Original Story: Godkiller
Aug. 26th, 2005 06:30 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
backupmemoriesY'know, I don't think I ever posted this little story. It was very random, and is rather old by this point, but I still like it. Someone tell me if I've posted this here before...and even if you don't know, post a response anyway. Tell me if it's still good, or if it's just me.
It's an original story, so no fandom.
Title: Godkiller
by Rider Riddle
~I bid you good day, and welcome.~ the Spirit Guide mind-sent to the shade of the boy, newly entered into the Land. Of course, such new shades could not yet speak – mind-speak - on the spiritual plane, so the greeting spirit politely continued the conversation using the boy’s thoughts.
~I? Who am I? There’s not much to say about me, boy. What you ought to be asking about is this place; aren’t you the least bit curious?~
~No? You’re not even the slightest touch curious about the Land of the Dead?~
~It’s ‘Gate of the Dead’, you say? Yes, perhaps, but beyond it is the Land, no? My pardon if not: I simply took the closest approximation in your language.~
~You want to know what I call it on my own? Strange boy, you are. This is the domain of Death - does he, at least, not startle you a little? Or are you from one of those strange places that do not believe in a Ruling Death?~
~I’m glad that you do, boy. Come, I’ll lead you in to where you’re supposed to go - is there not anyone that has gone before you, that you wish to see?~
~No? No one at all? No friend, no family, no enemy, no acquaintance?~
~I see. Then you must follow me, and I will simply have to give you into the keeping of Death...he will know what to do with you.~
~Boy?~
~What do you mean, he already does?~
-
The boy’s lips twisted into a grim smile at the Spirit Guide’s confusion. “Oh, you see,” He spoke out loud, the first true words spoken at the Gate of the Dead for ages upon ages - since its creation, to be precise. “He’s been waiting for me for a long time.”
-
The boy, young, with dark hair, otherwise unremarkable, climbed the steps to Death’s palace. He did not start when the doors opened wide for him without so much as a sound, nor did he acknowledge the whispers of the many spirits that flittered after him, eager for gossip.
He walked unaccompanied deep into the palace, finding the main hall without, it seemed, so much as a second thought.
The doors of the hall opened for him as well, but this caused a small stir among the following spirits: these doors did not typically do that.
He walked into the room where Death was holding court and stood at the centre of the already crowded room.
He smiled an innocent smile up at Death on his black throne.
“Hello, Death.”
Death, cloaked in shadow, a tall obscured figure, regarded the boy without speaking for some moments. Then he gave a long sigh, and spoke back to the boy.
“Hello, Death.”
The boy’s smile widened.
-
The boy sat upon the black throne with a foot up on the arm, smirking insolently at the world – such as it was. This Land of the Dead was in ruins: its Hells were broken, its Paradises marred. Its spirits were silenced forever. “The old Death did not scream when I killed him.” The boy spoke; his young voice light and lilting. He spoke to himself, of course; no one else remained. “It was pleasant. Or ought I to have preferred him to scream? I can never remember.”
The boy was waiting.
He was not a patient person at heart, but he had learned the art of waiting from the best teacher of all: hard experience.
He had played this game millions of times before, had played the flame-haired trickster and the fair-haired rebel: all the heralds that rose up to carve their own religion out of the sky.
He didn’t mind it, really; it was what he was born for. He was created for no other purpose, if indeed he had been created at all.
He was waiting for the world to start again, as it always did, and waiting for the world to end.
That, after all, was his job in things. He was the finisher, the one who brought a close to all the great stories of the world. The beginning, the middle...he could play a part in those, of course, but all was means to the end – the End.
He was the Godkiller, and no one did his job better than he.
Sooooo...what do you think? Like, dislike? This is a rather old story, after all...tell me what you think.
It's an original story, so no fandom.
Title: Godkiller
by Rider Riddle
~I bid you good day, and welcome.~ the Spirit Guide mind-sent to the shade of the boy, newly entered into the Land. Of course, such new shades could not yet speak – mind-speak - on the spiritual plane, so the greeting spirit politely continued the conversation using the boy’s thoughts.
~I? Who am I? There’s not much to say about me, boy. What you ought to be asking about is this place; aren’t you the least bit curious?~
~No? You’re not even the slightest touch curious about the Land of the Dead?~
~It’s ‘Gate of the Dead’, you say? Yes, perhaps, but beyond it is the Land, no? My pardon if not: I simply took the closest approximation in your language.~
~You want to know what I call it on my own? Strange boy, you are. This is the domain of Death - does he, at least, not startle you a little? Or are you from one of those strange places that do not believe in a Ruling Death?~
~I’m glad that you do, boy. Come, I’ll lead you in to where you’re supposed to go - is there not anyone that has gone before you, that you wish to see?~
~No? No one at all? No friend, no family, no enemy, no acquaintance?~
~I see. Then you must follow me, and I will simply have to give you into the keeping of Death...he will know what to do with you.~
~Boy?~
~What do you mean, he already does?~
-
The boy’s lips twisted into a grim smile at the Spirit Guide’s confusion. “Oh, you see,” He spoke out loud, the first true words spoken at the Gate of the Dead for ages upon ages - since its creation, to be precise. “He’s been waiting for me for a long time.”
-
The boy, young, with dark hair, otherwise unremarkable, climbed the steps to Death’s palace. He did not start when the doors opened wide for him without so much as a sound, nor did he acknowledge the whispers of the many spirits that flittered after him, eager for gossip.
He walked unaccompanied deep into the palace, finding the main hall without, it seemed, so much as a second thought.
The doors of the hall opened for him as well, but this caused a small stir among the following spirits: these doors did not typically do that.
He walked into the room where Death was holding court and stood at the centre of the already crowded room.
He smiled an innocent smile up at Death on his black throne.
“Hello, Death.”
Death, cloaked in shadow, a tall obscured figure, regarded the boy without speaking for some moments. Then he gave a long sigh, and spoke back to the boy.
“Hello, Death.”
The boy’s smile widened.
-
The boy sat upon the black throne with a foot up on the arm, smirking insolently at the world – such as it was. This Land of the Dead was in ruins: its Hells were broken, its Paradises marred. Its spirits were silenced forever. “The old Death did not scream when I killed him.” The boy spoke; his young voice light and lilting. He spoke to himself, of course; no one else remained. “It was pleasant. Or ought I to have preferred him to scream? I can never remember.”
The boy was waiting.
He was not a patient person at heart, but he had learned the art of waiting from the best teacher of all: hard experience.
He had played this game millions of times before, had played the flame-haired trickster and the fair-haired rebel: all the heralds that rose up to carve their own religion out of the sky.
He didn’t mind it, really; it was what he was born for. He was created for no other purpose, if indeed he had been created at all.
He was waiting for the world to start again, as it always did, and waiting for the world to end.
That, after all, was his job in things. He was the finisher, the one who brought a close to all the great stories of the world. The beginning, the middle...he could play a part in those, of course, but all was means to the end – the End.
He was the Godkiller, and no one did his job better than he.
Sooooo...what do you think? Like, dislike? This is a rather old story, after all...tell me what you think.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2005-08-27 06:26 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-08-27 08:53 am (UTC)*pets story* It's one of the few old stories I have that I still like. Glad it's not just me.
no subject
Date: 2005-08-29 08:02 am (UTC)He had played this game millions of times before, had played the flame-haired trickster and the fair-haired rebel...
Would this be a reference to Loki of Norse mythology and Lucifer of Judeo-Christian mythology, respectively?
no subject
Date: 2005-08-29 08:25 am (UTC)Glad you liked it!