Even in death, their biomass rarely sits still for long. It is harvested to feed others and they are reaped in turn. It isn’t much different from taking the flame from an Angel or Devil and stuffing it behind a new face with a new name. Demons, in particular, are rarely reconstructed from the same globs of hungry fire, once banished.
So long as Metatron and Michael don’t have their way, I have great job security.
On the bright side, that does suggest they didn’t arouse Solomon David’s ire. When the Celestial Legion takes an interest in your behavior, it tends to leave its standard over your ashes.
Mammon, Mighty is He, was the one who opened my world’s Gate. Unlike the other Demiurges, he did not send legions of inhuman warriors to destroy and take everything, he did not send war machines too advanced and terrible to describe to keep an eye on us. He did not come bearing immutable Law or stoking Want amongst us like a night demon.
No, his arrival was heralded by 7.7 million assessors coming to all the worlds in our tiny universe, prizing up everything for what little it would be worth, and then publicly congratulating us that we were worth more intact than we would be broken down for spare parts. Then he demanded a seventh part of everything made, found, thought, mined, or farmed on all of our worlds. Those who refused were eaten by His multitudinous children, often just snatched into the screaming skies in broad daylight, with only a blast of brimstone breath and a roar to warn those standing nearby.
Hail Mammon, the Fire-Roaring King, Hail Mammon the Gentle Conqueror, Father of Death on Wings, Hail Mammon!
After the assessors came swarms of scavengers and hucksters, who bought their licenses to exploit this new universe. They paid their tithes to the Grand Dragon Bank, so they were allowed to come in and fleece us for all we were worth. Where the jeweled palaces of Bhanak once stood, just a local year before, now there is a concrete-and-rebar skeleton, stripped of all gilding, marble, and gems. Even the erotic frescoes are gone! The farmer finds a better profit in selling his grain to the outsiders, so his family goes hungry. The tailor can make ten fortunes fitting grief coats for outworlders, so none here are properly attired for funerals. Even our priests have seen the terrible, glinting light, and they sell holy relics of the Gods to tourists who trample over our sacred ground.
Hail Mammon, the Affluent One, Hail Mammon, within whose soul turns the wheels of Capitalism, Hail Mammon, the Invisible Hand!
I cannot rage too much, though, lest I reveal what a hypocrite I am: I sold pies to outworld pirates, and made enough money to buy transit to Throne. Now, here I am, selling pies to devils and those who truck with them. Every seventh one goes to the bank, as is right and proper. The rest are sold, and the rest have built me wealth that even the grandest king back home would be envious of.
Hail Mammon, the Dragon of Cash!
Uther "Chaos Angel", Least of Jagganoth's Foreservants
(out of character) Wow. Even if it is a parody religion, I think I may have just lost all my faith in the human race reading just a fraction of that. Either these principles are not absolute, or I just don’t see a point in living anymore.
Do not fear. Multipolar Malthusian traps and the like are only partially real in a partial subset of reality as viewed through Moloch tinted glasses.
Your aforementioned faith in the human race, was it based on our propensity for scrounging for scraps in the muck? I suspect not. More likely it is based on our will to reach for the divine. (why else would we find ourselves enamored with this particular story). reevaluate, synthesize, and take courage.
I wish to speak to the local branch office about the Knight Belligerent sent to find me. Every seventh pie has gone to the bank, as is the Scaled King’s due. I haven’t been holding out on Him. You didn’t need to set the Knight on my trail. Now I need to get my stall repaired, and pay off a rather angry gun witch who dealt with the poor fellow for me.
Not to fear, civilian, for I have recently been promoted after replacing my blood with liquid gold and ascending three-hundred-fold in material value! As a matter of fact, I did need to set the Knight on your trail; it’s all in the official contract, page 1023948720394872 line MMDVI, near the front end. In fact, I personally meddled in your favor to have “Belligerent” written instead of “Thorn” in the contract as it was being written! You should be thankful that we were so merciful. And just so you know, attacking a Bank employee, temporary or otherwise, is against the rules of the contract, as is dealing with witches, and for both infractions you will be required to pay a small fine of 100 Guilders (or any equivalent currency), 1/2 ton of pure solid silver, and 12 slaves (pleasure or otherwise).
But if you perhaps send me one of those pies I’ll personally let you off easy by only charging 50 Guilders and a single pleasure slave – don’t tell my boss! – and if you could share your recipe, I’ll try to use my influence to get my boss, the universe manager, to look into issuing repair loans.
Hail Mammon, Dragon of Dosh, King of Kash, Granddaddy of Gold, Sultan of Silver, Big Boss of Bullion, Wizard of Wampum!
Fool! All Kind People, and all people in general, should aspire to the great volume and corpulence of our lord Mammon, but indeed to inspire in vain, for in truth none may be His equal!
That’s a good question. I don’t -think- so? Allison has Zoss’s Key, and she isn’t as powerful as Zoss, though he clearly thinks she has the ability to become so. A Key of Kings is an object, and like any other object they can be stolen. But they are objects of supreme power, in effect the symbols of the highest office in the land, and thus naturally are controlled by the rulers of the multiverse. The Seven were the most powerful beings around (by the standards of this time, anyway, if not by the Universal War’s standards) when they obtained their Keys – it’s why they were able to attain them. I don’t think Solomon is a legendary martial artist or Jagganoth a great warrior because they have Keys, I think those qualities are part of what made them worthy of possessing Keys. I -definitely- don’t think Yabalchoath was as powerful as one of the Seven.
As to whether she -could have- become that powerful… well, we may never know. I suspect very strongly that He (the guy in the box in the Heretics’ Court) might be on the same level as the Seven.
It’s difficult to say, as we don’t know too much about exactly how powerful the Seven really are.
It’s clear that each has a different level of skill at extracting power from their keys, and Cio is known for her mastery of the Art of Lying. However even a thief that craft has to know that a dragon doesn’t get into Mammon’s position without being crafty enough to punch well above their weight class.
That’s pretty crafty when you are a dragon god.
22 Prophetic blade cuts away remorse cleanly through renunciation
I once asked a colleague what it felt like to hold a portion of the big guy’s power. He said that it didn’t feel like much of anything, probably because it wasn’t really his key.
Returning it destroyed all the parts of him I liked.
Aye, I met an Emissary of your master once. His form could scarce contain the power held within, and he nearly disintegrated towards the end of his service. Poor bastard had to pay for a devil-cloned right leg when he was allowed to be himself again. It’s said that being an Emissary means that your lord’s personality overrides yours, to a certain extent.
If that’s true, Jagganoth is a right lousy tipper.
When both angels and devils can survive death, where do mortals sit?
Ask Zoss.
That this saying is synonymous with “kill yourself” in much of Throne should be little cause for alarm.
On a thread.
Perceivers are the only ones whose choices carry the full weight of mortality behind them. Tick Tock, each choice could be your last, choose wisely.
Indeed, even if I could, I doubt that there’d be much point in harvesting these circular existences.
On the edge of the grave. And that is why the majority of those approaching Royalty are humans.
In a grave, mostly.
Even in death, their biomass rarely sits still for long. It is harvested to feed others and they are reaped in turn. It isn’t much different from taking the flame from an Angel or Devil and stuffing it behind a new face with a new name. Demons, in particular, are rarely reconstructed from the same globs of hungry fire, once banished.
So long as Metatron and Michael don’t have their way, I have great job security.
WELP, that’s my question answered.
Explains why they’re all so bright, too.
whaaaaaaat!
The sentence is banishment by dragonfire.
Curse you, karma-guided amnesia weaponry!
I feel like the central panel desperately needs a soundtrack.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eP239i3LzdQ
just not the Duck Tails theme. I am having a hard enough time keeping giant money bin comparisons out of my head as it is.
Ducktales! Woo-ooh!
Solomon’s looking fly as fuck over there with his loincloth lifestyle.
I can confirm that Solomon has gotten nothing but smugger with the passing of the ages.
This is why I love this comic so much. This is going to be a great arc.
Oh dear.
Ooo, stuff’s getting GOOD. Kinda wanna give Cio a hug right now too, that sounds rough.
Damn, but that’s a fine beard.
Solomon’s Might: Directly Proportional to Beard Length? Our Intrepid Reporter Goes Undercover As Barber’s Guild Member to Uncover Truth
— Headline, The Red Shade Inquirer, 148th ed.
Entire Staff of Red Shade Inquirer Killed in Freak But Undoubtedly Deserved Nuclear Accident; Citizens Advised Not To Question Holy Justice
— Headline, Celestial Times, 366th ed.
Grapedrank Smugecat? Leviathan Maccduck? A Look At The Origins Of Some Of The Demiurges’ Most Confusing Titles.
— Headline, Burning Star Magazine (Inside The Daily Lives Of The Powerful And Godlike) 15th ed.
On the bright side, that does suggest they didn’t arouse Solomon David’s ire. When the Celestial Legion takes an interest in your behavior, it tends to leave its standard over your ashes.
Mammon, Mighty is He, was the one who opened my world’s Gate. Unlike the other Demiurges, he did not send legions of inhuman warriors to destroy and take everything, he did not send war machines too advanced and terrible to describe to keep an eye on us. He did not come bearing immutable Law or stoking Want amongst us like a night demon.
No, his arrival was heralded by 7.7 million assessors coming to all the worlds in our tiny universe, prizing up everything for what little it would be worth, and then publicly congratulating us that we were worth more intact than we would be broken down for spare parts. Then he demanded a seventh part of everything made, found, thought, mined, or farmed on all of our worlds. Those who refused were eaten by His multitudinous children, often just snatched into the screaming skies in broad daylight, with only a blast of brimstone breath and a roar to warn those standing nearby.
Hail Mammon, the Fire-Roaring King, Hail Mammon the Gentle Conqueror, Father of Death on Wings, Hail Mammon!
After the assessors came swarms of scavengers and hucksters, who bought their licenses to exploit this new universe. They paid their tithes to the Grand Dragon Bank, so they were allowed to come in and fleece us for all we were worth. Where the jeweled palaces of Bhanak once stood, just a local year before, now there is a concrete-and-rebar skeleton, stripped of all gilding, marble, and gems. Even the erotic frescoes are gone! The farmer finds a better profit in selling his grain to the outsiders, so his family goes hungry. The tailor can make ten fortunes fitting grief coats for outworlders, so none here are properly attired for funerals. Even our priests have seen the terrible, glinting light, and they sell holy relics of the Gods to tourists who trample over our sacred ground.
Hail Mammon, the Affluent One, Hail Mammon, within whose soul turns the wheels of Capitalism, Hail Mammon, the Invisible Hand!
I cannot rage too much, though, lest I reveal what a hypocrite I am: I sold pies to outworld pirates, and made enough money to buy transit to Throne. Now, here I am, selling pies to devils and those who truck with them. Every seventh one goes to the bank, as is right and proper. The rest are sold, and the rest have built me wealth that even the grandest king back home would be envious of.
Hail Mammon, the Dragon of Cash!
Do you do delivery?
Zed sells Travelling Pies. Such pies need not be delivered, as they deliver themselves.
Gives a whole new meaning to the term “street food”.
I’ll pass, if true.
I know of very few finer sights
(and in the mouth finer delights)
than pie and mash on autumn nights.
I keep telling you, I already have a slogan, and I don’t need another one. You’ll get no charity from me, now buy a pie or begone.
http://slatestarcodex.com/2014/07/30/meditations-on-moloch/
Meditations on Mammon.
(out of character) Wow. Even if it is a parody religion, I think I may have just lost all my faith in the human race reading just a fraction of that. Either these principles are not absolute, or I just don’t see a point in living anymore.
I found it worth finishing, when I first found it long ago. The author does make an attempt at the end at pulling a resolution out of the gloom.
Do not fear. Multipolar Malthusian traps and the like are only partially real in a partial subset of reality as viewed through Moloch tinted glasses.
Your aforementioned faith in the human race, was it based on our propensity for scrounging for scraps in the muck? I suspect not. More likely it is based on our will to reach for the divine. (why else would we find ourselves enamored with this particular story). reevaluate, synthesize, and take courage.
We at the Grand Dragon Bank send our condolences for your world’s plight, and wish you luck in your current business endeavor.
Also, Hail Mammon, Dragon of Dosh!
I wish to speak to the local branch office about the Knight Belligerent sent to find me. Every seventh pie has gone to the bank, as is the Scaled King’s due. I haven’t been holding out on Him. You didn’t need to set the Knight on my trail. Now I need to get my stall repaired, and pay off a rather angry gun witch who dealt with the poor fellow for me.
Not to fear, civilian, for I have recently been promoted after replacing my blood with liquid gold and ascending three-hundred-fold in material value! As a matter of fact, I did need to set the Knight on your trail; it’s all in the official contract, page 1023948720394872 line MMDVI, near the front end. In fact, I personally meddled in your favor to have “Belligerent” written instead of “Thorn” in the contract as it was being written! You should be thankful that we were so merciful. And just so you know, attacking a Bank employee, temporary or otherwise, is against the rules of the contract, as is dealing with witches, and for both infractions you will be required to pay a small fine of 100 Guilders (or any equivalent currency), 1/2 ton of pure solid silver, and 12 slaves (pleasure or otherwise).
But if you perhaps send me one of those pies I’ll personally let you off easy by only charging 50 Guilders and a single pleasure slave – don’t tell my boss! – and if you could share your recipe, I’ll try to use my influence to get my boss, the universe manager, to look into issuing repair loans.
Hail Mammon, Dragon of Dosh, King of Kash, Granddaddy of Gold, Sultan of Silver, Big Boss of Bullion, Wizard of Wampum!
I… don’t believe the Kind People are supposed to get quite that large.
The Leviathan! Pray that he remains in his oceanhome!
Fool! All Kind People, and all people in general, should aspire to the great volume and corpulence of our lord Mammon, but indeed to inspire in vain, for in truth none may be His equal!
Getting some heavy Shadow of the Colossus (Ciocioelosus?) vibes from panel 5.
Wait… does this mean Cio was/might have become as powerful as one of the Seven?
That’s a good question. I don’t -think- so? Allison has Zoss’s Key, and she isn’t as powerful as Zoss, though he clearly thinks she has the ability to become so. A Key of Kings is an object, and like any other object they can be stolen. But they are objects of supreme power, in effect the symbols of the highest office in the land, and thus naturally are controlled by the rulers of the multiverse. The Seven were the most powerful beings around (by the standards of this time, anyway, if not by the Universal War’s standards) when they obtained their Keys – it’s why they were able to attain them. I don’t think Solomon is a legendary martial artist or Jagganoth a great warrior because they have Keys, I think those qualities are part of what made them worthy of possessing Keys. I -definitely- don’t think Yabalchoath was as powerful as one of the Seven.
As to whether she -could have- become that powerful… well, we may never know. I suspect very strongly that He (the guy in the box in the Heretics’ Court) might be on the same level as the Seven.
It’s difficult to say, as we don’t know too much about exactly how powerful the Seven really are.
It’s clear that each has a different level of skill at extracting power from their keys, and Cio is known for her mastery of the Art of Lying. However even a thief that craft has to know that a dragon doesn’t get into Mammon’s position without being crafty enough to punch well above their weight class.
That’s pretty crafty when you are a dragon god.
Betrayed by her husband, perhaps?
we know where she ended
a brothel she tended
To reach such levels of GLORY and not recall… Tis a shame. For though the meek shall inherit the Earth, it is the devious who shall steal it away.
Bathe in blood and violence in the name of the Seven, but do not bite the Royal hand that feeds you.
I once asked a colleague what it felt like to hold a portion of the big guy’s power. He said that it didn’t feel like much of anything, probably because it wasn’t really his key.
Returning it destroyed all the parts of him I liked.
Aye, I met an Emissary of your master once. His form could scarce contain the power held within, and he nearly disintegrated towards the end of his service. Poor bastard had to pay for a devil-cloned right leg when he was allowed to be himself again. It’s said that being an Emissary means that your lord’s personality overrides yours, to a certain extent.
If that’s true, Jagganoth is a right lousy tipper.
“You screw Mr. Mammon, Mr. Mammon screws you.”
Mammon’s properly Smauging it there.
What did Mammon do that’s made him so abhorrent even amongst the demiurges?
Hold on: if Maya once had a key (and seems like she had to), how did she lose it and live?