Double Drabble: Apotheosis (YnM, Hisoka)
AN: Set in the Three of Swords universe. Prequel to Of Angels Watching Round, and this will make more sense if you've already read that. Series Index here.
For Phoebe, with great admiration.
Apotheosis
The stair was endless, Enma said. But Hisoka's learned not to believe everything he's told, especially the dying words of a god. So he climbs until he's lost any sense of time.
The highest room is cold and empty, stretching out beyond all reason. Sunlight falls in colorless pools along the walls and in this light Hisoka casts no shadow. Unseen hands close the doors behind him.
In the silence Hisoka becomes aware of an attention turned on him, vast and opaque even to his powers. Kowtowing is distasteful. But there is, he supposes, some value to the outward forms. His forehead touches the smooth stone floor and suddenly a fire is licking at his palms, brilliant and terrible, the pain like nothing he has ever known or will ever feel again in long slow centuries of existence. He wonders, fleetingly, if Tsuzuki will feel this.
(Far away someone is pounding frantically against a barred door, hands covered in blood.)
The voice doesn't tell him the future, as the sea god promised, only what he will gain and what he will lose, posing a question.
Hisoka made his choices long ago. He presses his hands into the fire and burns.
For Phoebe, with great admiration.
Apotheosis
The stair was endless, Enma said. But Hisoka's learned not to believe everything he's told, especially the dying words of a god. So he climbs until he's lost any sense of time.
The highest room is cold and empty, stretching out beyond all reason. Sunlight falls in colorless pools along the walls and in this light Hisoka casts no shadow. Unseen hands close the doors behind him.
In the silence Hisoka becomes aware of an attention turned on him, vast and opaque even to his powers. Kowtowing is distasteful. But there is, he supposes, some value to the outward forms. His forehead touches the smooth stone floor and suddenly a fire is licking at his palms, brilliant and terrible, the pain like nothing he has ever known or will ever feel again in long slow centuries of existence. He wonders, fleetingly, if Tsuzuki will feel this.
(Far away someone is pounding frantically against a barred door, hands covered in blood.)
The voice doesn't tell him the future, as the sea god promised, only what he will gain and what he will lose, posing a question.
Hisoka made his choices long ago. He presses his hands into the fire and burns.