He walked and he was no more a friend, nor no more alone then the one whom walked beside him. That person was no one. He existed, alone, in that land of abysmal apathy.
The soil was corrupt and scented heavily with those that had died upon it, or simply, the dead that still lingered. Twisted weeds grew untamed amongst the the fields of colorless grass. Some grew to the heights of trees, and some even mimicked their gracious brethren. Fruits, consumable and not, tasteless and fulfilling, grew plump and fell from them. He was not hungry, today, though.
At least, he wasn't hungry for that, that could be consumed with the mouth. He was not hungry for something that could be digested graciously. What he searched for was needed much more than basic sustenance, and without it, no one could survive, unless they would willfully abandon their sanity. It was company, but of his own design and demands.
The land began to change with his pace, and he was no longer in the wilderness. The wilderness was not his home, but it was home of a little beast that he needed. Within two muscular paws was a sizable vial of substance that could have only been simple, wasted blood in any other existence, but in this land, it was vast potential. The potential, though reassuring, was wasted upon him as he strode along his ziggurat, which was erected for no one but his ego.
The stone steps had long been eroded and charred away by the magics that consumed him. The ground was burnt under heated foot paws; his natural body temperature was so rampant that it was volcanic, despite the physical containment. There were a series of arms that greeted their inflammatory master as he returned.
They hailed him with arousal and careful raking of the land around them. Soulless as they were, they still gave the illusion that they were alive. Purple, twisted, and covered in the runes of a civilization long passed, they were as strange to him as they would be to any other entity that viewed them, but they were his. They were his servants, and they were his defense in this land that was as wild as it was dire. He had long become a victim of that place, however, and even though one of the few there that had a soul, he was slowly losing his.
The set of stairs that had originally been presented were getting dramatically higher until a zenith was viewed. The point was covered with the skeletal remains of humanoids. Broken, twisted skulls and shards projected his image to that of a murderer, and in another time, he was. The remains thereof were never truly alive, however, so he did not slay those that could ever be afraid, or resistant to death.
There were the bodies of those, not yet decomposed, that were still intact however. They were disfigured and distorted. They were both male and female, and they sat there with vacant stares. He did not stare back, for whatever pitiful emotion still left in him couldn't stand the pain of viewing the failures. There was one more attempt to be made, though, and at the tip of his lonely ziggurat was a body, perfect by his standards.
The open sky was laid out above him and his fane. It swirled in a demonic fashion, and contained those that had died a long time ago, or just died recently. It was a maelstrom of souls, millions upon millions that were ejected from their living bonds. They would be recycled, and they would live. They would have purpose, but he, that poor bastard, he would remain alone in that land. He couldn't kill himself, and the only alternative was to be consumed by the reapers, which would destroy his soul all together. It literally was a fate worse then death. He looked down at the body before he broke into tears like so many other times before.
The vial was set down next to the body, which idly stared up at that twisted sky as it laid out on a stone table. She was a beautiful creature, though a mishmash of several species; there was some lupine in her, and there was some vulpine. Peppered in was a feline as well, and to that, a powerful one. The fur itself was ebony and as abysmal as any night. Those paws were relatively large, but soft, so much so that he dared touch and held one in his search for comfort. The flesh was cold, but not distorted like his other failures. The table was littered with the grimoires and tomes used to make her.
They explained to him the means and processes he had to go through to make her. Part of it was to provide her some sort fluid to be actuated upon, and so, he let go of her hand, and sliced his wrists on a jagged edge of the table. Being the entity he was, he was more alive than most, and could provide life; he could also feel it as well. Those wrists dug deep into the edges, and he was almost more than eager to nearly saw them off in the process. He grunted and fell to his knees; the pain was immense, but he endured it.
The blood seeped out and filled some internal trenches in the table until they reached the multitude of prickly stones that pierced her body. It entered her as he wanted, and soon he would withdraw his paws. Although unusable at that current moment, they healed up as he took up the vial and smashed it across the table in some vast fatigue. Conjugating with his fluid, she was filled slowly up and thus, completed that step of the process.
Now he found himself in a tome, and in some archaic tongue, he announced his intentions and his wants. The golem would live, soulless, soon enough, but in his fatigue, he minced his words. The incantation was augmented, unbeknownst to him. A soul, to be free, to live again at some other point, was stolen from the maelstrom.
In his crime, and his dereliction of the laws of the universe, he was punished with the one thing he did not want. Someone that could possibly betray him. He did not have the foresight of the incident however, and he grasped at the golem's face. Turning to him, he felt the warmth, and he felt reaction.
"Arise, creature, and obey my words. With this, I give you your rules of existence; you will--" He preached, but stopped as he realized the female was listening. She was supposed to listen, but in undying loyalty and emotionless attention.
She listened, though, and was alive in doing so. Stunned, he simply looked lost as she gained color. He could not give her the words, he could not give her a welcome. She wasn't wanted.
Topic: Golem, Art Thou Truly Existent? (VeeSmith, Myself) (Read 3152 times)