When I woke up, the first thing I noticed was the smell---damp earth, mold, and something sickly sweet, like rotting fruit. It was faint but unmistakable, lingering in the cold, musty air.

My wrists were bound, arms aching from being held at an awkward angle, and my back pressed against rough stone. I groaned, blinking into the darkness as my mind tried to piece together what had happened.

Then, it hit me. I'd been walking home after a long day, enjoying the sunset, when a group of hooded figures surrounded me. Before I could react, I was hit with some sort of tranquilizer, and now, well, here I was---kidnapped by a cult, of all things.

A cult.

I chuckled despite myself.

Of course, it had to be a cult. This wasn’t the first time. Though, usually, it was fanatics trying to kill me, not drag me to some dingy underground chamber. I tilted my head back, hitting the stone wall with a soft thud. I guess this time, they wanted to try something new.

As the memories of my long, long life slowly shuffled into place, I started to take stock of the situation. This wasn't the first time I'd been bound, kidnapped, or even threatened by some religious sect.

In fact, immortality comes with a fair amount of inconveniences---like living long enough to see people worship gods you personally know, or worse, accidentally create entire cults based on stupid pranks you pulled centuries ago.

Which, judging by the ornate symbols scrawled across the floor in front of me, was exactly what had happened here.

My eyes traced the familiar sigil, drawn in blood. It was unmistakably crude, a half-circle with jagged lines shooting outward like rays from a malformed sun.

Below it were intricate runes, misspelled but recognizable, spelling out the name of the deity these nutjobs worshiped: Itheron.

I groaned.

Itheron.

How had I forgotten?

I closed my eyes and leaned my head against the stone behind me, memories rushing back.

Itheron, God of Chaos and Trickery, was an old friend of mine. We'd been partners in crime for centuries, both bored with immortality and always looking for new ways to amuse ourselves. And once, long ago, during one particularly dull era, I'd convinced a bunch of gullible mortals to worship him as a prank.

It had been a joke.

We'd had a few laughs, and then I'd moved on. But apparently, Itheron hadn’t. Or, worse yet, the cult hadn't. They must have kept the ruse going long after I stopped paying attention, evolving into whatever this deranged mess was now.

"Great," I muttered. "Just great."

Footsteps echoed from somewhere beyond the chamber, growing louder as they approached. A group of figures entered, shrouded in dark robes, their faces hidden behind masks. One of them, clearly the leader, stepped forward and raised his arms in a grand, theatrical gesture.

"The time has come," he intoned, his voice dripping with melodrama. "The ritual to summon our Lord Itheron is at hand."

I stifled a laugh. "Summon him? Really?"

The leader's head snapped toward me, surprise flickering behind the mask. "You dare mock the summoning of a god?"

"Oh, absolutely," I said, smiling brightly despite my restraints. "You guys are way off base."

A murmur rippled through the group, and the leader stepped closer, peering at me with a mixture of confusion and suspicion. "What do you mean, 'off base'? The ritual has been passed down through generations. It is flawless."

I arched an eyebrow. "Flawless, huh? That's rich. I should know---I invented half of it."

The leader froze, his mask hiding whatever expression flickered across his face. But the tension in the room was palpable.

"Lies. Blasphemy," he hissed. "You know nothing of Itheron's true nature."

I rolled my eyes. "Itheron doesn't have a 'true nature.' He's the God of Chaos, for crying out loud. And trust me, if you knew the guy, you'd realize this whole thing is one big cosmic joke."

The leader looked like he was about to explode. "You speak sacrilege!"

"Sacrilege?" I laughed, loud and sharp. "Look, buddy, I'm immortal. I've been around for millennia. I've seen gods rise and fall, and Itheron's no different. Hell, the whole reason you worship him is because I got bored and decided to mess with a bunch of people. You're living in the aftermath of my prank."

A stunned silence filled the room.

Then, from somewhere behind the group, a voice spoke up. "Could it be true? Is this man … one of the ancients?"

The leader whipped around, glaring at the person who had dared to speak, but the seed of doubt had already been planted. Whispers spread among the cultists, and I could see the cracks forming in their conviction.

I leaned back, watching the show unfold. At this point, I figured Itheron himself would get a kick out of this. Knowing him, he was probably watching the whole thing and laughing his head off. I could almost imagine his voice in my ear, teasing me for getting caught up in my own prank.

The leader snapped his fingers, and two of the cultists stepped forward, drawing long, curved knives from their belts. "If you truly know our Lord Itheron, then you will meet him in the afterlife," he snarled, raising the blade high.

I sighed. "Look, before you do something you'll regret, you should know one thing: I can't die."

The cultists hesitated, but the leader sneered. "Impossible."

I shrugged. "Go ahead. Try me."

With a shout, the knife plunged into my chest. Pain flared for a brief moment, and then … nothing.

I looked down at the blade, now buried deep in my torso, and gave the leader a deadpan stare. "See? Told you."

The leader's eyes widened in horror as he pulled the blade free, staring at the wound, which had already begun to heal. Gasps echoed through the chamber as the other cultists stepped back, unsure of what they were witnessing.

"What are you?" the leader whispered, his voice trembling.

I smiled, feeling the familiar rush of power that came with revealing the truth. "I'm the reason you're all here. I'm the one who started this ridiculous cult centuries ago, and now, I think it's time to end it."

The leader backed away, stumbling over his own feet. The rest of the cultists looked on in disbelief as I stood up, the ropes that had bound me falling away as if they were nothing more than cobwebs.

Before the leader could give another order, the air around us shifted, thickening with a strange, otherworldly energy. The torches flickered, and the temperature dropped. A familiar laugh echoed through the chamber, low and mischievous, sending shivers down the spines of everyone present---except for me.

I turned, grinning. "Took you long enough, Itheron."

A figure materialized out of the shadows, tall and slender, with wild, chaotic eyes that gleamed with mischief. He looked every bit the part of a god, but his smirk gave him away. Itheron, the so-called God of Chaos, stood before us, arms crossed and clearly enjoying the spectacle.

"Well, well, well," he drawled, his voice like silk. "Looks like someone's been stirring up trouble in my name."

I raised an eyebrow. "You mean I stirred up trouble for you centuries ago, and you forgot to tell these poor folks that it was all a joke."

Itheron chuckled, shaking his head. "You know how it is. Once you start a cult, it's hard to shut it down. They get so devoted."

The cultists stood frozen in shock, staring up at the deity they had spent their lives worshiping. Itheron glanced at them, his expression somewhere between amused and pitying. "Oh, don't look so sad. You did great! Really. You kept the prank going for way longer than I expected."

The leader dropped to his knees, trembling. "My Lord … Itheron … please forgive us .…"

Itheron waved a hand dismissively. "Forgive you? For what? You were just following orders from a centuries-old joke. Honestly, I'm impressed with your dedication."

I crossed my arms, shooting him a look. "You owe them an explanation, you know."

Itheron sighed, dramatically rubbing the back of his neck. "Fine, fine. Look, everyone, this whole thing? The rituals, the worship, the sacrifices? All a prank. It was never real. I'm not the kind of god who demands worship or offerings. I'm the god of chaos, remember? I just like to have a little fun."

The leader looked up, his face pale. "But … but the power ...."

Itheron rolled his eyes. "Yeah, okay, I threw in a few magical sparks here and there to keep things interesting, but it was never about control or domination. It was just … for kicks."

The cultists stared at each other, disbelief written across their faces. Everything they had built, everything they had believed, was crumbling before them.

I sighed, stepping forward. "Look, I get it. You've spent your whole lives believing in something, and now it feels like the rug's been pulled out from under you. But here's the thing---what you do next is up to you. You can keep worshiping Itheron, or, you know, move on. Find something else to believe in. Or just stop with all this cult nonsense. It's really your choice."

The leader stayed on his knees, staring at the ground. The other cultists shifted uncomfortably, exchanging glances as the reality of the situation sank in. It was as if the air had been sucked out of the room, leaving them deflated and directionless.

Itheron, never one for awkward silences, clapped his hands. "Well, this has been fun, but I've got other things to do. Mortals to mess with, chaos to sow, you know how it is. So, unless anyone has any more rituals they want to perform, I’m gonna take off."

One of the cultists---an older man with deep-set eyes---hesitated, then stepped forward. "What … what should we do now?"

Itheron paused, a smirk creeping back onto his face. "Well, you could always start worshiping me for real. I mean, if that's your thing. I could make things … interesting."

The cultists looked torn, their faith shaken but not entirely shattered. Itheron’s offer was tempting, but it was clear they weren't sure what to believe anymore. The leader, still on the ground, whispered, "But … our lives … everything we've done ...."

I sighed. This is getting pathetic.

"Listen," I said, "you don't need a god to tell you what to do with your lives. You're free now. Go live it however you want. Trust me, it's a lot better than spending all your time doing rituals for someone who doesn't even care."

Itheron raised an eyebrow at me but didn’t disagree.

The room was silent, the cultists lost in their thoughts. Finally, one by one, they began to file out, their heads hanging low. The leader was the last to leave, his steps slow and heavy as if the weight of everything he had believed had crushed him.

Once they were gone, Itheron turned to me, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "You know, you could've let them keep the cult going. It was kind of fun watching them grovel."

I shook my head. "They deserved better. Even if it started as a joke, it became their whole lives."

He shrugged. "Fair enough. You've always had a soft spot for mortals."

"I just don't like seeing people suffer for no reason," I said. "Especially when it's because of something I did."

Itheron chuckled. "You're getting soft, my friend."

"Maybe," I admitted. "But it's been a long few centuries. I'm tired of watching the same mistakes play out over and over again."

Itheron tilted his head, considering me. "You know, you could always join me. Forget about all this morality stuff. We could cause some real chaos together, like the old days."

I smiled, but there was a hint of sadness in it. "The old days are gone. We've both changed. I'm not the same person I was back then."

He sighed dramatically, as if disappointed, but I knew him too well to be fooled. There was a flicker of understanding in his eyes. "Well, if you ever change your mind, you know where to find me."

With that, he snapped his fingers, and in an instant, he was gone, leaving only the lingering scent of mischief in the air.

I stood alone in the empty chamber, the silence pressing in on me. The cult was gone, and so was Itheron. For the first time in a long while, I felt … at peace. Maybe I wasn't cut out for the chaos and trickery anymore. Maybe it was time to find something new, something that didn't involve ancient pranks and immortal gods.

I took a deep breath and stepped out of the chamber, into the cool night air. The stars overhead twinkled like they always had, unchanged by the passing of time, and yet everything felt different.

It was time to start over.

For real this time.

***

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