The moon and the sun
The divine and the mortal
You and I
Time rends all
Time mends all
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The rosy clouds drew blood from the battlefield below, a scale of which had never been seen before, even in this chaotic era. The free-flowing remains scattered across the land, returning to the soil.
The sky is a reflection of the land, a mirror to current affairs. The heavens and earth are the two sides of the same coin after all. The sun shined through the blood like the stained glass of a cathedral and its light roamed the land as if searching for its lost children.
The accumulated red then began to pour onto the two remaining soldiers, standing in direct opposition, the servants of the divine tasked with conquest. Perhaps the tears of the spirit of Sol-Aegis, or that of the Goddess patted the fields, a meditative acoustic. The air was still and sombre, waiting for another impact to tear it to shreds.
Both were missing limbs, their innards exposed. The taller man’s jaw was missing amidst the hill of flesh, but he began to speak in a perfectly clear voice without a hint of worry.
“...We are but mere babes to this world, one of its first seeds. Must we celebrate the anniversary of my creation this way?”
A demon whose appearance was no different than a human’s, his hair was grey with a hue of a soft gentle blue, unfittingly splattered with blood. The only hint of his true nature was his grey skin, a colour of charcoal and ash. He wore no armour, but a once white robe now disgraced. His voice was calm and gentle, as if consoling a child, though one could tell a hint of mockery present in every word that came out of the fool’s mouth.
“...”
His opponent was blinded by the blood and anger, his muscles flexing with such strength to even compress his bones. The feeling of blood running down his neck, the pain across his spine, his brain amidst of tearing itself apart, all was numb.
The red hair blended in with the painted world, his once sacred heritage now covered in blood — though not much changed. His braids were undone and his outfit lay tethered, draping beneath his torso.
The tall man took two leisurely steps forward, not caring for the mutilations in the way.
“Know that I’ll accept all the hatred you have for me — you don’t know how hard I worked for it. However, I’ll never hate you, or hold any ill malice — because you never did or could do anything to me. Let my forgiveness burn your wounds, and weld onto your mind,” he said.
The words that escaped the other man’s mouth weren’t that of a person’s, but that of a beast’s. The red-haired man was a man no more, or perhaps he never was. What is a man without his humanity, especially now that he had less than he began with?
He firmly grasped the land, crouching like a hunter waiting to pounce.
“Well then, show me what being a World Beast is about, hero!”
This was not a battle between two accomplished warriors, nor a battle between once brothers. Not a grand battle between ideologies, beliefs and dreams. It was a devolving fistfight between the demigods. No magic, no techniques, no thoughts, but an instinctual battle.
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The impact of the punches rang across the world, though there were none to hear them. No matter how loud the battle was, this was the quietest moment in history.
Blood streaked across valleys and mountains, each blow shaping the next thousand years of the land. The lives of settlers in the future would be determined not only by the outcome but the battle itself. However, the people the red-haired man swore to protect were no more. And there it was,
The first splash of the blood.
The first break of the bone.
The first fall to the knee.
The first lift of the stone.
The first victory.
The first loss.
The first execution.
The first end of the world.
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The red-haired man trod past the still corpses, the malformed land, and the death in the air and returned to his home. A small village with a pillar of smoke challenging the heavens. However, he paid it no heed, any emotion would be in vain.
The familiar smell of iron continued. It was the same here as everywhere else, the air sour with spirits.
He did not expect any less from the demon lord. He had won the battle but lost the war.
The mind was still in a haze, not quite focusing on the once-people around him. However, there was one corpse in particular that caught his eye.
“Caretaker…”
All the others were just cattle without names to him, but the Caretaker was different. He was never permitted to learn her true name, and now he never would.
His hand carefully reached to touch her cold face, moving to her shoulder as if expecting her to wake up.
A small pause to carefully remember her. Her face, her clothes, her hands. He did not want to forget anything. She was wearing a carefully woven, working dress made of the hide of a bear, one hunted by him. Her brown eyes and black hair were common among the populace, but he couldn’t help but see the hidden beauty behind the simplicity. A human beauty.
He let go of the girl’s hand, letting it fall dully onto the ground. Though he did not know why, he wished to move the body into his domain as if spending their last moments together.
The large dome of stone and metal stood in solitude surrounded by destruction. However, the domain itself was not damaged — a testament to his resilience.
One last glance before the entrance, a smouldering village of clay and wood, all ashes. His domain was the only landmark now, of this once prosperous nation.
He entered his domain, Caretaker in his arms. Her body was laid atop the stone bed covered in hides, to rest for all of eternity.
“...I’m sorry,” he said in a divine tongue.
Whenever the Caretaker entered his domain, interactions were kept to the minimum, and this was the first time he ever spoke to her. Perhaps his feelings weren’t mutual, but even he could tell from her eyes and gestures that she did not fear him as the others did.
He prepared for suicide. It was illogical for him to continue his life any longer.
The Goddess, his creator had abandoned him, though he felt not anger but relief that she escaped safely. He was her eternal servant until the end of time, and nothing, not even death would change that.
He knew the Goddess was not listening, but still he wished:
“...I do not ask for forgiveness, but for a chance to atone for my sins,” he said, “I thank you for my life, and my soul is forever yours.”
He prostrated himself and put his head against the soil, staining it where it had never been. This would be his first and last request to the Goddess.
After a brief moment to let the words settle into the earth, he brutalized his body by penetrating his chest with his hand. He could feel his heart desperately beating, but his mind was at peace.
In death, he could finally find peace.