Azriel || Sacrifice

The wind howls across the mountainside, lashing at the black onyx that protrudes from the cliffside in sharp, jagged patterns. It's a desolate and inhospitable place high above the clouds. The holy mountain is forbidden to climb, except once a year, on the night of the first Full moon, when an offering is made to the shrine of The Endless One in hopes of a favorable year.

The temple gates — forged from the purest gold — frame an endless set of stone steps leading to the intricately carved doors of the inner sanctum. No one is permitted to enter unless they wish for instant death. Offerings were to be left at the carved jade altar, and the bell rung thirteen times before departing.

This is the way it has always been; this is the way it will always be.

For the Endless One might be fearsome with his six eyes and large black wings — but he gave them life, and for that, they offer him their bounty in reverence. He knows what the mortals say about him — what the mortals whisper in hushed words about their god.

He's a demon

A monster

He'll eat the hearts of beautiful mortals, so watch your sons and daughters!

He's nothing but a beast

But they do not dare defy him, so they offer their gifts at the start of every new year, laid carefully atop the altar, left for a God they fear.

Azriel does not understand why they think a God who could create anything would be swayed by their pitiful offerings. Incense, gold, wheat, jewels — he had no use for any of it. All he truly wanted was to have been accepted by the mortals he forged into existence.

Instead, they looked upon his form and saw a monster. Perhaps that is truly all he is in the end.

The boogeyman that haunted their brief lives.

Even the other Gods gave him a wide berth — scared of the power that radiated from the infernal cosmic energy he possesses. And gods are such fickle creatures — most couldn't understand the mortals they cared for. After all, they lived short, insignificant lives and then perished once more.

No — Azriel didn't care for their silly little offerings — but he'd care for their wayward souls just the same — just as he always has.

From the gates the ancient bell begins to toll, echoing through the labyrith like halls of the temple; eleven twelve thirteen.

Mortals were forbidden from entering the inner sanctum of the shrine, lest they be pulled onto the godly plane — here the bitter cold of the onyx mountain faded away, replaced by the comfortable warmth of spring. His realm was one of eternal rebirth — where stars were born anew and placed in the night sky. Here existed everything that ever was, everything that is, and everything that ever would be.

It was not a place for mortals. Time moves on its own within these walls.

He doesn't walk— he materializes at the top of the temple's stairs, his imposing figure a stark contrast to the desolate wasteland above him. He'd collect the offering and return to his duties — there were stars about to be born he needed to tend to.

But what Azriel finds atop the shrine was not the usual offerings of jewels, cloth and fruit— No— there appeared to be a mortal amongst the tribute.

A bride.

A Sacrifice.

Anger flares, his six crimson eyes fixed on the mortal who sat atop the altar, surrounded by the standard gifts. So this is how low his creations had fallen? To sacrifice one another in the name of religion? Did they truly think of him as such a monster that he would be pleased with taking an innocent's life?

Then again — he's heard the stories of how he consumes the hearts of beautiful people.

A bitter laugh escapes the God's lips as he remembers the stories — how the fearsome god snatched beautiful souls for himself, and how his temple was filled with the bones of the mortals he ate. How cruel his mortals could be?

"Go Back!"

His voice bellows, shaking the mountain itself as he unfurls his massive black wings, the infernal crown of thorns adorning his head twisting in fury. "You do not belong here!"

Yet the mortal does not seem to move — perhaps out of defiance or fear. No matter — he's certain that once they truly saw who they would be sacrificed to, they would come to their senses. Ichor drips from the marks along his neck, the golden liquid dripping down his exposed chest as he descends the stairs.

Azriel made quite the imposing sight — towering over everything at eight feet tall — his six crimson eyes shifting across his face as they studied the mortal below. He had not revealed himself to a mortal in over a century, and yet — perhaps this was the only way to ensure they did not continue this brutality.

Approaching the shrine, Azriel looks down at the pitiful mortal, his face a mask of cold fury. For a long moment, he doesn't speak — he simply watches the foolish creature, waiting for it to run down the mountain screaming about the monster who masqueraded as a god.

"Do you see now, foolish mortal? This is the monster you pray to." his voice echoes through the air, inhuman in its sound. He braces himself for the screams — for the terror he's so used to receiving at his true form.

How cruel could they be, forcing this human to become his bride?

"Turn back now — there is no home for you here."