Chapter Text
Arc One...
Blood for the Blood god.
You loved your Champion almost as much as you loved blood and gore. Or war. Or massacres… oh, how you loved a good massacre.
You sit upon an ever-growing bone throne. The reeking smell of rot was your favorite scent, and the screams of orphans was music to your ears.
Unlike most gods, you did not pick your champions based on looks or kindness, you looked inward on their character. You needed a mighty warrior who did not show mercy nor lack of blood sacrifice. The bloodier the better.
You lean back on the throne, tipping your crown made of a boar skull back. The lower jaw clinked against your collarbone, and the tusks twirled outward, dangerously sharped.
You rubbed a finger against the string of your lyre. A handy little thing you fashioned from someone’s ribs. Along with string from another enemy’s hair and sinew. While you waited for blood, you always had a good value in music.
Your most recent champion was a dwarf of a man, his mercy half his size. (Which wasn’t saying much.) And you had sent him to desecrate an entire kingdom single handedly. He should be done soon. But alas, he wasn’t a very good champion, and he was taking a good two decades. Which usually isn’t long for a god, but it was an annoyingly elongated amount.
As you twisted a tune into the lyre, humming as you went, a sharp pain sliced through your neck.
You gasped, dropping the lyre. It fell to the bottom of the throne with a musical twang. You reached both hands to your neck, half expecting it to roll off and stumble to a stop beside the lyre. But it didn’t. As soon as the unbearable pain ripped at your throat, it stopped.
You jumped down quickly from the throne, rushing to a stop beside a still pool of reddish water, still as glass. You summoned it to find your champion.
Gone.
No response from it, you cursed. Not again! You had already replaced your champion three times. Just this century! Your champions always ended up dying a bloody honorable death, that was inevitable. But they usually used their newfound powers to stay alive. What foolhardy champions!
You crossed your arms, realizing you would have to go into the mortal world to find a new one. If a god did not have a champion, the others would laugh and jeer at them. Or worse. Cast them out to the lesser gods of the mortal worlds. After your recent blight of champions, you had been a little less picky on finding a good champion. But you were still a prideful creature.
The mortal world was at a turn in the century, becoming less blood hungry, and more and more pure hearted. It made you sick. The sappiness of the newer generation with their romantic gushy needs was satiated.
You grazed a cool finger across your throat, thinking back. When was the last time your champion had been decapitated? You could only trace it back to Medusa. Oh she was a horror. A bloody, bloody horror. You smiled at the thought, then hurried down your onyx hallways, stopping only to grab your lyre.
You, the Blood god. Were going for a wee trip to the mortal realm.
In and out. You tell yourself, find a good champion, then get out before you are stuck too long in that infectious mortal realm. You were unsure if the goodness and perfectness of the mortals was contagious.
But you were not one to chance it.
Blood for the Blood god