There will be winners and losers – that’s half the fun.

- The Lore of Above and Below, Verse 2

The High Father’s throne room was the most beautiful place Above or Below. The throne itself was a single piece of flawless green diamond, seven-sided and glowing from within. Seven great vines with golden leaves grew over it, each plant producing clusters of precious stones rather than grapes. The throne, vines and all, floated the air. When High Father descended – which was not often – seven enchanted trumpets would announce his movement, and seven slabs of stone would float up to form a stairway. Seven was the High Father’s favorite number, and so was a holy and powerful number across the universe. There were seven layers of heaven Above, seven continents Below, seven seas, seven great mountains. There had been seven moons, before the death of Essence, but now there were six. There were seven times seven races of mortals, seven primary classes of mortal, seven levels of power. And so on.

(Due to this somewhat annoying obsession, the pantheon even gambled with seven-sided dice. Chaos had spent a lot of time tweaking the laws of physics to get that right.)

“Still obsessed with seven, then, Dad?” Chaos asked. “At least some things haven’t changed.”

The ruler of Above and Below raised one shoulder a fraction of an inch, but otherwise did not respond. The sky behind him was more expressive, one half a delicate pink sunset spilling over wispy clouds, the other half a dark storm lit by constant flashes of lightning. The skies Above did not follow the same pragmatic rules as those Below.

Chaos smiled at the pantheon, her siblings. They sat in shocked silence, deities of every size, shape, gender, color, and style all stunned by the sight of their oldest sister. Courage was there, holding a lion’s head, and so was Hunger, which appeared as an enormous pair of jaws. The tired goddess of Parenthood sat rocking an infant while Madness, manifested a silver cloud, snickered at its own jokes. There was Cruelty, too, a short and surprisingly chubby bald man with eyes filled with rusty razors and one ear missing from where Chaos had removed it with a shard of broken glass.

(Chaos had fed the ear to Hunger, a dim-witted god who tended to bite first and ask questions later. The ear was still in whatever passes for Hunger’s stomach, where it would remain until some hero or villain was sent to bring it out.)

All the pantheon except Form were there, and all wore the glowing white robes that Order preferred, neat, tied up with belts of gold. They looked glorious. In contrast, Chaos appeared more goblin than goddess. She was smaller, skinnier, dirtier, and dressed in rags. Her shabbiness was not due to her recent release; she always looked like that. Only her eyes revealed her power. They contained fires that glowed with wild, unpredictable power, forever changing. Another unique feature of her eyes is that nobody in the room would meet them. Gods and goddesses, the most extraordinary beings in the universe, looked down at their feet, or at the wall, or the ceiling rather than lock eyes with Chaos.

“Hello, idiots,” Chaos said. “Those white robes are about to get really dirty.”

Her words finally elicited a response from the shocked crowd. Bloodshed, a two-headed titan, roared a challenge from the safety of the crowd. The god of wine threw a crystal glass at Chaos’s head but missed by several feet. The forum went wild, like a pack of drunk monkeys in the presence of a lion.

“Heretic!” someone shouted from the sixth tier.

“Traitor!” screamed someone from the third.

“Murderer! Murderer!” shouted several, and this became the dominant chant of the pantheon. “Murderer! Murderer!”

The lesser gods and goddesses, sitting furthest from Chaos, were the loudest. She recognized them all, but she hadn’t ever bothered to learn their names. She bowed theatrically to the sound of their abuse.

“Silence!” Order, the secondborn, god of water shouted. The noise died down. Order glared at the pantheon, daring any to make a sound.

“Come forth, Omen, messenger of the gods,” Order said solemnly.

Omen flew out of his place on the fourth tier of the forum and landed beside Order. The messenger of the gods was skinny, with silver wings. He wore a lot of gold jewelry and in one hand he carried a scepter, also gold. He bowed to the High Father, then to Order, and then to the rest of the pantheon. He cleared his throat, then spoke in a loud, grand voice that carried through the room, “Welcome, Chaos, the first born, goddess of fire, creator of—”

“We all know who I am,” Chaos interrupted. “What we want to know is why I’m here.”

Her words met with a murmur of assent from the pantheon. Whispers and rumours flowed through their ranks.

“Silence!” Order yelled, and the murmuring died. “Omen, continue.”

Omen puffed out his chest.

“In the beginning, the universe was empty,” Omen began.

(Chaos was fairly sure this wasn’t true, and that the Ruler of Heaven had simply found an empty universe and moved in before anyone else could lay a claim, but even she wasn’t reckless enough to ask.)

“The High Father grew bored of this infinite nothing,” Omen continued, “so he cut off three of his fingers and used their flesh to create the heavens Above and world Below. He took the Sun as a wife. Firstborn of their children was Chaos, goddess of fire, and secondborn was Order, god of water, both mighty from their first moments. They—"

“I was there,” Chaos said. “I don’t need the history lesson.”

“Do not interrupt me!” Omen shouted and lashed out with his scepter, catching Chaos across her face with a thump.

Chaos fell to the ground. Several of the gods and goddesses watching from the forum called out encouragement and suggestions. Omen smiled and hit Chaos as she tried to rise, his scepter smashing her nose, causing a single drop of Chaos’s red blood to fall to the marble floor. The drop burst into flames, evaporating instantly. Omen stepped back, smiling. The satisfied look on his face quickly disappeared as Chaos began to growl, a low, dangerous sound that promised pain and mayhem. The pantheon muttered in excitement. Their immortal lives had grown dull without the presence of their oldest sister, the games slow and easy, family debates boring, one-sided, and poorly attended.

But no longer.

Chaos stood, struggling against the weight of her chains. She glared at Omen, who looked to Order for support. The god of water nodded in approval.

“Prisoner, kneel before the High Father and the pantheon, ” Omen demanded, raising his scepter again.

“No.”

“Kneel!”

“Nope.”

Omen lashed out, but Chaos was ready for him. She ducked his scepter and charged forward, slamming her forehead into his face.

Crack!

Centuries of headbutting her cell walls had left Chaos with a forehead as hard as stone. Omen collapsed backward. Chaos was on him in an instant, placing a foot on his throat. Omen tried to roll away, but Chaos stepped down on his neck until his face turned purple.

“You have forgotten me, my family,” Chaos shouted. “I am Chaos, the firstborn, goddess of fire, creator and player of games. If my father has something to say to me, let him speak. The rest of you can shut up.”

“Let Omen go,” Order snapped.

Chaos released Omen, who scuttled backward and hid behind Order. The pantheon laughed at the sight.

“Silence!” Order roared. “Silence!”

He slapped his hammer against his open palm, and the sound was like thunder.

“We are gathered here, in the High Father’s throne room,” Order said, spitting each word out as if it tasted bitter, “to consider our sister’s sentence. Knowledge, please explain.”

The pantheon turned to look at the God of Knowledge, who kept reading his scroll, oblivious to the sudden attention on him.

“Knowledge!” Order snapped. “Speak!”

Knowledge looked up. “Oh,” he said. “Yes. Chaos was sentenced for a period of seven times seven mortal lifetimes. These have now passed, so she’s free.” He turned back to his scroll, ignoring the shouts of confusion and consternation rising from the ranks of the pantheon.

“No!” Order protested. “Surely she’s served less than half her sentence!”

“Some of the lifetimes were those of goblins,” Knowledge said with a shrug. “It’s not my fault if they don’t live very long. She’s free.”

The pantheon all turned towards Order, who in turn looked to the High Father. The ruler of Above and Below considered Knowledge’s words, meditating on them as if seeking a deeper truth.

“Agreed,” he said at last.

His single word boomed through the throne room and every realm of the Above, its echoes lasting for several seconds. A sullen rustling spread through the Parthenon. Accusations hissed through the ranks as Order’s face turned red with anger.

“Right! Break my chains, Order. I’m going Below,” Chaos said. “I’ve missed the mortals and their games. If anyone needs me, I’ll be building a dungeon and planning my revenge on you lot.”

“Below?” Omen said from behind Order, and chuckled. “We don’t go Below anymore, Chaos. The very thought! There is no need.”

“Then how do you play the games?” Chaos asked.

“From up here.”

“Lame! There is no fun without risk. But I don’t care what you do. Order, break my chains!”

“I will,” Order hissed, raising his hammer. “And I’ll break you, too!”

His mighty hammer smashed through Chaos’s chains and into her body. The chains shattered and evaporated. Chaos herself broke into fragments, an arm and two legs going one way, bits of her torso the other, her head landing face up on the ground.

“Dammit, Order! You could have at least let me scratch my—”

Order kicked Chaos’s head, sending it flying from the throne room, falling through all seven layers of Above and to the world Below. Chaos spun uncontrollably as she fell. She could see the ground approaching and knew she was falling fast, far too fast.

“You’re the worst, Order!” she screamed. “I’m going to—”

She hit the ground hard.

Crack!