Jason hadn’t always been this filled with hate. He remembers, very distantly, a time where he had once been filled with a deluded sense of hope for the future, his family.

How stupid he had been.

Before his untimely fall, Jason had been deemed the God of Temperance. He believed he held that title well, even if he could never quite live up to the image his eldest brother had set. He only ever wanted to be something his father could be proud of.

He never quite knew what it was that changed. Was it him? Some greater force? Bruce had told him he was losing sight of himself - becoming corrupted in his ways. He never wanted to believe it, maybe too afraid to come to terms with it. He only knew it was the truth when he got careless, and he was struck down by a twisted being with a grin that was burned into his memory even now.

Still, Jason doesn’t know what brought about his revival. But when he awoke, he was on the floor of his chapel. The building had been worn and dusted by time, the structure was crumbling, and even his body was riddled with cobwebs and dirt from the moment he’d been killed in that very building. It didn’t take him long to find that with his death, he was also stripped of his immortality, but not of his power.

Inside his chapel, Jason sits back on the stairs leading up to his pedestal, supporting himself with his elbows. Once, a statue of him had stood, but now it had crumbled, and the head had been unceremoniously removed and discarded to the side - a twisted smile carved into the material of his face. He doesn’t so much as look at it, a blank gaze staring into the floor so intensely it could almost bore holes into it.

He is no longer a God, but he knows he holds the power of one. As such, he deems himself the very personification of Revenge, knowing he still has the strength to carry it out.

Mortal or not, he will avenge himself if it kills him.