Chapter Text
The thing with gods was, you never quite knew when one would be made. People called them gods, and they accepted it because it was as a good a name as any, but really they were more like embodiments, a concept given life and form. Mortals of the modern age tried to document gods, study everything they could and put them into a neat little box, but that particular phenomenon always eluded them, to their frustration. There wasn’t any one singular way one of them came into being, or any kind of pattern. Some gods existed for aeons, while others had only ascended recently despite embodying concepts that were about as old as time itself.
Strife, for instance, came into being on a battlefield, one dead boy rising from among a pile of corpses to become a god. It became part of his legend – the mortal prince who had slaughtered his enemies and earned godhood. There were attempts to emulate this, after his story became well known, but those were all futile. As he had grown up under the public eye, some brave souls had attempted to interview the Sunset Savannah’s second prince about his godhood and subsequently earned themselves such a chilling glare that all had rapidly weighed their desire for answers versus their desire to live and wisely decided the latter mattered a tad bit more.
Famine, always following on Strife’s heels, was in contrast far more willing to talk… for a price, of course. He might be a god now, but he still had dependents, see? Folks back home he wanted to have a good life, keep them well-fed, with a roof over their heads. It seemed rather contradictory for Famine to want people fed, but well, who were mortals to judge a god? Especially since this one was so willing to part with answers. Though he charged a pretty penny for them, Famine answered honestly. He’d been a friend of the prince’s as a mortal, apparently, and after a little incident, Strife had generously decided to share a little of his own power with him. Famine’s eyes got dark and distant when he shared that detail and, despite being terribly curious, the interviewer decided not to push for further clarification. Some things were, after all, better off left unknown.
Others gods had never been mortal at all – such was the case with Desire, who been a god since birth. Some stories claimed he’d been born from a dragon egg in an explosion of power, but none could be certain. Not even Desire himself. The only one with all the details on his birth was his former caretaker, who had always been rather tight-lipped about that particular story.
Indulgence and Deceit, on the other hand, shared a rather unique origin, even among their kind. They were born as gods, but to human parents who, clueless of their true nature, raised them as they would ordinary children. Neither god had any idea what they truly were, that there was anything particularly unusual about them. And, for the first one and a half decades of their life, that was how it stayed.
Kalim was ten years old when it truly sank in just how different he was from other people. It happened after he committed his first murder.
To be perfectly clear, Kalim hadn’t meant to kill his uncle, or his cousin. Honest! He just wanted to share some of his favourite juice with them, after his uncle had added such generous amounts of it to his food. He’d wanted to cheer his cousin up after another marriage interview that Kalim knew the other boy hated. How was he supposed to know it would kill them?
Kalim, after poking at his uncle and cousin’s still bodies for some time in utter confusion, waiting for them to wake up, had gone to get Jamil. Jamil would know how to make this better – he was super smart and always knew what was best. If Kalim didn’t get something, he knew it was a safe bet that Jamil would. Sure enough, it only took one look for Jamil to understand what happened. He glanced first at the bodies, then the feast spread out over the table, and sighed in that annoyed way of his.
‘You gave them our juice, didn’t you.’ Jamil said.
It was a statement, not a question, but Kalim replied anyway.
‘I’m sorry, I know I’m not supposed to share our juice with anyone except you, but uncle added so much of it to my food, I thought he liked it, so I thought it’d be safe and-’ he babbled, tripping over his words in his eagerness to convince Jamil to not be mad at him.
(He hated it when Jamil was mad at him. Jamil’s punishments for Kalim always involved him being super polite and distant even in private and it felt icky, like someone was scarping claws down his heart.)
‘Kalim,’ Jamil sighed again, shaking his head. ‘Don’t you listen to a thing I say? I told you, you’re not supposed to share that juice with anyone except me because it kills them.’
Kalim stared at him, stunned.
‘Oh.’
Then-
‘Oh.’ Kalim gasped, putting his hand over his mouth. He glanced back at his uncle and cousin’s bodies, unable to help himself, and bile rose to his throat. He forced it down, gagging. ‘I, I, didn’t mean…’
‘I know you didn’t. You never do.’ Jamil said.
He didn’t sound like he was blaming Kalim, which only made Kalim feel worse. If he’d only listened to Jamil more intently, perhaps this could’ve been avoided.
‘And anyway, your uncle tried to kill you first. So it’s okay.’ Jamil continued.
Distracted from his horror, Kalim frowned at him.
‘No he didn’t.’ Kalim protested. ‘All he did was give me that juice and-’
His eyes widened in abrupt realisation. Jamil nodded, satisfied that he didn’t have to spell it out this time.
‘Yep, exactly.’
Kalim’s eyes filled with tears. He threw himself into Jamil’s arms, overwhelmed. Jamil caught him easily, letting Kalim tuck his teary face into his neck. He patted Kalim’s back in a practiced, soothing motion.
‘It’s okay, Kalim. You didn’t do anything wrong. Everything’s just fine.’ Jamil said, slipping into his special voice – the one he used whenever he wanted to get people to believe him.
Kalim liked it when Jamil used his special voice on him. It came out a lot whenever his friend was dealing with adults, or in situations like this, but out of everyone, Kalim got to hear it the most. He could never resist it, no matter what it was Jamil said to him. Why would he, when Jamil always told him such pretty lies?
It took nearly an hour for Kalim to finally calm down.
‘I messed up, didn’t I? I’m sorry.’ Kalim said after he reluctantly peeled himself away from Jamil.
‘It’s okay. It’s not like you gave us away or anything.’ Jamil shrugged, sipping their juice out of one of the unused glasses on the table.
They had moved to the table, after Jamil dragged the two bodies over to the nearby indoor pool and unceremoniously threw them into the water, claiming it’d be easier to convince people they drowned. Kalim hadn’t protested; they did need to do something with the bodies and Jamil would know best how to convince everyone. People always believed his lies, no matter how ridiculous.
‘You’re sure they’re not going to come back?’ Kalim asked.
‘It doesn’t work like that.’ Jamil shook his head. ‘Not for them.’
Kalim pouted, torn between frustration and lingering guilt.
‘I don’t understand why other people die so easily,’ he complained.
‘It’s okay, you don’t need to understand. You have me, don’t you?’ Jamil said.
‘Yeah, that’s right.’ Kalim said, brightening.
‘You don’t need anyone else, as long as you have me.’ Jamil told him.
Kalim nodded along eagerly.
‘Come on, eat something.’ Jamil encouraged, piling food on Kalim’s plate.
For a moment, Kalim hesitated, remembering the way his uncle had began choking and how cousin thrashed before he died-
‘If you feel guilty, don’t be. Just eat a little and you’ll forget all about them. There’s no harm in that.’ Jamil insisted.
Kalim had never been very difficult to convince. He took the plate of food and let himself be distracted until he had indeed forgotten all about his uncle and cousin.