lightless. i’m actually always super excited about the gods & their worlds & what they look like ?
i always headcanoned fumus’ world as, well, a capitalist giant. it’s largely been urbanised, & there’s little undeveloped land left. the pitch world is renowned for its enormous & extremely intricate systems of transport & factory production, & is divided into six zones that each manage a different area of legislation/production/etc. the power angels stay in their zones & on the streets while taffy & olive maintain fumus’ secretary & holy sanctum, a skyscraper complex in which he & his head angels reside. it has incredibly shitty weather all times of the year– the only kind of natural light is whatever is filtered through the smoke above. it’s almost always raining ( angels seek shelter & sell their wares in alleys & gutters ) & despite fumus’ status as the first son, not a single castle from before the war has been left standing.
however, it is a holy city, & possesses a kind of eerie, empty, beauty once the smoke has cleared & in the early hours of the morning. there are also god - touched plants growing up the sides of most buildings & despite the rust & smoke, it’s quite a pleasant place to be if the power angels aren’t hunting you down.
satanick’s underworld, in contrast, is densely populated, & retains the air of devilish mystery in the few historic buildings that have been allowed to remain– two of which are the mogeko castle & satanick’s own black palace. unlike fumus’ holy city which resembles something of a few centuries’ aftermath of the apocalypse, it is cramped & widely modernised, & is essentially an enormous redlight district. the streets are lit in hues of neon pink & electric blue; various sexual slogans are printed on the walls & alleys; bay windows & hovering LED screens display horrific scenes of gore, sex, & various other forms of demonic entertainment. satanick & his demons make better use of the vast network of tunnels & alleys available to them, ( unlike their angelic counterparts that take to the sky & instead suffer air traffic ) & whereas in the pitch world where one can directly complain to fumus himself, very few demons know the location of satanick’s castle. roc & lec’s offices are connected to satanick’s castle via rope bridge ( that falls to shreds every few centuries or so to satanick’s cackling delight ), & crea lives in the topmost reaches of his palace.
satanick’s underworld is separated from fumus’ holy city & the mortal world with grirea’s underworld– a vast ’ dead city ’ avoided by angels & demons alike.
elux’s world is only a small temporal shift away, &, unlike fumus’ holy city, builds very heavily on the ideas of religion, god - fearing obedience, & beauty. it is divided into two biomes: a frigid, monochrome, wasteland known as the meadows of light where elux rages & where angels go to pray, & the actual city itself. every building in elux’s world is constructed in perfect symmetry, & tend to resemble cathedrals. it is organised immaculately into districts of education, politics, recreation, & marketplaces that are often bustling with activity, & the streets are paved with gold & stained glass. there are channels built into the streets that one would assume to be for containing rainwater; however, they are constructed for the sole purpose of channeling blood whenever reficul’s demons rise up again. elux’s denizens dress in white, & marking the steps to their palace are marble statues of the throne squad ( sol, brandishing her sword; mercury, ever - stoic; mars, aiming a kick to the sky; luna, hands clasped to her face in childish fascination ) & themselves ( multi - armed & monstrous. ) their palace is constructed in artful designs with glass, gold, marble, & tempered steel, & glows with blue fire in the night.
their city & society places enormous pressures on education, & are taught to view demons not as inherently evil but instead an unclean lesser species risen out of the mirrored world’s discarded filth. unlike siralos, elux does not restrict identity & expression– most probably because they are not so concerned with maintaining control but making others suffer. there are two suns in the sky, preventing any real agricultural development, & in the centre of their city is a shrine to justim, surrounded by a fountain that flows with purified demon blood & melted silver. many aspects of elux’s world pay homage to their siblings & their siblings’ counterparts: buildings & astronomical projects often bear siralos’ emblem; their orchards are watered with an enormous statue of etihw ( bleeding holy essence from her eyes, of course ); those who wield holy fire are required to pay homage to ivlis when they start their training, because, despite their hatred for devils, elux finds ivlis endearing for his absolute hatred for siralos. satanick is also considered an honoured guest when elux is in a good mood.
reficul’s underworld & castle are a direct inverse of elux’s blindingly light - filled city. she resides in a black castle similar to satanick’s if not for its impressive spires & deathly aura, in the midst of a jet - black hades. lakes of stagnant blood & putrid flesh of those who do not survive the fall mark her underworld, & the lake where it is separated from elux’s holy city is filled with the shattered corpses of those who were dashed upon the rocks upon banishment. beyond that, her hell is an endless stretch of dark, loping, meadows adorned with red flowers said to grow from blood & towns constructed from the warped bones & skulls of the exiled. sin’s rotting orchard lies deep beneath reficul’s palace to keep her in relative safety, & lzet’s office is suspended from a thread from its topmost spire to ensure that reficul cannot hear him complaining if he chooses to do so. mors resides in an elephant graveyard with shikabone.
the twins, hanseless & gretia, live in a distorted meadow at the bottom of the lake of fallen, in a candy house built as a shoddy imitation of elux & reficul’s palaces. reficul never visits them, & as a result, they almost never leave, only venturing beyond its bone - white gates to drag down any demons they can find to kill & eat.
siralos’ world is located on another plane of existence due to his connection to temporal shenanigans & the universe in general, & serves as a trading port for the gods’ worlds. it is essentially a golden paradise, beautiful & shining & kept free of any kind of scum. it’s tropical in climate, resulting in massive agricultural growth– siralos’ world supplies a good portion of elux’s food. siralos’ holy temple itself is surrounded by burning braziers of holy fire, & around his courtyard & through the city marches an endless parade of angels. siralos’ denizens live in luxurious, open, homes, & because of the heat, are often clad in cloth & beads & not much else.
as siralos is primarily concerned with his own glory, most buildings bear sun emblems, & astronomical significance in architecture & fashion is common. however, as it is mostly built on aesthetic, siralos’ world has shoddy defences once you move past the difficulty of getting there. as igls herself is trapped in eternal dreaming, siralos relies heavily on the sun & its scorching radiance to keep his city pure, & there is no night in his holy city. there is only one place where the sun does not shine & those are the cliffs, a bone - white wasteland where the unfaithful are banished & which bleeds into ivlis’ underworld.
from what we've seen in canon for ivlis' world, it's pretty barren ?? i headcanon it to be kinda like a ghetto where siralos' banished are left to fend for themselves. like siralos, ivlis restricts identity & personal expression, though not as thoroughly as siralos because he can't be bothered going past making them all wear the same pantsuits & shades. it's like a smaller, constantly flaming, model of satanick's underworld in that it's mostly filled with nightclubs & karaoke bars & then ivlis' palace + court where very few demons are actually allowed to enter.
i was gonna write about liriya's world but i can't do kaye's headcanons justice i'm sorry.
rosaliya's underworld is an enormous underground garden, & whereas the flowers in liriya's world provide shelter & food to its denizens ( in the past, anyways ), rosaliya's underworld is ridden with clusters of thorny roses, rafflesia flowers, & venus flytraps. as rosaliya has no reaper, many of her flowers exist to draw in & then devour liriya's dead & the few banished he sends to her. rosaliya herself dwells in an enormous crumbling medieval castle, & unlike liriya's world which maintains an air of graceful emptiness, most in her underworld is in ruins.
even through the pain that courses through their form like holy fire they leer, marvelling at the points of their fingers and tusks and TALONS. for even though the merging of ( phantasmal ) flesh is AGONY itself, white - hot and EXCRUCIATING and perhaps as unpleasant as its separation, they are whole again, THEY ARE WHAT WHAT THEIR CELESTIAL FATHER DEMANDED, and they can finally rejoice.
skeletal limbs melt into two, coated in the golden essence of their spectral commanders even as they coo at how the flesh of their fingers reshapes itself as easily as their creator had moulded them ( with a flick of the wrist and a joyful smile on his face ) and they laugh, low and dissonant, catching and rolling the embers that fall to their feet between two long, clawed, fingers. when they speak their voice is painfully strained, the off-key merging of thousands of screams and ten times as many hymns.
i.
i called you holy and you laughed it back into my mouth.
i called you holy and you hid your halo behind your back,
plucked the feathers from your shoulders as i took my communion
in the soft skin of your thighs -
you, my holy water. you, my cherry wine. you, my altar.
ii.
i called you angel and kissed prayers up your spine.
i called you angel and recited a litany in the cradle of your hips,
mapped my hands across your body in some rough approximation
of worship, of devotion -
you, the seraphim. you, the fallen.
iii.
i tried to write you a poem, but my pen was full of
hymns.
later, when the air has stilled and they are alone again, they rage, circling the ivory arches of their throne room like a caged animal. rage to mirror their dearest brother's; fury that fills them more than the worship of their people ever could. even as an elder god they are not known for their anger, not really, but, even as they pace, a restless, cold, cold, resentment that sits in the hollow where a heart once pulsed and laps at the rotting edges of their mind.
pointed teeth gnash and click and golden ichor drips from a shredded throat as a pained shriek of indignation rips from between colourless ( corpse - like ) lips. despite their cheerful, easygoing, nature they take no delight in their OWN humiliation --they were created to be better-- and now they can only seethe and SCREAM as a dissonant medley of shouldhaveswouldhavescouldhaves collect in what remains of their mind.
their angels have long gone, ( as if, somehow, in the last shreds of their collective conscious they were able to sense their god's displeasure ) and so there is no one to stop them as they strike trenches into the pristine marble of their chambers, monstrous form spitting scorching light; testament to their holy wrath. ` it isn't FAIR ! ` as the infant would cry, desperately wiping evaporating tears from doubled optics, ` it just isn't FAIR ! `
------THEY WERE CREATED TO BE BETTER; they, the second ' son ', the STORM GOD; the abomination; the fucking DIRECTOR OF ALL TRAGEDIES, created to overcome their PITIFUL, hopeless, lover of a brother and his DISGUSTING partner; they were created to be flawless ( of LUXE itself ) yet, they cannot even bring themselves to SPIT in their brother's face for his own fallacy.
` f -- f -- fumy ...
HA, as if this was ever about those BRATS !
you, o SCUM, raised your own downfall !
your own DEMISE, my love, MY DEAREST,
brother, big brother ----
you, you fucking F I L T H ! `
soles spin against marble tiling as white - knuckled grip is driven into the stone likenesses of the ancient phantoms that even now dwell in their mind, pulling at the fractured edges of twin personae and compelling them to join again, TO BE WHOLE AND AS ONE, and even as their palace shatters at their fingertips they pace, voice reaching ungodly pitch to shatter glass and fracture bone.
behind the noise and the LIGHT they feel themselves coming apart again ( and again and again and again ), cracking further and they laugh then, hysterical peals that skate, breathless, from between their lips and spill into the maddening silence of their palace. woman and man speak in harmony, demanding the reason for their fury, and they do not provide an answer but crazed laughter. they had wanted even numbers; they had wanted everything to match up again; and they had wanted for him to CRASH and BURN.
pitiful, foolish, brother---- the eldest of them all, yet too STUPID to realise that the children of a monster must be, in turn, monsters themselves.
` a - aaah, lovely little fumy,
too stupid t -- to realise that i was
j~ust trying to help !
you wanted me to raise them ?
HEHE, you hate them more than i thought.
i, the beast ...
tell me, tell me for certain. is that what would've made you happy ?
a DEFECT mothering your children ?
would it clear your conscience, for me to have taken them
in from the start, FUMY ? for me to have them ROT ?
because that is s i c k.
speak on of responsibility, dearest brother----
it's no W O N D E R your kingdom is dying.
you look at WEAPONS and see CHILDREN,
then c o m p l a i n when they deform; when
their CREATOR tries to save you from them.
HEHE, i knew you hated me,
knew you hated them, but not this much.
never this much.
what will you do, fumy ? when they grow ?
when they finally EAT YOU WHOLE ?
WHAT CAN YOU DO, FUMY ?
haa, there's no wonder you're daddy's favourite.
i'm a delusional monster, but so are your little BABIES.
what are you ? aside from SICK ?
aside from a FAILURE of a father ? `
man and woman jeer and complain in turn for their statements are, above all, honest, but they pay the chattering voices no heed. they are no ' lord ' nor ' lady ' ; they are simply ELUX, and as their rage dies down, they settle and begin to await their brother's final death again.
they watch her sob and do not act, perfectly still if not for the formation
of a smile thin and cruel. leaning down to brush the tears from one rosy cheek,
they sneer, pinching the skin hard enough to draw blood.
( they realise all too soon that her displeasure reminds them too much of an
unfilial child from long ago, and it is in that moment that their fascination
turns to contempt. )
` why are you crying, l o v e ?
did i H U R T you ... ? `
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