relinquishing, the power in some region shifts, as those who felt their contract as a prison or a heavy weight now have the chance to change the old direction of their lives. But none change more than Cheliax, where House Thrune used the power gifted by the Lord of Hell himself to make the many contracts that have kept them on the throne. Ihys rescinds this favor and refuses to grant any more, leaves the realm of Abrogail to manage on its own.
As Ihys rests then, satisfied. He does not hear the whispers, as close as Mephistopheles and far off as Egorian, of bitterness and revolution, hanging in the air. Or if he does, he honors them as choices made of mortal will—whatever comes, he lives and breathes, and he can always start anew. If devils come to challenge him, if Cheliax is torn to shreds, he’s happy to rend everything (with Rovagug set free to feed) and make the world again.
While one might assume an end of Asmodeus’s treachery would presage improvements in the multiverse, this prophecy presents a very different potentiality.
I felt such relief while reading this to know that the death of Asmodeus (at least according to this still unproven and unidentified source) might not mean the release of the Rough Beast, only for the prophecy to suggest that Rovagug might still be unleashed? Those who claim that research has no excitement are simply in the wrong field of study. I also must confess that this prophecy has piqued my interest in learning more of the fallen god Ihys—a topic I might not otherwise have considered! It will, though, have to wait. I must reach some conclusion, and still have much to read through, before I can present this to my Lady.
About the Author
Erin Roberts has been thrilled to be able to contribute a few small threads to the fabric of Golarion in the pages of books like Lost Omens Firebrands, Lost Omens Highhelm, and Lost Omens Travel Guide. In addition to her work for Paizo, she freelances across the TTRPG world (and was selected as a Diana Jones Award Emerging Designer Program Winner in 2023), has had fiction published in magazines including Asimov’s, Clarkesworld, and The Dark, and talks about writing every week on the Writing Excuses podcast. Catch up with her latest at linktr.ee/erinroberts.
