fic: a boy's guide to godhood
Oct. 20th, 2020 08:37 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
vvitchsdesireao3 || wattpad || ffnet
Title: a boy's guide to godhood
Fandom: Something Dark And Holy Trilogy
Rating: G
Wordcount: 386
Summary: There is blood in his mouth. He'll keep the taste for it.
There is only pain in the Salt Mines: Malachiasz's body, lashed until his back resembles a bloody rose rather than flesh; Malachiasz, iron instead of nails, teeth chipping when the tried to chew; Malachiasz, goose-flesh over wounds that won't scar, shivering to himself in his cell, trying to sleep.
If there are gods, he thinks, still too young to be stuck in such a place, why won't they come for me?
The answer he learns in later years: because gods do not care for little abandoned boys in heretical countries. There is a bitter taste in his mouth, half-bile, half-blood, as he looks over Kalyazin's churches.
Gods, splendorous and pious. Gods that care for their subjects. What is the point of being a god, if you do not care for everyone, if you do not extend a hand to the suffering ones?
Malachiasz, deep into his books: he's chewing on a nail, slowly feeling blood fill his mouth, coating it. There is a book speaking heresies for tranavians and kalyazis: a guide to becoming a god, a spell in blood, sacrifice piled upon sacrifice at the feet of the Carrion Throne, and he a god at the end of it.
If the gods could not be merciful, fine. Neither would he. Topple the gods, remake the pantheon on his own image. He'd spare the suffering.
There is blood in his mouth. He'll keep the taste for it.
Malachiasz, scheming: some days there is so much blood in his hands it's hard to remember which is his and which is not. He is deep in Kalyazin, pretending at being human. Parj and Rashid keep him sane, help the farce he put up. He watched carefully the cleric girl, her eyes, her piety: the gods do play favorites, and all the wounds he has no scars for ache. Betrayal will be a bitter kind of sweet.
The boy who once was, a god: he can't remember his name, but he remembers that godhood was his goal - and yet he cannot help but find it disappointingly mundane. He needs more, more - more, until he can stab the gods and replace them.
There is a hunger inside of him: flesh and power in his mouth. His many eyes open, wings of freshly created leather already taking him to his destination.
Title: a boy's guide to godhood
Fandom: Something Dark And Holy Trilogy
Rating: G
Wordcount: 386
Summary: There is blood in his mouth. He'll keep the taste for it.
There is only pain in the Salt Mines: Malachiasz's body, lashed until his back resembles a bloody rose rather than flesh; Malachiasz, iron instead of nails, teeth chipping when the tried to chew; Malachiasz, goose-flesh over wounds that won't scar, shivering to himself in his cell, trying to sleep.
If there are gods, he thinks, still too young to be stuck in such a place, why won't they come for me?
The answer he learns in later years: because gods do not care for little abandoned boys in heretical countries. There is a bitter taste in his mouth, half-bile, half-blood, as he looks over Kalyazin's churches.
Gods, splendorous and pious. Gods that care for their subjects. What is the point of being a god, if you do not care for everyone, if you do not extend a hand to the suffering ones?
Malachiasz, deep into his books: he's chewing on a nail, slowly feeling blood fill his mouth, coating it. There is a book speaking heresies for tranavians and kalyazis: a guide to becoming a god, a spell in blood, sacrifice piled upon sacrifice at the feet of the Carrion Throne, and he a god at the end of it.
If the gods could not be merciful, fine. Neither would he. Topple the gods, remake the pantheon on his own image. He'd spare the suffering.
There is blood in his mouth. He'll keep the taste for it.
Malachiasz, scheming: some days there is so much blood in his hands it's hard to remember which is his and which is not. He is deep in Kalyazin, pretending at being human. Parj and Rashid keep him sane, help the farce he put up. He watched carefully the cleric girl, her eyes, her piety: the gods do play favorites, and all the wounds he has no scars for ache. Betrayal will be a bitter kind of sweet.
The boy who once was, a god: he can't remember his name, but he remembers that godhood was his goal - and yet he cannot help but find it disappointingly mundane. He needs more, more - more, until he can stab the gods and replace them.
There is a hunger inside of him: flesh and power in his mouth. His many eyes open, wings of freshly created leather already taking him to his destination.
