Author's Note: For the sake of context, it is recommended you read chapter 71 of Dreams of Discord before continuing with this chapter.
As shocking as Ghatanothoa's downfall has been, in the end, no one is surprised. In hindsight, the signs were there from the very beginning.
Howard Itzer was always a bit off. From the start, he craved attention. A bit of cockiness was not unexpected, especially in a skilled, ragtag group like the Black Templars, but he was on a completely different level. Lacking even the minimal amount of empathy needed to function in society, Howie literally believed the world revolved—or should revolve—around him. If he didn't have some level of control or authority, he would go berserk.
Not even his family was safe. When his little brother was born, Howie hated him. Without his parents' knowledge, he smothered the poor baby and made it look like an accident. When his mother dared to turn her attention away from him for even a second, he would lash out at her, spouting verbal and physical abuse until she killed herself in despair. When his father tried to walk out on his increasingly dysfunctional family, Howie chased him down and murdered him in cold blood. He was a sociopath, through and through.
Eventually, he was expelled from Raimon for "unruly behavior", when he assaulted one of his classmates for daring to question him. No other school would accept him. No orphanage felt safe taking him under their wing. He was sent to a psych ward for youths, where he lived out his days. A pitiful situation, sure, but the least that he deserved. What few friends he had quickly dwindled, and students who knew him well enough shuddered in fear at mere mention of his name. It seemed like he was truly alone—a notion he absolutely feared—but alas, he was not. For there was one individual in this world that was equally twisted, and they were right under his nose.
Dirk Anlace was a sweet kid. He rarely spoke unless spoken to, and he was always humble when receiving praise. On the surface, one would pass him off as merely timid or passive in nature, and they would not be wrong. But deep down, he also craved attention, to obsessive levels, though he showed it differently.
Growing up in a family that often neglected him, Dirk never knew what love truly felt like. Whether the reception was positive or negative, he felt alive just being acknowledged. He never actively sought it out, out of fear that people would be turned off by his attempts, so he kept to himself, suppressing his own needs for the sake of social acceptance. When he saw Howie and how he openly expressed that same desire for attention, his heart was sent aflutter. What most people saw as a monster, he instead saw a lonely boy who simply wanted to be loved like any other human being. So for the first time in his young life, he began his pursuit.
It started with simple letters, slipped into his shoe locker at school. Then the stalking began. He knew where he lived at the time, and where he ended up. He visited him every chance he got, even if just to listen to Howie ramble. Finally, when he mustered up the courage, he initiated a conversation. In that instant, they clicked, becoming a duo, a couple, partners in crime. Guided by unhealthy obsession and fueled by mad desires, they took part in the Garshield Project, joining together as the leather-bound face of madness, Ghatanothoa.
Howie sits in the corner of the white padded cell, facing away from the bright lights, from the prying eyes peering through the barred window on the door, from the horrific entities that flicker in and out of existence. Since Dirk's passing, his appetite dwindled, and sleep was impossible, spending his waking seconds sinking deeper into despair. Dirk is gone, he realized once he regained his sense of reality. There's no one left. I'm all alone. I hate this. I don't want to be alone again—
"You're not alone."
His head perks up, and he turns around. "Dirk?" Nothing. "Dirk, where are you?"
"In here." His hand rests upon his breast, right above where his heart would be. "My body may be no more, but my soul will never leave you. Remember that promise we made that day?" Tears well up in his two-colored eyes, as the memory plays out in his mind.
Howie sat with Dirk beneath a tree, in the fenced grassy courtyard of the psych ward. Over in the distance, the stony-faced guards watched him closely, with harsh discrimination. In Dirk's hands were two bento boxes, which, when opened, revealed a simple but elegantly arranged meal of rice with a side of odd-looking, roughly cut meat. Howie sampled the meat, pointing out the curious taste, and nearly choked upon hearing Dirk's response. "They say when somebody is in love, they give their hearts to their loved ones, right? Mum and Dad never did that for me, so I took it from them. I hear by consuming the flesh of another, you can gain part of their soul and become more complete. I hope that someday, maybe, I can offer my heart to you, so you will never have to be lonely again."
Despite the initial shock of the moment, Dirk's ramble was confirmation of his feelings towards him, and that in return solidified his own feelings for the moss-haired boy. When the time came, he didn't know what he was thinking. Glee? Anger? Remorse? He completely lost control of his body, though visions of the event are seared into his memory bank. Was it something they agreed on together, or was it something else entirely?
Then it hits him: it must be fate. The gods from afar had willed this, just as they had the uncovering of the mysterious rock planted beneath the earth. This, as with everything else in the universe, had been part of their ultimate plan. The gods want—nay, need—him to be stronger, and this was the only way. Dirk knew this, and willingly sacrificed himself to pass his soul onto Howie, so that they could forever be one, so they could continue to become stronger, to show the world what the power of love looks like.
The heavy steel door opens, and Dulana steps in, Noboru standing beside him. "Howard Itzer, it's been a while. How have you been?"
His malformed face, acting on primal urges, can barely hide his repulsion towards this individual. "Don't call me by that name! Howie's been dead for a long time. You, of all people, should know that by now."
Noboru positions himself to step in, but a wave of his superior's hand orders him to back down. Shrugging off the overblown reaction, the Holy Emperor resumes. "My apologies, Ghatanothoa. That was unforgivable of me. If you would hear me out, I wish to offer a proposition. How would you like to ascend into true godhood?"
Slowly, a crooked grin creeps across Ghatanothoa's face. "Go on."