CN: Themes about suicide.. reader discretion advised.
"Haaaaaah...." Zodran let out his breath.
He felt as if he had been holding it in for centuries; perhaps he had been. He collapsed back into his chair as he held up his right hand and stared at the scalpel he was holding with a satisfied expression on his face. He rotated the tool using his fingers and admired the signature white-gold sheen of Adamantite; a metal only found within the hearts of stars, too dense for any mere mortal to use. Even within the divine realms, items made of Adamantite were rare, especially of this quality. He had stolen this particular tool from the God of Knowledge, and he had used its nanometer scale tip to etch billions of inscriptions over the past two millennia.
He put the tool down on his desk and lifted his other hand up to eye level, his open palm facing upwards. Within it, he held the masterpiece he had spent all this time creating. It looked like a small black beetle, a symbol the mortals had taken to represent him.. and although he was rather offended by this odd choice at first, over the millennia, he had come to appreciate the charm these insects held, as well as their connection to his divinity.
The mechanical beetle looked indistinguishable from its living counterpart, but Zodran could easily see the millions of tiny inscriptions that covered its obsidian surface.. something impossible for even the most keen eyed of mortals.
He then began to closely examine the tiny artefact, checking if his latest modifications had the intended effects. He did this for quite some time, and the longer he spent examining the tiny bug, the more excited he grew. His calm exterior slowly evaporated until he found himself grinning from ear to ear.
"With this, I can finally achieve my dream..." he mused excitedly as he felt the muscles on his face stretch.
"Oh? Am I smiling? Ha ha.. I wonder how long it has been since I have done that."
After countless failed prototypes, Zodran had finally succeeded. Because of this, he was in a very pleasant mood, perhaps the happiest he has ever been in his 40,000 years of existence. He had come into being alongside his siblings when sapient organisms first began to congregate in large communities. He was the natural manifestation of a powerful concept, and for as long as he could remember, he has had only one wish: He wanted to die.
As the Great God of Death, Zodran's divine responsibility was the cleansing of souls. The souls of the dead would make their way to him, and he would restore them to balance before recycling them back into the land of the living. He would punish the wicked, reward the virtuous, and heal the aggrieved; and when a soul had lost all its attachment to the mortal world, he would be able to cleanse them of all ego and enter them into the cycle of reincarnation to be reborn into a new body. Within the underworld, Zodran was the arbiter of justice. He was judge, jury, and executioner.. and he was also the damn therapist!
For millennia, he had dutifully done his job, but with every twisted soul he has had to correct, his stress has only grown. He had seen more horrors than any of the other gods could ever imagine, all the evil humanity has to offer was laid bare before him, and he had done his best to give the victims a peaceful rest... for that was the responsibility assigned to him by the mysterious forces of nature that ruled over all creation. But after 30,000 years of soul draining repetition, cracks began to appear in his resolve. He began dreading the idea of having to do this for all of eternity.
When he tried to talk to his siblings about his doubts, they made light of his issues, laughing them off as a momentary lack of motivation. They all loved their jobs, and could not understand why Zodran could ever feel differently. And they were far too engrossed in their own work to spare him much attention.
So, Zodran accepted his fate and returned to work, hoping he would somehow find the joy he had when he first started his job. However, as he listened to more of the souls that came to him, be found himself paying attention to a certain set of individuals who he had always glossed over before, as they had always demanded the least amount of attention from him. These souls had the least attachment to their previous lives, and were the easiest to reprocess, so he had never thought about them too deeply. They were the souls of individuals who had chosen to commit suicide.
Zodran always thought they were weird. His sister had told him the purpose of all life was to survive, reproduce, and find happiness. Why would these people give up their pursuit of meaning and abandon all hope? As he began paying more attention to them, he came to the startling realization that he had much in common with these poor souls. In life, they had felt trapped, with no prospect of bettering their future; so they had decided there was no point in continuing to struggle in the rat race of life, they had chosen to end their suffering early.
Zodran strongly disagreed with this, as he believed that as long as they had life, they had hope, but his own situation seemed uncomfortably similar to their plight. He was bound to his fate by nature.. he was trapped in eternal servitude.. and unlike the mortals, felt he truly had no hope of improvement. And so, deep within his mind, sprouted the idea of ending his own life, one that over the millennia would morph into an obsession.
Zodran smiled as he reminisced about the past and the path he had chosen for himself. He knew his decision will greatly hurt his sister, who perhaps cared the most for him out of all his siblings.. but he had silently suffered for far too long and did not wish to continue until the end of time. As the God of Death, killing himself was something that was permitted by the laws of nature, and he had experimented extensively over the past 10,000 years to find a suitable method.. and finally, all his hard work had culminated into this moment.
He carefully put the beetle down onto the desk in front of him and stood up. After a light stretch, he walked over to a large screen on the other side of his office. Through the crystalline screen, he was able to observe the lower realms, which were inhabited by mortals. Many things seem to have changed since the last time he had checked 2000 years ago, but Zodran did not bother investigating exactly what seemed different.
With a thought, he changed what was being displayed and was now able to observe the Underworld. This was his divine domain, a pocket dimension where he ruled, and held complete authority. He looked at the various districts, and observed his assistants as they went about their work shepherding souls into waiting rooms for him to deal with. As he looked at the long queue that awaited him, he felt the hairs on the back of his neck raise up in trepidation. He immediately checked to see how many cleansed souls he had left in his stockpile in order to get an idea of how long he has left before he was required to return from to work, only to be left stunned at what he found..
".. There's none left? How is this possible? Did the birth rate increase?"
He was out of clean souls. Soon, the cycle of reincarnation would come to a screeching halt, and his sister would figure out something was wrong. If he was going to do this, he had to do it now... before...
"Zod!! Where are you? Are you cooped up in your office?"
He heard a beautiful feminine voice call out to him from beyond the door to his office, but it was the voice he least wanted to hear. Zodran gawked at the door for a short moment before he began to panic. If she entered this room, she would sense the stench of death that permeated the space. He knew he would not be able to hide the foul magic he had used to craft his artifact from her, and she would make sure he would never be able to accomplish his dream. He regretted not being able to leave behind a note, but he knew what he had to do.
He rushed to his desk where he had left the tiny beetle. He grabbed the scalpel and cut open his palm, golden ichor dripping out from the lesion, but Zodran felt no pain. He saw the wound immediately begin to close up and knew from his experiments that physical damage could not kill him, no matter how severe. Even if his body was reduced to particles, he would heal back to full health, for his divine soul was immortal and the forces of nature would restore him.
He put down the scalpel and picked up the beetle, looking at it for the last time. He had created it for this very reason; this was something that would attack his very soul. Only he, the God of Death, was able to design something like this. He had used the foulest of magic that only the most evil of mortals dabbled in to create it. He had tortured the souls of countless necromancers, slavers, and devil worshipers to gain the foundational knowledge about how such artifacts worked, and had spent millennia researching and building upon that knowledge to create the tiny beetle that lifelessly stared back at him.
"Zod!! Are you in here? We need to talk!"
Zodran heard the voice once more and was broken out of his stupor. He heard footsteps approaching his door. He quickly inserted the beetle into the cut on hand before it fully healed and pulled out a small crystal sphere from his pocket, which he immediately swallowed. The blueish crystal seemed to be made of the same material as the screen he had used earlier.
That was all he needed to do. Hopefully, his plan would work. All that was left was to tie up the loose ends; he had to destroy all his notes and blueprints so that no one could ever find out his plans and undo his work. As he began to gather up the loose pieces of paper splayed out in front of him, he came to a sudden stop; that was when he felt it.
Pain.. Soul rending pain from deep within his body, unlike anything a god was ever meant to experience.
'Yes! It's working!' he thought, but he knew he had only a few seconds left and needed to spend that time covering his tracks. Zordan gritted his teeth and was about to continue when he heard a knock on his door.
"I can hear you inside, Zod! Stop ignoring me! I'm coming in." the voice called out to him once more.
As he heard the door handle rattle, Zodran felt his eyes tear up. It was not from the immense pain he was currently withstanding, but because his sister was about to find his body. He did not want it to happen like this; this will probably scar her for eternity. He felt the beetle move deep within his chest as it buzzed to life, but he was in no position to admire the creature he had given birth to after millennia of effort. His time was running out.
A determined look took hold on his youthful face as he dropped the thick stack of paper in his hand, and picked up the Adamantite scalpel once more. Although this was by no means the smartest decision he had ever made, he knew he had to make it.
.........
Author's Note:
First chapter is about the God of Death committing suicide. Has tones of social isolation, suicide idealization, and negative thinking that can spiral into depression. This is dealt with by a lot of psychiatrists, FBI analysts, and other workers who come into contact with the worst humanity has to offer.
If anyone reading is struggling with destructive thoughts, please reach out to someone. There are plenty of anonymous helplines that can help you get yourself on a positive trajectory.
Thanks for reading and I will appreciate it if you take the time to leave a comment.
Ruizan