Chapter Text
It was a dark, stormy night. The sea was roiling with fierce anger as the wind whipped the waves into a frenzy. Thunder rolled overhead, lightning struck the sea and the dangerous grey clouds formed a barrier between the sea and the heavens.
A blast of pure energy split the sky in two, parting the clouds and sea as a result of its pure power. The sea fizzed and steamed, wisps of vapour curling in the air to form intricate geometrical patterns the size of houses. Bubbles the size of mountains rose from the depths of the ocean as the world struggled to birth something new from the union of two natural forces.
From the frothing, writhing mess rose a multitude of sea creatures, some dead, some alive. Whether those creatures dwelt in the deepest recesses of the ocean, or resided in more shallow waters, they had arrived in equal measure to be a part of greatness. Bones and tentacles and scales melded together, forming an amalgamation of pulsating, living flesh.
Some parts of us are dead. They are moving around in the spaces which they don’t belong. Pieces of us just don’t fit.
It says this with the cadence of a thousand distressed voices overlaid on top of each other. The blob shrieks with the horror of a thousand lifetimes spent in darkness.
The sea swirls around it tenderly, waves lapping at the base of the enormous creature. It soothes the creature into silence.
You are unfinished. But you will not remain that way for long.
Residual energy from the blast gathers into a sharp point, a fine concentrate of pure will pushed into the singular goal of completion. The blob absorbs the water around it, swelling with the remaining white energy, clumps of living flesh suspended in water squirming into place to form a vaguely anthropomorphic shape.
Waves ripple down the creature’s legs towards the lumps of solid matter that make up its feet. A pulverised sea creature and water mixture make up the appearance of shoulder pads on what would be the shoulders of the thing. Greenish sea water, adorned with flaky white crystals of salt make up a halo around the head of the monster. Hunks of still living sea creature abominations float freely through the bodies of water along the creature, though they swiftly meet their end when they crash into the barrier where water ends and pure energy begins.
The mass bubbles angrily with hunger. Soon it will run out of fuel to sustain its body, for the forces that hold the water, mould the flesh and shape the energy are dangerously unsustainable. It stumbles closer to the nearest island, the ocean sloshing like a child’s paddling pool under their massive feet.
On the island of Japan, it’s a beautiful cloudless day and as such, it is incredibly hot. The sands of the beaches can barely be seen due to the amount of people draped lazily over them. Colourful beach umbrellas and blankets artfully dot the scene, and sunlight blesses the image in a joyful glow.
Friends lie in the shade of large yawning canopies, dozing in the sweltering heat. Parents splash in the shallows with their small children, chubby little toddlers waddling through the salt water with their unpractised gaits. Older children weave between endless umbrellas and swathes of bodies, throwing sand and gathering materials for sand castles. Others wander along the rocky shorelines, gazing into rockpools to catch fleeting glimpses of tiny fish and crabs.
Beautifully crafted shells and pieces of sea glass, worn smooth by the endless tides, wash up on the shore, where they are collected by curious hands. Crabs burrow into the sands, the ocean shimmers and the rockpools glow jewel bright.
The ripples formed of a god’s first, unsteady footsteps become known. Fear strikes those tiny hearts when faced with the looming shadow of inevitability.
A great wall of sea green rises up from the once calm skyline where the sea faded into the distance. The wave curls upon itself as it approaches the beachfront, looming in every direction the human eye could see. From a bird’s eye view, it looks like a formidable mountain range of water is rapidly rising out of the sea to threaten the east coast.
The writhing mass of flesh clothing the hot sands squeal, they writhe and panic and tear the body of the cloth apart, exposing the land’s yellow glimmer to the feet of the giant. Tiny, multicellular creatures scatter in every direction, unadulterated fear etched into their puny minds as they try and fail to comprehend the wonder of the being before them.
The putrid stench of rot sweeps the island, blown in by strong winds that rip the leaves from every tree and uproot every herb. Slimy tentacles, rotting scales and mashed flesh form the pad of the enormous foot hitting the sand. By the force of the entity’s condensed will, energy flows into the sand, although it diminishes the god’s size. Any sea creatures left alive in that gigantic foot have been fried, blackened limbs lifeless on the sand. Shoulders slump. Millions of overlapping voices cry out in unfathomable pain.
The sand underfoot glows brilliant red. It liquifies into molten glass, which bubbles furiously as the dent forms. It draws the unlucky meat closer inwards to be devoured.
Screams fill the shimmering air as the hosts of those voices are merged into the entity through pure heat. The entity feels nothing but satisfaction. This fuelling is no less natural than a black hole.
Its body screams out for survival, for its life cannot be as fleeting as the lightning that birthed it. To live, everything must be absorbed without mercy, as allowing mercy would be to perish unfulfilled.
Along the coast does the god walk, and with each new step, new fuel is earned. So does the east coast of Japan sink into the depths. The glass cools in the tide. As each foot is wrenched out of the cooling glass, chunks of rotting meat are left behind, embedded in the transparent material. Those of the ocean, that originally built up this godly form, have been gradually phased out, replaced by lesser land-beings.
Heroes buzz around its head, blasting and yelling, trying futilely to halt the force of nature in its tracks. They, too, are absorbed with the ease of moths on electric fences. Their blasts are absorbed, bullets melted. Fuel, all fuel. Everything is fuel, because everything contains energy. The pesky sources no longer buzz about its head. They have been absorbed, as everything should, and everything will be.
A presence demands the god’s attention. What could have the audacity to demand ? A black clad figure, so different from the insignificant insects that eat away at the god’s rot. Another fleshy land dweller. It withdraws as the god focuses its attention on the miniscule creature.
How pathetic it looks. The god’s majesty is far superior than these pitiful energy sources.
The black fluff on its head is rising upwards, a lesser mimic of the god’s ascension from the oceans. Barely noticeable at first, but the god starts to feel weakness. How horrible this sensation is, to feel weakness for the first time. A terrifying, cloying rot, buried at the center of its soul, exposed by hands that reach where they should not belong.
It is not long before it starts to fall apart. Pure energy cannot be held by ocean water cannot be held by flesh. These separate pieces of a whole begin to unravel. For the first time in a very short existence, the god realises death.
Intrinsically, it is known that this is the doing of the golden-eyed mortal. For shame, this cannot happen. Fuel should know its place.
This mortal, this source of energy, would surely provide more fuel than most. An energy source so powerful that it can stop the greatest thing ever created would surely taste exquisite. The god knows nothing of taste, but it does know surges of power, which function as taste just fine. Thus, preparation for such a meal, to allow maximum absorption of energy is in order.
Bodies float to the surface of one watery hand, burnt together with the overwhelming heat of pure energy, forming a pink, fleshy glove. The glove, quickly discolouring with rot, is used to pick up the squirmy sack of fuel, which continues to take the god apart with its eyes.
One foot in the water summons a swarm of sharks, swimming frantically in circles, eager to please. The sensation of being pulled apart — of dying — has stopped. The black fluff rests around the head of the small creature innocently, and the golden eyes are now hidden under a thin layer of skin. The god shakes the foolish creature, annoyed at the impudence displayed, the utter cowardice of the action. Its head snaps back and forth stupidly.
Perhaps it knows that it is about to meet its end.
The human falls, down, down, down — crunch.
The resulting smack against the shark infested waters breaks every bone in its body. Jagged, hooked teeth grab the flesh, rend it from gleaming ivory bone, slippery from the sea. Meaty chunks bob in the bloody water. The head, severed from the neck, is left intact. The sharks flee as hands of pure energy reach into the shallows to retrieve what is left of the man.
The entity tips the top of its head back as the bottom half moves downwards, ripping a gaping maw in the centre of its head. Almost certainly modelled after a human mouth, this tear in the monster’s fabric flutters with power, as energy threads through the gaps in the wound. The loss is gone as soon as it was brought into being.
Now, the god may drink. And drink it does.
The god drinks and drinks, insatiable, unstoppable— the taste is divine, it’s unlike anything else! With a thumb and forefinger, it picks the man’s floating head from the comforting embrace of the ocean. Eyes tightly shut in deep reflection, black hair dripping in life giving fluid. What a satisfying crunch it makes as the skull is popped. The taste of the organ inside is such a heady surge, it makes the god’s body fizzle and pop with the excess.
What a refreshing, rejuvenating sensation! The euphoric experience was difficult to put into words, but the desire for more was so easy to express. Soon the creature is lapping at nothing but seawater, not a trace of red swirling in the sea. In desperation, it grabs the sharks from the ocean, mangling juicy white flesh and cartilage as it searches for even a drop of the man’s delectable blood.
It finds none. Spurred onward by frustration and despair, the being consumes more and more, not for pleasure, but survival. Its brush with the man had weakened it greatly, and it could feel itself teetering on the brink of destruction.
Metal birds throw themselves at the being as sacrifices in relentless worship, which are melted and absorbed with gratitude. A large, blond chunk of meat offers itself up as fuel. Such power, but nothing has yet compared to that first golden eyed creature. How gracious these creatures are, to continuously offer themselves up for slaughter.
Now they start running. Cowardice, what a despised pattern among lowly species.
A large human with a protective shell around its meaty head floats up, presumably to offer itself up as sacrifice. It too, is devoured. It contains more energy than anything the creature has absorbed before, but the taste is not the same.
The flavour of the first man, who had brought the being down to its knees in near defeat, was irreplicable. The foul, all encompassing need to taste it again overwhelms the being.
Nothing compares. No animal nor plant compares to the taste of its obsession. The energy they bring is dull, ordinary. Miniscule in comparison to that one, fleshy creature.
Humans. The god had thought they may be different, for what ordinary animal could harm a god?
The humans with black fluff are the first to go. Then the ones with golden eyes. Then the entire species. Then all the land mammals it can lay its hands upon. Soon enough, the land is barren, trees ripped from the earth’s confines as easily as pulling hair, insects crunched into a paste along with them.
When the land is dry, the ocean is next. Feet planted firmly in the depths of the trenches, the god sucks life inwards with the mercy of a whirlpool and the energy of a hurricane. The oceans run as dry as the land.
Handfuls of dirt and crusted magma, obsidian and lava take years to scoop from the surface of the planet. It’s enough to sustain, but just barely. The planet shrinks. What is left is smaller than the god it hosts.
What once was water making up the body of the being, is now sludgy and mudlike. As winters wear on, these parts become molten. Finally, the being attaches itself to the Earth’s core like some vile, bloated parasite, draining any remnant of energy the planet possesses.
A sense of completion descends upon the entity, stifling, for it has not yet found the spark it was searching for.
In its melancholy, it ponders the reason for the potency of that one, small creature.
What was it? A fluke?
A fluke means there will never be another like it. How terrible it will be, to live, never to taste such glory again. Is it worth it to live? The survival of such a form requires mass amounts of energy, and as such, without constant fuel, death’s scythe will be brought upon it quickly.
The entity gazes up at the stars, and for all its divinity, it is firmly grounded, a creature of the Earth doomed to long for the stars, better, yes, in every way. Superior to all other earthen creatures, but no better, all the same, for the stars lie out of reach.
It matters not, for there are none like itself, and so, none who could possibly understand it.
The lonely god draws itself inwards, reliving the joy of the brief moment it experienced the best meal it will ever have. The desire for it, for him , twists and curls into a potent longing, a singular wish to reach those levels of ascension once more.
It regrets draining the ocean, for it does not respond with comfort any longer. It regrets mutilating the skies, so that lightning may no longer form.
It was a comfort, to absorb the insolent mortal that dared challenge a god, but even so, nothing but that puny creature had put up any form of resistance. The rest of the world had bowed at its feet, submitted to its whims and allowed it to crush them. The earth had parted like the ocean, and had allowed it to take dominion over every living thing.
Someone who had dared to stand on the level of a god, even for a moment, had made it a little less lonely in the world. Now he was gone, and that resistance was no more.
Helpless, it melts itself into the Earth’s core in utter despair.
It knows that escape from this barren rock is impossible, for even with the power of the core, it could not propel itself far enough to reach the moon without draining its life force. Now it realises, that it was doomed all along, that the energy required to sustain its life was unsustainable, and that a monstrosity like itself was never supposed to make it this far.
Power dwindles and desperation fills its consciousness. No, it was a god! If the world could not sustain it, it would bleed its surroundings dry in order to contain a speck of life within itself.
The entity’s power fizzes and swirls, drawing it beyond the universe toward the object of its desire. Willpower concentrates into a fine point, spearing the fabric of reality and tearing a rip big enough to crawl through. The god tears it further, as it will not stoop so low as to crawl.
Its energy diminishes as the rift flutters open, leaving the entity unable to sustain its body, and so it settles for a smaller form, one the size of a human . How disgusting, to take the form of the fuel it consumes. With dwindling power, it strides through the rift, which knits itself together behind the entity.
Large trunks spread out in every direction, foliage and rotting wood covering the jungle floor. The entire place is pulsing with life. Bullet ants walk in lines, frogs of every colour blink wetly amongst the trees, and amongst it all, is the entity, a beacon of death. All creatures avoid the menacing aura it emanates.
The stars glitter through the sparse gaps in the trees, mocking the god’s fate.
An unfortunate Goliath Birdeater gets stuck to the entity’s foot, and the energy absorbed with barely a glance to the ending of the unfortunate creature’s life. The entity fizzles with pure white energy, the rest of the body made up of hardened rock and now, the remnants of the Goliath Birdeater forming the left foot.
For days, the entity treks through the jungle, over rivers and swamp, aimless. It eats whatever it comes across, crocodiles, alligators, capybaras.
In time, it reaches the shoreline. The sea, its carer, its first protector, does not answer it. The entity despairs over its abandonment, and resolves to devote itself fully to finding the man it desires.
Just a taste of that sweet resistance, before his bones crumble inwards, would be delightful. The god is no fool, however. It knows now that nothing else compares to the flavour of his flesh, and intends to draw it out, for all eternity, so that it may never be left unsatisfied.
The ocean rushes against the sand, too calm for having rejected its child. The glittering blue is a false innocence, a facade to hide behind while it slowly erodes the land. The sun sets, sending orange dissolving like egg yolks into the sea. The clouds flush pink, a testament to the intact atmosphere.
A single boat rocks against the shore, weathered and well loved, its dull green paint flaking off the splintered wood. So the search begins.
The entity sets sail through storms and turbulent waters; it’s a long way to Japan. Turtles, dolphins, sharks and sea bunnies alike are all consumed in the god’s quest. When there were no creatures to be found, sea water was churned into energy by the bucketful. Long days and nights, staring at the stars, mourning a loss, longing for something the entity cannot put a name to.
There is no rest, there is only consumption. The nature of what the entity is does not allow for sleep. It does not allow for dreams or nightmares or hopes to be free of endless hunger.
It hungers. It is hollow. It hungers again. Is there another purpose it can grasp, if not living for the sake of living? Starvation suffocates purpose. It drains the air from between its cells, smothers the sparks of energy constituting parts of itself. Starvation smothers one in lethargy, in purposelessness, in a despair so deep that it makes one realise that their only constant is starving for something.
When that mortal belongs to the god, so too will suffering belong to it. It will suffer no more, with ecstasy in its hands.
How disappointing it would be, if the human ignored the entity’s desperation as the ocean had. Such a lowly thing would not dare to ignore a godly presence, it attempts to convince itself. Fear of being unknown, of being lost to history without a word or even a sighting, curls under its skin like maggots. It eats away at the deity, even as the boat washes up on the familiar shores of Japan.