It awoke him from his slumber with a start; the feeling that something - [i]everything[/i] - had changed. And, as he rose into a sitting position, brushing sleep from his eyes with smooth hands, softened by oil, there was a smirk upon his lips. As Daeros, Father of Corruption, rose to his feet, he felt elated - now was the time for change; now was [i]his[/i] time for change, if what he thought had happened had, indeed, come to pass. 

Eyes the colour of the most precious gold swept around a dimly lit chamber; drinking in the sight of various half-naked, slumbering women. The God snorted, lifting a hand and running it through his oil black hair; that self-gratificating smile still painted upon his smooth lips. He stepped through the room with skillful, quiet feet - nimbly tiptoeing past the heads of the two score or so women who were scattered around the large room, bodies saved from the discomfort of the cold stone floor by large, plumped-up pillows. 

As the God made his way to the room’s only exit - a section of the wall that looked slightly different to the rest, but only to his own eye - he glanced back at his sleeping concubines; eyes sweeping over each of them in turn, if only for a moment - counting them like precious gems, before glancing upwards towards the roof of the building. Roughly three metres above his head were a number of thick, interlocking wooden rafters - crafted from tree trunks - from which hung the body of a positvely [i]huge[/i] serpent - the animal flicking its tongue out of its mouth idly, staring down at its master with beady eyes. “See to it that they’re fed,” Daeros commanded, words soft and smooth as silk - but still with a note of undeniable steel to them. 

With that, Daeros turned on his heel - waving his right hand, a large section of the wall - which was crafted from massive, smooth, flawlessly put together limestone blocks - swinging outwards and away from him; revealing the central walkway of his temple, onto which was spilling the new light of dawn. He heard an idle hissing behind him as he began to walk away - the snake, communicating to its fellows - and the hidden doorway slammed shut behind him, sealing flawlessly into the rest of the temple’s massive wall. 

As he walked, his naked form slowly became clothed - as the God simply [i]willed[/i] the clothing into existence; a spotlessly white toga now covering his torso and lower half, and a pair of sandals upon his feet. After all, today was a day of importance - today was a day to represent those of his followers of a political nature, above all else. After all, Daeros [i]was[/i] an important Deity - or the second [i]most[/i] important; or so he liked to tell himself. On either side of the God, tapering away from the massive central walkway of the gigantic temple, were various alcoves and niches - in which he could see the dying embers of small campfires burning; and the sleeping forms of his most devout followers. [i]They[/i] hadn’t woken yet; they were all likely still high. Daeros rewarded those of his followers who could find his secret home upon their mortal earth, and many of them sought him out purely for the incomprehensible drug trips he could grant them. 

His sandals tapped quietly upon the smooth, cold stone beneath his feet - the limestone underfoot having been covered by thick tiles of white-and-black speckled marble. Snakes were everywhere to be seen as Daeros walked towards the exit of his Temple - deciding, for once, to walk the full distance as if he had mortal legs; after all, occasionally it was refreshing to pretend like he was just a normal human. 

Eventually, he reached the exit to his temple - a massive archway, decorated with spectacular carvings of snakes against the stone, as well as phrases in every mortal language scrawled against its base, carved into it by mortals who had managed to make it through the thick jungle all around to arrive at Daeros’ Temple. 

As he began to walk down the steps that led to the Temple’s only entrance and exit, he allowed his eyes to inspect the dense jungle that surrounded his ‘home’ on all sides - there was a clearing of jungle perhaps four hundred metres long stretching outwards from every wall of the massive, square-shaped temple, where trees would never grow - but immediately afterwards, the clear land became dense jungle; there was no inbetween. 

The air was thick with humidity and mosquitoes, and the day was already beginning to become warm. As he stood outside his Temple on the mortal plane, staring up at the sky, Daeros knew the day had come - Aroseus had fallen, and the Patheon’s Throne was ripe for the taking. “I will not be outdone,” He vowed to himself, looking upwards - steeling himself for the challenges ahead. “I [i]will[/i] be King of the Gods, one way or another.”