The desert was cool, quiet. Nothing stirred save for the creatures of night; predators and prey alike. Not even the wind seemed to harass the great, sandy dunes into leaving wisps of gritty grains.
The sand itself was bathed in a calm, tranquil blue hue while the sun was setting a glorious orange blaze behind a jagged, perilous mountain rage. The desert was always a dichotic place, both hot and cold, merciful and merciless; a taker of life and a giver of life.
It was like the world was ending and a new one was beginning in the wake of the old; and it was rightfully fitting.
"Eeeeeeeh...how the gods fashioned this world to their liking. A perfect balance of order and right." Natron groaned in his slow way, the ancient space mummy meditating on a smooth, cool rock. His emblamed legs were crossed and his hands were upwards in harmony, the fingers flexed in the customary position; towards the Cosmos and their rightful rulers of all. "And how fitting would it be if their Chosen Son were to claim it back for them, instead of the hands of mere...." His thousands year old lips curled.
"Into the hands of mere mortals...."
What a troubling thought, but such troubles were not for him to ponder; his right was to conquer and bring the Gods' order upon the chaotic worlds of the heathens.
The ungrateful creatures that clinged to their false, shameful views.
"Eeeeeeeh, and how this world hinders me from correcting this fallacy." Natron grumbled in his meditative state, still hovering with his eyes closed in deep concentration. "I cannot access my rightful powers bestowed upon me, my people's gratitude to their god. Indeed, this world is a trial cleverly employed by the Heavens."
It was true. Natron, for all his power, could not use his wide arrange of divine gifts. He could not hover besides from meditating, could not teleport, could not stop time--which irked him greatly--, and could not manipulate matter as he saw rightfully fit.
He slowly creaked upon his dry eyes and noticed a small, black scorpion scuttle across his field of vision. The god-ruler picked it up with his slow hands, the stinger penetrating into his worn skin repeatedly.
"Creature of this world, how you fight the impossible; your own fate which I, Natron, control. Your life will replenish your god, and only your god." And with that, Natron took a hearty bite of the arachnid, his ancient teeth tearing apart the creature with durable chews and swallows. He crunched through the tough natural plating it evolved with and soon finished the raw meal with a blank expression.
"But the gods are not entirely without compassion, as they have taken care of their son thus far." He groaned, shutting his eyes and resuming his hovering inner balance.
"Soon, like this blessed desert, the planet will take care of its son and I, will take care of it."
The finally set fully and Natron was left to his inner musings, the gleaming lights of a city far off into the distance; his next destination at his grasp.
