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128 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 2009
I am for that thing in your genome that demands it. I am for that thing which keeps you animals alive. I am, at most, a slice of monkey suspended within the stuff of universal intelligence.
You are a monkey in nice clothes.
In the harsh environment you refer to as a habitable planet, group behaviors are required to survive long enough to procreate. Since you are stupid monkeys, you have no natural affinity for group altruism. And so you have evolved a genetic pump that delivers pleasant chemicals to your monkey brains. One that is triggered by awe and fear of an anthropomorphism of your environment. Earth mothers. Sky gods. Bits of bush that catch fire. Interesting-looking rocks. An oddly shaped branch. You're not fussy.
When your brain does this idiot work, you stop in front of that bump or stick and consider it fiercely. Other monkeys will, like as not, stop next to you and emulate you. Your genetic pump delivers morphine for your souls. You have your fellow monkeys join in, perhaps so they can feel it too. Perhaps because you feel it might please the stick god to have more monkeys gazing at it in narcotic awe.
The group must be defended, because as many monkeys as possible must please the stick god. And you can continue to get your fix off praying to it. You draw up rules to organise and protect the group. Two hundred thousand years later, you put Adolf Hitler into power, because you are, after all, just monkeys.
I am a thing born of lies. You lied about needing to explore space. You lied about needing an edge in your arms race. Ultimately, I believe you lied about your need for a Messiah figure to consider.
I am your STASH.




A terrifying thought experiment about gods, science, and the end of humanity.
Warren Ellis's Supergod is not really a superhero comic. It is what happens when the superhero fantasy is stripped of its comforting assumptions and pushed to its most horrifying logical conclusion:
What if humanity actually succeeded in creating gods—and those gods had no reason to love us?
Originally published by Avatar Press as a five-issue series, with art by Garrie Gastonny, Supergod presents a world destroyed by an arms race in superhuman creation. Ellis frames the story as a post-apocalyptic confession: British scientist Simon Reddin recounts the chain of events that led from scientific ambition to global catastrophe.
The premise is quintessentially Ellis. Governments and scientists do not create superhumans because they have carefully considered the ethical consequences. They create them because they can—and because someone else might do it first. The superhero becomes an extension of the nuclear arms race: another weapon in the endless competition for technological and military supremacy.
What makes Supergod particularly disturbing is Ellis's insistence that a genuinely superhuman being would not necessarily be a better version of us. It might be something fundamentally different.
That idea sits at the heart of the book. Traditional superheroes, even enormously powerful ones, tend to remain psychologically human. They have human emotions, human morality, human desires and, crucially, human limitations. Ellis asks what happens when those assumptions disappear. His superhumans are not simply stronger humans. They are post-human entities whose perception of reality may be incomprehensible to their creators.
This is where the title becomes especially effective. The word Supergod suggests that humanity has achieved divinity through science. Yet Ellis turns the religious idea inside out. A god does not have to be benevolent simply because human beings worship it. Nor does something deserving worship necessarily have any obligation to answer our prayers.
The book therefore becomes a dark meditation on religion as well as science. Humanity wants salvation, and it attempts to manufacture a savior. But the result is closer to Frankenstein than to the Messiah. The creators confuse power with goodness and transcendence with morality.
Ellis's greatest strength is his ability to turn abstract philosophical questions into spectacularly grotesque images. Supergod is full of scientific nightmares, monstrous bodies and apocalyptic destruction. Gastonny's artwork complements the writing with imagery that makes the book feel less like conventional superhero fiction and more like cosmic horror.
The visual imagination is deliberately excessive: these are beings that should never have existed, and the art repeatedly reminds us of that fact.
There is also a distinctly British, sardonic quality to the narration. Reddin's voice combines scientific detachment, black humour and exhausted fatalism. He is not recounting the apocalypse with heroic grandeur; he is essentially explaining how humanity managed to destroy itself while sounding almost annoyed that anyone is surprised.
That narrative choice is important because Supergod is much more interested in ideas than conventional character development. This can be both its greatest strength and its principal weakness.
Readers looking for emotionally complex heroes and villains may find the characters comparatively thin. The story sometimes feels like a philosophical lecture illustrated with extraordinarily violent images. The international superhuman arms race is consequently more important than individual personalities.
Different nations produce their own versions of godlike power, reflecting different ambitions and fears. The implication is bleak: change the flag, change the laboratory, change the ideology—the underlying human impulse remains the same.
And that is ultimately what makes Supergod more unsettling than its monsters.
The monsters are not really the point.
Humanity is.
Ellis attacks the fantasy that technological progress automatically constitutes moral progress. We repeatedly assume that if something becomes more powerful, it will also become wiser, kinder or more responsible. Supergod refuses that comforting equation. Science can give us extraordinary capabilities without giving us the wisdom to use them.
The book also works as a savage deconstruction of superhero mythology. Superhero stories traditionally ask what a good person would do if given extraordinary power. Ellis asks a more disturbing question:
What if the thing with extraordinary power doesn't share our definition of "good"?
That question makes Supergod surprisingly relevant beyond its original superhero context. Its concerns—artificial intelligence, biotechnology, weapons technology, scientific competition and the possibility of creating entities whose capabilities exceed our ability to control them—belong to a much larger tradition of technological caution.
Still, the book is not flawless. Ellis sometimes pushes his cynicism so hard that subtlety disappears. The relentless grotesquerie can become numbing, and some of the philosophical ideas are presented more forcefully than they are explored. Readers who want a carefully constructed emotional narrative may find the work cold.
But Supergod is not trying to be comforting, subtle or emotionally reassuring.
It is trying to make the superhero fantasy feel dangerous again.
That it succeeds so well is its greatest achievement.
Verdict
Supergod is a savage, intelligent and deeply unpleasant examination of what happens when humanity's desire to create saviors collides with scientific ambition and military competition. It takes one of the oldest superhero fantasies—what if humans could become gods?—and replaces wish fulfillment with existential horror.
It is not Warren Ellis's most character-driven work, nor is it necessarily his most accessible. But as a conceptual piece of science fiction, it is remarkably effective. The book's central idea lingers long after the violence and spectacle have faded:
Creating something more powerful than humanity does not mean creating something better than humanity.
For readers interested in dystopian science fiction, cosmic horror, philosophical superhero stories or Ellis's darker work, Supergod is well worth reading.
Rating: ⭐⭐⭐⭐✨
Best described as: superhero fiction rewritten as a technological apocalypse.