There he lays. A dead god, blood staining the ground beneath him. He is not alone for there are corpses strewn about. Mortals, ordered to subdue the stranger. They were never capable of such a monumental slaughter, yet the god is dead nonetheless.
A gaping wound is blown through his chest, like a point blank grapeshot burst through him with ease. Blood flows openly from the wound, mingling with the rest on the battlefield. It is a harrowing scene, and a feast for the carrion to come. A grand death was needed, and he sufficed.
Yet the god's story does not end there. He visits the Underworld, greeted by the same sad faces. Hades and Persephone embrace him, and he them. The hold is tight, desperate, abundant with longing. A craving in the very soul for respite for their friend.
Cerberus whimpers, his gargantuan three heads nuzzled against the trio. Even the very guardian himself wants so badly to let the dead god within. But he can't. Nor can Hades and Persephone. They can only enjoy this brief moment of peace while they can.
Eventually, they part. They must. The masters of the dead rest a gentle hand on the dead god's chest, unmarred and whole. He only nods, offers a sad smile, and is thus pushed back into life.
On the battlefield above, light returns to empty grey eyes as the god gasps in the agony of existence renewed.
Sluggishly Dagon hauls himself to his feet, willing his blood to cease leaving his body and return from the ground beneath. He had no need of it, but the evidence of it could not be allowed to stay. The ageless had accomplished what he needed here. Dagon heaved a weary sigh, and was gone in a flash of power.
The struggle must continue.
