Chapter Text
WARMING UP HIS GENESIS
The Alpha, The Beta And The Omega
(God's point-of-view chapter narrative)
- "Oh dear, you can't give me what I want, can you?" You sigh at your realization. This is no good - you have a mission that's yet to be accomplished!
- "What do I want...?" Good question - seriously, you give him credit. Cutting him some slack, you adjust yourself in his lap.
- "Their souls, motherfucker." You respond, uninterested in the ordinary questions this naked silver-haired man humors you.
Who seems to only know how to thrash around in his blindfolded, gagged, and tied condition, you might add.
- "Is that too much to ask for the likes of you?" For a mortal man? For anyone? You don't think so.
- "I think I'm being reasonable here, don't you think?" Reacting with a jolt, he falls off the busted dentist chair, meeting the soiled ground.
"Someone isn't used to being in the 'bottom' position", one of your voices remarks.
- "It's not like I'm asking for the impossible..." It really isn't. He'll yield himself to you - they all do.
- "Oh! You thought I wanted diamonds?!" A bell goes off in your head. He's not the first one to misjudge you.
- "How lovely~ always accountable, aren't you?" Your smile's rather bittersweet.
Does he still have kindness for you now? Poor child.
- "Even fond of demons, I see." You tsk, putting out your cigarette on the left side of his chest, drunk on his distress.
- "Your mommy must be real proud of her bitch of a crybaby!" You squeeze painfully both his cheeks. How do you know all of this? Well, it's written all over his face. He's a momma's boy.
- "Oh my! We have a fighter among us!" He cusses you through his gag at the mention of his late mother, drooling all over himself. Already a mess, and you just started.
- "Do you think I can make you cry out to her, while we're at it?" Spit the wench's name?
You turn your back to him, going for your new, polished set of "ticklish" tools inside your case - humming a random tune to yourself.
- "What? Didn't hear you-" Out of nowhere, you appear at his side again, yanking the gag off his mouth. He coughs loudly between his gasps.
- "You have to try harder to make yourself clear darling, I don't understand your blabbing at all~" You roughly grip his jaw, turning him in your direction; he's just so helpless, it makes you lick your neglected lips.
- "Who are you..." The strange silver-haired man shakes, mumbling weakly at nobody in particular. Too lost on the mindfuckery you had put him through. Were you all this time inside his head?
- "Well, that depends on whom you'll be, actually." He can feel your cattish grin through his blindfold.
"Behave", you impose with an unprecedented presence, while engraving a doodle on his skin with your borrowed sewing needle - you just needed a human canvas for practicing after all, till one miraculously came running right into your arms.
- "Will you try to be a hero tonight?" You breathe on him, kissing away the blood on his chest.
He's finished, for now, so you chain a weight around his neck, dragging the said hustler by his metal collar towards the spiked torture cage;
All the while, the bloody weakened male managed, somehow, to fight you until you could close the goddamned cage.
After the deed was done, and you effortlessly pulled him to the edge of the pier, to let the ice-cold waters heal your art - till the next tattooing sessions - you couldn't help but start to think that he could be another one of your fleeting little whims.
If he survives Leviathan, that is.
Having said that - just in case - in your engraving, you left a "side note" for the sea god through your signing: do not bite what you can't chew!
Well, well, feeling somewhat benevolent tonight, ain't you, you charitable soul!?
Ha! It's not like your intentions have ever been "frugal" - but in fact, you have yet to find a reason to have to deal with any damaged goods on your newly acquired property.
Until then, you're saving yourself from stressing any further.
Still, on rare occasions, such as this, you've caught yourself pondering whether the ends really justify the means...
- "Sweet dreams-" You kicked him to the bottom of the ocean, quick on your resolve, thus ceasing all contemplation.
There's no need to grieve; in your viewpoint, you're confident you could extract even a devil's cry if that's what you aspired to.
But you're in a good mood, though.
"The Angel of Death, taking the soul, in the form of a child, from a dying man."
From Reiter's Mortilogus, printed by Oegelin and Nadler, Augsburg, 1508.