Time in Solitude

Waking from his stupor, his eyes adjusting to meet the all-familiar black color that has plagued him for centuries, raising his other senses to respond to him in accordance.

It has been a long time since I have fallen asleep, my body… is aching from the effects of this, my head hurts.

He stipulated himself awake and focused his eyes, shaking away the blurriness that coated them by squinting open and close. It was quite a while since he had slept so soundly.

He went to looking at his arms, now with freshly adjusted eyes and observing the tangles that latched into them, the wretched attachments that stuck to his skin.

…chains, are still ever present, I see. He thought to himself.

The chains were forged from a material made from the planets he carved long ago. There composition was an ancient mineral, molded and beaten into the shape of bands by the Starfire of a celestial forge.

Powerful enchantments were imbued into it, and alongside was doubly reinforced with large rotating rings orbiting around the binds, gilded with gold and made from comets, within each of them written a Runeric letter.

He was poised in a T position, his arms spread out, stretched beyond their limits by the pulling force of the chains – like a victorious pose a gladiator would sport - and was afloat in this space, the ends being held in by unknown means as he hanged.

The legs were bound and joined together in two, sharing a single piece of chains that wrapped around them, they couldn't move, because of the sheer weight holding it down. Bellow the chains an orb shaped object hung, sized in giant proportions - around the size of the unisphere - and was made also from the ancient mineral that were used for structures of old.

He worked himself, his head continuing to ache, throbbing on his temples as he focused to rid the ailment. Being in these cumbersome pose, his body would constantly experience stiffness or sores, constantly moving to rework them from cramps.

He worked to his arms rotating to rework the chains that were bound in a twisting motion. They were wrapped very tight, he had to move them constantly in order relieve the building pressure.

It's... sore.

He shimmied the chains more fiercely, one would expect noise to ring out, but not a sound came out, probably the result of an enchantment that was imbued.

My neck is hurting.

He moved his head that was hung low when he slept, shifting it from side to side as it strained, and raised its direction to look up unto to the vast expanse of shadows of his chamber. It's infinity was the sight he was forced to watch on endlessly, that black landscape almost hearing its mysterious whispers, which he associated with mania. And memories came to him at a rush while doing this.

He looked at his scarred body, his wounds from that grand battle now healed, leaving only spotted marks.

He remembered that in this pose, all the curses and profanities he bellowed, the raging screams of obscenity toward the high heavens in the early years he that he was sent in here.

He did so with fervent rage, hurling his words into the air with fury as he spoke, each syllable containing a wildness to them, unrestrained as was his persistence to yell. All in the hopes that his deity siblings could hear his wrath.

Until the day his voice was ruined, cracked and rasped, it broke from the constant screams, leaving him unable to raise his voice again, a literal tear in his throat.

Continuing to look up, the aching gradually subsiding as a deep relief reverberated across his flesh, and the breathing in his chest relaxing, he thought. For the first time in a while he let his thoughts wonder about in his head.

How long have I been chained here?

Have I spent the most of my life shackled?

These line of thoughts are what his thought danced to, but he quickly forgotten them. He wondered how long he was in here, and that he had lost count, multiple millennia or countless aging centuries, perhaps? He didn't know, all he knew is that it was long, longer than he was alive.

He thought of how he had been placed here, the damning event that placed him in these sentence.

His last memory was of him being struck down, of him furiously rebelling against the attempts of his siblings to restrain him, then failing and being entrapped here. It was a memory deeply branded in his thoughts, like fire and iron, that all other ruminations he could ever conceive would pale in comparison to that accursed day.

They did this to me, those wretches.

His thoughts turned to anger over his mind. The sparks of hating fire in his heart lighting up again.

He hated his siblings for putting him here, this well of despair. He hated his siblings for their unspeakable actions and their barbarity to the lives they created. The cruel things they had done to him and his followers on those old days. The atrocities that they had done, the rage he felt at them was unbound, and who he hated most was his elder brother, the firstborn.

The pampered and indulgent golden prince that ruled high and mighty. The Abuser, in his eyes.

He was the one who took everything, the one who painted the most scars on his flesh.

Vengeance was the reason why he had done what he did, the siege and everything that had come, he had to do all he must to destroy them, even if it meant utter and total annihilation of the worlds.

"All this time, you still fester in my mind. You still laugh at me... with that accursed grin." 

Roiling in his thoughts to a sickening degree, the images of his siblings, their faces painted with satisfaction and devious pleasure at his pain-stricken life.

"Runt" "Fool"

"Repugnant" "Worthless"

He could almost hear their their snickers.

He let the thoughts churn inside him like a storm of crimson, a torrent of resentment was pushing forth, a perilous wave, letting them slip through, a bile of anger resting acidic in his gullet, so fierce as hellfire. 

Until his red-hot thoughts were abruptly interrupted, as a single flash of light trickled down like a raindrop.