Waking up from slumber - Quaboth

The ground is hard, the sharp points dig into his skin painfully, but Quaboth's strength fails him. His limbs weight as if laden with entire mountains, lava flowing through his veins as the molten rock running across the endless tunnels beneath his body. His conscience reaches out to his dominion, in the sharing heat of bodies he draws fortitude from the planet's core, or he tries to, at least. 

Half way through he meets a solid wall of impenetrable ice. 

Frozen faces are trapped in the river of ice, stuck in a state of perpetual shock. Their forms are incorporeal, wisps of gray smoke contrasting against the dark expanse of the great river. It surrounds the spinning mass of molten iron like a protective cocoon. 

It prevents him from reaching the core, and the other half of his essence. 

It seems like an eternity ago, when he could easily slip through the endless river of souls, between the many floating disembodied faces and tar-like waters. It felt so natural, as if he had never left his true home, but now he feels like a trespasser—an uninvited guest—in the only place he ever truly belonged. The time when he had a purpose seems like another life completely.

It feels like eons have passed and hopelessness festered until he couldn't get himself to even move anymore. He regrets all the time he lost in self loathing, scolding himself for his own naivety. 

Myrddraal tried to ward him off against the gods' influence and his unyielding loyalty for his siblings, but to no avail. She was right about the former, at least. His ingenuity was his doom in the end and he has no one else to blame but himself. However, he would never regret standing by his siblings. Family should be put above all else, even above his own safety. 

If Death ever deserved what the gods did to them is irrelevant, the gods should be the ones being chained, like the animals they are. 

Maybe Amorr doesn't deserve the same fate as the rest of them. Their compassionate and caring nature prevents them from wishing upon the harm of any living being, but who knows what truly lurks beneath the layers of soft roses—foolish are the ones who sink their hands in it without expecting stems covered in thorns.

Who gave the so called Furyan gods the right to play as the Creator of all, to judge and punish the one who is tasked with an unimaginable burden for just doing their duty, when they themselves stand on the charred corpse of what was left of the prime divine. The ultimate being who gave their life so their children could reach their full potential. 

What a waste.

Quaboth cannot even imagine the look of disappointment in the Creator's face, if they are even alive somewhere. 

Death told him the story of the Creator's blinding light, it didn't burn their skin like Sol's is known to do. Instead it drove the darkness away without harming it, saving them from certain end. The Creator saved not only Death that day, but the darkness, as well as everything that came after. Their kindness knew no bound, the god of fire would give anything for their return and much needed help with the current situation.

A pang of jealousy threats to spread through his core, but he refuses to let his own selfish thoughts about the Creator cloud his mind. He always asked himself why Death was the only of all the gods to be granted the honor to see the Maker. No one since then has heard or seen them. After their great sacrifice, that birthed the universe itself, it was as if the very cosmos decided that their existence was a mistake and took the necessary actions to get rid of them.

Why is he even thinking about them? And then it comes to him, like a lightning strike or a shockwave traveling across the land at lighting speed. 

Death is free.

If he focuses hard enough he can feel the telltale of destruction left in the wake of their escape. It brings a smile to his cracked lips, threatening to split his face in half. Even though many ended paying the ultimate price for something they have nothing to do with, it definitely sent the perfect message to the self proclaimed Furyans gods.

The very ground is left thrumming with the aftermath of Death's release, tiny jolts of power burdened with two thousand years worth of torture. The sense of pride he feels for the great many things Death is about to accomplish more than overwhelms him, it ends up draining the last bits of energy he has left.

His last thought sounds eerily similar to his siblings' voice.

"Brother..."