He opens his eyes (and sees nothing but stars)
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Alan has always had poor eyesight.
Ever since he was a kid, in his earliest memories, he remembers (clawing at the dirt pulling himself up, and there’s so much and it’s so dark and cold and there’s a voice and he sees the light for the first time and it’s so beautiful and—)
He remembers the sun. That was his first memory, covered in dirt, in the woods.
It was blurry, and hard to see.
He knew his name, and that was it.
But as he made his way through the grove, he felt he knew it already. He already had a keen sense for danger, of what to eat and not to, and he knew how to speak.
But he couldn’t see clearly. He remembers thinking that was normal, that everything was blurry and indistinct.
Eventually, when he was given glasses for the first time.
Well, not given, more like he just found them. But he likes to think that they were a gift. They feel.. right, on his face.
He remembers the king asking if his eyesight could be healed, and he remembers laughing, and Vic telling his majesty that—
“Our father’s eyesight can’t be healed by any magical means. I remember trying to when I was a child.”
He remembers the king inquiring about it, with a keen eye. Alan waved off the question, he didn’t even have an answer himself.
But the point, is that his eyesight has always been poor without his glasses.
Why can he see so much, now?
Alan didn’t know what to think, when the God was released.
His first feelings, when Vic told him, was pure fear. The legends were true?
(He always knew they were true. Deep, deep in his soul. He can feel it. There’s something there, something missing, and something far away and something that’s coming closer. Coming home.)
Victory (he knew that his child preferred Vic, but he can’t help but think that in his own thoughts) told him that he and his siblings intended to fight the thing. That the king— Mango, had asked this of them.
How, how could you want his children to fight a god? You’re sending them to death, no, not to death, to Destruction itself! How could you— how could you—
(Then, he felt a warmth press against him. The ghost of a ghost of a voice, whispering sweet assurances into his ears. It feels like a father)
He was helpless, his children could do so much, they could fly high into the skies, they had command over air, earth, water, fire. How could he compare, to his wondrous children?
He held Second close, the magical barriers that were keeping the thing out was cracking, and cracking, and he could hear it in his mind, it’s so, so angry. It scares him.
“Dad.. are you okay?” His youngest said, while they trembled themself.
They always did want to help him, even on the days he couldn’t bring himself to get out of bed, that all his children had left, little Second came, and brought him a cup of water, and sat by the bed.
“No, I’m not, bud. But.. I don’t think any of us are, right now.” He holds his child to his chest, and closes his eyes as he feels the walls come crumbling down.
Rubble, nothing but rubble, what happened, what happened—
His youngest, eyes alight with power, nothing but greengreengreen bursting from their form, pure power radiating out of them, as they dove back towards the Destroyer.
It roared, its very voice cracking the foundations of the great city, green and white clashing and clawing and fighting for control.
His eldest, holding their side, as they stumbled backwards.
He could see his two middle children, Chosen and Dark, injured as well, attempting to help each other stand, and slowly making their way to their elder.
The king was nowhere to be seen, nor was his two children.
Are they safe? What happened to them? Were they—
He doesn’t know, he understands who this is.
The voice, the warmth, the sole reason he pulled himself out of that dirt.
Then, as quickly as he understands—
It can see so, so much. It’s so clear. It’s.. it’s..
Seas and dirt and sticks and great dragons and a phoenix and two glowing white eyes and then it sees, it hears—
Darkness, two small dirt stained hands digging themselves up, up, up as it once did, but they never break to see the sun, they begin to slow, but claw more desperately until it’s so sure that the dirt is stained on their hands forever and falls slack—
Water, water, water, slipping into the great deep below as they fall from their ship, seeing the light fade as they see great leviathans surround them, surely to feed—
It sees snow, it sees blood stained hands, it sees a bear, it sees half eaten food spit out onto the ground, it sees-
A noose. A city burning under its touch, it’s so angry, it hates and hates and hates and WHY did they do this? Why they were so young, these monsters took their child, they don’t deserve it, they DON’T DESERVE THIS! THEY WILL BE CRUSHED AND SCATTERED TO DUST AND ALL NAMES IN THIS CITY WILL NEVER HAVE BEEN, AND ALL THEY WILL KNOW IS ITS GRIEF—
a purple hand guiding them through it all.
It sees so many lives lived and lost and so many faces and family and friends long lost and dead and buried, it sees and sees and sees some more.
It can’t handle it. It can’t.
Too much, too much, it can’t—
It sees its body, fading into dust before it.
It sees a great and terrible god, an ancient being, far beyond the likes of itself, a being who rises and falls and rises and falls over and over and over forever and ever.
It sees itself reflected in their three royal purple eyes.
The hand, the voice, the warmth, the love, the reason—
Scatter, like dust to the wind, under the hand of the great god of endings.
It is frozen, it doesn’t know— it doesn’t doesn’t know—
It’s child, it’s youngest is beaten and battered and so tiny and coughing up red and—
It’s eldest isn’t moving. It’s other two children seem to be on the cusp themselves.
It can’t— it can’t— no, no no please—
The god rears back, slightly. Seeming surprised, but still, a (evilmonstrous) tendril reaches out—
It can see the stars calling out for it, it can see the way the world tries to lean into its touch, begging for a gentle hand-
The world finds none. It deserves none, after what it did. The world didn’t try to stop this thing. It yielded without so much as a fight.
The beast is doing the deed itself.
It looks at them, the destroyer, the monster, the one who took everything, and screeches.
It hates this thing with all it has.
For what they took from him.
It will avenge his family.
It roars, and claws at the pure light and gold and it imagines what it would be like to sink its teeth into the skin of this being, but they have no body to hurt, so it rages.
They pulled their children back from the cusp, from the end. It pulled Victory back into his body, stitching their form back together, tethering the body and soul tighter than any being would ever, seeping creation and life deep into their bones, so, so much that they practically glow.
They search for the pieces of him. They don’t know his name, but they know what he is.
Their father. His father. They pull the voice, the warmth, the kindness back together, and it coalesces. It will take a moment for him to fully wake back up, but that is okay. They hold him close in their clawed grip, trying to be gentle as they hear the monster yell out in anger.
As they do this, they roar, and fight, and claw and tear at the end of all things. As they tear, ends and beginnings and life and death circle back and forth in the clash of two infinities and halves of one whole, as lightning crashes off their forms and a mighty and terrible storm unlike the world has ever seen gathers around them in a veil, as it commands the storm to cast the great god down, down, down.
Yet, the great god cuts through the storm, and it dissipates. It roars, and through its very voice comes amongst many creatures big and horrible, and at their birth they are set upon the one who saw and began all things, as they are cut down with the swipe of a tendril.
It roars louder, commanding greater and greater threats, to be born, mindless animals like unto itself to tear and claw and bite. It sends great falls of fire and ice down at it, of the very ground opening and commanding the foundations of this world to drag it beneath the crust, and lo, it pushes the earth down, and the claws of the land itself erode.
They hate it. They want to tear it apart, but it just
It seems as if it’s holding back, as it tears into them, it has an almost gentle but firm touch, and that makes it angrier. Why are you holding back, now? You crushed and tore and destroyed his home, his children, you took HIM away, why are you holding back, when you crushed my heart?
Why, when you turned me into this? Into the beast that will tear out your eyes, that will crush YOUR heart in turn.
It needs to. It NEEDS to.
It hates them more than the sun shines. It wants to drag them down into the depths of its own unbridled agony and suffering throughout its births and deaths in coffins and attempted cremations, the depths of its own fractured mind and that how it can SEE.
How it doesn’t feel like Alan because Alan was kind and soft and gentle and awkward and he loved to paint and was clever and cared and tried his best when times seemed dark for those he cared about.
It is angry and vile and wrathful and it knows how it feels for death to touch it again and again and this hate is not something Alan would feel.
It isn’t Alan, not anymore.
Would Alan want to take his children into a cave and hold them, even if they fight back, even if they hate him for it, just to keep them safe, until the end of time?
Would Alan want to bring great monsters and mighty spirits to life all for a terrible wish for an endless war, just to make them hurt?
And, it’s sorry that it had to take him away from his children, since it doesn’t know if he’ll come back.
It glances towards its children- his children, they seem to have huddled up together, sharing warmth and letting their magic and its magic spread through them and make them warm again.
The monster also looks towards the little ones, seeming a look between confusion and want.
It doesn’t care, and dives back into their fray.
But, the beast can take his vengeance for him, with the fury of a wild animal and a grieving father.
It will show them what it’s truly like to see.
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I tried to show how different it and Alan think through the text, but idk. Also, Alan, or more like the Beast, doesn’t even realize that it’s a god, it knows that is connected and can be on par, but it doesn’t realize the full extent, mainly because they are currently having a mental breakdown and in a completely different form and identity that they are constructing around all this new trauma by the minute, so this is shaping the Beast in a lot of ways, personality wise and all the other stuff, too. It’s ideals and beliefs and stuff.
In a sense, the Beast may have all of these memories, but due to this ‘break’ these are basically its first ‘memories’. It’s almost like when Alan starts a new life, but they instead remember everything.
Destruction is also very fricking confused, and is trying their best to not harm them, and get them to calm down, while still defending itself. They kinda realized that merging while Creation is like this for some reason, would definitely not go well.
Anywho, I tried with this one. Hope ya like it, ig.
