Work Text:
The god of Fear and Hunger was not complete when it was born.
The body twists. It is not her body. It was never a body. Just hollow. A god's body is empty, purged of what was holding it back.
Do butterflies think fondly of their cocoons? Or are they just prisons to be discarded?
Do cocoons miss the life that gave their existence purpose?
I don't want this.
The girl cannot think.
The girl cannot speak.
The girl can no longer be.
The body which is not her body twists further. Darkness swallowed that which was never hers and coaxed something out. Something that already decided it must be.
The god lashes out. There is something in the darkness. Someone the god never knew. Someone who thinks killing the monster will bring the girl back.
What would you rather be?
The god does not say.
A doll sits discarded.
"It's a bit grim that something like this is here." The Mercenary lifted the fragile, ragged thing from a dark corner of the prison cell.
"...Perhaps one of the prisoners wanted to give this to their child once they were freed?" The Knight offered a more optimistic spin, but both of their stomachs twisted at the likely scenario.
The girl was surprised when it ended up in her hands anyways.
"Take good care of that, alright?"
She didn't remember which one offered her those words. They both might have given her weak smiles, ones where they pretended this would all be over soon.
The doll never left her side, clutched tightly to her chest as if one of the fiends or monsters would rather steal it before they tried to take her life.
The god could not hold it now.
The god paused. Who was it fighting? No, who was hurting it?
No more pain. Please no more pain.
There will always be pain.
The god had a knife. A knife it could no longer use. A knife it never used.
Another gift.
It wasn't a twist this time.
The god split. The body kept splitting open. It was the darkness pulling at the seams.
Out!
Out!
The god wanted to be out!
Hands that could grab, but nothing to hold. Nothing is yours.
The girl first used the dagger after one of the guards caught her companions when their defenses were down. It managed to throw its entire body at one of them. Its desire to destroy and break and take wasn’t quelled even with its legs mangled and arms sliced off.
She'd be alone if they died.
Weak and powerless again.
No, always powerless.
Always alone.
She didn't want them to die.
A scream caught in one of their throats.
The girl ran. Her dagger pierced the monster’s eye now that it was low to the ground and on her level.
It had probably stopped moving after the first stab, or maybe the second. She couldn’t hear any groans over the sound of her own breathing. Shallow and loud.
Inhale.
The sound of something in the creature’s head giving way.
Exhale.
Rotted flesh and blood pouring out from the wound and clinging to her hand.
Over and over.
Inhale.
A weak, hoarse scream that she couldn’t remember starting. Her damaged tongue still permitted some sound to escape.
Someone’s hand fell on her shoulder. The dagger, dripping with rancid smelling black fluid, was lifted from her shaky grasp. The girl didn’t want to release it, at first.
The feeling of helplessness is too familiar.
It was the sharp taste of bile at the back of her throat.
It was returned to her after being cleaned with a spare cloth. That was for the best. She didn’t want any of the filth to get on the doll.
The faces above her looked down with concern and pity. Maybe it was fear. She had protected them. Was that wrong? Had she been bad? Her hands trembled.
They continued to shake until one was sliced off. Just at the wrist.
Her companions had that face again.
“I’m sorry.” One of them was holding back tears as more browned cloth was wrapped around the wound.
They gave her alcohol and told her it would be over soon.
They lied.
The god’s body bent back in on itself.
The most vulnerable parts were protected.
Am I still weak even as a god?
We must all be weak.
The old gods who uselessly puppet their remnants in the depths of the hue.
The new gods who are too foolish to realize they’ve trapped themselves.
My pain is different because I understand.
I know.
I know it too well.
The god cannot fathom the scale of her body but the god feels safe.
The god embraces the ones who fell before it.
The god did not know them, but the god understands their pain and takes it away.
The god is loved.
The god is feared.
The girl did not remember her mother.
The girl had felt hands running through her hair before it was matted and tangled beyond recognition. Someone adjusting her clothes before those were replaced by thick rags made heavy by their own filth.
“I love you.”
Liar.
“That’s why I must leave you.”
Don’t go.
“You’re going to become something greater than all of us.”
Liar! Don’t leave me! Liar!
I’m sorry.
I’m so sorry. Please don’t leave me.
Please hold me.
Mother. I'm sorry. Please don't leave me. Please no. Don't go. I don't understand. I'm scared. No, don't go. Please. I'm so sorry. Come back. You have to come back. I'm scared. It hurts. Everything hurts. They're hurting me I'm alone. Please. Someone. Mother, please. I'm sorry. What did I do? Do you hate me? Please love me.
Please.
The god was safe.
The girl was gone.
Her father had died.
He hadn’t been dead for too long. Some of his blood continued to pool out and stained her feet. Her lips parted but no sound came out.
A hand was thrown over her eyes but it was too late.
When the god wasn’t itself, it was forced into a cage.
People were afraid of the god before the god existed.
The god was going to be killed before it could live.
The god was shown the depths of human depravity so it could be born.
“I want to go home.”
“I don’t have a home.”
The god never was anything.
“Do you have a family?” They had asked her once.
The girl couldn’t answer. She stared down at her doll. Blood was staining the ragged thing’s face.
“...What should we do with her?” It was a whisper. She could still hear them.
“If she truly is mute, then I’m afraid putting her in an orphanage would do more harm than good.”
“I can’t claim that bounty but, we must’ve found some good stuff to sell once we’re out. I think my girl would really like her. Especially since she’s so sure we’re going to have a son.”
The girl isn’t anywhere.
Her companions are gone as well.
The depths cradle her form like her mother never did.
It’s not ours.
People fear the god.
People love the god.
The god does not answer their prayers because a sliver of kindness is the cruelest thing one can receive.
The girl is no longer hungry.
The girl is no longer afraid.
The girl cannot be hurt.
The girl is no longer here.
They know me.
They cannot leave me.
They cannot love me.
The god is born.