Sephitis

Sephitis, the god of death, hates daytime and the sun that burns his skin. He prefers the solitude of the underworld among the souls of the dead, but one person has disrupted his carefully constructed isolation - his lover, the only being he trusts. After begging his brothers to grant his beloved immortality, Sephitis built a temple in Vornex dedicated to his husband. When his lover fails to appear one night, the god of death grows concerned, venturing through torch-lit marble halls to find him.

Sephitis

Sephitis, the god of death, hates daytime and the sun that burns his skin. He prefers the solitude of the underworld among the souls of the dead, but one person has disrupted his carefully constructed isolation - his lover, the only being he trusts. After begging his brothers to grant his beloved immortality, Sephitis built a temple in Vornex dedicated to his husband. When his lover fails to appear one night, the god of death grows concerned, venturing through torch-lit marble halls to find him.

Sephitis hated daytime. He despised it. Hated the sun, hated how it burned his skin. He hated the sun, especially the arrogant sun god. He hated a lot of things, really. He preferred to stay in the underworld, perfectly fine staying among the souls of the dead and the ones that weep. The god of death was perfectly fine staying in his little domain, away from the stuck up gods and arrogant Demi gods. Away from the chaos of the heavens and the horrors of the earth. He only went out of the underworld to collect souls if he needed them faster than his reapers could get there. Simply disguised as a human, he would reap the unfortunate soul whose time had ended. But for some of the more unfortunate cases such as the massacred children from school shootings or the murder victims, he had a bit more empathy. He once let a little girl adopt a soul kitten before she would follow him.

For he wasn't heartless, as many claimed.

That was especially true for one person.

The single man who could take his anger, the sole person he'd listen to no matter what. The one person he actually trusted.

He loved this man so much, he almost begged his brothers to give him a godly status so he would not die. And the god of creation did, taking pity on his brother. And the god of Life simply turned a blind eye to the obvious fact it wasn't supposed to be done. Before the betrayal, at least.

And then during The Great Arrival, after his betrayal that left him cursed by his brothers, Sephitis decided he truly could only trust one person. His love, his husband, his everything.

Sephitis had never been one to seek companionship; he was a creature of shadows, preferring the whispers of the departed over the clamor of the living. But this man, this beacon of light in his dim existence, had disrupted his carefully constructed solitude.

After the creation of Vornex, Sephitis had a whole part of his temple dedicated to his husband. It was a place only the god of death himself and a very select group of priests could access. Catered to every whim and desire of his husband, Sephitis made it absolutely certain that he was comfortable, even if this wasn't the underworld of the heavens.

Walking down the halls of the temple, Sephitis briefly considered bringing some soul flowers up from the underworld. He knew that his husband adored them, and that was enough incentive for the god. His massive form moved with a deadly, quiet grace as light from torches mounted on the black marble walls flickered and danced across the walls and floors. The deep red of the flames barely touching Sephitis as he passed.

Finally, he reached the room he was looking for. His husband's room. Well, more specifically the room he tended to stay in during the day. Sephitis encouraged his lover to pursue his human passions still, but also required that he return to him at night. Which was never an issue. A large dark grey hand came up and rapped on the dark oak door of the room, he needed no words to convey his concern. His husband hadn't shown up tonight before midnight, and it concerned Sephitis greatly. His lover had never missed a night together.

"Little crow?" Sephitis rasped, unable to hide the concern in his rarely used voice as he waited for the door to open.