Forgotten; Worshipped (Imported from Ao3)

26

Alexander sat quietly in the vial, he didn't say a word. He was still in that awful mood, but right now he could actually express it to some degree. The Judge was asleep and unaware of Alexander's mood shifting. After that day where he had been bitter and angry towards the Judge he had regretted it instantly, even more so when the Judge had left him on some nightstand and hadn't put the necklace on for two days in a row. It had been then that Alexander had found out that the Judge could only hear him when he wore the necklace his prison was attached to. The Judge had later claimed he had simply forgotten to put the necklace on, but Alexander would have been a fool not to realise it was as further punishment for his attitude. From then on he had sworn to himself never to express his actual moods to the Judge, he couldn't risk that again. The Judge had asked him on the third day when he had finally 'remembered' that Alexander was something that still existed in his life, why his voice was so hoarse. Alexander hadn't dared reply to that, and he'd be damned if he would admit it to the Judge. He had screamed, a lot, quite a lot, actually. A whole lot. A whole damn lot. Screamed and cried, he could admit that to himself, he had cried a whole lot, too. And the Judge hadn't been able to hear him, because he had 'forgotten' about it. Yeah, right, Alexander thought, Yeah, right. Because you just 'forget' about the person who you forced into a vial, who had been a nuisance to you for centuries and then some and who you intended to punish for his 'crimes'. Of course, Alexander thought bitterly, and said it out loud, too.

"Forget. Ha, don't make me laugh. The fucking least you could've done was tell me the truth. Like he thinks I don't know when he's lying to me, like he thinks I'm so fricking gullible and naive and will believe every damn bloody thing he tells me. I have a functioning brain, you damn arse, I can think! And I bloody know when some prick thinks he's as slick as an eel. Lemme tell you what: you ain't. You're not as slick as you think you are, or as clever, or heck, even as powerful as you think you are. You think you're so damn powerful, you think there ain't nothing that could be more powerful than you. Sucks to be your ignorant ass. It's almost funny. If only you bloody knew..." Alexander spat, memories flooding into him, memories from way back when.

Alexander remembered them. When he had died, memories of them had come flooding back to him in violent bursts. It had been the main reason as to why he had disappeared for some time after he had died. Well, he had still pulled off the prank on the god of autumn, but seriously nothing ever got between him and his pranks, not even the realisation that he had been part of something powerful. And he realised that to some degree, the Judge must've known about them too, and their deaths. But somehow Alexander knew that the Judge didn't actually know the meaning they had held, the power they had held. And technically, only one of them was left standing, since he was technically dead. So let's say, one and a half were still standing. The rest of them had been forgotten a long time ago.

He sighed and slammed his head into the glass around him, somehow hoping that this time, unlike his other countless attempts, it would break the glass. Alas, it didn't and he quietly asked himself why he even bothered with anything anymore. He should just wait out his punishment, or die. Whichever one came first, he guessed. With a bitter laugh he realised, his death would come first, and then there would only be one of them standing. The only one who would never die, no matter what, because he was such an integral part of existence. And the Judge had no damn clue that there had been, and still was essentially, something much more powerful than him. It was amusing to Alexander, bitterly amusing. It was just so funny to him, he didn't know what to do with himself. He had memories of grand times, grand adventures, had finally remembered the origin of some of his collected artefacts, had finally found the rhyme and reason to why he had felt so depressed so often throughout his last four centuries of being alive before he technically kicked the bucket. He knew, somehow, that no one remembered the gods who were forgotten and who then died. They didn't remember anything about them. But he also knew now that those who were close to those who had died felt their absence, because at their very core they just knew something was missing. They didn't know how, they didn't know what. They only knew that something was indeed missing. It was somewhat tragic. Those forgotten by the world below are forgotten in the world above, by force. The thought that came after amused him.