Rise to the Occasion

Darkness. All around. How long had he been in here? Stuck. Writing. Perhaps it had only been a few days or months. It felt like years since he had last seen the sun. It felt like years since he had stood up, and basked in the glory of sun and day, to stretch his legs and feel the wind in his dirty blonde hair. Even as he wrote, his fingers feeling red and raw, he couldn't see them of course, he felt the anger stirring up within him. Faint at first, but little did he know the raging fire it would turn into.

Standing up high, above it all, above the so-called kind and benevolent god, the brown-haired archer saw it all. The cruelty. The lack of regard for the people who ran from their god, terrified. He sat above, observing, his hands still shaking after managing to land an arrow in the god's chest. Having... "killed" the god, who had donned a mortal form for the fight. He saw it all so clearly. This god was cruel. Hiding beneath a guise of sanity and kindness. And the resentment, it grew. It would keep growing, and little did he know what it would grow into.

The god had summoned him. Summoned him to do their job. All he needed to do was push a button. Simple, right? Little did he know. When he pressed it, he never imagined the carnage that would have followed. There was no way he could have known. And yet he pressed it. And so he blamed himself and felt guilt. The guilt only grew. Grew into anger. But that is in the future, and for now, all he feels is immense guilt.

Story written by three writers, Value, SmartestPotato and, MaybeBeADragon!