but he just — sighs, because of course that would be the answer. unbidden, he sets aside the meagre plate he'd cobbled together for himself, and flops onto his back. overhead, the tree's canopy seems to close over them like a cloak, guarding them against the casino's ills, against the night that seems to never end. one hand is held up briefly, fingers aligned to places on the tree where artificial light spills through, and then — īŧ
A long time ago, when I wasn't much older than you, I did something kind.
īŧ would it have mattered? would it have made a difference? if he'd left kulo vayn where he found him, if iantha had killed him with her celestial sword, if the stars hadn't exactly aligned to fuck him raw, would anything have changed at all? strange, how he can envision no other life but this. īŧ
I helped someone I shouldn't have. īŧ there's a bite of real emotion in his voice. some heavy quality that makes it feel as though the words are mired in the mess of his throat. he's not ashamed of it, and doesn't try to hide it. it's fucking hard. he won't pretend it isn't. īŧ There wasn't any way of knowing that. I don't blame myself for that part. īŧ implicit: there are other parts he does. īŧ His name was Kulo Vayn. He was the god of war. He was dying when I found him.
īŧ he remembers seeing the body in the creek that ran near his house. he remembers, too, putting strong hands on him and hefting him up. staunching the blood. everything about that first contact is engraved on his mind the way notches are cut into the bones of a consumed animal during fireside starvation. īŧ
I don't want to get into the messy parts. All you need to know is that I became his slave. And he liked to hurt people. He liked to make me hurt people. Torture, rape, you name it. I killed kids. I burned worlds. I'd cut the tendons on people's heels so they couldn't run. I took them apart in ways that kept their heart beating until the end. I'd hurt them in every way it's possible to hurt someone. I learned early on not to beg for anyone's life, to make it quick, to make it painless.
īŧ it never was. he doesn't need to say as much. there's a shift, and he props one hand behind his head. īŧ
But he made a mistake. His life was tied to mine. Another god — of dreams — found me, and she got into my head. She told me that there was a plan to kill him, and that I could take his place. I didn't want to, but it was — better, than surviving like that. So I agreed. The ascension. Except it didn't — work. At least, not the way she said it would. It destroyed me. But I'd inherited enough of his power — and it's a fraction, to be clear — that the healing took over. I spent — a while, in a tomb, deep beneath the earth like a ruined city. And I wasn't... a person, then. I was just an open wound. Meeting Tak came after that.
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cw: rape/torture/war horrors oop
Date: 2024-01-19 06:40 am (UTC)but he just — sighs, because of course that would be the answer. unbidden, he sets aside the meagre plate he'd cobbled together for himself, and flops onto his back. overhead, the tree's canopy seems to close over them like a cloak, guarding them against the casino's ills, against the night that seems to never end. one hand is held up briefly, fingers aligned to places on the tree where artificial light spills through, and then — īŧ
A long time ago, when I wasn't much older than you, I did something kind.
īŧ would it have mattered? would it have made a difference? if he'd left kulo vayn where he found him, if iantha had killed him with her celestial sword, if the stars hadn't exactly aligned to fuck him raw, would anything have changed at all? strange, how he can envision no other life but this. īŧ
I helped someone I shouldn't have. īŧ there's a bite of real emotion in his voice. some heavy quality that makes it feel as though the words are mired in the mess of his throat. he's not ashamed of it, and doesn't try to hide it. it's fucking hard. he won't pretend it isn't. īŧ There wasn't any way of knowing that. I don't blame myself for that part. īŧ implicit: there are other parts he does. īŧ His name was Kulo Vayn. He was the god of war. He was dying when I found him.
īŧ he remembers seeing the body in the creek that ran near his house. he remembers, too, putting strong hands on him and hefting him up. staunching the blood. everything about that first contact is engraved on his mind the way notches are cut into the bones of a consumed animal during fireside starvation. īŧ
I don't want to get into the messy parts. All you need to know is that I became his slave. And he liked to hurt people. He liked to make me hurt people. Torture, rape, you name it. I killed kids. I burned worlds. I'd cut the tendons on people's heels so they couldn't run. I took them apart in ways that kept their heart beating until the end. I'd hurt them in every way it's possible to hurt someone. I learned early on not to beg for anyone's life, to make it quick, to make it painless.
īŧ it never was. he doesn't need to say as much. there's a shift, and he props one hand behind his head. īŧ
But he made a mistake. His life was tied to mine. Another god — of dreams — found me, and she got into my head. She told me that there was a plan to kill him, and that I could take his place. I didn't want to, but it was — better, than surviving like that. So I agreed. The ascension. Except it didn't — work. At least, not the way she said it would. It destroyed me. But I'd inherited enough of his power — and it's a fraction, to be clear — that the healing took over. I spent — a while, in a tomb, deep beneath the earth like a ruined city. And I wasn't... a person, then. I was just an open wound. Meeting Tak came after that.