“You fascinate me.”
Litvir had been hovering around for a while, watching Arkay as he studied. Arkay had only partially been paying attention, but Litvir’s most recent statement changed that.
“Me? Fascinating you?”
Arkay swung his chair round, leaving his books and work to one side. It wasn’t particularly important anyway, not right now.
“Yes, you.”
“Why? All things considered, I’m pretty one-dimensional. You can describe me in three words: depressed death god.”
Litvir laughed slightly. “You can describe anyone in three words. You could describe me as a deceptive, vampiric asshole, and Retvik can very easily be described as a flaming, caring hunk. But you are fascinating in your own way. Millions of years old but with the social intelligence of a 20 year old.”
Arkay leaned back in his chair, tutting. “Yeah, that’s pretty accurate. Kinda happens when you die repeatedly, trying to change yourself and failing, and being convinced that you don’t deserve any sort of social life what so ever.”
“That is what makes you so fascinating, at least from a behavioural therapist’s point of view. Your personality and behavioural traits actually match a pretty common stereotype. That of the gifted young one losing their hope and desire as existence becomes more difficult.”
“I…” Arkay hesitated. “I don’t follow.”
“You, or at least this iteration of you, started off strong. People liked you, you were good at what you did and people said you could do great things. You were told that you had great potential. But as you grew and carried on, you focused into what you were good at, to the point that you gave up on enjoying yourself. Then, when everyone else had moved on, no one cared any more because you were basically the same as everyone else and you realised you were completely alone, lacking the knowledge to extend your social reach.”
“That seems… pretty specific…” Arkay frowned.
“No, it is a common thing. At least among Rethans. One cultivates this idea that you have massive potential, you push them towards chasing this potential and then you stop stimulating them, making them defeated and reliant. You became an exceptional god of death, but were too defeated and tired to do anything else. It is how I managed to get Trismit and most of my non-powered staff to slave-work for me back when I had my 11th Legion.”
“Why do you assume this of me as well?”
Litvir shrugged. “Well, that is only half of the puzzle. I do not think that you were intentionally broken, at least not in this way. But a parental figure of yours clearly benefited. “Look at my great little death god!” they would say, showing you off as a trophy. “Look how loyal he is!” making sure that you do as they want.”
Arkay rolled his eyes. “I don’t know why this makes me fascinating in any way? All it does is say that I’m a shitty person with wasted potential, pushed in the wrong direction.”
“The fascinating thing is that this happened to a deity.”
This time, Arkay shrugged. “I wasn’t always a deity. I was genuinely mortal once. I just barely remember any of it.”
Litvir smiled, nodding. “See! This is still fascinating! You were a mortal turned into a god! Was it willing or unwilling? The same way Retvik and I were, or what?”
“Uh… Very unwilling…” Arkay sighed. “To put it another way, after a young life of chaos, I was content to get fat and old and die of a heart attack in my sixties. Instead, I was kidnapped at the ripe old age of 25 and forced to be a demigod for millions of years, until the universe ended. And, rather than letting me die there, I was forced into… well, what I am now.”
“Oh… Fascinating and tragic…” Litvir trailed off.
“Yeah… You could say that…” Arkay trailed off as well.
For a while, the pair of Decaylings sat in silence, lost in thought. Arkay eventually went back to his books, but Litvir found himself staring at Arkay.
“I should… probably go do something else…” Litvir finally muttered, picking himself up. “Need to get rid of some… errant thoughts of mine…”
“Probably a good idea!” Arkay tutted. “After all, you just spent ages analysing me. Should go and clear that head of yours…”