Dust

Those that came before you, the ancient ones, died out rapidly during the great flood and the flu following.  Few survived, genetically corrupted by high fever.  And they were few: a small pocket in what you call Greece, a group in the mountains of Norway, a cadre at the source of the Nile, only nine in the high Himalayas.  You called them gods, later you named them Neanderthal.  They came first.

They tried cross species breeding to carry on their line, like you might with apes, but only mules like Hercules were produced; strong but sterile, a dead end.  Finally, through genetic engineering, they brought your species to consciousness and tried to impart their knowledge through the Sphinx and Ark, but you were not ready.  You had no future.  So, they created the myth of good and evil, and a story of Paradise and taught Zarathustra, so you would not war and would have hope.  It was a subtle tale.

But, you sought power as if it were wisdom and the Egyptian prince stole the Ark and used the Story for subjugation of your weak minds.

The last god passed to dust.  Their grand experiment had failed.