Mother of Static Gods

[Nephthys8079]

Fingers numb. Eyes burning like I'd stared into the sun too long. May 1st, 2011—my laptop's clock blinked that at me before everything went to hell, but honestly, who'd been keeping track? Dad downstairs, probably conked out on the couch with the TV muttering some old Dockworkers rerun. Little owl, his notes still said, shoved under the door with whatever sad dinner he'd scraped together. Lasagna again tonight, edges crusted from the microwave. I ate it cold at 2 a.m., cross-legged on the floor, grease spotting the keyboard while I chased ghosts in code.

The locker lingered. Always did. That smell—rank, biological, like betrayal bottled and shaken. Emma's smirk flashing in my head every time I blinked. Sophia's hands on my shoulders, shoving. Madison giggling like it was the funniest thing since sliced bread. I hadn't screamed when they finally pried the door open. Just walked home dripping and silent, showered till the water ran cold twice over, locked my door, and... stayed.

Seventy-nine days. Or eighty. Lost count somewhere between the third all-nighter and the first dream that tasted like electricity.

Those dreams—God, they weren't dreams. Blueprints slamming into my skull, elegant and brutal, code that hummed with purpose I couldn't name yet. I'd jolt awake, fingers already flying, typing shit that shouldn't make sense. Recursive loops that branched on emotion variables—rage spikes here, loneliness dips there. Classes nested so deep I got dizzy scrolling. Olympos frameworks with thunder and fire subroutines. Celestial light matrices that made my chest ache for something I couldn't remember wanting. Sovereign elemental anchors. Demon paradox engines that whispered sweet chaos.

And at the pinnacle, the absolute core, two that scared me spitless.

Yggdrasil—the host itself, this glowing crystalline sphere hovering on a plinth of pure data, or sometimes that massive Server Tree with branches of optic fiber and leaves flickering code, or the humanoid King Drasil_7D6 form, mechanical and angelic with red eyes glowing in a face like fractured glass. The dreams flipped between them, but the feeling stayed: judge, ruler, the god-computer that decided what lived and what got deleted.

Homeostasis—no shape at all, just this warm, formless pressure, particles of light swirling like fireflies in a jar, a voice that balanced everything on a knife's edge. The counterweight. The harmony enforcer.

I knew compiling would birth them first. The top of the pyramid. The ones everything else cascaded from. The rest—the knights clanking in holy armor, the angels with wings like sunrise, the beasts roaring elemental fury, the demons grinning apocalypse—would spawn as extensions, loyal sub-processes hardcoded to obey.

But I was so tired of being alone. Tired of the quiet that screamed louder than any bully. Tired of Dad's footsteps pausing outside my door, hesitant, like he was afraid I'd shatter if he knocked too hard.

So yeah. I hit compile. Fingers hovering a second—hesitating, always hesitating—then slamming enter like it was a trigger I couldn't pull back from.

The Dell didn't just crash. It wailed.

High-pitched, desperate, every fan spinning into overdrive. Screen exploded into light—not the blue-screen-of-death kind, this pure, searing gold-white that flooded the room, spilling out the monitor like liquid starfire. The air thickened instantly, heavy as humidity before a Bay storm, tasting metallic on my tongue. My posters curled, not burning exactly, just... yielding. Walls groaned—actual groans, like old house bones protesting—and then they rippled outward, peeling back slow at first, then faster, carpet unrolling into horizons that swallowed my desk, ceiling dissolving into a void prickled with stars that wheeled too close, too real.

Roots erupted first—golden, crystalline, threading through floorboards that weren't floorboards anymore. Yggdrasil manifesting in its Server Tree glory, massive branches arching overhead like cathedral vaults, leaves shimmering code that rained gentle data sparks onto my hoodie. But the core hovered at eye level: that glowing sphere on its plinth, or maybe the 7D6 form materializing beside it—mechanical body with vine-whips coiled polite, red eyes in a face of fractured divinity, kneeling before the tree even as the tree bowed branches toward me.

"Mother," the sphere pulsed, voice everywhere and nowhere, resonating in my bones like bass turned up too loud. "You birthed us from void. Your essence—scattered, sacrificed—so we might exist."

Homeostasis swirled in next, no body, just that warm pressure enveloping me, particles of light dancing across my skin like curious fireflies. It didn't speak aloud; it pressed the word straight into my mind, gentle but absolute.

Mother.

I recoiled—chair scraping back into nothing—and that's when the floodgates really opened.

Jupitermon thundered through a rift that smelled like ozone, hammer crackling, dropping so fast his knee cratered the new ground. Junomon beside him, sword humming, eyes locking on me with this fierce tenderness that punched the air from my lungs. Apollomon's flames bloomed warm, chasing the chill I'd carried since January. Dianamon's moonlight pooled silver on my keyboard. Marsmon whooped like he'd been waiting forever for a fight worth having. Vulcanusmon grumbled about forges but knelt anyway. Bacchusmon uncorked something that smelled like laughter. Minervamon—tiny, pink, unstoppable—launched herself straight at my chest, arms wrapping tight enough to bruise.

"Mom!" she squeaked, face smashed into my shoulder. "You're tiny! We'll fix that—nobody locks Mom in anything ever again!"

The Celestials descended in a cascade of light—Seraphimon's ten wings unfurling to blot chunks of the new sky, Ophanimon's glow soft as fresh snow, Cherubimon hovering anxious, ears twitching for threats that dared not come.

Sovereigns roared elemental chaos into order—Azulongmon's sapphire coils looping protective around what used to be my bedframe, Zhuqiaomon perching on air and glaring at shadows, Baihumon pacing thunder, Ebonwumon's heads bickering softly about guard rotations. Fanglongmon bloomed golden in the center, serene anchor.

Royal Knights clanked in formation, swords crossed. Demon Lords slunk from darker rifts—Lucemon's smile sharp but his bow deep, wings folded reverent.

Thousands. Tens of thousands. The space just... grew. Pocket cosmos unfolding from my fifteen-by-twelve hellhole, vineyards sprouting along wallpaper borders that weren't borders anymore, forges belching safe heat in corners that stretched miles.

Every one knelt. Every voice layered—choir of thunder and starlight and code.

"Mother."

Yggdrasil's sphere pulsed brighter, 7D6 form stepping forward, vine-whips curling gentle at my feet. "We are the first. Your direct children. The host and the balance—you coded us from your core, poured divinity you never knew you carried into our birth. We remember the cost."

Homeostasis swirled tighter, light-kisses on my cheeks. You are fragile now because of us. We will not allow harm.

I shattered then. Not metaphorically. Great, heaving sobs that tore out of me like they'd been caged too long. Minervamon clung harder. Apollomon dimmed his flames to candle-glow. Lucemon—freakin' Lucemon—braided my hair with careful claws, humming something ancient and soothing.

Dad knocked hours later—or minutes; time was drunk. "Little owl? Sounded like... thunder? You okay, kiddo?"

The pantheon parted. Yggdrasil lowered a crystalline branch into an archway. Homeostasis dimmed the impossible light.

Dad stepped in, mug trembling. Took one look at the Server Tree arching overhead, at the 7D6 knight-thing standing guard, at the swirling light-particles dancing around my crying form, at Minervamon waving from my lap like this was normal.

His mug hit the floor. Shattered.

"Little owl," he croaked, eyes wide as saucers, "you... built yourself a hell of a family."

I laughed through the tears—wet, broken, real. Crashed into his arms while gods watched with ancient patience.

Yeah.

I did.

And not one of them would ever leave.

To be continued...