| All Ends (Morpheus) |
[04 Apr 2008|02:49pm] |
A rankle of chains.
The sound was so familiar to him now that Prometheus was certain he could time the day on that sound alone. Chains forged by Hephaestus, ample suffering to be inflicted upon him for what he'd done to his friend. For what he'd done. An intellect that could fool the king of the gods and all of his followers could still conceive of a world beyond this rock, beyond this mountain, where things were happening. Mankind flourished. They evolved, and grew stronger. All of the gods now had their favorites, and they took their comfort and ease with Prometheus' creations. He knew it because he had seen it once, long ago. Yet the one who had created this race, sheltered and protected them, stood bound to the rock of Zeus' ego. Stood. If you could call it that. There was a single spike, large enough for its purposes, jammed into his chest. The final nail that would hold him fast if the chains somehow catastrophically failed. Over this business was an assortment of the aforementioned chains, binding him nearly motionless to stone.
That was the world that existed when his intellect failed him. When pain maddened him, and he became something else.
( Just a rock. And agony. )
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