Ok, so I'm going a little stir-crazy waiting for the next patch. Please excuse:
The wind is cold, colder than it had ever been when I had my wings. I try not to think about it. It's not as easy as it should be, as the nubs of what once defined me still bleed, slowly. I am accompanied across this bridge by the soft patter of blood on stone. Tap tap tap, a steady beat to which I can walk on muscled legs and calloused feet.
What need had I for strong legs when I could fly? I didn't walk more than the two steps required to launch into the sky, or to tackle my prey. Now that has been taken from me, along with all the rest.
What is it to be a hero, a god? It is to know that everything you have, all the worship, the adulation, the fortune, can be stripped from you in an instant. Bask in the glory, respect, and fear of your friends and lovers, the adoration of servants and supplicants while you can.
As I have learned too well, flying high only means you fall farther, and all the love and respect you think is earned is revealed instantly to be betrayal-in-waiting, anger at your audacity to fail. Your power, your dreams, your surety in the rightness of the All-Father's cosmos, all turn to ash and blow away in an instant.
Tap tap tap goes the blood as I walk ever forward across the bridge, a metronome keeping time. I look over the side, at the water falling ceaselessly down into the void. I can't fly now. I wonder how long it would take to hit the bottom if I fell from this height? It doesn't matter. I can't fall any further than I already have. All that sustains me now, all that I have is the dark anger, the tiny seed nurtured within the shell left when all else was torn from me, fed on the blood that trails out behind me wherever I go. My blood....and others'.
I have my my rage and my thirst for vengeance. These things keep me warm against the wind, the void. And they promise that nothing will ever get in my way again. Nothing will keep me from ascending to the pinnacle, from sitting in the All-Father's chair. I will remake the cosmos so that none may rise, none may fall. I will kill Time in her tracks. All will be frozen and untainted. There will be no love, no betrayal, no pain. And if I cannot have the cosmos remade even from that lofty seat, at least none other will have to feel what I feel now. When I am the ruler of the cosmos, no other can be cast down from that position into grim and bloody battle.
My minotaurs are growing restless as we move. They can see and smell the enemy ahead, huddled together under the shadow of their castle. As we get closer I begin to pick out details - a broken horn; sharpened hooves and flat, brutal teeth; a tiny ridiculous tail pinned as if in afterthought on a hulking, slavering beast of war. We grow closer. Hammers and cleavers are pulled into upright position with snorts and low rumbling. The priests start babbling and drooling, their eyes roll back and their massive chairs settle lower as they scuttle. The catapultasaurs loosen their shots, preparing for the long, slow progression of launching a manweight of chaos-infused iron into each other's ranks.
My army is readied for battle, but will serve me nothing if I cannot locate my rival and kill him or her quickly. At first I sense him more as a disturbance, a ripple in the ranks of those who face me. Then I see him rise before me.
He is hideous, like nothing so much as a giant, flayed weasel. Muscle and bone are bare, pierced and wrapped in spikes and barbs of chitin which jut out at every angle from torso and shoulders. Organs are clearly visible working in his torso. I can see a mangled arm winding its slow way through his intestines. He is disgusting, but each of his teeth is as long as my forearm and the darkness of his eyes cannot hide the intelligence and ferocity behind them. This one will kill me quickly if I let him.
I feel myself grinning, mirthlessly, and I shoulder my crossbow as I move to meet the beast. Nothing will ever stop me again.
--
I am panting a little, now. I have killed my rival in the shade of his own castle and his army lies all around me. A few are moaning low until their turn comes to be dispatched. His blood is thick and foul, covers us both, and the ceaseless wind has cooled it into a black coating which will take hours to flake off. For a moment the anger inside me is quieter. Time to rest, if only for bit. The beast will have allies on the way; potentially as dangerous as he.
As if in response to my thoughts the ground trembles, begins to shift. My minotaurs are screaming. I turn.
The castle before which my rival and I fought is changing shape, getting taller, rising up on two huge pillars which I eventually realize are legs. One long wall grows joints, fingers and reaches to pick a hammer I mistook for an outbuilding when I saw it first. The other hand is cradling a boulder the size of a giant's skull. The castle stands, and looks down at me. The colossal hammer comes up.
The wind stops.
