25 Days of SyndiSparklez and Motanite

21: Fall of a God

Setting: AU
Sum: Being alone is a bitter fate.

This was his kingdom.

The tall pillars looming over even the mightiest of giants, red stone mimicking flames as it rose from the earth to form a fortress like no other. The black obsidian forming a looming castle, a dark smudge on the formerly happy place.

This was his kingdom. The kingdom of a villain.

His powers were limitless. He had hundreds of servants. All of them spirits brought from the dead, forced to do his bidding or he could easily send their soul to the worst fate in the afterlife. They kept the castle clean, they cooked scrumptious meals fit for a king—no a God—and did everything he asked. They had no choice, he was controlling them. But oh, how he loved it. He would torture them for no reasons at time.

This was his kingdom. A kingdom where not a single living person set foot, except the ruler himself.

In all of this glee and splendor, loneliness thrived. There was no one he had to share it with or who would share it with. No one worshipped a man like him; he once had friends, but they had abandoned him. Traitors. One moment they would laugh with him, the next a sword in his back. He walked these halls alone, black boots causing ominous echoes as he patrolled the halls, spirits cowering in his wake.

This was his kingdom. Twas a kingdom known for its bloodshed and the many it had left motherless, fatherless, without lovers, without children—'twas a kingdom that enjoyed seeing others suffer, others being alone.

The many wars he'd started, all of the deaths haunting him as he wandered around aimlessly. The child that had run from her burning home and wailed at the carnage around her and her parents being torn apart by flames. The young man who bitterly spat at him as he murdered everyone in the house, but him and left him to cry over spilled blood. The countless husbands swearing they would get their revenge as he snapped their wives necks. Some had tried, shown up at his kingdom and he'd not even give them the dignity of fighting him, he'd sent the spirits of their loved ones to drive them to suicide or to kill them. Loneliness tore the soul apart, made it hard to be human.

This was his kingdom. This was the kingdom of the feared Tom Cassell, the mighty God Syndicate; the once champion of Dianite who killed his own God and in turn, became one.

...

Another battle.

Another hundreds dead.

He had felt like it. Tom had simply appeared at the village and murdered its inhabitants without remorse or a reason. This was one of the times he hadn't planned on leaving survivors. 

There was always those that refused to die.

Tom strolled through the streets, eyes surveying the dead. Bodies slashed open, bodies that were burned alive, bodies that were impaled, bodies that...well...he sometimes forgot what he did to make them look that grotesque.

His eyes were on the small village's capital building he had yet to burn down. They believed in balance. They believed in democracy. Fools should know there is not happiness waiting for everyone; no one is equal.

As he raised his hands to burn it to the ground, he felt a tug at his pantleg. Startled, he looked down at a man, a man he had seen a century ago. A man immortal as he, given eternal life so as long he didn't perish in war. A follower of Ianite, a childish, yet mature man known as Jordan Maron.

He should kill him; slam his heavy boot into the man's head and hear the joyful sound of the skull cracking.

Tom didn't. He knelt down beside the man, and the eye that hadn't been burnt followed him. It looks like Jordan had been the victim of an explosion and it had done some damage to his head and legs. Hadn't killed him, sadly.