Who Made Who?
Who made you?

Special thanks to Rafaela Johnson, as usual, who related this tale to me while busily meeting a deadline for the Japanese manga magazine she works for.

Thunderstruck, Erik stared at the diminutive female form that stood before himself and the assembled Cult of the Raven followers, seemingly materialized from thin air.  A hush filled the dusty air of the abandoned church as the black-haired woman regarded the nearly two-dozen young men and women, her boots not making a sound on the wooden floor as she slowly paced back and forth in front of them.  A collective shiver of excitement passed through them as her amethyst eyes passed over their ranks, and Sister Abilene let out a choked cry of delight.  “It’s her!  It’s her!”

The little woman chuckled softly, her eyes glittering.  Her ruby-red lips were quirked in what wasn’t quite a smile.  “Yes, it’s me.”

There was a collective gasp at the sound of her voice, and it suddenly reminded Erik that he needed to do more than just gape and gasp, since he was the Cult’s leader.  He started to greet her, but stumbled over his words, unable to believe that she was standing before them.  Up until a few minutes ago, it had been a meeting of the Cult like any other, but their chanting to the blood-goddess had been interrupted first by hysterical laughter that had echoed all throughout the church, and then the appearance of the one that they worshipped so fervently, which had thrown them all for a loop.

She laughed at the way Erik stammered, and she purred, “What’s the matter, raven got your tongue?”

Blushing crimson, he finally asked, “Great Raven, is it truly you?”

She was directly in front of him before he even had a chance to blink, covering the distance between them in no time at all, and she smirked up at him, her height barely above five feet.  But what she lacked in size, he more than made up for in presence, as he felt a sudden sense of overwhelming just at her proximity to him, and though she was clad in a Doors t-shirt, black leather jacket, jeans, and biker boots, she held herself with more dignity and strength than any king or queen.  Her smirk broke into a wide grin, and then her canines extended into fangs, moving so smoothly that it looked like her ivory teeth simply flowed into a new shape.  There was another collective gasp, followed by rapid murmuring amongst the assembled followers.

“Who else would it be?” she asked.  “Surely you wouldn’t expect Count Dracula to appear at this meeting of the famed Cult of the Raven, would you?”

There was nervous laughter from some of the Cult’s members, and the vampiress regarded them again, tilting her head to the side as she looked over them.  “So . . . this is all of you?  Barely even 20?”  Before Erik had a chance to answer, he shivered at a sudden prickly sensation at the back of his head, and Raven said, “Yes, this is all of them, isn’t it?  I rather expected there to be more of you, especially for one such as myself.”

“Our numbers are growing, great one,” he answered, unable to look directly into her amethyst eyes, which seemed to glow in the dim candlelit church.  “We are slowly making a name for ourselves, and we are also making a name for you.  This is all for you, great Raven!” he exclaimed, holding his arms out to indicate all of the followers assembled and the dilapidated church itself.

“Hmm, yes,” responded the vampiress, sounding bored.  “Well, excuse me if I’m a little underwhelmed.”

Erik blushed again, and forced himself to look into her eyes, though he was unable to for more than a few seconds at a time.  “We are in the process of rising up from humble origins, great blood-goddess,” he said, hoping to assuage her.  “I only learned of you several years ago while studying forbidden books in college, and I’ve since devoted my entire being to learning as much about you as I can and teaching others of you and your ways.  It will take some time, but we will become something that you can be proud of, my mistress.”

Raven stepped away from him and strode across the dusty floor, her eyes taking in the various painted portraits and pencil drawings of her that lined one of the walls of the church.  Most of the efforts were rather crude-looking, though there was definitely an air of devotion to them, as they all depicted her in heroic or conquering poses, either standing proudly by herself or over a vanquished enemy.  She sniffed disdainfully at them.

“Not terribly impressive artists, are you?  I’ve had better likenesses of me done by children,” she said, turning her eyes back to them, her voice cold though she still wore a hint of a smile.  “Obviously your artwork isn’t meant to impress me.  How about your deeds?  Perhaps you’ve accomplished some things that I haven’t heard about yet.”

It was as though an invisible cold wave passed over the crowd of followers, such was their shuddering as Raven’s eyes moved over them, meeting each set of eyes for a brief second.  Soft whimpers and cries came from the mouths of the cultists as their goddess looked them over.  “You carved my name into your flesh.  You killed your dog and drank its blood.  You burnt down a church in the next town over.  You helped her.  So did you.  And you.  You had a likeness of me tattooed onto your back.  You raped your girlfriend and pretended you were me.  You killed your cat and drank its blood.  You also burnt down a church.  You beat a priest with a lead pipe and nearly killed him.  You scrawled my name across several houses, walls, and alleys with spray paint.  You’ve all drank each others’ blood at various points in time.  Oh, and most of you took part in a ritual rape right here in this very building, killed the victim with hatchets afterwards, and then drank her blood, naturally.  And so on and so forth.”

Her eyes came to rest on Erik, and she tilted her head as she looked at him.  “A rather nice collection of followers you’ve brought together in my name, child.”

Erik smiled and bowed his head.  “Thank you, great one.  We are only mere mortals, so we cannot annihilate armies and cities like you, the Great Destroyer, can, but we do our best.”

Raven nodded.  “And your best is burning churches, killing helpless animals, creating pointless graffiti, and tormenting those unworthy of your wrath.  Ah yes, and let’s not forget your rather sad attempts at art.”

“We will get better, mistress,” the Cult’s leader said apologetically.  “We are just beginning to learn your ways and methods, so our attempts are still rudimentary.  But we will do our best to improve, great one, and we would be honored if you would teach us.”  An excited affirmative murmur rose among the young men and women, and despite their obvious fear of the diminutive vampiress, they looked at her with eyes full of adoration.

            “I don’t really see the point in that,” said Raven, turning away from both Erik and her devoted worshippers.  “You’ve already proven that you’re little more than a bunch of idiotic, bloodthirsty vandals.”

            Another hush fell over the church as the vampiress’ words sank in, and a few seconds later fearful murmuring began.  “What . . . what do you mean, great one?” asked Erik, his heartbeat quickening.

            Raven didn’t answer for several moments, taking slow steps away from the Cult, heading towards the desecrated altar of the old church.  “You’re no different than any other group of devotees since before the beginning of civilization, religious or otherwise.  You seek to show tribute to your object of worship with displays of idiocy and cruelty.  I’m not sure why that is, because I would think that gods would want to see higher caliber behavior from their followers . . .”  She turned back around and looked over the Cult of the Raven, and said, “If their ego requires them to have followers at all.”

            “What are you saying?” inquired Erik, his voice shaky.

            The vampiress was suddenly in his face, yanking him forward by the collar of his heavy black robe so that they were nose-to-nose.  “What I’m saying is that I don’t need a group of idiots like yourselves to worship me and tell me how great I am: I already know!  This much I’ve proven not only to the world, but to myself as well!  My name is spoken in whispers and my stories are told in countless forbidden texts!  I am myth!  I am the stuff of legend!  I am Raven!  And I don’t need you.”

            “Mistress?”

            “As a matter of fact, your very existence is bothersome, because if you’re calling yourselves the ‘Cult of the Raven’ and are committing all manner of stupid acts in my name, people might get to thinking that I actually approve of your actions . . . which I don’t.  If you’d actually paid attention to the legends and tales surrounding me, you’d know that already, but like so many other would-be acolytes, you were too busy obsessing over the fantastical details to take note of the real meanings beneath my actions,” said the vampiress, her smile returning wider than ever.  “I think it’s about time to do the thing that more gods need to do when their followers behave like morons.”

            Erik stared at her in disbelief, starting to tremble in agitation.  “But . . . great one, how can you say that?  We’ve devoted ourselves to you!  We’ve made sacrifices, in more than one sense, for you!  We wouldn’t be here tonight if it wasn’t for you and the devotion your legends have aroused in us!  You made us, Mistress Raven!”

            The vampiress snorted.  “I didn’t make you, you made you.  I never forced any of you to commit those brainless acts in my name; I never even asked that of you, or anybody, for that matter.  Everybody chooses their own path in life, whether they want to take responsibility for it or not, and that includes myself as well as you.  I chose greatness and became like a god, while you chose mediocrity and became repugnance itself with your foul acts.”

            “But . . . you’re the Great Destroyer!” protested Erik, “We thought you’d approve of the destruction we’ve wrought in your name!”

            “Purposeful destruction is art, this is very true,” said Raven, “But mindless destruction is abhorrent . . . as are you.  Quoth Raven, nevermore!”  The vampiress threw back her head and let fly with mad laughter as two daggers, one with an emerald-colored blade and one with a ruby-colored blade, fell from the sleeves of her jacket and landed in her hands.

            With gleeful abandon she flung herself at Erik and the other cultists, and great gouts of blood splashed against the ceiling 50 feet overhead as the Cult of the Raven was obliterated by their object of worship.