#bivittatuses

“Like I said, thought you might get a kick out of it,” says the deity, shrugging nonchalantly as if he has not handed a soul-sucking sorcerer a shiny rock for entertainment. Most of what Rayden does is in this vein, seemingly without rhyme or reason and zero guidance. He isn’t even sure the rock has any kind of magical value or significance other than it is sparkly and distracting the sorcerer. He supposes he could do some mischief, but does not seem to be feeling particularly rambunctious today.

Not yet, anyway.

but they scorn you for it, don't they?

they blame everything on you.

you don't care, they say.

nothing but a lapdog to the elder gods, they say.

all that death, that pain... couldn't it have been prevented, raiden? if you had not let yourself bow to inaction... if you had not allowed the empty words of the elder gods to sway you so--perhaps more of those warriors would still live today.

bright eyed, strong warriors, they were, weren't they?--a shame they died so young. so soon. too soon for their time, wouldn't you agree?

and it hurt. it still hurts, doesn't it, qorah? but you mask the hurt behind your stoic and calm facade; but i can see through it. like a silken veil, it hardly hides the hurt and turmoil beneath it all.

but the humans--they don't.

which is why it is easier to stay distant, yes?

their words might hurt, yes--but the deaths hurt that much worse."

Raiden's eyes twitched at the corners. Lightning crawls up his arms as tiny tendrils: each word a knife that dug into the deepest recesses of his being, digging up memories that he would rather remain buried as deep as he could manage. The worst part about it was that everything Shang Tsung said was true -

Too many of his champions had died in his name, and he could not do anything to stop it or change their fates. Bound to his duty as the guardian of Earthrealm, yet he had nothing with his millions of years of existence that could be done to help them... try as he might.

"How dare you..." He hisses. Even more of his lightning curls around his fist. He wants to plant them right into the smug sorcerer's face with all the wrath of a thunder god of his status. What he had finished with, though, stops him dead in his tracks better than anything else.

Raiden, the everlasting god who would do anything to protect Earthrealm.

Raiden the failure. The one who had bowed so easily to the words of the Elder Gods until it was far too late to do anything else.

It was his fault indeed. If he had not been so vehement in following the will of the Elder Gods, maybe most of them would be alive right now -

         :･ﾟ🌪️┇The place is, somehow hot, and muggy — like it just cleared itself of steam — humid enough for droplets to have formed upon the marble walls as though they are sweating. The wind is as warm and suffocating, akin to opening an oven and catching the heated draft. The Sky Temple is quiet, not even the occasional bird chirping from one rotting branch to another.

           A hum vibrates through the hallways, a lullaby, a song — and along the floor is a trail of dry maroon — dragged into the carmine dark of a hallway; at the end of the path comes the source of the melody: Fujin. He continues his tune all the while busying himself with patting a patch in the wall which seems an odd tern pink color — and bleeding. The patch on the wall is bleeding.  At his feet rests a skinned and beheaded corpse, the victim which left the trail in the hallway behind.

           Fujin looks over his shoulder, then twists to face the intruder. ❝Oh — you have returned —❞ He comments, his tone casual, if not pleasant — his arms and hands, coated in blood, hang lose at his sides. And he smiles.

“That’s a new record, it took you a whole 3 seconds longer to realize where his voice is coming from. And I’d thought you would have known after this long.” Does Saibot ever shut up?

The shadow took it as a challenge verily so. Bi-Han resisted the urge to roll his eyes, Saibot’s presence stirring with impish amusement at the back of his mind. His shadowed partner was incorrigibly mischievous beyond the scope of battle, snide remarks and sass never-ending: then there comes the times when he tries to get a few winks of sleep and the little bastard decides that if he couldn’t, the cryomancer would keep him company -

“Hello to you as well, my dearest.” His lips quiver, a smile threatening at the corners. The elder gods were likely reeling back in terror at what is currently transpiring here, though Bi-Han frankly could not give less of a shit: life is too damn short for him to be giving a fuck about everyone whose opinions could matter so little. And for now, he had more important things to worry about.

Ryuuta beams brightly at father’s compliments: “Really? I’m glad you like it, father. Though admittedly... I could have spent a few more days on it, I was eager to get it to you so you can see how much I have gotten better.” He didn’t know how many days passed on the island, father’s magic made it far more difficult than he liked so he just... stopped trying to count the days, only when the sun came up and went down.

He carefully folds the piece of parchment, placing it into his own pocket so to free up his hands as he settles, on the step right by his father’s throne. Absentmindedly, the young man runs his hand through his hair, curling the long lock of purple hair around a finger. “Father? How big is your island? There’s only so much that I could get to in one day and I want to see every bit of your beautiful home.”

The curiosity that nudged at him was like - what was that quote from the books that he had read? - the insistent pawing of a cat, those cute little fluffy things that he could often find in some corners of father’s island. Every time Ryuutaros thought he had seen everywhere on the island, he’d find another corner full of new things to see.