Sacrificial Alterations
In the gloom of a musty throne room sat a man as old as the world itself, his expression hidden beneath a pale hand. A finger twitched, one of his ancient rings glinting in the dim light at the movement as he pulled the tip from his furrowed brow and looked between his fingers to the opposite side of the room where large doors stood quiet and waiting.
They would be coming soon.
With their bowing and scraping and blaring horns, announcing their presence to him from the mortal world as if he could not already feel the shifting in the sands below. His castle stood solemnly overlooking the world below, the crashing waves against the cliff face outside the only movement in its vicinity, save for the approaching band of parishioners, come to deliver yet another sacrifice.
He sighed wearily and moved from his seat, drawing up his long fur coat around his shoulders, the skin shorn from a powerful felled beast many ago and given as a gift from one of his immortal brethren. It's comfort would be welcome this day.
Moving swiftly to the edge of his home, he threw open the doors and made to receive his guests, as unwelcome as they typically were. Their ritual return and the person they carried to him were often the only interaction he had these days, having cut ties with his home and people after the fall of their last leader. He could only hope that the victim they had come to deliver was more entertaining than the last. Most often he found mortals to be less than engaging or they found themselves dead due to their own stupidity; some attempted an attack on his life he altered their hourglass and their time was cut short. It was to be expected, as they often did not realize that he did not kill the gifts their peoples delivered to his altar, merely spirited them away to be his playthings for as long as their sands were shifting or as long as his tolerance held out. Some apparently did not favor his company.
From the edge of his courtyard he could see the temple beneath the veil, cold marble statues of the mortal perceptions of him lining it's roof and reminding him that they had no idea what to expect of him at all. His name was Crocodile, yes, but he was not a monstrous beast, nor was he as fair as some of the more flattering representations portrayed him to be. His appearance had suffered many blows in ages past, when gods warred and the powers that be had clashed. The most prominent of which was the long gash that marred his face, a brutal wound across the bridge of his nose that he prided himself on, that enemy had almost bested him.
Almost.
He could see in the distance a party small in number, their torches burning bright in the murk of the morning air. Hooded figures leading a much larger being toward his doorstep, not knowing they were being observed from his hidden home above. The hulking man that walked proudly and unperturbed surprised him, normally his sacrifices were being carried to him by force or were but a weak spirit dedicated to their unfortunate fate. He found his curiosity piqued, a feat not accomplished in many a mortal lifetime.
The lonely god watched with rapt attentiveness while the group entered the temple their ancestors had erected to him so very long ago.
He could feel them at his altar, chanting meaningless words in a language that was not their own but they claimed to be his. The sacrifice was young, a mere twenty years by his estimate, the blood they spilt upon the stone as they offered him to their god was sweet and insofar untainted. Before he could bleed out, the god of time stopped the sand in its place, holding it back from the crack in his glass as he accepted the young man into his world.
He passed through the veil, a lifeless body as the priests had attempted to leave him, their gasps from below the only echo that came with him when his body disappeared from their sight. The god smiled at his new guest, thought he could not yet see.
As the crack in his hourglass was fused shut by its master, the young Man came back to his senses. Just as the body touched down at the god's feet, his eyes fluttered open and stared in blank shock at the being that stood powerful and foreboding before him.
"I welcome you, Mortal," the god said, "I am Crocodile, master of the Sands of Time."
He carded a hand through his shoulder-length hair, black as the night in the darkest reaches of the world, and smiled as graciously as he could, "...and this is your new home."