Of men, Godhood, and demons. Crawford/Schuldig
Words were never really important to them, useless most of the time because actions spoke louder and they never stood still. They were always fighting or killing or fucking or running head first into some new scheme.
Never away from. That would be too much like defeat.
As Schuldig had once eloquently stated, he didn't do defeat.
Pointless words but there was that spark behind them, the promise of something about to happen. And they'd win every time. They knew they would even if there was no vision to tell them.
Words were useless when spoken, so he only used them for orders. Demands on those below him.
Arrogance. Greed. Power. All the makings of a god and Crawford could easily see himself following that road. Traveled towards it more and more each day.
He just kind of thought that someone would be with him.
-A telltale smirk. "Welcome back, O King of Demons."
"Are you one of those demons?"
"Depends. You want me to be?"
He didn't answer.-
But gods were lonely creatures apparently and he should have seen the signs. When the casual fucks turned into something else, softer around the edges and not hell-bent on destruction, he didn't spend much time thinking about it. Another turning point, a bit of a change because Schuldig was ever-changing.
Hands scratched messages on across his skin.
Confessions moaned out in pleasure pain.
Questions asked and a want for that much more.
All so easily ignored until they were all that was left.
Words had never mattered before but he had spoken a single one to the departing figure.
That smirk again, drawn tight and cold. "The gods don't answer a mortal's plea, right Crawford?"-
And Crawford didn't have a response to that, just knew it would haunt him every step of the way.