Kicking Up The Skys

A man's hand crests the top of a scarred cliff face, the gnarled fingers twisted and scarred from a century of discordant strife. The nails of the centennial fingers dig into the rock that has stood the test of millions of years unmarred. Somehow, the flesh pierces through the impenetrable. Then, with colossal strength and a lungful of breath, the man hauls himself over the ledge, crumbling onto his back, hardly able to breathe at all.

He is not all too injured, only a few open wounds here or there with dry sand that leaks out instead of typical blood, but it is the exhaustion that eats at him. It is the ceaseless war he has set himself upon, the one that rages within from the countless he has devoured. One large inhale after the next, the man raises his hand to feel the wind, the air, the Ether from the peak of the world.

The air feels unique, untouched and untainted by life. It is... peaceful and ancient. He closes his fist as if to take its power, to devour the sky above the peak.

Because that is where he is—at the absolute peak of the world—the Dzil. A place that he had long been fearful of, that he, despite his unmatched strength, cowered from. Because... at the top of this mountain, when the sun crests just over the edge of the horizon, there is a God.

And not just any God.

The mighty fist of the man crashes into the unblemished stone beside him as he forces himself to stand despite the wear and tear. Blood leaks from those arms of his, trailing to the ground, but the taint upon the rocks is not red. It is golden, the ichor of something far more than human. That ichor twists and turns as it flows back down the mountain, tumbling off like grains of sand, heading back to the long road he came from.

A flicker of memory passes through the man's mind, that of a cradle, of a loving hand upon his chin, of a warmth upon every morning. Then, he tightens his jaw and sets his eyes on his goal.

This man has long cast away any resemblance to his old kind. Long, long, long ago, when he was but a child, he set himself upon an impossible goal, knowing that it was the only way to ever mean something. He had seen countless rise and fall, dying without a whisper into the cosmos, and the young man wanted nothing more than to mean something, to not be a waste.

There was a brief lapse in his pursuit of the goal along his journey, the only love of his lengthy life, but his enemies made sure he would have no such distractions beyond it. All that is now left is a fervent desire, a wellspring of emotions, an armada's cumulative experiences, and the perseverance of a man with the world on his shoulders that leaves him undefeated throughout his travels to allow him to finally clench his fist around that finality.

Endlessness. He has sought immortality, but so much more than that. He has warred for all that comes with the Endless, going so far as to imbue the Concept into his very form, the first of his kind ever to do so. The other Gods that arose before him either shaped an external part into their Divinity or were born with their power. He looks down in those like the Devil and War's Scythe. To him, they are not real Gods, either cheating or outsourcing their power into an object.

But this man us different, the first of his kind. All others are fakes, not truly understanding where the peak lies.

The Endless, however, rests within his every drop of blood. And yet, it is not always enough. It can be though. Without end, he shall grow with the right fuel.

Walking forward across the rocky ridge so far above the ground that the stormy clouds of night are to his waysides, the man continues with a sliding limp. He stumbled again and again while he wipes the leaking blood of his lips on his bruised flesh. But he never slows. Crackling lightning on some distant region of the world tests his reactions, but he never glances in that direction, no matter how the thunder strikes. No matter how the heavens tremble at his presence, the warnings ringing throughout the night.

His eyes are set on only one place.

The very peak of the peak. The focus is so singular that the pain washes away from his mind. The years and years of strife fade. The countless lives and loves he has lost vanish at this moment. To him, to this man, only the goal exists.

Endlessness. He might have absorbed it into his everything, but that is only the start of the road.

All ends are equal, and all paths converge, but it is the length and the struggle one has walked that gives one strength.

Bit by bit, step by step, he climbs the natural edifice of his planet, the world's end, staining the rock with his golden blood. Yet, he does not care for the lost ichor. The man has bled more than any natural river has flowed. After close to an hour, he finally climbs that last little bit, finding himself at the very Dzil. And here, even he takes a gasp.

A long, narrow bridge of earthen rock, mud, and dirt crosses the horizon, entering some distant land. Two beings, however, guard the slim passage. A low growl comes from the man as his eyes flicker defensively and his knees droop in response. He quickly takes note of the chains of sunken sunlight that imprison the two figures on the mountain wrapped around their bodies in such numbers that it is difficult to see any 'skin' that they may have.

This place is not simple by any means. Earthen links tie the two corrupted beings to the ground, forcing their feral nature to act as guards. The man sighs and relaxes his stance, lamenting what has been lost but thanking what could have come to him.

"So you always existed on the surface... Olijee, Muha. It is a shame to see what the great manifestations of the moons have fallen to in that Collapse. I will have to thank him for this opportunity when I see him. Goodbye, twins. May you find peace in my Endless. Thank you, both, fir at least trying when so many others stood aside."

The man who has been fatigued for a century raises a hand toward the two creatures, both carved out of identical white rock, the very same as the moons above. They growl and howl at the motion with enough force to shake the very sky and disperse the clouds. A terrible reckoning befalls the man as gravity itself distorts, stretching to crack and shatter the stones near him. Yet before the man loses his footing or bows his youthful countenance, his hand turns to a wave of eternal sand.

In but a moment, the sand flies to the two and gains fangs. The endless horde dives into the two beings' bodies, devouring them from the inside out. Seconds pass as the sky trembles, both the moons above shaking to the naked eye. Gravity yawps with danger, unraveling the cosmos around the man with violet streaks of lightning. Despite the visceral phenomena, the man does not stop or hesitate in the slightest. He bears the weight of the moons without a grimace.

"It must be done. I need all the power I can get. I am sorry, twins."

With his last word, the two bodies turn to nothing but scattered ashes as they fall to the ground. All their energy, Ether, and power are nothing before the sands as they officially join the Endless. The man's head twists as if in pain at the inclusion of two more mighty beings in his essence.

Still, he doesn't falter, restarting his trek across the heavens themselves. His steps are slow and unhurried but filled with consolidated struggle as he limps with a tad more effort. The slayer of the twin moons crosses the bridge in the sky bit by bit, second by second. Gradually, the night continues its ever-present current, even with the moons above in chaos. The twins wobble, tremble, and emanate dangerous noises beyond the vastness of space as if they were crumbling.

The man finally stops as a gate manifests to welcome him on the other side of the bridge. The moon-slayer looks up at the sky, and a long exhale leaves his lungs. Then, his hand reaches for his chest before sinking into the flesh as if it were only a dune of sand—the Endless shifts to his demand.

A clenched fist leaves the chest where an opened palm enters. The Godslayer opens his hand to reveal a pair of earrings with an orb on each of them.

"No more shall she torment you. Your nightmares are over, twins. Watch over them all for another eon. Be careful who you choose should you grow lonely. Not many can handle the stress."

The very instant the Godslayer reveals the earrings to reality, ripping them from the Endless, the skies stop their awful tremble. The moons relax their fervor, falling back into their typical rhythm. With only this slight stop, the man continues walking, but not before tossing the earrings off the side of the bridge.

They plunge into the clouds, disappearing into the vast whiteness, to eventually greet the frozen ocean below. And the man doesn't stop to watch them fall. He quickly passes underneath the arched stone, sliding his vigilant gaze over a circular field nestled within the skies themselves.

Within the center of the field is a throne carved of sunlit marble and glorious obsidian, seeming to fit only a giant's frame. Spiraling suns illuminate the throne just as the daylight itself opens its dreadful brightness onto the sky. The Dzil is the first to receive the day's light and the last to lose it.

The man opens a smile as he faces his goal, a being gradually forming underneath the light of the morning sun. This is what he has been waiting for, and as such, he clasps his hands behind his back patiently, counting the seconds for later.

Before long, a man weaved from sunlight rests with a hand on the side of the throne, his closed fist holding his chin that bears two-lidded eyes. They are perfectly symmetrical, utterly Divine in all aspects. The God resembles no human; his features are alien and too luminant to grasp for any but the most powerful.

Still, the once-human before him fits that category of being powerful. He has for a long, long time. Maybe not to the sun and moons with equal ages, but to himself, he has possessed power longer than any being ever should.

"Apisirahts. We finally meet."

The grieved man, the Godslayer, the Endless, The Swarming Wastelander, The Executioner Of Dust... Desolation greets the most powerful God of his planet—of all the planets within knowledge. And the God that can only form upon the minute instant of the sun's radiance upon a world, the Morning Star, the Eminence Of Tomorrow, Horizon scowls at the human.

"What do you want, worm? I am enjoying the sunrise."

Fury rages within Vincent Harvey. It is so absolute in nature that the Endless within vibrates with the force to shatter a mountain, not even to devour it. The fire that ignites at those words nearly blinds the man from his goal, but he reins it in within a fraction of a second.

The man hates, no, he loathes, this being. For all his power, he doesn't use it. This... thing squanders the greatest thing in all of life. Power.

At least the twins fought for the world and its mortals. Their falls filled the world with grief, yet this God's death, no one will lament.

Not even the wind around him suffers the slightest touch from his soul or fingers. That is the control Desolation holds over his own being, reared into harness from a century of battle and exploration. Few, no... none can boast the same. None in all the worlds amongst the cosmos have fought as Vincent Harvey has. It is a miracle to all, including himself, that an enemy has not put him in the dirt yet. Some call it luck. Others call it providence or fate. The old man knows it is nothing such as those.

It is his unbreakable will, capable of bringing millions to the knee, that brought him to the ends of the world and the heights of Godhood.

"I have come to demand you to join the battle against Usen. This is your world, Apisirahts. You were the first, born before Kudo or Hutash, before River Cardinal ever set its slimy fingers onto this planet or any planet. You will join this battle."

Silence. A second passes as the moons in space halt, the sun on the horizon flickers, and the clouds below vanish, revealing the icy waters of the northernmost tip of the world that they hover over thousands of miles below. The very sky itself sunders and trembles beneath the gaze of two peerless Gods. The Morning Star's brilliant teeth, forged out of the sun itself, grind with the sound of a collapsing star.

The winds abruptly pick up, centering upon the Bridge Of The Gods and the two that stand upon it. They swirl so dangerously that the currents are visible to the naked eye and lethal to any mortal life. But these two are not mortals. They are far, far more. One was born into his power. The other slaved away to gain his while forcing others to aid him in his endless quest for power. The slave loathes the king, just as the sun despises the sunset. They abhor their origins but owe them everything.

Apisirahts chained any and all that came to kill him to this mountain before, his seat of power. Whether they were human, God, or Godly Motherbound, he didn't care. All fell to him. But Vincent knows in a direction conflict, even Apisirahts would perish to Usen and her crazed children. The Mother Below is a God, just as they are, but not all Gods are the same.

The difference in strength between Gods is as vast as the skies themselves.

Apisirahts stands from his throne slowly, the radiant sandals on his feet searing marks into the dirt beneath him as he towers over the human. At twelve feet tall, the Morning Star looks down on the pitiful human. His frame is otherworldly, sacred in nature, and forces all other beings the human has met to be pale manifestations in comparison. Bits of his insides vibrate, but they bow to a greater ruler than the Horizon.

"And why? Why should I? The worlds have never done anything for me. Not that they could. I do not care if a billion billion of you little wretches die. There will always be a sun to rise, no matter what that little gremlin does. I have never wanted a part in any of these foolish trifles. Leave. Before I make you. "

The Godslayer creaks his head upward, bending it to stare at the God's face, unfazed by the glow with enough heat to burn away Lawless Lake's waters. Vincent Harvey's face is solemn, but it is not fearful, nor is it defeated.

He pauses for a second, but not in thought or hesitation. The lingering second is not for fear or worry. All those puny aspects have long been ground out by the vastness of the world. The man who has seen it all simply rolls his tongue over his right canine, a habit formed over a century of struggle whenever he is about to fight. It originated against his only rival, the last time he ever felt as though he was unconfident. But now... his existence shows no sign of cowardness or nervousness.

"If you do not help. I will make you."

The Unnatural God returns the Natural God's words back at him. For moments, the two simply stare at each other, waiting for the other to move. Then, Apisirahts laughs by bending back his neck toward the grand stars above, streaking back his long, luminous head of hair to rest behind his waist and encroaching upon the sunkissed earth.

Then, his face abruptly twists back down with a violent grimace, growling out a warning that melts the earth of the Bridge Of The Gods, turning much of the fabled land to charcoal as the horizon manifests behind his hair. The smell alone could cripple an army of men, the rancid heat so gorging in nature.

"Is that so? Do you know who I am, human? What I am? Truly? Do you? You might have ripped some power to be nestled in your chest, but I was born with the Horizon in my essence. You are nothing to me. Nothing. Do you wish the Unnaturals to lose their only God not teetering on finality in all the worlds? She has ripped most of you apart already. Do you truly wish to doom them all?"

A broad smile christens itself onto Desolation's maw. It is profound, filled with all the meanings in the world other than happiness. It describes the sorrow that would lead a man to leave behind his everything. It describes rage, the fury that would propel a man into the beyond without a hope of victory besides his desires. It describes the endless furnace of war, of struggle, that Desolation is, the simple declaration he made on a sunset all those years ago. It concludes with a serene acceptance of all that exists within reality and a lone man's crusade to not only become strong but to become the one who decides—the final hand to deal the cards as he has grown to despise the current dealers.

Vincent Harvey hates more than just the Gods. He loathes more than just the way the worlds spin. He viscerally detests the very way that power is gained, that the best way forward, is to take from another. He has done his fair share of taking, and he's not done yet. Nevertheless, he abhors the nature of the world, how some beings possess all the strength just to watch billions crumble to dust before their eyes.

He closes his eyes for a fraction of a second, that flash of a core memory emboldening his Ether and soul, tapping into every aspect of Ether all at once. It is emotions that give man strength. It always has been.

"Arnold Pilner. I will kill you. And I'll do so much more than that. I'll kill every damned thing in this world that dares to tell me what to do. We were born to be free, not shackled beneath the stars. One day... I will own it all. All of it. And I'll treat them so much better than any of you ever have or could. No matter the cost. No matter the price. It will be done."

And then light bursts from the closed eyelids as the flesh evaporates into sand, and the God opens his terrifying jaws, the insects within already beginning to swirl dangerously to speak his final words to the Morning Star. A hand rises from him, transfiguring into the vastness of the Endless in preparation for a battle against the Horizon. In fear of the coming battle, the very planet trembles beneath them as the distant oceans hide and the stars vanish from view. There is nothing but the sun in the sky and the sands on the earth as thirty words enter the air.

"I am Vincent Harvey, feared by all things. I have lost to no man. I have lost to no monster. I have lost to no God. And I never will."

And with those mere thirty words, Vincent Harvey sentences the oldest God in all the realms, born with the very first star in existence, to death.