The Death Of A Sun

No prayers had ever adorned those halls, save for whatever forlorn pleas Grief may have conjured. Indifferent silence was all the halls had ever received. Now, his gags and grunts of strain would be their blessing chorus.

Silver tears fell endlessly from stone eyes, falling from the enormous bust and down into the placid pool where Sol was now mutilating himself.

Splintered shards of black and blue devoured the light from his eyes and hands as they were slowly forced through flesh and bone. Skin tore with ease. Muscles fought, holding tension like armaments, but he gagged down a cry then pushed harder.

The sound was small.

A wet, brief pop.

His vision twisted over itself and he orated the little ones were far enough away.

“I shall be purified, for I am the death of myself,” he choked as the first shard ignited with runic writing, binding itself to its position directly above the point between his eyes.

Another shard was retrieved by trembling hands. He tilted forward but the shard did not fall away, and he knew his curse was working.

For a moment, he felt agony.

Then he felt relief.

Black and blue waited, patient and abyssal. Ethereal fingers lifted the shard to his skull once again, and stabbed.

Another grunt. Another spasm that sent his chest upwards as tears welled in his eyes. Every ligament protested, but he continued.

“Tragic failure bid yourself farewell, as the sun finally sets on this world.”

His hand gave one last valiant effort of self preservation, pulling the natural blade away from his temple just as he pressed in. That only resulted in a ripping, scalding feeling that spewed warmth down his ear. He snarled and lifted the shard back to its place and shoved it violently into position.

Taste fell away and his teeth turned cold. It was too deep but too late. He laughed. He laughed with an unwell voice.

“It is what you deserve!” he spat at his reflection that glared back at him from the water.

Laughter devolved to weeping as grief found its true self in the dominion of its god. Red flickered in his eyes but he did not stop. Golden blood fell into the pool where it sputtered then faded.

It hurt. HeHatedBeingHurt he hated being hurt.

The smile spread. Lips turned towards and bent violated flesh into submission.

Another shard stabbed and another bit of him faded.

“Little ones. Little ones. Little ones. Your fault. Your fault. All your fault. Memorize t-these screams with your last thoughts!” Sol said as he fought to keep hold of himself.

Red light gathered around him. He was afraid of it. But he continued.

Shard after shard violated him. Wounds tore and burned. Darkness gathered heavier than black itself and the room disappeared into the void.

Another shard followed. This one for his wrist. This one for his palm. They wouldn’t be safe in his touch otherwise. It was his fault hisfaulhisfaulthisfault so he needed to carry them to atone.

Obsidian broke through his ribs. Obsidian penetrated through his shoulders. He wept. He cursed himself. Within that endless mourning, the god of joy slowly dismantled his self until he was reduced to something safe.

Red.

It was brighter now.

It was too late.

The feeling was building and he wasn’t sure he could stop it. His fist struck the side of his head as he let out a roar. He had to keep himself well.

“Fall below all creation that you failed! Hollowed and unhallowed! Blessed be this dusk!”

Memories of all things good were brought to his mind’s altar and sacrificed.

Laughter. Sunlight. Music. Warm embraces. Tea. Snow. Petals of pink and white. They were ripped away and scattered like startled birds.

His voice shifted as his bones snapped.

The brokenness gathered. He had to stay well. It wanted to consume him and take control. Ravenous stone stabbed and stabbed.

All of the remaining segments of his spirit were left to carry him to the end of his task. Hope finally burned away. All that remained was acceptance, and that was something different entirely.

This was his fault. All of this was his fault.  No words of comfort would undo that guilt. The feeling growled. It laughed at him.

It snarled and clawed from within his throat, but as he stabbed the last black thorn into his leg, he heard their voices returning to him. It fought to be born but he pushed It back down to the depths of his guts, and the red slowly faded to unblemished white.

Grief turned the corner and he saw her. The little ones were in her hands, and the three of them looked at him with frightened eyes.

“B-brother?” Grief whispered.

Sol’s bloodstained, golden hands slapped heavily into the water and he stood to face them. The grin did not fade. His head tilted to the side and she felt her chest rising and falling from short, swift breaths as he approached.

Wretch took Burden’s paw as they waited.

Heavy steps slammed closer and closer and the glowing eyes burned towards them. Light seemed to linger in his mouth like firelight.

He reached them and his massive hands grabbed onto Grief’s cage.

“Sol?” Wretch asked.

His smile widened, and he let out a snarl as he pulled the bars apart. Grief moaned as metal bent like mulch. There was a snap, and the horned, barbed deity broke her containment. She felt a strange warmth move through her body, and Wretch felt a different kind of safety as she looked at the beastly apparition that was stepping close to them.

“S-Sol?” Grief repeated.

His face moved closer to hers, and she shivered. Then his smile calmed and turned soft once again.

“I aaaaaam still here,” he replied as he held out his hand.

Wretch stepped from Grief’s palm to his, and when she touched him, she no longer felt his warmth. Grief took a deep breath, then stepped out from her cage for the first time in her long existence.