Godslayer

Text within this block will maintain its original spacing when publishedThe ceiling of the Hall of the Horned
is my only home,
where they made me
crown
and slave

I serve my sentence
in a time without time
chained by duty
forever.

The Stitchers broke my legs,
bound them into circles—
beautiful.
I cannot move.
I hang here,
a chandelier of human bones.

They gave me arms
to hold their candles.
No longer can I lift a sword,
no uprising can I lead.
What remains of me
is doomed to light
the darkened days.

In the center of all bones
sits my skull,
forced to stare down
at those,
who broke my spine.

I must watch the hall
and cannot die,
cannot cry.
Ears forced open
to their laughter—
their songs
of rape
...and death.

Sometimes my jaws break,
the crown howls
like a dog in pain.
Their crossbows spit arrows,
splitting bones,
twisting hope.
Reminding me
what I am
and where I belong.

Could I only cry
tears would flood the fog
drown this castle
a vast ocean
devours all earth.

No mercy.
Stitchers have no mercy.
I am not entirely dead,
and nothing in me is alive.
I became a thing
that traps my soul
in bone.
I am an outsider
even to the one
who gave me birth.
A flaw to her,
and wrong,
in the eyes of the gods.
Prayers are useless
in Skreiburg, the house of gods.

So I stare,
and stare,
and stare.
No tears.

·†·

First, the sound of battle:
trumpets, drums.
Stone walls rumbled.
Skreiburg ached.

Horned warriors
stood side by side
black armour, heavy shields—
born to die this day,
shivering
behind the gates.

Heralds:
Dog-Beast has fallen
The Gap has opened
The gates will open to the slayer

Westskrei opened—
rumbling, slow, groaning.
Centuries asleep
broken for this day.
Dust fell.
Ancient timber gave way.
The smell of rot
forbade the future.

Only one man enters—
the one who slew the beast.
Mortal father once,
judge and executioner today.

He has no tongue.
He cannot forgive.
He has no eyes.
He is blind to suffering.
He has no ears.
He is deaf to their calls.

No battlecries in the hall.
Vindman’s boneflutes lament outside.
Thunder crawls across the crowd.
Mutemaker draws itself.

One scream:
The Judge descends.

Arrows fly and bite him.
A hundred times,
a hundred stings.
Every time
he sees the quiet Witch
and her burning child.
They called:
Circle of the thousand blades
whirled by the breath of many
cutting deep.
But the Judge cannot die.

One by one is offered
on the altar of Mutemaker.
No wound can end the Judge.
Limbs and heads—freed from life.
Deaf.
Blind.
Mute.
He welcomed them
into his world.

When it was done
the walls were red
and the air hung stale.
The Stitchers
would have loved
to return
and craft
in such a place.
The Judge fell on his knees.
Renewed his oath.

All gods I slay.

Godslayer.

·†·

Skreiburg is no longer forever.
No longer am I.
The Judge came, as once foretold.
Perhaps I am not forgotten.

A wounded man moves in shadow,
dagger in his hand—
to end the rebellion,
to kill the newborn Godslayer,
to chain me for aeons.
All repeats
when steel finds its heart.

Once I was the Judge.
With what remains,
I break my own bones.
My arm, free at last,
I tear the candle
from my wax-flesh
It burns
Hot blood runs over bone.
I return to battle.

I throw the candle.
My final strike
hits the assassin’s eye.
He screams once
before my weapon
pierces his skull
and he is gone.

Now all are dead.
If they had not cut my lips,
I would smile.

The Godslayer turns to me,
and I cannot hide from him.

He sees me.
He knows me.

Now he draws Mutemaker
and cuts the rope that holds me up.
The merciless grants mercy.

I fall.
I howl.
I scream.

Oh, bless you, brother.

·†·

The chandelier hits the floor.
Bones break like glass,
rising through windows, walls, and stone.
They whirl into the air,
like ash,
ein Funkenflug,
reaching for the sky.
A thousand little lights
mark the end of an aeon.
From now on,
the day is cut in two.

Chandelier of the sky.
I call you stars.
You died with purpose.
I hope I die the same.

Leave an offering †