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"Sometimes it reminds me of kicking a beehive," Paimon voices out one day, floating in place and blinking innocently at the sight.
Aether is standing in the middle of a destroyed hilichurl camp, scattered and broken boxes and barrels around him.
Blood and ash drips off of his sword like defiled ichor, pale face streaked with whatever unholy matter makes up an abyssal creature. He inhales deeply, taking in the scent of desecrated matter, the faint abyssal energy filling his body and lungs.
"What do you mean?" He asks, cleaning off the edge of his blade by dipping it into the licking flames of the bonfire that continued to crackle in front of them. The fire burns off the blood, a familiar scent wafting in through his nose.
"When we go out exploring, you run straight for the camps," Paimon says in her usual cheerful countenance. "They wouldn't even be doing anything and you'd charge right for them! Sometimes, I think they're more scared of us than we are of them."
There's a pause as Aether lifts up his blade, the iron glowing. There's a temptation to touch it, to grip it, to see if it could compare to the heat of a star. Aether turns to look at her, a cold recollection in his eyes.
"Do 𝘺𝘰𝘶 get scared?"
Paimon doesn't seem fazed, shaking her head. Paimon giggles, faced by the cold darkness of Aether's penchant for violence.
"Nope! As long as you give me a share of the loot and cook some delicious food after, Paimon's happy!"
It makes him smile. There's a harsh reminder of pale, glowing moonlight — a smile, just like hers. She'd laugh, hook her arm around his bloodied own, and drag him off to the next open space that had yet to be explored.
The memory feels like an open wound. Bleeding, porous and raw.
He looks down at his hands. His gloves are ripped in some spaces again. He'd have to stitch them back up in the teapot later.
He takes them off. It reveals a perfect hand — pure and glowing. He presses down on his palm and the pressured area glows, starmatter pooling beneath his skin.
His sister. His sweet younger sister, who loved pretty dresses and sharp daggers, who shared his innate hunger for the stars. His sister who'd pull him back from destroying a world all because its inhabitants offended her. Aether, kuya, it’s okay! We can always travel to the next one!
His sister, who'd brush and braid his hair, who'd clean it free of blood, who'd embrace him and remind him to keep his scarf free of dirt and debris. His sister who'd be by his side, in battle — always by his side, like his shadow and light. He'd lean to his left and Lumine would replace his right. He'd step to the front and Lumine would hover behind his back.
His sister, who was now elsewhere.
For a moment as he stares at his hand and the deep red, heated iron, he's brought back to a point: several billion years ago.
He's reminded of what his younger self would have done to a world that dared to take his sister away from him.
The blood of inhabitants pooled at the bottom of his bare feet, yet he remained unstained. Pure white and glowing, the angel of death sent to ravage the worlds.
His hair dragged behind him as he walked, blade thrumming with power and heat and 𝘭𝘶𝘴𝘵 for blood. Entire cities trembled, collapsed. The heartbeat of an entire nation comes to a collective stop as Aether's blade plunges through the ground, burrowing through the dirt and molten stone, ripping out the star that rested in the heart of each planet.
Killing it. Eating it.
Blood, ichor, skin. He's surrounded by it, the image of rot.
'A sinner I am,' Aether thinks, as he digs through the open chest of a god. Hands stained with godichor and rotten flesh, tears through her skin and pries the god's slick bones apart.
It was a noble god. She had defended her world from his blight as best as she could. She was glowing, holy, mighty, everything her subjects revered.
Now, here she was. A rotten, open carcass for him to feast upon. Like a stuck pig, blood gushing out of her wounds.
Aether's hands continued to dig. He was sitting in front of her corpse, knees against the floor, like a child looking for his favorite toy.
When his fingers find it — he grips around it tightly. Then, pulls.
Sinner I am, sinned I have. I have always been hungry.
He holds the beating godheart in his hand, eyes glowing in recognition. His mouth waters.
He bites through it. Flesh and blood fills his mouth, gets stuck in between his teeth, coats his throat in the blood's potent thickness. Aether eats, and he eats with vigor.
His wings twitch erratically behind him, pleased, satisfied.
He wouldn't have let Lumine see him in such a state. He'd always told her to eat carefully, slowly. She'd always been a messier eater than him.
But here he was, barely in his three billionth, curled up beside the body of a defiled god. Gnawing through her heart, letting her ichor satiate his hunger.
Sinner, sinner, sinner.
O holy child of the universe, o mighty child of stars, what have you become?
The godheart was speaking to him.
He stares down at it, pathetic, hardly beating and half chewed. It did not taste as good as the other hearts he's eaten.
The universe did not grace your existence for you to take its children away.
Aether stares. He stares, he grips until the heart oozes out more ichor. He raises it, brings it above his mouth and drinks the ichor that fell.
Then, he brings it back down and unceremoniously shoves it in his mouth. Chewing through it like the holy fruit of the land, flavor and blood. So much blood.
Aether smiles through blood stained teeth. At least his food couldn't mock him anymore.
"Aether?"
He looks up. Brought back from his memories, staring up at the floating fairy in front of him who'd been staring, concerned.
"Everything okay? You kind of spaced out."
She really did resemble Lumine sometimes. He wondered if Paimon would like the taste of godhearts too.
"I'm okay. Let's move on to the next commission."
"Okay! After this, you owe me one sweet madame!"
"Hah, fine. I guess you've earned it for the day."
Paimon cheers, and Aether leaves the broken campsite behind. He puts his gloves on, blood stained and torn.
One day, he'd hold a godheart raw in his palm again. And his sister would be there too.