Man from the moon (UNDER EDITING)

AdventureTime006/The Daughter und Death.

I harden my face with rage; If my goddess is of marble, then I become fire that will burn her work down. I stare, and I pull on grief, on my daughter's face; I take the pieces of her out of my memory museum and let the pain and emotion consume me like a maelstrom would flesh and hide.

Then, I step, and I peel, and peel, away the sky and earth, a hole in reality, to a damp place of bone and darkness, where the scent of mud and stagnant water drafts upward.

I am greeted, I say hello.

The gatekeeper, of this underworld, not of brimstone and sulfur, but of solemn dirt and sacred places, tells me I may not enter, as I live, and my chest rises and falls.

And then the gatekeeper is gone.

My rage rouses me like flaming strings controlling my body.

RED, not SCARLET, breaths fume out my mouth as I step forward, my veins rising like scar tissue-- I stare upon mountains of pearly bones, enough to craft cities and civilizations.

Fire licks at the heels of my black oxford's. I will take the evil, beaten path, in this tranquil deadworld, I will grow horns and become the devil.

More things with wings attempt to stop my trampling of their rules they call sacred. I commit sacrilege by rending their quarks into nothingness, sending them not to their lord they worship, but to absolved existence.

Fire rips at the walls of this cave. I turn it into hell, and I do not stop, because amongst these corpses, my daughter is not here. Sulfur drips into stalactites, and this world is now violated by man-- by fire and uranium.

I am not happy.

My body quivers with every step, rage against everything pouring out of me. My fist is turned as white as the melted bone that floods my Pandæmonium. I am met with nothingness as I burn everything down, my rage pulverizing this world into fine powder, and then nothingness.

Not even broken,

Not even stratified,

Obliterated by grief and rage.

In this nothingness, where information does not compute, and my brain does not translate, my head hottens and blood sheds from my nose, I peel, and peel, until I am in the second sacred place.

I hear screams, and cries, and whys.

And I hear NOTHING!

Their horror is captured as they turn to pillars of salt, and the world shudders as salt eats at. I do not laugh, or smile, I am not happy. I scrape the salt of the world, which pulsates like a dying animal, I can feel the rigor mortis is setting in as the ground trembles and rifts and heaves great screams of anguish.

Then I see a humanoid in the distance, melding with this defiled place. Deer bones as a face, garbed in white, with a wooden rake. I sit amongst the corpse salt, waiting in hues of oranges and reds as fire crackles amidst the endlessly flowing waves of white.

"You are?"

"Death, you abominable god."

I laugh, "I am no god. For all intents and purposes, I wield a pitchfork and walk with cloven feet."

Death does not laugh as they stare at me, merely hold their rake against the salt.

"Do you have any idea what you have done?"

"Slaughtered them."

"A trillion souls are reduced to... salt." Death looks around.

"O' terrible beast, what have you come here for?"