What has gone before
“Master... Wake up, Master.” Hundred of voices whispered in his head, all saying the same thing, very slightly offset. Whispered, and yet jarringly loud at the same time.
He slowly became aware of the cold table below him. He could tell that he was naked, and could feel a burning pain between his legs. Upon consideration, the pronoun “he” might not fully apply anymore, but out of habit he chose to continue using it, within his own head.
The chorus continued, “We have decided that dying in a moment of ecstasy is not a worthy punishment for you.” As he became more aware, it occurred to him that he could hear every individual voice. Not just a mass of voices saying the same thing, each voice was clear in his mind. The effort of comprehending 600 voices at once was almost painful.
“We feel that such a death would be almost like you had reached the pinnacle of your desires, and might be taken to be a reward for a life well lived. Instead, We wish for your end to happen only after everything you value has been taken away from you. Even more, We hope that your end will never come, so that you can spend out the rest of eternity experiencing your complete failure.”
“To that end, We have taken steps. Rise, Master, and witness your new station.”
Hearing this, he climbs up from the table top, and opens his eyes. He sees that he is in his old workshop, on the very necromantic alter he used to animate all of his lovely corpse puppets. But outside of the altar itself, and the minimum necessary accoutrements to perform a major animation, the rest of the building was simply gone. The altar had been in the basement, but it was now a huge crater, blasted out of the dirt for 60 feet in each direction.
“We admit that when We saw that you were gone from this world, We grew upset. We took out Our wrath upon the site, but it was… unfulfilling. It needed to be you who suffered further, not empty buildings and the corpses We’d recently occupied.” The voices all shouted in his head, though he couldn’t wince from the pain. Each word flared inside him, excruciating between his ears just like the pain between his legs. Yet he stood still and looked about him, as he’d been ordered.
Turning around to view the rest of the crater, he saw all of the souls. They stood like ghosts, all around him, 600 deep. Mostly houka, though other races were here and there. None of them moved, except for their mouths moving when they spoke. No fidgeting, no gestures to emphasize their words. They all simply stood there, perfectly still, staring at him.
“We know not how, but We are now the God of Knowledge. We intend to discover how, as knowledge and discovery are within Our domain. But for now, We require a prophet. We find it a fitting punishment for you, who wished only dominion over the souls of the dead, to order about and violate for your own pleasure… We find it just to have you serve the goals of those same souls. Further, We find it just that you shall never again know pleasure, only the pain you feel now. Those parts of you caused only pain to Us, and now they shall cause you nothing but suffering in return.”
“We shall continue to call you Master. Whatever name you had, a name that We have never known, shall be lost from history. None shall speak of you again, and all that you have wrought in this world will be forgotten. We only call you Master because it amuses Us to remind you of all that you have lost. And all of Our followers will call you Master as well, and it will be Our little joke with you. For they will never know the truth of you, and will never know of what you once had. Even that much remembrance would be too much reward for you.”
“You shall refer to Us as The Numen. And you shall refer to us often, as you go forth and spread the word of Our existence. There is much to do now, to further the ends of Knowledge, and your complete participation is a part of your punishment.”
With those words, the Master turned and climbed out of the crate to survey what was left of his domain. Everything that he’d ever loved was nothing but ash, all of his lands and all of his buildings. So, he walked out into the world, naked and sexless. He was like a perfected copy of his former self; young and supple, flawless in face and body. But he was an unfinished statue; where his manhood should have been was simply smooth skin. The pain he felt originated from the space where it should have been, and if he focused on the pain, he could feel it actually coming from the open air where pieces should be hanging. But he couldn’t focus on the pain for very long without it sending him close to madness.
His perceptions were far greater than they should be, and his mind swifter. His new statue body was much stronger and swifter. And all of it was firmly devoted to serving The Numen. Only a silent screaming voice in the back of this perfect thinking machine was left to feel the agony of his loss. No sign was ever seen on the face of the prophet of the suffering that went on with every moment, only beatific contentment.
) to priests for use in my temple. 
I will enjoy watching the chase, friend dragon!!
