Oh look, Mithos introspection. That's weird.

One of the many little ficlets I wrote this last year. Maybe I'll post more if I get around to it. Not really a songfic, but heavily inspired by "Monster," by Paramore. Like my favorite band ever.


Originally, what he does is necessary.

He is attempting to stop the whole world from becoming a monster.

And maybe, once upon a time, what he does wouldn't have been necessary. Because originally, there was just a kid, just a little kid, who believed in the goodness of the world, who believed he could change things and make the world fair, who knew nothing, nothing, of how absolutely, senselessly, brokenly cruel the world is.

That changed.

And now he is him, this strange little hero child who ended a war and can't for the life of him remember why he cared enough about anyone to. And now he lives with a hopelessly broken heart.

The long, lonely years will twist the pieces of him beyond all recognition, and he will welcome it.

It will take a monster, with power undreamed, to burn away the evil of this world.

Once, he believed in the people of these worlds. Because they were good, weren't they? Like him, they were just fighting for their home and their lives, weren't they?

Because he was friends with a human, and knew they weren't that different. Because once upon a time, she knelt over the prone body of a human, the healing magicks pouring from her fingers, and she murmured to him, the dwarves have a saying, you know? 'Let's all work together for a peaceful world?' And he believed that, he really believed that. He believed people were good.

Because he didn't understand that there were people who wouldn't listen. People who were stubborn or foolish or just plain wrong—all equally poisonous to dreams.

He didn't understand that people would kill his sister. His pretty, wonderful, kind—

(center of his world and heart and really simply everything to him)

Martel.

She's dead.

He shouts at them, shouts around Kratos, who stands with his sword a twitch away from their death.

What do you think you're doing? How can you be so insane and twisted and cruel? How can you do this? How can you want this?

And the blood staining all their hands.

But he sees now. Martel is gone, and no kind deity watches over him. Now he is alone, and he understands that no one will care for him except himself. He understands that no one will love him anymore, because he is nothing to them. Just another little orphan, and who would try for his sake? They could kill him, and only prove their apathy.

And in the world that allows such discrimination, whose blind eye forgives the destruction of his world, Mithos finds a true monster.

Nothing he becomes could be worse than that.

He will be an angel.

This world is wrong. Things should not be like this. It is simple, necessary, for him to start taking the steps he does—the crystal, affixed to his chest, for power. The half-elves he slowly gathers around himself—tools, for his ambition. And originally, he takes very good care of his tools. Originally, they love him.

All he's trying to, after all, is give the world the Goddess it needs. The love it so sorely lacks.

Originally, he is trying to save the world.