Aquimocualli

Sorry about that.
Anyway, since this is a milestone (if a pathetic one), some decisions:
I'll probably only be doing these on weekdays from now on, on the basis that honestly there is probably a limited amount people are willing to read. It's less because doing one of these *every* day is really hard, although yeah, that is a factor. Hopefully there'll be fewer posts which I end up hating while I'm publishing them.
I'm actually considering just doing worlds M/W/F, and doing something else Tues/Thurs, though I'd have to figure out what.
Second, this story: It's a little different from normal. I wanted it to be good, since I've been planning it for like three days (wow, such advance planning), and I really don't think it is. Pity. But it's probably a little more high quality than what I normally post here, because having it go up a day late means I actually edited it.
I'm sure there were other things, but I forget what they were, so:

When the world of Aquimocualli was young, its people warred against their gods. They were a proud people, and they wished to forge their own destinies. The gods wished to rule over them, and so they fought against them.
Eventually, humankind gained the upper hand. For though the gods were powerful, they were young, and not yet as hardened to the world as gods become, over the course of eternity. Whilst the humans were full of the rightness of their cause.
And so, the mortals stormed the mountain of the gods, burned their palaces, and bound them beneath the world. Then they got down to the proper business of all free people, which is ensuring that there aren’t any other free people around to spoil their fun.
Really, it shouldn’t be much of a surprise that things were less than perfect. Things rarely are, even under the best of conditions, and the aftermath of a war is rarely the best of conditions. The world had problems, as all worlds must.
Eventually, a man named Tlahui was born, in unremarkable circumstances, to unremarkable parents. As is tradition. He suffered a great tragedy. As is also tradition. For he was struck down by a terrible plague.
Caring little who was  listening, Tlahui shouted to the skies, to the earth, to whatever there might be in the world that might help her. It was, of course, not the first time such a thing had been done. But it was the first time the gods had responded.
Oneta, goddess of death, came to Tlahui in his dreams, and spoke to him.
“My child.” She said to him. “We are moved by your plight. Please, let us help you.” And when he awoke, Tlahui found that he knew the ritual he must do, which would invite the gods into his home, and allow them to work on him. And, knowing that his only alternative was death, he did as the goddess had bid him. She did as she had promised, and () was healed.
In time, too, his strength returned to him, and he was grateful to Oneta for what she had done for him. And so, he wished to tell the world of them. He founded, therefore, the Cult of Oneta, and she made him her prophet.
Now, one might expect that a world that had overthrown its gods, would still be suspicious of them, even hundreds of years later. But it had not been hundreds of years. It had been thousands. The god’s bindings had not been weak.
Gradually, over the years, the world had forgotten its gods. It was not hostility Tlahui faced - but confusion and ignorance. It had been so long, that the very concept of the gods was now alien to the world. But Tlahui  owed his life to Oneta. He was determined. And he was unopposed. Slowly, but surely, the Cult grew.
Finally, Oneta had enough of a foothold in the world, that she was  able to act in it more directly - to shape it to her whims. And she began to work to free her fellow gods.
Of course, she was not entirely free herself. Her body was bound still beneath the earth. She could act within the world only with the help of those who still lived upon its surface, and then only within limits which, to a god, were intolerable. And she could not act directly against her prison.
Rather, she was patient. Indirect. Slowly, slowly, sure at every step to seem to want nothing more than to help her people, she worked to bring about circumstances in which the cages which held her fellows, would weaken as hers had. And, with agonising care, she bent those prison bars.
Yet she was not quite subtle enough. For though the gods may have been forgotten, the people of Aquimocualli were still naturally suspicious of the motives of the powerful.
Oneta quickly found that, despite her caution, she had made enemies. The Order of the Broken God. The Seekers of Divinity. The Watching Eyes. A thousand different groups sprung up to vex her. And though, of course, she could have crushed them with a thought, but the gods had lost in open warfare once before. Instead, she ignored them, and continued her work more carefully than ever.
Until, at last, she succeeded. Though the gods were not now the force they once had been, they were, after a manner of speaking, free. Once again, they could work within the world. Once again, they were able to call on power that no mortal could even dream of. And, in their newfound freedom there was one thing they wanted above all else. Vengeance.
Millennia had passed, it is true. Those who had once imprisoned them were dead and gone. Their bones were dust, their names forgotten. But this did not please the gods. Instead, they raged, and felt cheated. They wanted revenge. And so, since it could not be upon their captors, they decided it must be upon all mortals.
One day, therefore, Oneta proposed a plan to them. And, after long discussion, they agreed. And so it was, that they came to an ambitious young mortal named Micti. And offered him great power - a power to create, that would rival that gods themselves. And, being an ambitious man, he agreed.
Right away, he began his creation. He made a thousand things, each more wonderful than the last. And always the gods were there, urging him on to ever greater heights. Until, at last he created something which would suit their purposes. A creature, capable of destroying worlds. A great beast, more than a dozen miles tall, and twice as long. And, with the help, of the gods, the beast multiplied, and spread across the world.
Then, at last, the gods realised their mistake. For they were dependent upon mortals, to allow them to act upon the world. Soon, it seemed, the mortals would be dead. And the gods would be trapped forever beneath the world.
And so the gods reluctantly agreed amongst themselves, to save the mortals, and put off their vengeance for at least a little while. One final time, the gods appeared to their followers, and one final time, offered them their help. They would, they said, send away the creatures, to some other world. And through that door, the gods escaped their prison, and left the world forever.
Little enough has been said of Aquimocualli, because little enough of it now remains. What civilization there once was, is devastated. There are no nations, no cities, no great monuments. Technology has regressed, and knowledge has been lost. All that remains is the cults, the last bastion of stability remaining in the world, carrying out empty rituals to praise absent gods. Nature quickly reclaims the world, and Micti’s strange creations attack without warning. Mortal magic, which sprang from the gods, is beginning to fade. It will not be long before the more fundamental forces of the world begin to follow.
Though the gods may have been forced to relent in their vengeance, the mortal blow was struck nonetheless, and even the most devout cultists are losing hope of survival. All that remains, then is to drag out the end. Inch by bloody inch.