"Why…"
After witnessing something he could never have imagined, he is left with this simple question. A question that can only be asked in that moment, but one that will never receive an answer. Yet he asks it, because his soul yearns for one. He believed he had seen everything, even things no human will ever witness. But this has shattered his faith.
"Why? What did I do wrong? Where did it go wrong? Why is it not over? Is it not over?"
He asks no one, and the universe remains silent. The universe cannot answer him. A fate so cruel that even cruelty is put to shame. He stares at the silhouette of the girl through the smoke and debris from the hole in the wall. The light from the Piece of Eden has damaged his eyesight severely, yet his gaze remains fixed on her, as if his eyes are asking the same question.
"Why…"
He lies on the grand floor, carved with the most intricate design. Blood drips from his eyes and begins to dry there. A menacing beauty, the duality of nature in a single place. One would imagine a venue like this for something wholesome and heartwarming, but nothing unfolding here would ever invite such a thought. His life's greatest betrayal is happening before him, and just like always, he has no power to change the outcome. He is truly powerless. Even when he was a god, he had no power. He could have done anything, but he never had the chance.
His spirit is on the verge of breaking. And then…
He lifts his right arm and pushes himself up. First his torso, then his upper body, then onto his knees.
"You…"
He manages to stand, though he walks as if he might fall at any moment.
"Because of you…"
"You took away what I rightfully deserved!"
His mind is not concerned with who she is, or what she is. It is focused solely on reclaiming his destiny. He scoffs and speaks again. He lost his sanity long ago. This is just him talking to himself once more.
"Doesn't matter who you are."
"Doesn't matter who sent you."
"Doesn't matter what you are."
"I earned it, and I can earn it back!"
He reaches for the sword on his left, unsheathes it, and approaches the girl. Slow, steady, with haunted, wounded eyes. Eyes filled with nothing but the intent to kill. His mind fixates only on driving the blade through her heart, hoping to retrieve his rightful self. His true self. He has had enough of this life as a human. A life full of injustice, inequality, loss, and, above all, death. He hates death with every fiber of his being. He never had to fear it before. What happens when he dies now? Does a fallen god stand before his maker and answer for his deeds?
None of that crosses his mind. His goal has always been clear. Only other humans ever made it feel uncertain.
He draws close to her still, unmoving body. Now is the time. Now is the moment. He raises his sword, wearing a twisted grin like that of the devil. He strikes.
Did he do it? Has he finally regained his freedom? Is it over, truly, this time?
The sword pierces only a fragment of debris inside the gaping hole in the wall. It lodges there, as if it will never come out. He pulls at it with force, but it does no good. He looks around. The girl is gone. Perhaps his eyes deceived him. Yet what he sees feels like another miracle. She has vanished into thin air.
The fallen god does not know what to feel, what to think, or what to do. He stares at the hilt of his sword. All the time spent trying to redeem himself, he saw things the human eye was never meant to witness. He saw innocents burn. Children slaughtered for foolish reasons. Families torn apart. The powerful playing chess with the lives of millions. Yet his heart, the mass of muscle that pulses like every human's, this heart now screams in pain. He does not feel unease. He does not feel defeated. It is something far worse.
He feels nothing.
Was the pain too great? Or was it all his fault, so he feels nothing for it?
But what about now? Right now, he is the one suffering. Everything has been taken from him. His dignity, his power, his fate. Even his last chance to reclaim it all. Maybe it really was his fault.
Seconds stretch into minutes. Minutes become hours. Yet he stands there, staring at the pile of debris amassed before him.
He scoffs.
"Haha…"
His soul was lost long ago. Yet something deep within still feels the pain. It is not his body. It is not his soul. It is simply him.
He feels the pain.
"Hahahahahaha!"
His reason was lost long ago. But from a human perspective, he has finally lost everything. All cause. All chance. All feeling.
He laughs at his fate. He turns, flinging his arms like a madman. He has truly lost his sanity. He walks to the grand doors of the castle and begins to push. The colossal doors open from the force of a hopeless man. Perhaps the castle mourns for him. The walls, the doors, the floor, the windows.
He pushes until the doors slam against the stone behind them. He stumbles forward and collapses to the ground. He lies there, uncaring of injury or pain. None of it matters now. He lies in the mud. His hair, his limbs, all soaked. The storm ended long ago.
He looks up at the dawn sky. A single ray of light falls on the Citadel. He turns his head to the right and fixes his eyes on the bronze bell of the cathedral's bell tower, shining in the new light of day. He came to this fortress with hopes and dreams far greater than any human, though minuscule compared to any god. In fact, he is the youngest of his six siblings, all busy earning fame and reputation in the realm of Gods, Eden. They definitely had bigger dreams than him. He never had the chance to speak to them properly. He thinks of all this as he gazes at the bell with hopeless eyes.
And then again, the question returns. He says it like a murmur.
"Why…?"
I was born in the midst of royalty. Royalty far greater than any humanity has ever seen. I was the heir of a God. I was a God. These humans… these pests polluting the earth, the soil, the skies, the stars, the universe were nothing compared to me. All of it would have bowed down without me even lifting a finger. Yet, here I am. Engulfed by the filth of these pests. What's so good about them? Vile insects! Insects! INSECTS!
His right hand punches the mud, splashing it in all directions. The force is so great it nearly dries the puddle.
"ENOUGH!"
He stands with such force that the stones and pebbles around him begin to tremble. There is an invisible energy pulsing around him. The same force that wells deep within. The same force that led to his banishment from the throne.
The wrath.
He is consumed by heat. The soil around him cracks and dries. The remnants of the storm from the night before vanish instantly. His clothes burn away, exposing his bare form. His face is the embodiment of wrath.
He spots a cliff at the edge of the horizon, bathed in the first rays of the day. He walks toward it, as if his destination is the sun itself. The flames of his fury consume what remains of his garments. He is naked, but as he exits the gates of the Citadel, a divine attire begins to materialize around him.
A large robe forms out of thin air and envelops his frame. A robe that emits not holiness, but an aura that feels profoundly unholy. Yet he does not care. He no longer cares about anything. Within moments, he is dressed as if he truly is a god, radiating an exotic divinity. His appearance declares nothing but royalty.
Massive waves crash against the cliffs beneath the mythical Citadel. Fierce gusts of wind whip through the air, making his hair dance wildly. He embodies true beauty. He embodies divinity. Yet his eyes carry the fury of a thousand universes, the anguish of countless souls. The winds intensify. The crashing waves grow violent. The ocean sprays against his form, but his wrath does not subside. The droplets evaporate instantly. His body radiates the heat of a hyperactive volcano. Each step he takes leaves scorched ground in his wake. He is unnatural amidst the natural world. A beacon of absurdity no eye has ever seen, no soul could ever comprehend.
He stands at the edge of the cliff, staring straight into the heart of the sun. His very existence exudes destructive emotion, now forged into a divine and unholy form. He raises his right hand toward the sun, and a sword appears. The most beautiful blade ever to exist, unseen by any human. The hilt is forged from pure gold, wrapped in the leather of a heavenly beast. The blade is so sharp it could cleave through the heart of any divine being. The first rays of the day gleam along its edge. His eyes are ablaze with fury. His heart hardened with vengeance. And then, in an exalted tone, he speaks once more:
"Enough."
Enough. He takes the oath.