Marvel One-Shots and Prompts

Abyssal Madness

Created 16 November, 2021

Rating : Teen
For themes of self-torment and hate, mental deterioration, and torture

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How can something so wrong feel so normal?How can it feel natural, yet feel like an insipid evil crawling the skin?

How does it walk in its shrouds of sorrow and desolation? How does it find the weak and weary?

It is a cold unlike any felt or dealt by mortal hand, a swift and decisive blow that takes years to feel the full effect of. A walking contradiction, they say.

Perhaps that is what the useless find so alluring.

Chaos in the form of the formless. Raging war and everlasting peace. The tears that seep from the crying eye, and the laughter that bounds from the open mouth. It is the fire of change, the frost of fear, the chill of bitter death, and the warmth of rebirth.

How can it be?

A child, they say. Mocking, they laugh at weakness and make it bend the knee to their view.

Laughing at the ones that are truly desperate and the ones that need help! Oh, why can they not see that weak ones need help? A game! Yes, a game of sanity.

A game where madness meets mercy. Order meets chaos, and it all proves fruitless.

There is no difference.

Another lie they told as they cast those down for crying and caring.

A lie they told to those who seemed strong, those whose pain was sealed within a vault of impenetrable steel.

Left to rot and fester like the disease it is. Left to be molded by its captor into a victim of the rabid animal locked inside.

They mock the weak with their hideous smiles!

Oh, how disgustingly true!

As if they believe it will help.

As if they believe it is as easy as opening the mouth and letting the words flow. Nay, there are locks upon the vocal cords, stitches through the lips.

A muzzle upon its face and bonds upon its wrists. Its agony is unheard. Its wrists are unmarred by the chains and so they assume it is alright, that nothing is wrong.

They stick to the belief of physicality, the pain being only what can scar and be seen. Oh no, there are other types of pain. Scars that never heal.

Wounds that are left untreated and pains that never cease. But they do not exist, say the sane ones.

They follow the rules and live their existence within their pathetic cages. Their bars made of the woven fabric of time and space, capturing their souls and twisting them into the terrifying nothingness that the weak fear so.

And they are right to. Furious. Furious are the thoughts that speak the words unspoken. Mad is the soul who thinks it.

They do what they can, but understanding is not in their nature. They have nothing to offer. Nothing to give. And so, weak is alone, as it always is.

And it rots.

Its pain festers. The blood falls like tears in its quantity. Its skin pales, body aches, bones protrude unnaturally.

It dies.

And no one cares to notice it.

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Hey! This is just something quick I was toying with right before I started having vertigo. I'm working on a Theoki One-Shot for this book, and it will come out soon, but I hope this little thing is enough to ride you over.

Abyssal madness refers to glimpsing the void and faking prey to the curses of the darkness, like in many variations of the myths of old. I thought it suited the idea of the Void in Marvel quite well, though the concept of the insanity in this comes from a nod to my roommate OdinIsAnAss who wrote that "it is not the void itself one must be weary of, rather, those who plunge into it and survive."

(This is a quote from Evanescence, book two of the Resurgence Saga).

Until we next meet,

Skylaar Oldströng.