He was broken. He was in pieces, in a manner that the Gods did not speak about. If they knew why, they offered no reasoning or advice to the trio. Instead, they remained silent, sharing little information and thus allowing the siblings to become octrasized.
He was a God, but not a God. He lacked the impervious body of a God, and fell to treacherous behaviour ( even if they were but child Gods, a playful gesture – pranks ). Yet he remained light-hearted and kind, laughing it off as he wiped crimson off brows. It was hardly a big deal. He was a man, and whilst he failed to protect his family, he simply laughed off the mockery they made of him. If he allowed it to dampen his spirits, surely his sisters would suffer.
But dampened he was.
She watched him with cerulean that bared the heartbreak so clearly, and she watched him with a firm fist so protective. Each desired no more than to share their Godhood with him, yet they found no way to extend the silvery glow that engulfed them. He was a God, but not a God.
And it consumed them. They sought aid where they could, in the wisdom of Knowledge herself, but lips remained mum as to the cause of the absence. Was it the lack of insight? Or was it something more? They never had enough time, not to solve the mystery behind his deficiency.
When they struck, they battered with a force of nature combined – relentless and ruthless. They offered no breathing space; for Gods did not require such luxury. Yet he was a God, but not a God. When she fell, he rose to feet, cursing and swearing upon his own head for his inadequacy. He only offered room for the darkness to creep, for such were the tools of demons greedy and ravenous. They desired power, and whilst he lacked it – he had potential.
All better to consume, if he was not a God.
Thus they forced him to fall, to the realm of the mortals. Those who worshiped the unknown, those who worshiped what he was supposed to be. But alas he was not to be a mere mortal trudging through the ways of life; a monster they had made him. Humanoid form he had, but far from human he was. Youthful and inexperienced, memories deprived; he was a man, and a beast.
But not a God.
They reached out, but they could not. Gods were barred from communicating with mortals if they had yet to seek them out – and he was no different from a mortal. Human, yes, a cursed one at that. But they knew, he would return, he would return home no matter what, and they had but a mere human's lifetime to ensure that.
But he, he was more than a man, more than a beast. A monster he had become, or so he assumed, a monster he had always been. A man without a home, a man with deadly strength and masculine form – but a man with beasts within. He had to earn his place, he had to feed his form. Yet he remained kind and loving, a soul unlike his appearance. Through a fluke, or perhaps it was the pure heart that lead him, he found his path. Tall and towering over even the tallest man, he was rejected, refuted, and shunned.
Nonetheless he did his tasks well. His name was one established, slowly but steadily, as amonster hunter. ( A monster hunting monsters, what irony. ) The mortals did not know, how he slayed the beasts. They need not know. All that matters was that he got the job done, and provided safety for the masses; even if one look at the fallen God who was not a God sent the typical man scampering.
But he did his job well.
"Your next job is Stone Eyes. A demon with the gaze of Hell. She'll petrify you with just one look. Kill her, before she eradicates more towns."
He accepted with a gruff nod of tousled mess. To save the people, that would be the only reason why his hands were stained with crimson. He would do what a man would do. his life if he must.
He was not a God, but he was still a man.
"Elfman. You can come home."