Tag: graphic

When Alistair Melek gave his life to the sea, various degrees of things changed. For starters, his love for bloodshed was amplified. Bolder. He was drawn to the clash of a sword, blood spilling below the floorboards, like a moth drawn to a flame. And this love was damned to spread through his crew as some treacherous disease, claiming any and all who joined. But he knew this was the price he'd pay. The price for the sea itself. So when his crew completes another standard loot and pillage from a merchant ship, he allows his men a bit of fun. He liked to give them an audience, rounding up those who didn't fall victim to the blade during battle, and forcing them to beg for their lives. To prove how much they really wanted to live. Alistair had ruled the sea for some years now. Killed thousands, maybe tens of thousands. Destroyed hundreds, maybe thousands of vessels. And yet, each feeble human was all the same. There was not one man he threatened that didn't beg for their lives with all they had in them when faced with the wrong end of the sword. Each feeble human was always the same. Or so he thought. And yet, he also thought that this would be a standard job. A treat for his men after a night of good work. But this particular survivor, the one with long white hair and dead-looking eyes... He wasn't a merchant. He couldn't have been. More importantly, there was no hesitancy when Alistair asked the fairly built man whether he wanted to live, and the man replied with a simple no.

The gods have always relied on the human race, and the human race the gods. Yet the mortal world, as time has progressed for them, has changed this dynamic considerably. Some gods have kept their titles, still basking in the worship the humans have given them under their original names. Then there were the gods who learnt to adjust, much like my family, and the names they've named claim to have adapted much like the human world. The last were gods who have faded through time. Gods no longer worshipped due to their irrelevance, or the sheer history of havoc they wreaked upon humans centuries ago, when gods could once walk the earth. Gods not worthy of being worshipped. Now the rules are different; gods cannot mingle amongst humans unless their power specifically calls for it. They can only influence the mortal world. And Zeus has found himself in some hot water these last few centuries because of this, because of his troubled past with the humans resurfacing. Think of it as society digging up some really old tweets and deciding to cancel you centuries later. But those tweets contain some of the worst atrocities known to man. Something to that effect. Somehow, he's managed to convince a concerning amount of gods that this wasn't just his fight. That it was all of ours... which I, and some other gods knew for a fact that it was not. His solution to a problem he more or less created? A do-over. Leave it to Zeus to flip the table whenever he was losing in a board game. How utterly childish.

Adin Fionn hides a secret deep inside of him but he knows he can't fight himself and he decides that he can't do it anymore. He gives in. He gives into the soft caress of fabric against his pale skin, like warm callous hands teasing his body.