The Devil Couldn’t Reach Me

The line dividing humans and Gods is waning. The Gods don't solely influence humans, they often times reproduce humans. Special humans who are part God and part human. Demigods. History has shown time and time again that the Gods are not interested in their living descendants. It's what happens after that garners their attention. It was an established rule created by them to control and influence more than the living. They are the puppeteers to death's dummies. The Gods argued like parliament. Loud until a judgement was cast. Past outcomes resulted in wars, genocides, and complete erasures of human races. Earth is a field of Godly battles. It is a graveyard. A consequence. In previous timelines the Gods lost children in horrible accidents. They used to die permanently. The children. They were forbidden from the Otherworld and the Underworld. The Otherworld being what is Heaven to humans. The Underworld being what is Hell to humans. The Gods argued until the terms Banshee and Banhee were created for the children. If the children were to die tragically, they would be granted access to live again as subservients to the Celtic Gods. If they grew old then they would not turn into a Banshee or Banhee respectively. They would be sent to the demigod sectors of the Otherworld or Underworld depending on their legacy. The sectors were created to show mercy to their bastard children. Mercy those children often did not receive. Nobody asks the hard hitting question of why these wars occur. The only thing that matters is the byproduct of these heinous instances. They used to gather up the bastards and send them to a room where their necks would be snapped like twigs. All at once they would change as Ankou, the God of death with a Banhee by his side collected the souls to change the blood coursing in their veins. Change their very souls and legacies. Over time, the Gods buried their gruesome cruelties on human disasters. Floods. Shootings. Car crashes. All meant to kill those divine. The humans caught in the crosshairs do not matter. All that matters is that Godly blood is spilled. Rivers of red blood that run cold streams through the networks of selfishness. The created and turned are stronger, more agile, and less human than they once were when they were alive. The screams plague the Otherworld chambers as the golden opulent walls groan. Death won't arrive until the Banshee screams. They always scream. Whether it's out of fear or trauma is unknown. It's embedded in their nature. The shrill pierce that shatters glass. Lugh, a God known as a reckless trickster and full of light and life did not argue. He never argued with his siblings out in the open. He fathered few children over the years. He didn't have sex with the intention of exploitation of future generations. He was forbidden to be involved with his children. His daughter. She was aging out of the system. He didn't want to win battles this way. Not when his daughter was heavily on the line. He set down a blurred photograph of his daughter. His veins flooded with grief. He could not do right by her in the right ways. He was forced to leave. He couldn't force death upon her in the same instance. The Gods look regal and angelic, but Lugh opted for human. He let him look aged as if he did have a seventeen-year-old daughter. He has coppery red hair, a scruffy beard, and spots of gray in the color. He fell in love with the humans. He grew sick and tired of these nonsensical wars. Casting Arawn, the God of the Underworld to a condemned sentence in the Underworld was cruel. It didn't stop the brewing tensions. It only caused more overbearing resentment. Lugh tapped his fingertips along the golden cage that he once used as a barrier from those he sent to a room of fresh decay. He sent so many to their demises. He was ruthless once upon a time. Humanity humbled him as he stepped away from the light of the Otherworld into a subway station where he saw his daughter. Blonde hair floated around her as she stepped into the cart. His reflection morphed as he stepped into the ghostly shadows preventing an unprecedented moment. The cart screeched as sparks lit up the track. He made sure that there would not be another death today. Not his daughter's death anyways. Everything else was swimmingly out of his Godly control. Not for a long while will Emelie Sullivan die by her own idle hands. Not until her last name is changed from Sullivan to Lucas will she be taken out of this world. The reflection dimmed completely as Lugh vanished completely from sight. Another tragedy erupted. Banshee screams punctured and splintered ears that are far from human.