The Beginning
Jun 19, 2020 12:22:53 GMT -5
Post by Deleted on Jun 19, 2020 12:22:53 GMT -5
It must have been inside my head
I've lost the hope that I have left
And now, at last, it comes to pass
We sleep, we dream, we have no less
There was always pain.
It was all he had ever known. Pain from the isolation, pain from the chains around each paw, the collar tight around his neck, the muzzle over his snout. It was meant to build him up, he was told. It let him focus on the hate he was supposed to have, let the rage build up within as they crept ever closer to the end of times. Pain would make him stronger, would burn hot in his chest and fuel him through the exhausting task of ending it all.
Really? It just made him exhausted.
Something was wrong, he had always assumed, because for all that he was told he was, he did not feel that way. There was no violent hate inside of him, no real desire to lash out at the world in general. There might have been a list of names he'd happy devour, if given the chance, but that was a handful of people, not the entire world.
The Entire World was something difficult to grasp, in the end. No one really wanted to talk to him about that, or help him understand it. But from what he could grasp, The Entire World meant many thousands of innocent people that were just living their lives, day to day. It meant all the countless animals, from the tiniest soul up to large beasts that flew in the sky. It also meant all the plants that flourished, also living things in their own way.
How, in all honesty, was he supposed to hate life? None of those things had harmed him, or put this bondage on him, or beaten him. They were just there, living their lives, unaware of the real him. He would not be surprised to know there were stories about him, about the monster he was, but. That wasn't there fault, either.
The trapped god really didn't even know the real him,either. How could he? It was not like he would ever get that chance. He was meant to destroy, and that should be the real him. But he knew it deep in his soul that he was more than that. There was no real hope left, if there had been any hope to begin with. No one was out there to save him, and those that kept him leashed would never free him. Not until the End, and then he just assumed magic or fate or something sinister would drive him to fulfill his destiny.
It would never be admitted to anyone here, but sometimes the wolf was able to close his eyes and just. Sleep. And, even rarer still, he was sometimes able to dream. They were hopeful dreams, full of nameless, but good things. It made him long for something better, made him wish he himself was better. There was no hope during his waking hours, no real ability to believe there was a chance for him. But a dream? He could have that. And he would lie until his dying day about those dreams.
But hope, while a fragile thing, was also strong enough to change the world
Along the path we lost our way
It's all a game that I must play
And now the weak that fall
Return to ash, defeated after all
The End came.
He could feel it. The Time was here and the young god was terrified. He did not want to do this, did not want to face down this nightmare. He did not want to kill, he did not want to destroy, but he did want the pain to stop. He wanted the freedom, however brief, that came with the End of this world and before it's so-called glorious Rebirth into something more wretched.
He had to wonder, even in this dark, bitter place, if they had all lost their way. Surely he could not be the only one that felt like life should be respected? Why had it come to this? They were gods, were they not? They should be able to stop the End, if they so wanted. And he simply could not understand why this was the path that was chosen. He knew he might just be a tool, something made for this, but surely his creators were better than that, could actually make the choice not to do that?
No one had to have love for the mortals, but everyone deserved a chance at life.
There were jeers and chants all around him, beyond the cage walls. A door opened, and chains were grabbed as he was hauled from his solitude. It was still dark, it had always been dark for him, but he could make out the shapes of his creators and those that followed. Ears pinned back, he couldn't help but growl, a deep, low, vicious noise that made the cheers around him grow louder with glee.
They did not realize the reason for his discomfort, his verbalizing. That it was a warning to them, and not the bloodlust towards the world.
He was told, in no uncertain terms, what he was going to do. How proud they would all be. The glory that he would bring.
And as they wove the near future for him, the chains fell away, the damned muzzle disappeared, and for the first time since his creation, he could stand there, free and light. The taste of foul magic was in the air, almost making him choke, but there was something odd, too. Something that he had taken for fact, but did not seem to come to pass.
There was no urge, no pull to go out and destroy. Not the innocent people, not the animal life, or the plant life. Not the world. There was only a growing anger within, over his treatment. Over how unfair it was. Over his pain, and suffering, and endless isolation. They had created a monster to destroy, and in some ways, he did want to destroy. Just not who he had been told to destroy.
He would destroy that night.
He was not so weak as he thought, and no one expected their creation to turn on them.
Fade away to the wicked world we left
And I become the dark of you
Say a prayer for the wounded heart within
As I become the dark of you
The sunrise was the most glorious thing he had ever seen.
He felt like he was dying, as he took one labored step after another, further and further away from the carnage he left behind. One of his creators had escaped, but the other had died between the wolf's crushing jaws. Many of the minions, too, he had slaughtered, mindless and uncaring of the damage he himself took.
There had been mercy, however. Because while he would not believe it, there was mercy woven into his very soul, and those that had dropped to their knees before him and begged forgiveness, begged for mercy, and apologized.... well. He simply couldn't bring himself to murder those. He was a being of death, or so he told himself, but it turned his stomach to put fangs to something that wouldn't try fighting back. They could live and tell the tale of this night.
He was certain he was going to die, however.
Collapsing near a stream, the wolf panted and stared up at the sky. Colors were amazing, the light was amazing, the smell of fresh water and clean air. It was overwhelming, but he was going to drink it in. It hurt to breath, it hurt to feel, but pain was his lifelong companion, and it was embraced. He had hoped, maybe, to feel something else before his own End. Friendship, a pet to the ears, a pray to him, for him. Faith in him. But monsters don't get that kind of thing, do they? They get endless pain and a long, drawn out death.
And they don't realize that they just saved the world.
Slowly, he sprawled out, on his side, unable to keep his head turned to the sky. Each breath was harder than the last, but that did not scare him. He could hear the rustle of grass in the wind. The sound of the stream near him soothed him. There were bug and bird noises, things he had never had the chance to experience. And as the ground below him soaked with blood, the wolf came to the beginning of understanding.
Many choices had been made that night. From his creators' choice to orchestrate the end of the world, to their minions obeying, to his own choice to say no. None had been forced down this dark path. Their own actions, beliefs, decisions had led them here.
Destiny could not be dictated, not even by other gods. Destiny and Fate were their own things, and their paths were hidden from them. Perhaps the lesser beings, those not of godlihood, had more tethers on them. Perhaps gods could control the destiny of mere mortals. But he questioned that, too.
Whether this was a set path, or his destiny was only up to him, well. Those questions were too much for a dying mind. But he knew now, at this moment, there was indeed more to him than what he had been told. His creation did not dictate who he was.
And, in the end, he may not have been created out of a mold of hatred and death. He may simply have been born, to two beings that felt some sort of way for one another, but had no love in their hearts for him. He was not, nor would ever be, their child.
A tool was a tool, and a tool obeyed better if it was left to believe that it had been made for one purpose, and one purpose only.
There was a bright light, even with his eyes closed, even as he took his last ragged breath.
Let go, when all has come to life
We live, we breathe, we die
They call me to the light
Seconds, minutes, hours, days may have passed. Perhaps weeks, years, or decades.
But that didn't matter. What did was this:
Fell gasped, his first painless breath since the beginning of his memory. Nothing hurt. There was no blood, no gashes, no singe of magically burned flesh.
The wolf rolled onto his stomach, sucking in lungful after lungful, and found himself somewhere new. There was a weird looking portal nearby, but he was far more interested in everything else. The grass under his paws, the nearby trees, the cool twilight air as the sun was beginning to set. The world smelled alive, and there was no hint of blood or death. He felt, in many ways, free.
He rose, pony-sized and shaky, as he took his first few steps. He did not hurt, but he was exhausted. His magic, which had always been bound from him, was there, under his skin, but he still felt too tired to use it. He instinctively knew he could shift forms, but that was two steps beyond him right now. He was...hungry, also. But, mostly, he was curious to see what was out there.
There were people here, Fell was sure of. Whether they would be kind or not was anyone's guess. If they were smart, they'd see him for the monster he still must be. They shouldn't trust him, and he shouldn't trust them.
But hope sat in his chest, and it was blossoming.
There was no easy path. No magic hand waving that would fix the countless years of torture and cruelty he had experienced. The fear of chains and muzzles and isolation would stick with him for a long time. If he wanted to be the best he could be, he would have to work past it.
But this wonderful place was a first step.
Three more steps, and he found himself in an abrupt change.
Fur and claws disappeared, and there sat a confused looking man, dressed in nothing but a pair of hide-leather pants. He cocked his head a little, crossed his legs, and stared at his hands. Wiggled his fingers. Found his senses had not dulled, but his hunger had grown. But this form was far easier to keep fed right now, might even be easier to rest up and conserve energy. Not that he was keen on trying to stand on two legs yet.
That was okay, however. His belly rumbled, but it was ignored. The shadows were growing deeper as the sun set further, but it was not the true darkness he had been surrounded by all his life. Little flashing bugs were lighting up the night, and there were stars overhead. He could see flowers starting to bloom as a large moon rose. The night was full of sound, and sights, and life in general, and Fell was in no rush to move away.
He did not know his place in this world, or any world for that matter. And there was a sense of dread, buried deep down, that he would find that his place was still to bring destruction. But right here, right now, he could ignore that and just watch more and more stars come into view. Perhaps he should not be picking favorites just yet, as he had only seen one sunrise and one sunset in all his time, but the wolf-god was pretty sure he was liking nighttime better.
Time would tell, if he changed his mind.
Say a prayer for the wounded heart within
(Word Count: 2,178. The Dark Of You - Breaking Benjamin
Anyone is welcome to join if they want.)
I've lost the hope that I have left
And now, at last, it comes to pass
We sleep, we dream, we have no less
There was always pain.
It was all he had ever known. Pain from the isolation, pain from the chains around each paw, the collar tight around his neck, the muzzle over his snout. It was meant to build him up, he was told. It let him focus on the hate he was supposed to have, let the rage build up within as they crept ever closer to the end of times. Pain would make him stronger, would burn hot in his chest and fuel him through the exhausting task of ending it all.
Really? It just made him exhausted.
Something was wrong, he had always assumed, because for all that he was told he was, he did not feel that way. There was no violent hate inside of him, no real desire to lash out at the world in general. There might have been a list of names he'd happy devour, if given the chance, but that was a handful of people, not the entire world.
The Entire World was something difficult to grasp, in the end. No one really wanted to talk to him about that, or help him understand it. But from what he could grasp, The Entire World meant many thousands of innocent people that were just living their lives, day to day. It meant all the countless animals, from the tiniest soul up to large beasts that flew in the sky. It also meant all the plants that flourished, also living things in their own way.
How, in all honesty, was he supposed to hate life? None of those things had harmed him, or put this bondage on him, or beaten him. They were just there, living their lives, unaware of the real him. He would not be surprised to know there were stories about him, about the monster he was, but. That wasn't there fault, either.
The trapped god really didn't even know the real him,either. How could he? It was not like he would ever get that chance. He was meant to destroy, and that should be the real him. But he knew it deep in his soul that he was more than that. There was no real hope left, if there had been any hope to begin with. No one was out there to save him, and those that kept him leashed would never free him. Not until the End, and then he just assumed magic or fate or something sinister would drive him to fulfill his destiny.
It would never be admitted to anyone here, but sometimes the wolf was able to close his eyes and just. Sleep. And, even rarer still, he was sometimes able to dream. They were hopeful dreams, full of nameless, but good things. It made him long for something better, made him wish he himself was better. There was no hope during his waking hours, no real ability to believe there was a chance for him. But a dream? He could have that. And he would lie until his dying day about those dreams.
But hope, while a fragile thing, was also strong enough to change the world
Along the path we lost our way
It's all a game that I must play
And now the weak that fall
Return to ash, defeated after all
The End came.
He could feel it. The Time was here and the young god was terrified. He did not want to do this, did not want to face down this nightmare. He did not want to kill, he did not want to destroy, but he did want the pain to stop. He wanted the freedom, however brief, that came with the End of this world and before it's so-called glorious Rebirth into something more wretched.
He had to wonder, even in this dark, bitter place, if they had all lost their way. Surely he could not be the only one that felt like life should be respected? Why had it come to this? They were gods, were they not? They should be able to stop the End, if they so wanted. And he simply could not understand why this was the path that was chosen. He knew he might just be a tool, something made for this, but surely his creators were better than that, could actually make the choice not to do that?
No one had to have love for the mortals, but everyone deserved a chance at life.
There were jeers and chants all around him, beyond the cage walls. A door opened, and chains were grabbed as he was hauled from his solitude. It was still dark, it had always been dark for him, but he could make out the shapes of his creators and those that followed. Ears pinned back, he couldn't help but growl, a deep, low, vicious noise that made the cheers around him grow louder with glee.
They did not realize the reason for his discomfort, his verbalizing. That it was a warning to them, and not the bloodlust towards the world.
He was told, in no uncertain terms, what he was going to do. How proud they would all be. The glory that he would bring.
And as they wove the near future for him, the chains fell away, the damned muzzle disappeared, and for the first time since his creation, he could stand there, free and light. The taste of foul magic was in the air, almost making him choke, but there was something odd, too. Something that he had taken for fact, but did not seem to come to pass.
There was no urge, no pull to go out and destroy. Not the innocent people, not the animal life, or the plant life. Not the world. There was only a growing anger within, over his treatment. Over how unfair it was. Over his pain, and suffering, and endless isolation. They had created a monster to destroy, and in some ways, he did want to destroy. Just not who he had been told to destroy.
He would destroy that night.
He was not so weak as he thought, and no one expected their creation to turn on them.
Fade away to the wicked world we left
And I become the dark of you
Say a prayer for the wounded heart within
As I become the dark of you
The sunrise was the most glorious thing he had ever seen.
He felt like he was dying, as he took one labored step after another, further and further away from the carnage he left behind. One of his creators had escaped, but the other had died between the wolf's crushing jaws. Many of the minions, too, he had slaughtered, mindless and uncaring of the damage he himself took.
There had been mercy, however. Because while he would not believe it, there was mercy woven into his very soul, and those that had dropped to their knees before him and begged forgiveness, begged for mercy, and apologized.... well. He simply couldn't bring himself to murder those. He was a being of death, or so he told himself, but it turned his stomach to put fangs to something that wouldn't try fighting back. They could live and tell the tale of this night.
He was certain he was going to die, however.
Collapsing near a stream, the wolf panted and stared up at the sky. Colors were amazing, the light was amazing, the smell of fresh water and clean air. It was overwhelming, but he was going to drink it in. It hurt to breath, it hurt to feel, but pain was his lifelong companion, and it was embraced. He had hoped, maybe, to feel something else before his own End. Friendship, a pet to the ears, a pray to him, for him. Faith in him. But monsters don't get that kind of thing, do they? They get endless pain and a long, drawn out death.
And they don't realize that they just saved the world.
Slowly, he sprawled out, on his side, unable to keep his head turned to the sky. Each breath was harder than the last, but that did not scare him. He could hear the rustle of grass in the wind. The sound of the stream near him soothed him. There were bug and bird noises, things he had never had the chance to experience. And as the ground below him soaked with blood, the wolf came to the beginning of understanding.
Many choices had been made that night. From his creators' choice to orchestrate the end of the world, to their minions obeying, to his own choice to say no. None had been forced down this dark path. Their own actions, beliefs, decisions had led them here.
Destiny could not be dictated, not even by other gods. Destiny and Fate were their own things, and their paths were hidden from them. Perhaps the lesser beings, those not of godlihood, had more tethers on them. Perhaps gods could control the destiny of mere mortals. But he questioned that, too.
Whether this was a set path, or his destiny was only up to him, well. Those questions were too much for a dying mind. But he knew now, at this moment, there was indeed more to him than what he had been told. His creation did not dictate who he was.
And, in the end, he may not have been created out of a mold of hatred and death. He may simply have been born, to two beings that felt some sort of way for one another, but had no love in their hearts for him. He was not, nor would ever be, their child.
A tool was a tool, and a tool obeyed better if it was left to believe that it had been made for one purpose, and one purpose only.
There was a bright light, even with his eyes closed, even as he took his last ragged breath.
Let go, when all has come to life
We live, we breathe, we die
They call me to the light
Seconds, minutes, hours, days may have passed. Perhaps weeks, years, or decades.
But that didn't matter. What did was this:
Fell gasped, his first painless breath since the beginning of his memory. Nothing hurt. There was no blood, no gashes, no singe of magically burned flesh.
The wolf rolled onto his stomach, sucking in lungful after lungful, and found himself somewhere new. There was a weird looking portal nearby, but he was far more interested in everything else. The grass under his paws, the nearby trees, the cool twilight air as the sun was beginning to set. The world smelled alive, and there was no hint of blood or death. He felt, in many ways, free.
He rose, pony-sized and shaky, as he took his first few steps. He did not hurt, but he was exhausted. His magic, which had always been bound from him, was there, under his skin, but he still felt too tired to use it. He instinctively knew he could shift forms, but that was two steps beyond him right now. He was...hungry, also. But, mostly, he was curious to see what was out there.
There were people here, Fell was sure of. Whether they would be kind or not was anyone's guess. If they were smart, they'd see him for the monster he still must be. They shouldn't trust him, and he shouldn't trust them.
But hope sat in his chest, and it was blossoming.
There was no easy path. No magic hand waving that would fix the countless years of torture and cruelty he had experienced. The fear of chains and muzzles and isolation would stick with him for a long time. If he wanted to be the best he could be, he would have to work past it.
But this wonderful place was a first step.
Three more steps, and he found himself in an abrupt change.
Fur and claws disappeared, and there sat a confused looking man, dressed in nothing but a pair of hide-leather pants. He cocked his head a little, crossed his legs, and stared at his hands. Wiggled his fingers. Found his senses had not dulled, but his hunger had grown. But this form was far easier to keep fed right now, might even be easier to rest up and conserve energy. Not that he was keen on trying to stand on two legs yet.
That was okay, however. His belly rumbled, but it was ignored. The shadows were growing deeper as the sun set further, but it was not the true darkness he had been surrounded by all his life. Little flashing bugs were lighting up the night, and there were stars overhead. He could see flowers starting to bloom as a large moon rose. The night was full of sound, and sights, and life in general, and Fell was in no rush to move away.
He did not know his place in this world, or any world for that matter. And there was a sense of dread, buried deep down, that he would find that his place was still to bring destruction. But right here, right now, he could ignore that and just watch more and more stars come into view. Perhaps he should not be picking favorites just yet, as he had only seen one sunrise and one sunset in all his time, but the wolf-god was pretty sure he was liking nighttime better.
Time would tell, if he changed his mind.
Say a prayer for the wounded heart within
(Word Count: 2,178. The Dark Of You - Breaking Benjamin
Anyone is welcome to join if they want.)