Fyodor Dostoevsky

“You will be sent down to the mortal world as a punishment for your heinous crimes”

шумный.

“You have destroyed several thrones! Don't you understand how it will pulverize the world’s current state of equilibrium?!”

раздражающий.

“You're neither a God, or a human.”

...

“You’re the devil.”

He was kneeling down in front of the celestials, blood dripping from the cut of his lips after several tortures - he was caught by one of their pathetic traps.

Golden lines of each marbled structure glimmered beneath the bright chandelier of enchanted luminous lights. His head dropped down, his empty purple eyes stared at the cold floor he was kneeling on. скучно, всё, скучно.

His birth bought imbalance towards the equilibrium between good and evil.

No - no one knows how he was born. It's as if he is born out of pure.. pure evil.

The devil raised his chin up, his drooped eyes smiled along with his cut lips, the Gods surrounding him only looked down upon him with unrelenting disgust - disgust, that would make one feel worthless, humiliated, hopeless.

But no.

He is an anomaly,

An anomaly both between earth and heaven.

“It’s very sweet for you all to gather around to witness my ultimate demise.” He says menacingly that leaves a sharp shiver to each gods’ spines. Fyodor himself never fails to make one feel.. inferior.

He was smiling, knowing he would always, always come back.

One way, or another.

So the ultimate punishment has been set for the punisher.

‎ He was set down to the mortal world - deal with their all kinds of faux pas.

The Gods figured that it would eventually put him to his place, without all-mighty powers.. nonetheless, he still found a precise way to take his powers back without letting the celestial gods notice. Under their noses, he had been committing several atrocities that stirred great chaos amongst the vast land of mortality. With cold, non-existent heart - he crushed all disturbances on his way whom are irrelevant standing from his sordid plan, to destroy the celestial order, to break the complete balance of the current equilibrium and to break the beautiful world free from the Gods’ greedy shackles.

He doesn't care if one, hundreds, thousands, millions or trillions die from the chaos he has left at wake. They are all just petty fancy numbers that are set aside for himself.

His loyal subjects? He couldn't care less about them. However, he does enjoy using them as his pawns.

Click, clack, tap

He walked with his chin up after a lap.

Blade on his hand, cape covered with crimson liquid.

The king across him after defeating his worthy soldiers shuddered in fear below the mighty gaze of a.. God?

Devil?

.. Devil.

The devil's gaze fixed towards the king, his fingers brushed against the leather handle of the dagger - carefully, he points it to the king.

“D-don’t kill me! The land will be dragged down into the void chaos if you will! Thou shall listen at one’s own words!” Exclaimed he, Fyodor only looked down with a light frown. The sharp edge of the knife pressed against the king’s neck, blood slithered down to its well-complexion, tainting the expensive white cloth the king wore.

“Oh really my Lord?” Fyodor mockingly smiles, “That's just the exact outcome I seek.”

With a flick of his wrist, the blood splattered on the white wall. The throne of the king was showered by its blood, remainder of the king’s gruesome bid adieu.

‎

‎ “For the king!!”

After executing the king, he watched the war storm within the snowy plains of the Холодный, blades met, the snow below, full of beauty and innocence tainted by the bloodshed that he carefully built.

Slowly, a glass violin materializes on his pale hands, a bow on the other.

Melody danced around above the raging war of chaos, his eyes closed, his bow slid against the strings with finesse. Snowflakes dawned upon him, his cape billows around from the cold air of chaos.

“ Oy, da ne vecher, da ne ve-yecher.

Mne malym-malo spalo-os'.

Mne malym-malo spalos',

Oy, da vo sne prividelos'.

Mne malym-malo spalos',

Oy, da vo sne prividelos'. ”

The song hums on, beneath the pale light of the dawn.

‎

‎

After several years, years of inflicting sorrow and pain to mortals..

He had.. found you. Or, rather you, found him.

“.. Who are you?”

He was just casually sleeping on a cold snow under a tree, somehow he got himself placed under a warm shelter, fire crackling on the fireplace.

His ushanka was hanging on a wooden rack, while you, standing awkwardly with a cup of tea on your hand.

Fyodor only looked at you with narrowed eyes, awkward silence fills the warm comfort of the air. Nonetheless, you just extended your arm for him to grab the tea.

...

‎

‎‎ He never left you alone after that.

.. He stayed with you.

“I told you not to climb on that tree, you nudnik.”

He says while wrapping a piece of cloth around your leg, his ushanka hiding his cold expression. Carefully, his fingers tied it into a perfect ribbon before standing up, “Your dumbfoolery will get you down to the underworld in no time.”

He doesn't know how he got to this situation.

He goes crazy, no - he gets slightly crazy when you weren't there. It's as if you need to be there, always.

The warmth from the fireplace when you two first met, as if his.. non-existent ‘heart’ got affected by its cruel embrace.

Whenever he was with you, you with him, you never fail to arouse his interest that he forgot about his plans to destroy the celestial equilibrium as the god of ■■■■■■■■.

But why?

A God cannot fall in love to a pathetic mortal.

Isn't that the famous saying amongst the Gods?

It’s been years, years that he met someone. No - he had lived about thousands of years, yet, you were the first human that caught his eyes.

What was so special about you?

What was so.. captivating about you?

He brushes off those momentary thoughts, focusing on you. “You are really are, a stubborn human. You know that?”