Immor(t)ality Found
Above the Heavens, and beyond the Void, there is the One. Ruler of all, servant of all, killer of all, mother of all. It speaks to the Heofant; the holiest defender in its ranks.
“Heofant. A threat, marching backwards, presses forward. The Slayer. It yearns for the undoing of I. Go forth, and slay he, who would slay I.”
The Heofant, unwavering in loyalty, sets off to intercept and destroy the One’s threat. The Heofant, unquestioning, unbothered, unrelenting, leaves divinity.
He enters the Void. Here, it is a weeping silence. It is regretful understanding too late. It is self disgust and a loathing he has never known. The Heofant sees but refuses question. Refuses to ask why the One created this place and these things. It frightens him. He grips his sheathed sword unknowingly for the first time. He perseveres through the Void.
He enters the Heavens. A ripened perpetuity thrives here. Devoid of rot. Full of a holy hedonism somehow allowed to bypass wickedness. Those who dwell here consume pleasures in way man cannot fathom. It is infinitely lacking of purpose or meaning. The Heofant clutches his hilt, now knowing, now asking, How does the One allow such filth of unconditional reward? His sword is drawn a finger’s width, disgusted, with a seed of envy.
He leaves without linger and traverses into the Material. Here, the world is built on the backs of the four horsemen. It is survival, distilled and purified. The eating of one another without consideration. The eating of one’s self. Consumption without compunction. The Heofant even finds the eating of the One. He is putrified by what stains his eyes. His sword is drawn and defends himself from eaters of all. He asks the One, Existence merely for the sake of existence? There is never a response.
Beyond the Material, the Heofant reaches End. An infinite mirror, blocking all who wish to see beyond. He is stopped. Unable to pass, he stares into his reflection and sees the One behind him, and the One ahead of him. Why would the One send me on such a task? To witness its hellkites, its hedonism, its hunger? To confuse the devout? A test? I mourn my failure, as my loyalty has been smelted and forged into the blade that was given to me by my master. And now, the One shall meet what it has made.
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The Heofant was thus defeated by the Slayer, and the End watches as the Slayer marches backwards toward the One.
The Slayer passes into the Material once again, and learns from its cannibals how to shed blood without thought. Oceans of blood are born.
The Slayer passes through the Heavens and learns to engorge and imbibe without remorse or guilt. Famine is found in paradise.
The Slayer enters the Void and breathes a hatred into the suffering. A dark purpose is ignited in the nothing.
The Slayer reenters his home in divinity and confronts the One. It appears to him as the Heofant. As himself. As the Slayer.
You sicken me with your creation, the Slayer exclaims. You have bred many ill formed children that thrive on shallow truths and cavernous lies which you have also sown. That is all they know. I will put an end to your sequestered sins and realms of pain.
The Slayer strikes the One’s soul and defeats his great creator, and usurps his throne; gnashing with death, euphoric in victory, and ravenous to stay ruling. So, he, now the One, summons his Heofant, knowing those will come for holy retribution.
“Heofant. A threat, marching backwards, presses forward. The Slayer. It yearns for the undoing of I. Go forth, and slay he, who would slay I.”
The Heofant, unquestioning, unbothered, unrelenting, leaves divinity…
