#↷ kieran syphe ﹙ prompts ﹚

[kieransyphe]

🏛️ ︰ # NECTAR OF THE GODS. trigger warnings for some gore and horror elements.

HE HAD BEEN WAITING TO WAKE UP FOR QUITE SOME TIME NOW. after all , kieran acheron syphe was not a stranger to night terrors. and no matter how macabre , no matter how uncomplicated , he knew that these nightmares always ended one way or another. but there was one night terror had always stayed with him — burned into his mind for an eternity.

there was nothing but darkness for miles and miles. no earth , no sky , just him traversing through the pitch black until he found two bodies. they were on their knees , almost as if in prayer , their eyes shut and bodies bare. but it was all wrong. serenity in their expressions was the last thing he expected to see , so dissonant from the way the flesh of their backs had been cut down the middle ; each side peeled back and morbidly outstretched like wings.

and behind them , from the darkness , emerged a far more intimidating figure. prodigious dark wings and a merciless stare , something so deeply inhuman about the strange man despite the features that somewhat echoed his own.

the man began to approach , passed by the two bodies who were reduced into dust with the simple graze of his fingertips. the man came to halt in front of him and kieran knew he should feel dread , he should will himself awake , but something in his bones sensed familiarity. the winged stranger placed a hand on his shoulder and expecting the same fate , he closed his eyes and waited to be dust in the wind. but nothing happened.

"  our song is of duty , " he heard the man say before he woke up.

that was a nightmare.

and this was a nightmare , too ; sitting on a throne before the statue of the same man all these years later , listening to a chorus of promises , an invitation to a symphony where he must accept his birthright as a moving part in protecting the world. it was stupid. he killed someone mere hours ago. someone he loved. how could anyone ever accept a birthright that took away lives ?

wake up , wake up , wake up. how ironic that he had always felt like he had been sleepwalking throughout his life and the first time he heard the song in his veins was also the first time he felt awake when his eyes were open. yet , he still begged. wake up , wake up , wake up.

but more he pleaded to his mind , the more it was becoming impossible to deny this just might be reality.

he stared at the ambrosia. and in desperation , he took the first sip and hoped that the suffering that came with it would be the very thing to wake him up.

everything went dark as the ambrosia made its way down his throat. he felt like he was being torn from limb to limb. teeth sinking into his flesh and tearing him apart alive.

then , he finally woke up.

he was in that dingy motel room again. relief washed over him as he felt the weight of another body beside him , it was all a nightmare and will was alive. there was never a song in his blood. kieran reached back and grabbed the other man's arm to wrap it around himself for warmth.

but as his touch lingered on will , he could slowly feel the weight beside him become lighter , the skin under his touch wrinkling until there was nothing but dust in his hand. and he felt the guilt all over again. but his anger was more potent than anything else , clawing at his chest for deliverance. he didn't want this. he never asked for this.

"  our song is of duty. "

and kieran stood up and staggered towards the small bathroom , clawing and scratching at his face , at his neck , anything to muffle the cacophony of voices in his head. he looked at himself in the mirror and noticed the dark wings that had suddenly appeared on his back and he loathed seeing himself become just like his estranged father , striking the mirror with with his head in white - hot rage. with blood running down his face , he looked at himself again in the broken fragments. death wasn't fair , death was merciless.

he didn't want to be that way.

wake up , wake up , wake up.

he was back on his throne , chalice still half - full. every nerve in his body felt like it was on fire , every movement felt like it could make his body fall apart. if this was just another night terror , he would have already woken up by now from all the pain. it filled him with dread.

but more than anything , the realization put him at a crossroad — always with a savior complex and no matter how much he resented his father , death himself , and everything that he inherited from him , this was much bigger than just himself. if the voices spoke of truth , then this was about the fate of the world. he didn't ask for this , but he couldn't deny that sense of responsibility.

"  our song is of duty. "

he closed his eyes to prepare for the pain then drank the rest.

the next time he opened his eyes , he stood in the middle of the temple surrounded by the torn and mangled bodies of the other godlings. blood pooled on the floor and stained the once pristine marble pillars.

he was alone again.

a blink , and he was at his mother's morgue. but instead of some jane doe recovered from somewhere , it was her who was lying on the cold stainless slab.

he was alone again.

another blink and he was trapped in a dark containment , lying on a cold cadaver tray inside one of those mortuary cabinets. his fingertips hesitantly traced the y - incision on his torso before reaching for the arm he couldn't feel ; an awful realization that it had been severed. breathing rapidly became uneven , unable to control it , gasping and panting , his fist banging and slamming against the walls as he screamed for help. he should have already ran out of air. he should not be alive , let alone moving. he brought his hand to his chest and began tearing through the stitches — cracking his sternum and spreading his ribs , grasping his own heart to pump it back to life. he begged and cried and prayed for his father to come and guide him to the afterlife.

but even in death , he was alone.

he had similar visions before. unfamiliar faces in his dreams that he would then see on the news or the obituaries or in the morgue. but this felt more of a warning , part of an unfinished tapestry that could still be changed.

he blinked and he was back in the temple again , writhing on the floor and gasping for air. his bones felt hot and the ache was agonizing , almost as his skeleton had been struck by a blacksmith's hammer. he could hear the other's screams and cries , how ironic that he felt comfort in their despair and knowing he wasn't the only one suffering.

all through his life he had always felt lonesome. separate from everyone else.

he didn't want to be alone anymore.

so , he bargained with the song in his veins. he asked them for strength , for power , for the will to survive this and he'd carry out his duties if only for a chance to finally have people who might understand him. a chance at being someone to people.

the pain began to wore off at the eighth hour. his breath steadying with every rise and fall of his chest , shifting from his fetal position to lie on his back and stare at the statue of his father. damn , bastard. he thought it was unfair of death himself to beget life. he thought it was unfair to pass down the birthright of taking life away. maybe , it would have been cooler to have been born to another god but his mother did always have a bad taste in men.

but as the pain washed away , kieran was just left with an empty feeling. he wasn't angry anymore. he didn't resent his father less , but he felt a certain kind of resignation. sure , it was depressing , almost paralyzing , to think that they could all die in battle but nothing was set in stone. he couldn't let fear rule him. after all , his feelings barely mattered in the grand scheme of things. the world needed him and he was just glad not to be alone in this duty.

after some time to recover , he was led to thanatos' cabin , his new home. and with a gloved hand , he opened the door , ready to accept what the fates had woven together for him.

[kieransyphe]

🏛️ ︰ # NOT EVERY HAUNTING IS FOR HORROR. SOMETIMES IT'S JUST FOR COMPANY. a prayer to the god of death. tw body horror ? horror elements ? a corpse ? a ghost ? rot and decay ?

EXT. A CEMETERY SOMEWHERE — 3:33 AM.

there was a certain strangeness with what watching your own remains become unearthed. final resting place dug up by the person he loved — though, resting was probably a bit of a stretch considering his circumstances.

he was tired.

he had always been tired even back when he was still alive. embracing every neuroses, every impulse to get a new terribly ugly tattoo, every call of the void only quelled with a pair of scissors and the regret of giving himself a shitty haircut.

even his interest in unresolved cases started as caprice, a reminder how lucky he was to be alive whenever he didn't want to be.

but right now, william briar giddings was tired of decaying.

there was a thud when the shovel finally hit something solid. and the sound alone almost made him flinch. and maybe he would have flinched, if only sensations didn't fade just as quickly as he felt them. no nerve endings, just energy and vibes !

so he focused on kieran instead, sounding like a sick dog with the harsh huff and puff of his breath. one-hundred twenty minutes, give or take, spent excavating the burial site.

the raven-haired boy grumbled, " we should have brought lucifer. " " as much as i love your other boyfriend, i don't want that boy's nails ruined with manual labor and dirt. "

kieran looked up at him like he was trying to look indignant, but that smile, no matter how faint, never lied. fond and verging on laugh.

he wanted to kiss him. " sometimes i pretend i'm like him. "

" which part ? " kieran grunted out as he tried to pry the coffin's lid open with all his strength.

" alive. "

and with the casket finally opened, will thought that his embalmed corpse didn't really look like him anymore. too flat, too pale. too lifeless. it was his body, but it wasn't him anymore.

" are you sure you want me to do this ? " kieran asked for the thirteenth time tonight. the ghost nodded. " it's just flesh and bones, kieran. " it could be put to better use than just being worn away by time. his mind, his emotions, every part of him that wasn't tangible lived him with death's son now. but he still needed something physical to protect him.

kieran attuned himself with the forces of death, reaching into the depths of tartarus to manifest two spectral hands — worn like gloves as he touched the corpse.

it was absolutely perverse to reduce the remains of a once-breathing and thriving body into nothing but a diminutive monster to serve his purpose. moving parts without its own will. a puppet just for his own bidding.

but gabriel was gone. and alejandro already died once. questions regarding right or wrong just didn't feel like a worthy priority anymore when it was beginning to feel like his only real choices here were really just dead or alive.

rapid necrosis began to set in and he watched will's corpse convulse and diminish under his touch, creating such mutilated gore from decay. and the smell of formaldehyde almost made him vomit. but he endured until the flesh had fallen off will's skeleton and reduced into nothing but food for the worms.

he felt the pang of guilt, bile slowly rising up to his throat. but kieran swallowed it all down. it needed to be done to give himself a better fighting chance. this was life or death.

or maybe, life and death would be a more accurate description.

he crawled out of will's burial pit and lifted the night caller up to his lips, but kieran didn't blow just yet.

he smiled at will before closing his eyes, head thrown back to face the stars and letting himself feel the quiet and cold breeze of the night against his throat. with each breath, he tried to feel the souls of those who lingered in this cemetery — bodies rotting six feet under, yet immortalized in the memories of those they left in this mortal coil.

kieran wanted to borrow their energies for a moment. to feel closer to his father.

" thanatos. the god of death. acherontis. leukokhrotos. paian. father. please guide me. the keres told me that a son of yours is supposed to bring them together. they look at me for answers. they look at me for explanations. but i can't give them answers about things that i don't know. they want to know why the nosoi are trying to usurp you. and i do, too, so that maybe i can be of better help. i know i haven't been the kindest to myself. i know i haven't been the kindest to all the parts of me that are you. and there's so much i still need to learn. but i'm ready now. show me the signs and i'll do what must be done. i pray that you hear me. and i pray that you hear this. and i pray that we can talk soon. "

and with that, kieran blew the whistle, a gift from the keres, to animate will's skeleton.

[kieransyphe]

🏛️ ︰ # I AM MY FATHER'S CHILD. trigger warnings for self-harm and blood. maybe some blasphemy.

HE THOUGHT THAT OFFERINGS SHOULD BE PERSONAL. INTIMATE. he just didn't think there was a point in worship if everyone knew the enormity of your devotion. so, he left the temple and only decided to come back when he knew it would be empty.

nevertheless, faith in his father had nothing to do why he was here now. he only wanted answers. he only wanted a favor from his father. not because he deserved it, but because it was owed to him. AND IF THEY WERE JUST LAMBS BEING FATTENED UP WITH POWER BEFORE THEIR INEVITABLE SLAUGHTER, then he wanted the god of death to look him in the eyes and think twice before cutting his thread short.

AND AS KIERAN STEPPED BACK INTO THE TEMPLE, HE THOUGHT : there must not be anything more veracious than a lamb's prayer to a god it hates. all desperation, all survival instincts.

he was dressed for the occasion, clad in nothing but a piece of cloth wound around his body and pinned at one shoulder ────── barefoot, stained with dirt and debris ; his hands itched in his gloves now, a switchblade and a lighter in his grasp ; an unlit cigarette tucked between teeth.

footsteps echoed in the temple so devoid of life except for the child of death. he kneeled in front of his father's statue and lit his cigarette, laughing up some gray smoke when he imagined an unimpressed look from those features carved from stone. " WHAT, NEVER SEEN A CIGARETTE BEFORE ? " his voice was underlined with every ounce of the teenage rebellion he never had, not very subtle with contempt.

A FINAL DRAG OF HIS CIGARETTE, deep and drawn out, before he placed it on the marble floor ────── and the smell of tobacco permeated the air, like makeshift incense to set the scene. kieran liked the idea of ritualistic offerings, to fully immerse himself in his prayers so that whoever was listening could better understand the strength of his devotion. not to who he was praying to, but to who he was praying for.

" FATHER, THE MERCILESS AND JUST GOD OF DEATH, PLEASE ACCEPT MY FIRST OFFERING. " he slipped off his gloves and neatly set them in front of him. a gift from someone special to him, now offered to his father. " your divinity runs through my veins but this birthright over your domain has also spawned my worst nightmares since i was child. " everyone thought it was uncanny how many times a child could randomly stumble upon rotting corpses ( by the creek. in the cornfields. at the now-defunct hog farm. here. there. everywhere. ) , always with a strange inkling of how these unidentified bodies might have met their fate. other children were scared of him, and he couldn't really blame them ────── but awareness of his own oddity did not make growing up any less lonesome. " i was scared of being touched. " JANE DOE, BLUNT FORCE TRAUMA TO THE HEAD. JANE DOE, LACERATIONS TO THE NECK. JANE DOE, ROPE BURNS ON HER WRISTS, MULTIPLE SKELETAL FRACTURES. he remembered sitting outside his mother's morgue and listening to her conduct the autopsies. he knew just how violent and unforgiving touch could really be.

" and then i heard that calling in my veins. that song. and it's beautiful, and sweet. like a hand guiding you home through the dark ────── until i realized that's how death lulls you to sleep, and i became even more terrified of touch. my hands feel potent with the forces of death, and i got so scared that everything i touched would just wither away. "

THE SECOND OFFERING : he pressed the pointed tip of the swichtblade into the palm of his other hand, entranced as he watched his blood slowly trickle out. " BUT I'VE FOUND SALVATION IN THE WARMTH OF SOMEONE'S COMPANY, " his voice brimmed with conviction, only faltering for the briefest moments as the knife dragged and carved into his flesh ────── inscribing the symbol of his father, the eighth letter of the greek alphabet. wounded hand hovered over the pair of gloves, blood dripping onto the leather. " he gave me those gloves to make feel safe until i can better control over your gifts and my fears ; AND I'VE DONE IT. NOT ON MY OWN, BUT I'VE DONE IT. "

KIERAN ABSENTMINDEDLY WIPED THE EXCESS BLOOD ONTO HIS FACE, cutting a piece of fabric from his chiton and wrapping the bloody gloves in it ────── just so the leather would burn easier. he lit his offerings up, eyes closed as he leaned his head back, feeling the cold breeze on his throat as he concentrated on being one with the forces of life and death around him. " as much as i may resent you, i am undeniably your child, " he said, bittersweet. " i don't know how your interests in humans started, but i suppose i inherited your curiosity ... an outsider looking in for such a long time, observing people but finding it difficult to part of life itself. "

it must be the fumes of tobacco, blood, linen and leather playing with his head, or perhaps this was just the natural progression of this improvised ritual ; a certain blasphemy in modern religions. he ripped where his chiton was held together, fabric sliding off his body and onto the marbled floor. " BUT SOMETHING IN US MUST HAVE CHANGED WHEN WE WERE LOOKING AT THEM ────── enough for death to beget life. enough for me to overcome my worst fears just so i can feel the warmth of someone who makes me feel alive. "

HE DIDN'T CARE WHETHER ALL THE GODS WERE WATCHING ; his naked body was endlessly delicate, sculpted and lean. he must look like the physical manifestation of submission right now, and he wondered if it angered the gods that his worship was not for them. he wondered if any of them would smite him for what he was about to do. " A SIMPLE FAVOR IN EXCHANGE OF EVERY BATTLE SCAR I'LL RECEIVE FIGHTING IN YOUR NAME, i simply ask you to show him mercy in this life. and if he must die, then offer him your home in the underworld until i can reach him again. "

bloodied hand clasped around the base of his cock, filling his palm generously, breath trembling for a moment. his eyes remained closed as he pictured the other demigod on his mind, stroking himself slow and torturous at first until he began to picture him in all the compromising and sordid positions he wanted since that night they met. DESIRE FLOODED HIS ENTIRE BEING, PURE AND SIMPLE. his moans echoed through the temple, strokes becoming more frantic and rapture finally came to its climax as he imagined lucifer muttering his name over and over ────── a brief moment of nothingness as he spilled himself all over his hand. and once he finally opened his eyes, it looked like kieran had a newfound clarity, his body sweat-soaked and goosefleshed.

IT WAS HIS FINAL OFFERING: LA PETITE MORT. A SMALL DEATH. proof of his devotion towards his friend. and if his father was capable of love, then he hoped the god of death would consider his plea. he hoped the gods would consider all the guts it took to get to this point. he let his hand linger over the fire, come languidly dribbling down.

" i wish to meet you one day, father. i wish to introduce you to my friend. "