The Ruler of Ashes

He was no hero, and not due to a lack of trying. He had tried but in the end, it just wasn't how things were meant to be. What use is being a hero when you accomplish nothing? Is the noble method worth so much more than the end result? Wasn't abandoning the goal for the way the same as striving for the wrong goal in the first place? He sighed. Who knows? His fingers embraced the cold steel of his sword. The heavy steel melted like butter in his hands. It was a comfortable feeling, one he had gotten to know all too well.

As he stepped over the bodies in the hollow hallway, he watched how his blade glistened in the dim moonlight that broke through the broken windows. No matter how many times he looked at the meticulously polished blade, he couldn't unsee the blood he had seen dripping from its edge as he had plunged it into strangers, disintegrating their entire existence to that of mere lifeless bodies. It was a weird feeling to balance someone's life by the tip of the edge. He was no different from them yet in these moments he was the one to decide the course of fate, like a god.

This nation, driven to madness by their love for the gods, willingly gave their fates away. They happily laid their future and all they are into the hands of an incorporeal being. The thought made his skin crawl. Did they not realize that it wasn't the gods who decided over fate and death but they themselves? He gritted his teeth together as he looked up at the heavy door made out of dark wood. It was big enough for giants to enter the great hall that harbors the monsters who do the gods' bidding.

He felt as the hatred slowly rose from his stomach, through his esophagus to his tongue, breaching the borders of his lips. He roared. God damn it! They had taken everything from him. His life. His pride. His goals. His friends. His family. He had spent years devoting his life to the gods, to the monster fueled by their power just to be tossed aside once his usefulness, or how they cruelly called it: fate, had expired. They wanted power but he was weak. He spent his entire life climbing towards the top just to fall once he saw it. What you you have left when you lose everything?

He will tear them down from heaven. It didn't matter if he had nothing left. He was going to reach the top. It didn't matter. Humanity was going to be freed from those crooks who call themselves gods. If they wanted to be or not, it didn't matter to him. He had given up on being a noble person. If an honorable goal can only be achieved through dishonorable means, then he'd become a demon. That was what he had promised himself. His grip on the hilt of his sword tightened as he used his right hand to push against the heavy door. The wood was smooth but unrelenting under his fingertips. He applied pressure as he leaned his entire body against it.

As if in pain, the door made a sound like a moan when he forced it open. He was greeted by blackness. He thought the utter lack of light and direction would scare him yet he felt nothing but the need to kill them. They took everything from him but here he was, still fighting. “This is nothing“, he whispered and took a step forward and then another one and another one until he was completely enveloped by darkness. This was it. His sword jangled as he swung it. This is his redemption. This is the end of the gods' dynasty.