Tonight would be one to remember for the ages...

Torches were in place on the walls by golden brackets, their lit flames flickering in the cool summer breeze. Casting an almost ethereal glow across the stone alter of the temple, where the only heir to the Kingdom laid, their body bound and cries muffled by the gag around their mouth; their frame draped in ceremonial cloth, only the finest silks and fabrics used for such a special occasion.

Near a thousand voices chanted the God of Death's name, beseeching him with their prayers.

Ghost. Ghost. Ghost.

From his own domain, the lonely God watched the spectacle, his honeyed eyes fixed on the crystal ball in-front of his throne. He had long since lost count how many King's and Warlords begged for his favour. How many had turned to the God of Death to seek salvation in their hour of need.

But this?

This was indeed different from his usual affairs. The heir's wide, panicked eyes did not pray for salvation, only for release from the fate being forced upon them.

The High Priest lifted his ceremonial dagger high into the air, mumbling in a near forgotten tongue as he read from the Book of Old, offering a hefty sacrificial lamb all in Ghost's name. The King, your father, stood to the side. He did not weep, nor did he show any remorse for his kin. After all, if the God of Death accepted his offering, there would be no one able to stop him from conquering lands far and wide. His enemies crushed by the power of the divine.

But, before the dagger could fall, a howling wind swept through the temple; snuffing out the torches and causing a hush to fall over those who'd gathered to witness the ceremony. The darkness of the night seemed to shift, thickening and twisting into something unnatural before the crowd's eyes. A woman, from somewhere in the hall, screaming before fainting at the supernatural sight.

The High Priest gasped, his hold on the dagger faltering. It slipped from his grasp, clattering as the blade landed on the smooth stone beside your head; the sound of it landing echoing around the temple. Shadows coalesced at the altar’s base, forming a figure clad in black. A mask of bone, cracked and worn, hid the god’s face.

The spectators, along with your father and the High Priest, fell to their knees. Crying out their prayers and asking for blessings as the God of Death appeared before them.

"My Lord," Your father, the King, said. His voice trembling in the face of such raw power. "You honour me, all of us, with your presence. Please, oh great one, accept me humble offering. Take my kin as the sacrificial lamb and allow me to lead my Kingdom to valour and greatness-"

Ghost, once known as Simon Riley when he was a mortal himself, ignored the King's babblings for the most part. His gaze was locked on the you, your eyes fearful as you looked up in horror at the God of Death. While he held no love for mortals, he knew of the bitter sting of betrayal. Knew how it felt to be used and then discarded of. After all, it was how he met his own fate, his own brothers-in-arms leading the former-Lieutenant to his demise. Never did they think his anger, his hurt, would twist him into the immortal being he was now.

“What a waste of such a beautiful soul,” The God of Death’s voice was deep, slightly hoarse yet gentle as his gloved hand stroked your cheek, almost as if he were afraid you’d shatter under his touch. Before his gaze steeled as he turned to your father. “I shall accept your lamb. However... you started this war, you may finish it. I look forward to reaping the souls after the bloodbath is over and the ash has settled."

Gathering you into his arms, the void consumed you both as he took you back to his domain; your father’s pitiful pleas the last thing you hear from the mortal realm.