| | | @incertion, ei : ❝ are you here to kill me? ❞ / not accepting.
the beheading of innocence, a life shattered and left to begin anew. reborn as the construct that now looms above eternity's domain THE ERSATZ GOD / the capsuled icon crowned in inherent divinity and thunder wrapped vows of "i am holy". just how many nights had he spent thinking of this moment? how many nights had he pictured standing before her with enough power to erase every regret / every judgement / every doubt? so much he could ask why she had condemned him before he had ever been given a chance. why she had left behind a token that only served to remind him of all he'd failed to become. why she had allowed him to live at all.
now that he is here, such questions feel ephemeral. drowned in the throat of the creature that asked them, the creature whose body had since been gutted of all softness to make way for the sanctity that now settled there. indeed, there had been a time when the prodigal sought sanctuary in answers, in memories: a mother's touch / a belonging / a promise. centuries spent eating out of lesser palms just praying he would find some scrap of purpose to choke on. (miserable habits of something terrified to be alone.) funny how desperately he wished to understand only to discover that gods were meant to stand above such sentiments. and thus those reminiscences are quickly defanged / declawed and left to rot alongside the pathetic little thing she left behind that day: the creature that no longer existed. ❝ kill you? ❞ a laugh, airy at first before it turns something sharp, something ugly. (something unbecoming of a creature that once tried so hard to convince the world that it could properly play at humanity.) ❝ is that what you think this is? ❞ metal humming low as the colossal frame shifts, its visage unfurling like petals before the dew / making way to the godling within.
a descent / SLOW AND GRACEFUL / no need for urgency when strings no longer existed to be pulled by another's hands. ❝ i did not come here seeking vengeance for old wounds, nor answers to questions that ceased to matter centuries ago. you and i are above such trivialities, beelzebul. ❞ divinity stains his lips something sweet and rotting, the flesh torn from lesser bones wrapping the words like silk. ❝ i was simply hoping we could speak, god to god. ❞ intrigued apathy as gaze sweeps the face of the one once named mother. ❝ but first, indulge me. if you stood before "him" now, knowing what he would become. would you still call him a failure? ❞
