They were, or I should say are an ancient synthetic race, Old Machines. A lot of people refer to them as gods, and get poetic about how even their corpses dream. They have a kind of... field they emanate, a sort of pull in people's minds, to turn them towards the Reapers. They've turned whole species turned into tools; it's not faith, or even slavery, it's like
a hand inside a glove. They're just husks. Puppets.
Their whole mode of operating is to swoop in every fifty-thousand years and wipe the sky clean of life. Every sad excuse of a person who ever lifted their head out of the dirt and looked at the stars has to die, as far as they're concerned. Trillions of deaths, a total genocide of every sentient race. Humans included. Maybe humans especially, since I managed to kill one, and screw up it's plans.
I don't know if that counts as a god or not. But it's a hell of thing.
no subject
a hand inside a glove. They're just husks. Puppets.
Their whole mode of operating is to swoop in every fifty-thousand years and wipe the sky clean of life. Every sad excuse of a person who ever lifted their head out of the dirt and looked at the stars has to die, as far as they're concerned. Trillions of deaths, a total genocide of every sentient race. Humans included. Maybe humans especially, since I managed to kill one, and screw up it's plans.
I don't know if that counts as a god or not. But it's a hell of thing.