Chapter Text
The illusion of freedom is oftentimes used to quell struggle.
Sometimes, decisions are made in the deepest pits of urgency. Options are taken at the first moment available, when nothing better is to be desired than survival. Oftentimes, these options that are first offered are never intended to be the last, and will rarely be among the best. Truly to speak, there will almost always be a better option.
However.
Is it fair, to be upset with one for taking the first chance at an escape? Adrenaline flooding through the veins like never before, wouldn't you do the exact same? There is rarely time to rationalize hesitance when your very existence is being burned away with every step you take. If every inch you move was another threat of true and irreversible doom, would you take the longer path for the chance at a ‘better’ outcome?
You know you wouldn't, Builderman. Don't lie to yourself.
You can't be mad, Builderman. You can't be disappointed or angry or sad or despaired or lonely or desperate or frantic or scared or calm or–
You can't spiral, Builderman. Thats unprofessional of you. What would the other admins think? What about the people? They look up to you, Builderman. What would they think of their ‘mighty god’ if they saw you right now?
You're so pathetic, Builderman.
You sit there on your knees, hardened hands dug into the ground, parallel each other, holding your body overtop the scorched ground where he had once been. You're sitting there so uselessly, Builderman. Wipe that moisture from your eyes, Builderman. Its unbecoming of such a powerful deity to show such incompetence.
Why are you so emotional?
Why are you so bothered by this change?
He did what was best for himself, in his eyes. He even thought of you as it happened. Surely that's something to celebrate?
The ground underneath him is blackened for miles, save for the glowing ring of ever-burning life. Violently bright oranges and yellows, in the shape of beautiful grasses and blooms, encircle him, or rather where the other had once been.
Builderman can't stop crying.
Isn't it funny?
Its hilarious, the way he trembles as he continues to deny everything. He shakes and quivers in horrible denial, hands slowly and tightly closing around soil. He knows what his mistake had been, and he knew he could have prevented all of this.
Perhaps it would hurt less, if something had been left behind.
A note, perhaps. A message to reassure him that everything would be alright.
A gift, perhaps. A sentiment to show that he still thought of him.
A sign.
A feather.
A desperate clawmark of struggle to show he changed his mind in the end.
All that remained were these wretched remains of fiery desolation.
Builderman eventually shifted his position. He released the soil that had compacted beneath his grip, and pulled back. He remained on his knees, of course. He felt that if he stood he would only stumble, creating even more of a fool of himself.
Such a pathetic fool he was.
A deity like them was never meant to stay long, and he knew it.
They had said it, in their most basic introductions, all those years ago.
They had told him that they were a thing of change and motion.
They had told him not to get attached.
The words had been said out of ego, no doubt. But they were not lies.
Builderman remembers that meeting.
It had felt like meeting the sun.
He remembered how that smile had felt, when it'd finally wrestled it's way onto the deity's shrouded face.
Builderman had tried for a good hour to get them to lighten up, to stop being so formal, that they could trust him. The conversation had been an uncomfortable mix of formalities, explanations and horrid attempts at jokes.
The smile hadn't come through one of his jokes. The smile had come when he gave up fishing for one. Builderman recalled how he had sighed in faux sadness that the fellow deity wouldn't grace him with a grin, leaning back into the chair he'd been sat in. He didn't even remember what he had said to announce the end of his attempts, it hadn't truly mattered, had it?
The only thing Builderman could recall after that was what he saw when those wings that hid their face, so tightly pressed against their features, had loosened and shifted slightly, showing the slightest glimpses of their face.
Builderman recalled their smile.
It had bubbled up only moments before laughter. It was harsh and mocking, he had thought. But as it continued, he had realized it was genuine.
Builderman recalled the way all three pairs of wings on the other's back had twitched slightly as they practically giggled at whatever nonsense he had spouted in his playful tiresome. They had lifted their hand to their face after a few moments of the beautiful sound. The movement was serene, despite the normalcy of it. They had lifted their arm and propped their head up on their blackened and clawed hands, tilted slightly. The wings that centered their face, deep, charred brown with precious aureate accents, had opened. Two still held close, forming a frame around the face Builderman saw. The other two sat loose, one resting against the same hand, the other tilted slightly off to the side, almost like an extended, welcoming hand.
His face.
Builderman knew his face all too well.
In that moment, there hadn't been much he could see, yet he had still been enamoured in seconds.
Beautiful brown curls, the color of dark caramel, ever so slightly accented with a wondrous amber, providing a definition of where each coil laid. His skin was yellow, the same of the ‘nuviian roblos’ race, he'd noted. It was fair and unblemished, aside from their cheeks, peppered with feathers of brown and gold. Their eyes were hidden under the shade produced by both their gold accent hood and their hair. It couldn't be to a natural extent, with the deep, void black it was, but it didn't matter.
He was beautiful.
Builderman recalled the first time he had experienced the horribly chaotic, human-like emotion of love. It had come to him in an overwhelming, unavoidable wave, crashing down on his preparations like an unexpected disaster of perfect right. He remembered the moment he knew what it meant. He remembered the joy that had rippled through him when they had agreed to join the HQ, as long as they were allowed freedom.
Anything you want, just ask, alright? I'll get you anything.
He had affirmed, uselessly. The deity didn't need his offerings, did they. It had been a stupid offer, made in the daze of ecstasy rolling through them. Regardless, it had gotten a nod. They had made arrangements for when they would come to HQ to properly meet with the rest of the pantheon.
Everything else after that was fuzzy.
The first meeting became constant conversation in workplace.
Then out of workplace.
Then it became more intimate.
Then, they had said they wanted to change. For his sake.
They said they wanted to be better, and Builderman hadn't said no.
He should have said something.
I love you the way you are.
You don't need to change.
It's alright, love. You're already perfect.
All of them were true. But he hadn't said a word of them. He'd just.. nodded along. He trusted their judgement.
Only days before the ritual had Builderman learned the true reason they were going to ‘change’ themself.
It was of their nature.
They had spent too long in one place.
They had spent too long with one mindset.
They had spent too long loving one person.
They had spent too long denying their own self for the sake of him.
They were going to burn.
They were going to die.
They were going to start from the ground up, as someone new.
New memories.
New appearance.
New voice.
New purpose.
New feelings.
New history.
New life.
It was time for them to be reborn, anew.
And they had told him in the kindest way possible, that they needed to change.
If they didn't change, they would've ceased to exist as a whole. A deity cannot deny it's nature for too long.
Builderman knew this.
And yet, he had hoped.
Foolishly, he had hoped.
He had hoped that perhaps, he had found someone who could stay with him.
He was selfish.
It had almost cost his love their existence.
They had held off for him.
The atmosphere was not welcoming. The sky was dark and filled with dispersing smoke. Flecks of white ash dotted the sky like the stars that were hidden behind the clouds further above. The air was thick and choking, a horrible combination for Builderman's already harsh state.
He couldn't hold back a short coughing fit as the air caught up to him, bringing an arm up to wipe his eyes as his body shook just a bit more.
He eventually took a deep breath, ignoring how it hitched as he took the time to properly see.
He had teleported here, he hadn't had the time to look around.
Off in the distance, there was deep forest, lucky enough to be untouched by the flames that had ravaged these grounds. Buildman took note of how even from such a distance, their slow, rhythmic swaying could be seen. So persistent despite their surroundings.
Moving closer.. baren ground. The grass was dead, first browned at the edges, then charred, then gone.
Then, there was the circle.
It mocked him.
That was how it felt, as he gazed at the awful life.
Tall bushes of flickering orange, adorned with blinding white in the shape of blooms. Carpets of smaller, intricate flowering shapes. Licks of red, wavering in mimicry of grass. They would not die nor burn out. These were of light but not of the fragility that flame held.
They were beautiful.
Perhaps these were his goodbye.
Builderman had to have sat there for hours doing nothing but staring.
He stared deep into the light of these ‘flowers,’ should such a mockery be accepted under the name. It was hypnotizing to watch, in a way. The way they would move and pulse and sway with the life that they symbolized the loss of. Their light would wax and wane, pulling in on itself only to sputter outwards once more, with the occasional spark jumping away like pollen, falling slowly and harmlessly to the ground.
Builderman watched as another miniscule blossom pushed its way upward from where the spec of orange had landed. He watched as it was made part of a garden of terrible, extraordinary, long overdue loss.
Perhaps he was being cruel himself. It was in divine nature to be selfish, one way or another. With all the power they held, it was unavoidable.
They would still be out there, somewhere. They would be living as someone new, without a clue of what they had left behind.
They would probably be happy.
He would wait for them.
If they felt the need to return, he would wait for them.
He will wait.