Stories, Poems, and Dreams

The Twins (Asylum #4)

Once, there were two boys. Twins. They were born in a considerable household of loving parents, with many brothers and sisters. The boys grew into strong warriors, defending their home and family, even falling in love and taking lovers, one a wife, the other, a husband.

But as Fate watched the boys with her own lover, Death, her heart twinged with sadness. For she could see that soon, the boys would be met with a terrible tragedy. She wove at her loom as Death stood by, doing as the tapestry commanded of her.

One night, Death claimed every life in the house, but left the two boys alive, for it was not the Tapestry's will for them to die yet. The boys, awoken by their mother's screams, rushed into her room to see Death leave, vanishing into the shadows.

They rushed around their house, going into the room of each and every sibling and relative. But they were too late. All had perished but the two brothers. Then and there they formed a pact with each other - the one who had killed their family would know their pain, their fury, their loss, their rage.

Each one took to the smithy and crafted their own swords for the task - each sword infused with magic to become nigh unbreakable, constantly sharp, and light as air. They departed for the abode of Death and Fate, and came upon them in days, for their anger refused to let them stop moving. The brothers took the pair by surprise with their ferocity and speed, but they themselves were not weak. Eventually, Death would be chased away from Fate by the first brother, while Fate was hunted down by the second.

Death and the first brother were almost evenly matched - though Death could walk through shadows, the first brother kept pace. Though death fought with Scythe and Dagger, she could not get past the first brother's blade. And soon enough, the relentless fury of the first brother's rage sent Death herself to her knees. And with a final scream, the blade of the first brother was plunged into her neck.

Death Was No Longer.

The second brother would find fate in the next room, sobbing, mourning the loss of her lover. As he approached her, she whirled about to face him, anger blazing in her eyes. For a moment, he almost felt a pang of sympathy for her.

Fate placed a curse on the two brothers - a curse of great power, unstoppable strength, and a terrible lust for blood. As the second brother thrust his sword through her heart, she smiled, for she knew one thing to be true - that whether or not they wanted to, the brothers would eventually kill each other. The survivor would know her pain before succumbing to his wounds, and nothing would be left in their wake.

At that moment, both brothers felt incredible pain as they were infused with the power of the gods they had just killed. Their eyes reddened as Fate's madness overtook their minds. But they would not kill each other now.

Instead, the first brother looked down upon civilizations below him, at everything he had ever known. He knew his way around a lot of it, he thought. Why not try to satiate this new desire where he knew he could?

Meanwhile, the brother looked up, at territories no man had ever stepped foot upon. At new worlds, entirely unstained by any blood. Why not change that, he wondered? Why not try to satiate this sudden desire somewhere only heard of in legends and dreams?

The first brother fell, the second ascended. And thus began the end of the world.

The first brother would kill every man that drew a blade against him, every person who crossed his path, be it on purpose or by happenstance. He would travel lower and lower, defeating dwarves and golems and gorgons until reaching and killing Gaea. But she would not be the last, as he traveled to Hell, to Muspellheim, to the Underworld, battling against Demons and Hellhounds and fire giants, until Any god that laid within the earth had fallen. Surt, Hades, Hermes, Ares, Jörd, even such great creatures as The World Serpent Jormungandr, or Fenris the Wolf, and even hidden gods such as Loki and his wife, Sigyn, were slain. All life underground and on it was extinguished as the brother grew more and more powerful, each god becoming easier and easier to kill, each realm and dimension he came into crumbling behind him.

The second brother wrought destruction on the very sky itself, battling against stars and angels, dragons and einherjar, birds and lightning. He killed Thor and claimed the power of Mjölnir, killed Zeus and Raijin with their own storms. He slew Poseidon and boiled the sea, killing every creature, god, titan, all life within its depths. He killed Mother Nature and Father Time, and his power grew further than that of his brother.

Soon, the brothers' wrath spread across the universe. None could escape skies stained red with blood, their worlds bubbling beneath their feet, the apocalypse to rival Ragnarok, Armageddon, Tlingit, any of it.

The end of the world became the end of all worlds, of all life.

Only the two brothers remained, each at opposite ends of the universe they had just destroyed. In fury, they raced toward each other, armed with holy weapons and the magic of all the gods.

From here, it is unclear how the story ends.

Some say that the last gods slew each other, tore each other apart in seconds.

Others say they battle to this day, their blades never wavering, each a complete match for the other.

Others still say that the bonds of brotherhood overcame the curse of Fate. That the brothers killed themselves upon their own blades, before they could claim each other's lives.

But there is one ending that only two believed - that the second brother, the one with sympathy for Fate, somehow stopped the first from attacking. That the red faded from their eyes as they looked around at the destruction they had caused, and vowed to change it. That they used their incredible powers and strength to restore all that had been lost, nearly killing themselves in the process. That they dragged each other back to the house Death was visiting. That they looked down at their past selves, asleep, knowing what had to be done. That they plunged their blades through their own past hearts, erasing themselves from existence, ensuring their own destruction, but the survival of the universe they had worked so hard to kill.

And yet a trace of them remained, though no one would dare wander through the house of lost and angry souls. It is said that at the center of that house, guarded by the family, the blades remained, stuck in the chests of the two brothers, the gods that never were.