'How long has it been?'
Legus remembered it like it was yesterday.
When the Dark Trinity had chosen him to be the one to inherit the Dead God in his body.
How everyone rejoiced and beamed in happiness.
Every memory of his last time was filled with happiness.
And Legus could not believe it….
'Why did it have to be me?'
The rain poured over his disfigured form, but he no longer felt it. Not the cold.
Not the sting.
Not the ache of a soul stretched beyond mortal comprehension.
Legus stood within the rotting core of the Dead God, somewhere between consciousness and collapse.
Between what remained of his humanity… and what had become of his gift.
The curse they called salvation.
He remembered the cheers.
The priests chanting his name.
The way his mother had cried… not out of fear, but pride.
The moment the black ichor was poured into his veins, and the world became a kaleidoscope of pain and transcendence.
They told him it was an honor.
They told him he would be a god.
