He marched as a soldier would, with a false sense of self-purpose and a blind faith in the banner he carried in his calloused hands. He had been given orders, his mass turned in one direction and sent forth like a plague. He was to consume anything worth eating, suck it in and soil it (make it
theirs). He was not alone, of course, but his company was even more peculiar than usual. At his flank strode a small man, His dark collar framing His pale face. Ripley had deigned to join him, blessing their journey with the presence of the Father Himself. Odyssey had never cared for the frivolities of hierarchy. Order was a farce. Government a bother. But Ripley was mysterious, something other. Truly Godlike? Haha, weren't they all? Odyssey giggled, his jaw chattering.
They had descended into the night with a divine purpose, swallowed up in the darkness by black, black teeth. His tongue rolled in his mouth like a serpent, a swollen worm, a dark blur between his off-color canines. He salivated, gushed. Martin had promised so much, had assured the Titan that there would be much to find beyond the the reaches of the zealot town that had become some bizarre sense of home. He was a
Champion, Martin proclaimed, and the Champion would be the spear that the whole of the kingdom thrust into the world. He was to be all sharp edges, glittering steel in the Father's palm. It was so easy to be wooed by such a purpose, for they all cheered for blood in healthy doses (what would they scream for otherwise?).
Odyssey was not a creature of pause, of consideration, of patience. Unsatisfied. There was always a desire for more, for something beyond what had become mundane. The desire dwelled. It beckoned beneath the surface. It lapped at his heels, coaxing him and teasing him. Want was the only God that he truly pursued, no matter how much of a thespian he could be for his beloved Sun. There was no God but the wretchedness of this world, of the piggish nature of man. God was in the squealing and the bleating of pure
chaos. A shapeless hunger. Odyssey coveted it, the gluttonous act of spreading himself across this earth like famine. He wished to Absorb. So, as Martin had demanded, he went. He committed himself to Ripley's leash - itching, vibrating with excitement.
It was almost childlike, gleeful. As they walked he could not help but trill and wheeze and rumble with eagerness. Marvolo had been teaching him Godtongue, the scripture that her Holy Brother had instructed her in. Her soft voice whispered in his ears and he could not help but recite, his shrill voice a herald of their coming.
"The time has come! The day is near! There is panic, not joy, on the mountains," he cawed, his legs crossing precariously in front of each other as he took each dancing step. His massive body wound itself around Ripley, oozing in His wake with a fluid abandon. He continued in a strange sing-song, Marvolo's voice in his foul mouth as he continued.
"I am about to pour out my wrath on you and spend my anger against you!"
Their travels took them east, deeper into foreign territory and onto unfamiliar ground. There was no hesitation, though, and as the terrain grew muggier and the ground softer Odyssey could feel his heart drum powerfully under his breast. His round, inverted eyes flashed to Ripley, watching Him as a sharp smile carved itself into the flesh of his face. They were close. As if to welcome them, the earth began to give way to gnarled, tall roots woven into the wet ground and paving their way. It was fertile here, vibrant and ripe with life. This was their destination, surely. This was the goal. A distinct, harsh scent wafted into Odyssey's nostrils, making him keen in delight.
"Here here here, I smell them," he hissed. They had found the border, the foul mark of someone else's scent. This was who they would topple.
The swamp was glorious. Late evening light shown through the thin trees and cast a shimmer over the dark water. His wide paws sunk into the supple earth, grime coating his legs before long. He adored it, the sticky, wet cling of the land to his skin. He soaked into it, wading out into shallow water. One always was called back to the mud, the muck, the mire from which they had all come. Slip into the pit. Get dirty.
Stay dirty.
His steps displaced the loose debris and dirt of the riverbed, the disturbance spreading through the water like an oil slick. He was alien to this place. Invasive. Martin had told him to conquer, by the grace of God. Then, by the grace of God, he would
conquer. The Titan tilted his head back, his cavernous mouth hanging open with unnaturally fluid force, as if a hinge had come loose.
"I will judge you according to your conduct and repay you for all your detestable practices," he squealed, shrill and grating, to call out to those that would resist the weapon of God here to bend their knees.
"I will not look on you with pity; I will not spare you!"
Let them come. There would be no resistance, no viable escape. Saliva dripped from Odyssey's abysmal maw, his teeth gleaming as his worm tongue lashed like a lure. Laughter bubbled up in his stomach like a gas, burning the back of his throat as bile.
"Disaster! Unheard of disaster! See, it comes! IT COMES IT COMES!" So sayeth the Sun. So Sayeth the Spirit. So Sayeth the Father.
Borogrove came to destroy and remake in its own image. Odyssey would strike upon the people as a hammer, a tool at the behest of a flick of the Father's wrist. Borogrove had arrived and with it came an end.
WE ARE THE VILLAINS IN THIS STORY.
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