Chapter Text
Vicious: between the 10 years Victor was in prison
Eli wanted to die.
He wanted to see God.
How merciful it would've been to be embraced in the Lord's arms. He could feel it now, that light, that love, the warmth of a body pressed against his. A hand caressing his head so gently, all the memories of his mother humming gospel songs to her sweet angel. He didn't remember crying in this dream, but the world blurred with splashes of paint, blended with such meticulous brushstrokes so fine it was as if it were never there at all. Then it spun in circles when space collided with the universe, colors dancing as it bloomed like flowers; shimmering silver and gold, tiny pinpricks on a black canvas.
It ended with a dream.
And there he was, arms tightening around themselves, sheets nearly falling off the bed. Vulnerable. Fragile. He unfurled his body from its fetal position, hot shame washing over him. Eli clenched his teeth, choking down the tears, the weakness that ate at him. It was agony, that desperate yearning for love, like reaching out at a ghost just to bring back dust.
A voice whispered at the back of his mind. Delicate, almost motherly. So faint he had to strain his head to catch that lilting tune.
"God gives his toughest battles to his strongest soldiers."
Sometimes he wished God could've saved him. But now that he was older, he could understand. It was clear to him now, the realization thawing him from his frozen cage. God had been his father, he beat that weakness from his body, saved him, and molded him into a warrior. So how did it still persist? That gnawing feeling in his stomach, a monster raking its claws across that hollow space?
He blinked and let the pillow absorb those disgusting tears. His mother had been too weak, that was all. She wasn't strong enough, not like him. He was truly blessed, he gave up his life to worship his true father. He sacrificed his own soul to save every damned sinner. God would understand, he always did.
Eli murmured a small prayer. He shut his eyes from the illusion of reality. It was just him and God, in this eternal darkness, an infinite void of nothingness. Father and son. Holy and made again.
He spoke and God listened.
And God let him suffer.