The night itself wasn’t cold, but the strong presence of what seemed to be an invisible veil surrounding the warlock filled the air with a subtle cool breeze. Well well, seems this one will last longer than the last one I’ve tried!, Derek mumbled to himself in his own mind. His bare chest was filled with multiple black symbols that represented strength, willpower… and darkness.
The ritual didn’t take him a lot of time but the mess it made surely wasn’t going to disappear in just a few minutes… It wasn’t his first time dealing with that, anyways. Sighing, the Greek started to gather all the remaining objects that hadn’t been completely burnt to ashes at that point: two beautiful silver daggers, a copper stick and a medium-sized tin cauldron in which the remains of what once was the skin, flesh and bone of a black lamb were. He didn’t feel bad for killing the animal for such purposes, but his heart ached at the sight of all the meat that would end up being thrown away. Unless I offer it to some deity… Which one, though? I wonder who’d enjoy it…, he continued to clean and erase all the signs that there once was a ritualistic thing going on. Death!, he suddenly realized. Death would be a proper entity to honor, I think. I have no idea if It is going to enjoy the offerings but it’s worth a try! With that goal set, Derek finished cleaning his work space and later that night, he lighted a considerably big fire, tossing the remaining meat on it, watching until it burned down completely.
- May this insignificant offering please you, oh mighty Death! The life I’ve taken served well it’s purpose and may now find some comfort into your presence, on the Realm of the Dead. - His tone was respectful and hoarse, almost as if he feared infuriating Death by being neglectful until that very day. I’ve been killing and sacrificing things for many other creatures but somehow never managed to honor Death in any of those rituals! I hope It doesn’t hate me as much as I would hate a human that did the same as I!
Would Death be resentful? The warlock sure hoped It wouldn’t, because It certainly had It’s good reasons to be.
Months went on and the young man kept his rituals as usual, except that now he’d spare some time at the end of each one in order to honor and even praise Death, thanking whoever it was for being such a benevolent force.
- How do you look like, hm? - He asked to nobody, watching as the orange flames devoured the meat and feathers of what once was a raven. - I don’t know why, but I wonder if you look merely human at all… Or are you a corpse-like creature? Maybe a half-dead, half-alive being? Can you speak? Are you able to feel anything rather than the absolute void of existence? - So many questions, yet not a single answer would come out. It was… frustrating, to say the least. Derek was not only a enthusiast of the Dark Arts, but a very curious half-blood, his demonic side always encouraging him to pursue his most undisclosed desires…
Pouring some wine into a ceremonial and very sophisticated black glass, the Greek sat in his wide and comfortable leather chair, admiring the fire constantly. His clothes were clean and smelled fresh contrasting with the metallic and strong smell of blood that was still present in the air. He was wearing a pair of black jeans, a plain black t-shirt and a pair of leather boots. His black and short hair was still wet from the shower he had just taken and his light skin was warm to touch thanks to the flames in front of him. The left arm, the one filled with tattoos, resting lazily on his side, while his right hand held the glass mindlessly while he played with the wine a little. He was thinking about Death, and how it’d be absolutely fantastic to meet It at some point.
- I hope you don’t mind my questions, oh mighty Death. I do not wish to bother you with them… Rather, I wish I could meet you. How exciting would it be to be face to face with one of the most mysterious forces of the Universe? I can only imagine… - He raised his glass, smiling at the fire, the black and yellow of his eyes shining with a dangerous yet fascinating curiosity. - Cheers to you, oh mighty Death! May one day I be blessed with the sight of your face… If you happen to have one, right? - His laughter didn’t came out in a mocking tone, but it was loud enough to echo through the whole place, the air of the large and fancy basement being filled with his amusement.
( may this insignificant offering please you, O’ mighty Death! )
the echoed voice startles him, at first. it had been way too long since the last time an offering had been made in his name for the god to be prepared, much less expect it to come. death is often feared, and, therefore, not often revered. the few who had tried as much back in the old days soon gave up, for Death would not heed their calls. Thanatos did not expect this to change, despite how much time had passed. He did not have time for frivolities, as the number of the dead kept on increasing — Lady Demeter was wreaking enough havoc in the surface, in her never ending grief. enough to keep Death eternally busy. nevertheless, he listens.
( the life i’ve taken served it’s purpose well and may now find some comfort into your presence, in the realm of the dead ). cries for help, pleas for mercy... that, he had come to expect — not a gentle offering, the remains of an animal that had been killed ( not for him. at least not initially ), accompanied by an adoring voice. Thanatos was gentle death, after all, ever dutiful, unlike some of his Olympian relatives. and so, in times of desperation, to Him the humans would turn. the respect in the voice of the one who had made him such an unexpected offering was clear, even for Thanatos, who was not that used to hearing it. not truly directed at him. he stood still, feet against the freezing snow, staring at nothing in particular. then, silence. he waits only a moment, not able to skirt his duties any longer. once nothing more comes, he disappears, the only trace left that he had ever been in the surface in the first place were footprints — which would soon be covered by another layer of snow, hidden, forgotten. not unlike the god himself.
nobody needed to know of the occurrence, as he thought it irrelevant — and so, in secret the gentle offering remained. out of mind. soon, he himself had forgotten. everything went on as usual, work in the House of Hades remaining much of the same. once in a while, he would bump into Zagreus in the house, or out there, keeping appearances that everything went on as usual, that he was still trying to escape the underworld. at first, it almost felt... empowering. having his own secrets to keep, just as the prince had his own. something that made them similar, when so often they were opposites. and so, the days passed.
except, he was wrong. not too long after, there had been the second offering. and then, the third. and more would keep on coming for the following days. weeks. which then turned to months. as time passed, he knew to expect the calls, but not what the one-sided conversations would bring. at first, they were short, but now, they were getting progressively longer — almost as if the man was waiting for some kind of answer to come of the deity. of course, none ever came. the praise directed at him during these conversations did not go unnoticed. Thanatos was no fool. although, between the genuine questions and words of worship, the god had a hard time trying to comprehend what the man’s ulterior motives were. he had never gotten any indication that Death cared, or if He scarcely even listened to his ramblings — and yet, he would not give up.
as much as Thanatos would like to act like it was not getting to him, in truth, he was fed up. the calls were interfering with his job. he wanted to ignore them, but every single time, he would stop. and he would listen, until everything went quiet. this time, as he carried butterflies to the underworld, he soon heard the call once more. one grey hued hand clenches into a fist, barely avoiding crushing an innocent soul to dust between his fingers. ( how do you look like, hm? ) he sighs. such a stupid question. unsurprisingly, it was followed by even stupider questions. a corpse-like creature. perhaps he should send Charon to greet the man, instead of going there himself. in the end, the god entrusts the souls to the aforementioned boatman — he knew his brother could do the job, this time. without saying anything ( after all, Charon understood a lot more than he let on ), Thanatos teleports. this had to be dealt with.
coming to the surface would never be pleasant for Death. the atmosphere in the place where such offerings were held suddenly changes. the flimsy light provided by the fireplace dims, as does the heat, the room plummeting in temperature. instead of soft yellow and orange, the room becomes illuminated by ominous green lighting. a single bell toll announces his arrival, and in the blink of an eye, the God of Death is there. in the flesh. and he does not look amused. with the only source of light behind the deity, along with the hood partially over his face, the glow of fierce golden eyes becomes prominent, enhanced further by the darkness that engulfed them both. behind the God, if its sheer size had not made it known, the glint of the fire’s reflection against Death’s Scythe surely would have. for now, the hold He had in its grip was lax, as he floats, feet centimeters above the ground, making both he and the scythe seem weightless — but the mere presence of such a weapon made the room in itself seem smaller, framing the God perfectly in the midst of it all. not close to the man, but surely close enough to not miss.
‘ what do you want, ’ his tone lets it be known that this was not a question. it was a demand. He was there only with the intent of putting an end to these silly little games, lest Death itself goes insane from such constant interruptions.
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