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It was a time of ecstasy, of pain. It drew him closer, it raised him higher, it devoured his soul. He wanted it. He didn't want it. It hurt and he loved it. He tried to run. He didn't want to. He tried to scream. He fueled him. He didn't want it, but he did. It burned. He drowned in Him; He was killing him and he didn't care. He ceased to exist in His presence, his every fiber bowing in deference to his god.
The god of everything good, the god of everything new. The god of beginnings, of endings, of everything in between. Sam prayed fervently for hours every day, begging the thing of his devotion to love him as much as Sam could love Him. And after year after desperate year, nothing happened.
Until it did.
Sam prayed in the temple, the one he had built with stones he had chiseled with his bare hands. No one respected his god, this god of everlasting time. They said it was foolish to offer such devotion to a god with so small a congregation.
For small it was, merely consisting of Sam himself and his mother while she had still been alive. Sam had rejoiced the day she had shed her flawed mortal form to join their beloved god in His realm.
Sam prayed deeply, sincerely. He begged on his knees to his god, that he one day might see His face, that he might shower his god with affection as He surely deserved. Tears, as there were always tears, mixed with the dirt floor and mingled there to make mud.
Sam's prayer stuttered to a halt as a power, as overwhelming as the heat from the sun, filled the small temple, wrapping around Sam like an embrace. He looked up and met eyes with his god.
Sam threw himself at the feet of Him and bathed His feet with his tears. He wrinkled the hem of His cloak in his tightly clenched fingers. His god bent down and lifted Sam's chin with His hand.
Hello there, my most devout. His god smiled, and it was more radiant than any good thing on the Earth. My name is Luke.
Luke. His nameless god was no longer so. Luke. It suited Him. He was blond, His hair shining like thinly spun gold. His eyes were warm chocolate, melting Sam as if he was made of wax. Sam could not take his eyes off of Him. He was everything Sam had envisioned and more. And now He was here.
His god, Luke, spoke with the most beautiful and transcendent voice Sam had ever heard that rang through the air like a silver bell. I have never seen one of such great faith as you in centuries.
“I have always been faithful, Holy One.” Sam insisted. “My mother raised me to love you, and love you I do.”
Just Luke, please. His god smiled softly and lifted Sam to stand. He rested His hand on Sam’s shoulder. His hand was warm. You’ve been so good to me. I feel you’ve earned my friendship.
And so Sam’s god became just Luke.
Slowly, hesitantly, over days and weeks, Sam set aside the awe and admiration of Luke and became His friend instead. Luke was everything and nothing like Sam had imagined. He was beautiful, ethereal, godly. He was also apparently very clumsy, tripping over Himself as He tried to follow Sam into the center of town to watch him do his shopping.
Physical bodies are hard. Luke pouted when Sam snickered at Him as He fell for the millionth time. It’s not my fault I’ve never had one before. He paused and considered Sam with an intensity that made him want to fall to his knees and grovel at the feet of his god. There’s never been anyone worth having one for before.
Sam felt like he was going to cry, but just kept walking, pulled along by Luke’s hand clasped tightly in his. The townsfolk gawked as Sam strode into town with a god hanging off his arm. Luke was beaming wildly, all but glowing with divine light that only Sam seemed to be able to see.
You’re showing me off. Luke teased, cheeks dimpling with the force of His smile.
Sam shrugged sheepishly. “Sort of a bit.”
Luke laughed, and it sounded like the tinkle of chimes blown softly by the breeze. I think I like the attention. Never had much of it before.
Sam felt a pang of sadness shoot through him briefly. It was his fault no one else worshipped his god, and he voiced that to Luke.
Luke was silent for a moment as they crossed out of town after looping back towards Sam's modest shack. He turned towards Sam, pulling him to a halt, and cupping his face in His hands.
It is not your fault, Sam. He insisted firmly. If the world was not ready for me, then they would not have me. It is their own fault.
Sam smiled. “Come on.” He said, tugging Luke in the direction of a farm in the distance. “Let me introduce you to my best friends.”
—
Tom and AJ were considerably shocked when Sam showed up on the doorstep of Tom’s modest farmhouse with the god he’d been trying to convert them to for years holding his hand.
Sam was smiling so wide he was surprised his face hadn’t split in half. “This is Luke.” He introduced as Luke shook AJ and Tom’s hands in turn.
“Nice to meet you, Luke.” Tom said politely, if wary.
Luke’s grin broadened. You have nothing to fear, friends of my most devout. I’ve seen your dealings with him before and you have shown nothing but kindness. He placed a hand on the two taller men’s shoulders. I bless you with prosperity and the same kindness you have shown to Sam.
Luke stepped back and slipped His hand back into Sam’s. He leaned in towards Sam’s ear and whispered, I would have put my hands on their heads like other gods would, but I can’t reach that high.
Sam laughed, and he couldn’t recall a better time in his life as when Luke was with him. Months, years passed, and Luke and Sam’s friendship grew into almost more. Luke would press feather-light kisses to Sam’s cheeks, leaving stardust sprinked on them like freckles. Sam would teach Luke about his world, the world Luke had never been privy to.
Sam was in love with his god, and he could deny it no longer. Each moment spent in His presence was nothing short of Elysium on Earth. He confessed this to Him, and Luke smiled and pressed kisses to Sam’s cheeks, the bridge of his nose, his forehead, and finally, his lips.
Sam was not ashamed to admit he had cried as he demonstrated his love for his god in the downy comfort of his mattress. He was not ashamed to admit that he did not want Luke to leave him any more than he had wanted his mother to pass away of sickness.
And Luke stayed, though not in the capacity a human lover could have. He did, after all, still have duties on Olympus, however small and meaningless they might be.
But even gods have their limits.
—
Sam prayed, his hands trembling as they clutched the worn stones of the temple floor. He prayed for Luke, for the one constant in a world that had always seemed cold and cruel. But this time, there was nothing. No warmth. No embrace. No divine presence to fill the hollow space in his heart.
Luke didn’t respond.
The silence stretched on, oppressive and thick, suffocating him. The familiar light that had once flooded his life now felt like a distant memory, fading into the shadows. Sam’s heart sank deeper into the void, a horrible emptiness consuming him where once there had been hope, where once there had been light.
For days, Sam lingered in the temple, desperately seeking any sign, any whisper of His presence. His hands were raw from praying, his voice hoarse from calling out. Yet the silence persisted, suffocating him, clawing at his sanity.
He couldn’t fathom it. Luke was always there. The warmth of His presence had been a constant, a fire that burned brightly in the coldest of times. But now—now there was nothing but an aching, hollow space where once the divine had lived.
Sam’s mind spiraled into darkness. He couldn’t understand. Why? Had he done something wrong? Had he failed Luke in some way? His heart ached with the thought of losing Him, of being alone again in a world that had never made sense without Him. The temple, once a place of comfort and communion, now felt like a tomb.
He walked through the town, eyes hollow, shoulders slumped. The townsfolk, once so dismissive of him and his god, watched with pity as he passed by. They had no understanding of the void consuming him, of the love he had given so freely, only to have it cast aside without reason.
He sought out Tom and AJ, hoping their presence would anchor him. But the weight of their concern, the confusion in their eyes, only reminded him of his loss. They spoke to him, tried to comfort him, but their words were empty. They couldn't understand the depth of his grief, not the way he needed them to.
He needed Luke. He needed His presence, but Luke remained silent, a ghost of what once was. Sam’s hands shook as he reached out for something, anything, to feel close to Him again. But there was only empty air. The world felt oppressive and heavy, as though it had collapsed on him, its weight too much to bear.
The days dragged on in a haze. He barely ate, barely slept. He prayed, of course—he never stopped praying—but his voice, once full of fervor, now trembled with uncertainty. His prayers felt like whispers in a vast, unresponsive void. He begged for any sign, anything at all. But the silence was unbroken. It was like calling into a canyon that swallowed every sound, every plea, without a trace.
At night, when the quiet became unbearable, Sam would lay in the bed he had once shared with Luke—where they had laughed, where they had whispered secrets in the dark—and he would imagine the warmth of His touch, the softness of His lips, the sound of His voice.
But even those memories began to fade, like the last remnants of a dream slipping through his fingers before he could truly grasp them.
One evening, as Sam sat in the temple, the moonlight casting long shadows across the stone floor, he made a decision. He couldn’t keep living like this, trapped in the silence of a god who no longer answered. He had already lost everything once before—his mother, his home, his world. And now Luke? Was he next?
Sam couldn’t let go. He refused to.
“I will find you,” he whispered into the emptiness, his voice thick with resolve. “If I have to search the ends of the world, I will find you.”
And so, Sam set his mind on one singular goal: to find Luke, to bring Him back from wherever He had gone. He didn’t know where to start, how he would even find Him. But he had nothing left to lose. Not anymore.
The world had become an empty shell for Sam. He no longer saw the beauty in the sky, the softness of the earth beneath his feet, or the warmth of the sun on his skin. All of it was hollow now. Luke was gone. The god he had worshipped, loved, and devoted every piece of himself to had been taken from him - murdered, or so the rumors said.
The killer. They had to be found. They had to be punished. And then, only then, would Sam be free to end his own suffering. He had to kill them, tear them apart, make them suffer the way he had suffered, and then, only then, could he join Luke in death. Sam knew it was unhealthy, this level of obsession, and AJ and Tom would agree. He didn’t care.
He had no plans beyond that. His life had been intertwined with Luke’s, and without Him, what was left? Nothing but the empty shell of a man who could no longer survive in a world without His presence.
Sam wandered as days turned into weeks turned into months. He came upon a shack by the edge of a small town—a dilapidated thing, barely standing. It was here he had heard whispers, rumors that there had been someone in the area, someone who had been asking about gods. Sam had followed every thread, every clue, no matter how small, until he arrived at this place.
With a force born of desperation, Sam threw open the door. The inside was dim, the air thick with the scent of decay. It was empty—no one was there. Sam’s hands clenched into fists, the frustration bubbling up inside him, threatening to spill over. His chest heaved as he fought to steady his breathing.
And then, from the corner of his eye, he saw it.
A mark. A symbol carved into the wood of the floor. A strange symbol, one Sam had seen in the ancient texts, the ones he had studied so feverishly when he had first begun his journey to find the god who loved him.
This symbol was old. It was the mark of a god-slayer.
He dropped to his knees, the realization crashing over him like a tidal wave. The killer was here. They were close.
Sam’s breath came faster, more erratic, as the walls seemed to close in around him. The darkness had already taken him—he was no longer the man who had once loved Luke. Now, he was a creature of vengeance, a shadow of his former self, willing to sacrifice everything to see the one who had stolen Luke’s life suffer.
He would find them. He would kill them.
And then, maybe, just maybe, he could join Luke in whatever afterlife was left for a man like him.
The door to the shack creaked open behind him, and Sam froze. His mind screamed for him to run, to flee, but his body didn’t respond. He was paralyzed by the madness coursing through him, the need to punish, to destroy. The silhouette in the doorway was a blur, but Sam could feel them—feel the weight of their presence. The killer.
“I know what you’ve done,” Sam said, his voice low and steady. "I know who you are."
The figure stepped forward, the dim light catching the edge of a blade. Sam’s heart thundered in his chest. There was no turning back now. The world had narrowed into a single, razor-sharp focus: the man in front of him, and the vengeance he had to deliver.
“I’m going to make you suffer,” Sam whispered. “I’ll make you suffer just like He did.”
The man raised the blade.
And Sam—wild, lost, desperate—lunged forward, the final shred of his humanity consumed by the darkness within.