There He stood at the edge of the earth. His chest was laid bare, bruised and beaten, bloody testaments to the rage of a merciless scourge. He shivered in the bitter cold as the gaping wounds of his aching body were pelted by the heavy rainfall, and it seemed that even the rain seemed pleased by His suffering. He stood there naked for all the gods to see—and my, how the gods laughed! They mocked Him and His misery, their delight carried to every corner of the world by trumpets of lightning. And the clouds, black and terrible, mirrored the lunacy of the wicked gods: they rolled about in the dark firmament, roaring and screaming in their symphony of absolute chaos.
The gods were truly mad, and He too could feel his sanity waning. He would be joining them in their banquet very soon, He felt.
From the north came great Typhon, that most unholy god-beast, monstrous doorkeeper of the world’s edge. It let out a piercing scream, and so nightmarish was its wailing that the very ground cowered at its tremors, shaking the rocks upon which He stood. It was a sign—a sign that the threads have been cut and that the wheel had spun anew. The horizon seemed to grow much darker at Typhon’s voice, and it seemed that even the stars began to flee. Not even the light of the stars could penetrate the overwhelming darkness, and the stars feared it. They feared the darkness, knowing too well that they too will be consumed. And like the stars, the flame in His soul had been consumed, devoured by the maws of the cruel blackness and extinguished forever, never to burn anew. The battle was lost.
He cast his eyes downward and gazed into the abyss below. For a moment everything around Him had been silenced; He could hear neither the cackling of the gods nor the infernal orchestra of the storm. The veil of shadow that dominated the vast chasm seemed darker, more sinister than the shroud of darkness that had conquered the skies. But somehow the thought of being consumed by the darkness, to be engulfed by the blackness… it comforted Him, the nothingness soothing His aching heart. Like a vile temptress, the abyss filled Him with empty promises and seductive lies—and like a fool, He pursued.
The silence was broken and mighty Typhon let out a final cry, signaling the grand finale.
Finally letting go of Himself, He dived into the abyss.
But as He fell deeper into the endless nothing, it became apparent that the release He had yearned for would not be His. As it seemed, He had forsaken His cross for iron shackles. Unwittingly, he had forsaken one burden for another—one greater, endless burden.
As He plunged into the nothingness He could feel the beasts breathing down his neck, their breath foul with the stench of decay. Their long gaunt arms wrapped around his waist, drawing warm blood as their nails dug hungrily into his scorched belly. He could feel their awful tongues lapping at his ears as the beasts whispered dark nothings to his battered soul. He could hear their laughter, their jeers mimicking the foul gods that He had escaped just moments ago… or perhaps He had not escaped them at all.
The beasts bid Him welcome… into the jaws of Abaddon.
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