Villain
[CW: Gore, violence]
“Ahmed, the Structure, and the Story, are to be sealed in place… for as long as this magic can possibly allow.” - the last words you hear before the world flickers out into nothingness.
To your left, a book you know to hold the God you served and promptly betrayed - The Story.
To your right, a conglomeration of damaged gears you know to be the heart of a deity - The Structure.
There is nothing beyond you three.
You are in a formless place, one that allows for existence and nothing else.
And you will be here for a very long time.
…
“…And so they told me I'd make a better villain than Anton. I could already imagine the scenario, a group of misfits banded together by the common goal of freedom from the devious puppet-master that had been pitting them against each other! It would have been glorious if they didn't decide to be so boooooring and trap me instead…” - the writing continues to appear among the pages of the book as The Story chatters on about the past.
You'd found that the trapped deity held no grudge towards your betrayal at all. If anything they seemed to be having quite a lot of fun pointing out how you'd betrayed every cause you'd ever served. Still, you suspected that The Story remained at least somewhat frustrated by these circumstances, even if they were temporary, considering how it never seemed to go long without starting to chatter about one thing or another. Only a boon for you though, considering you had much to learn if you were to turn the world into an empire under your heel…
…
“Aaliyah: do you take this wretch of a man to be your lawful, wedded, husband?” - Likara's words resound through the dining hall and you watch Aaliyah weakly shake her head.
“Then your hand, if you please?”
Likara drags out Aaliyah's hand, and pours from her little cup of molten gold over Aaliyah's middle finger. She doesn't make a noise, even as Likara makes her flip her hand and finishes the 'ring' with another scoopful. Slowly, Likara's face turns to the cruel, satisfied smile you've seen from her once or twice before.
“Now, Ahmed. Do you take this hollow shell to be your lawful, wedded, wife?”
You don't move in response. You're not going to humour her. Aaliyah already denied you. You are not to be her husband
She doesn't care. She has the guards seize you and hold your hand out, and pours the gold again over both sides of your finger. You feel nothing - not 'no pain', nothing. You can't move the three middle fingers of your fighting hand, either.
…
There is no day here, no night.
You can barely even recognise the passage of time.
Perhaps years had passed, perhaps mere days.
The only things to anchor you moment from moment are the chats you have with your divine cellmates and… the dreams.
You feel no need to sleep.
You don't tire.
Yet still when the silence stretches too long, your mind wanders back to those moments that imprinted themselves in your memory with burning clarity.
It feels so real, like you're back there again.
Yet it is no more than illusion.
Again and again and again and again and again and again and again…
…
You can't feel your hand anymore. Whatever nerves were there had been burned out by molten gold. All that was left was a lifeless mesh of shining gold set in rings around blackened flesh. She kept doing it. Again and again.
“Aaliyah: do you take this wretch of a man to be your lawful, wedded, husband?” - Likara's voice comes out like the screech of a dozen knives scraping against each other. It hurts to hear every time, yet the piercing pain in your heart as you watch Aaliyah shake her head for the seventh time is worse. She refuses every time and the torture continues.
The bottomless cup of gold is tipped again onto Aaliyah's hand and she remains still. She never moves, never screams out for help - the only thing she ever does is refuse you, as if you are more abhorrent than even the torture she is subjected to.
“Now, Ahmed. Do you take this hollow shell to be your lawful, wedded, wife?” - the create of blades that once was Likara stares at you with eyes she does not have. You nod vigorously, if only to end this.
She pours the gold onto your hand. Even though there is barely more than gold and bone there, it still hurts. You feel the gold slowly melting through the flesh, seeping in till it touches bone and gnawing at that too. A seventh misshapen golden ring now sits on your fingers.
The thing that was Likara stares at you, before shaking her head with a metallic clang.
“Aaliyah: do you take this…”
…
You stare at the mess of cogs.
They never stop turning
They never speak.
But you do.
“Can you let me out of here?”
SileNce.
“Let me out of here…”
Once again, you hear no response.
“LET ME OUT LET ME OUT LET ME OUT LET ME OUT…”
No
…
You can't even discern the words anymore, even if you know what is being said. Just scratching of blades and cruel screams.
Aaliyah shakes her head weakly.
Likara's still walking corpse turns to you and screeches until you feel your ears bleed.
You don't feel anything, despite it all.
There is nothing left of either of your hands, not even bone - only mounds of gold.
You turn to Aaliyah. You can barely even make out her face. What did she even look like? Her is no more than a smudge to you now, buried by time.
It doesn't hurt to see her in pain, it doesn't bring you joy, it doesn't bring you anything.
There is only one answer you can give now.
“No”
…
You barely even notice the seal break. It simply fades into nothingness, and now you are free.
The grinding of gears groan to produce puffs of smoke that mark the arrival of The Emperor. He marches forward to the whooping cheers of the assemblage gathered outside his Imperial Residence.
Bee
Opulent banners descend from the balcony he stands upon, woven by his own hands where most other rulers would outsource such labour. But Ahmed was no ordinary ruler, he who had no need to tax his people and still ensured they were left wanting for nothing, curer of the incurable, hope to the hopeless. The Crimson Emperor himself would bleed for his people if it was required of him, but only after ensuring their enemies did so first.
It was the very reason he was there now, with a terrified soul before him adorned in a wedding gown. His gathered subjects jeered and held their breaths, waiting for the ceremony’s inevitable transition to an execution.
“Do you take – ”
A silver platter. Likara’s sneer as she paused her own meal, bones writhing between her teeth as she did so. An eye, torn from its socket.
“- lawfully wedded wife?”
Raven-black hair draped against a face littered with crusts of dried blood. A pot of molten gold. The forging of rings against the soft flesh of her finger.
A phoenix, soaring above with wings that glittered from its theft of the sun’s dying rays. The Emperor knew the moment he laid eyes on it that this was a relic of the world that existed before, a threat he had the opportunity to extinguish should it have broken free from his attempts to erase the history that once was. Pursing his lips, he silenced the officiator and audience with a whistle that carried on the winds, summoning the regal beast to perch itself upon his outstretched limb of coalesced skulls, chattering from excitement. The sniffling whimper beside him faded beneath the clacking of heels as the bride sought this opportunity to flee. Yet The Emperor's blade fell swiftly upon her, the thud as she collapsed to the ground silenced by the hawking as talons connected against the sutures of his various craniums.
Appendages torn asunder and held together by little more than ribbons. A head stretching outwards and slithering towards him like a snail. Hushed mentions of service.
“Tatiana?” The Emperor asks, kicking the still-bleeding corpse from the balcony, much to the delight of the attendees. There was no need to clean the mess afterwards, the blood and offal from previous ceremonies held here had practically become a part of the furniture now, a collection of trophies that grew with the public’s bloodlust. After all, who wouldn’t want to make examples out of influx of spies that had been sent from Modnik? Each impending attack had been meticulously thwarted thanks to the Emperor’s astute contributions to any investigation, and the Empire would remain safe for as long as he ruled over it.
The response from the phoenix, however, was silent, with a gentle dipping of the talons deeper into Ahmed’s skull-limb sufficient to inform him of all he needed.
The only one who would ever know the truth… who would ever understand.1)
You stare down at the meagre band of heroes before you. You'd tried to wipe them out at first with a mere few words written in your Book of Story, and yet here they stand. You'd tried to bring an end to Modnik's Notes and industry, yet in places unseen to you remnants of knowledge unreachable continued to lurk. Like cockroaches skittering beneath your feet, feeble yet so difficult to get rid of. And now you knew why - Ed Nonson. That undead thing held godhood in his arm, wielded it to ward off your own borrowed godhood. Oh, how you will relish removing it from him, how undeserving he was of such power. Tatiana would be a much better fit. A bee buzzes.
You'd let him live, of course, he was too entertaining an opponent to simply crush in a single go. You could see the story already - a tragic hero seemingly hopeless clawing his way back to the top to snatch his arm back from the arrogant villain! Oh, you'd tell The Story all about it, they were sure to love it. Even if the God was a mere tool to you, your shared hate of boredom had done much to bring you closer.
“So you worms arrive at last, crawling to the feet of your Crimson Emperor. Do you think you-” - they don't even let you finish your monologue before attacking.
Rude.