I was born a warrior. A leader. A protector. I know no fear nor have I ever felt it. I never do. My wounds bleed, but my skin bears no scars. I know what pain is. I have experienced it in all of its forms. I am a creator and a destructor. I take what I want and I give as much as I please. While everyone may whisper of my stubbornness, they shout in praise of my righteousness . There is an avalanche of rage running through my veins. Because I am rage. I am war. I know death well; it is the shadow of my sword. It follows me every step of my way, waiting for me to once finally kneel before her. I laugh in its face. To me, death is nothing but a rotting carcass. Because I am the one who holds the power in his hands. I am the first, the immortal one… I am God.
I am ageless. As old as
the world itself. I am the son of Perun and Zhiva, the god of war and
spring. Once, I asked my father why
Svarog chose to endow me with both the fierceness of a warrior and the fucking tenderness
of spring. He replied that it was the only way to rein in my thirst for blood.
It was the only way to keep me in Yav and bring me to my senses. Bring me back
home.
I spent my childhood and
youth in the fiery depths of Nav. Surrounded by freaks and rotting stench, I
took in the smell of fresh souls as Morana arched her back impaled upon my
cock. She meant everything to me. She was everything I ever wanted, everything
I needed. She brought out the worst in me and I worshiped her for it. With her,
I was free. We didn’t put up with rules and Svarog’s laws. Veles observed our conquests
with fatherly affection.
I used to hate springs,
back when I was living in Nav. They made me feel less like myself, feel like I
wasn’t strong enough. During the last hours of winter, my body would become
overwhelmed by a strange emotion. But Morana knew me inside and out. She knew
very well that the first spring morning would make my heart wonder whether what
I was doing was right. That is why she teased me like the whore she was, used
her gorgeous body and lustful holes, asking for me to prove that I was worthy
of her. She asked for blood and I would give it to her. I would return from my
hunt with butchered bodies of mortals and demigods. She enjoyed watching the disfigured
bodies of virgins.
Morana didn’t let winter
end; she did not allow for the spring inside me to wake up. During the first
part of my life, I was void of any tenderness or conscience. I was a beast. Her
personal beast.
When they imprisoned me in
Yav, the only thing that kept me from giving in was my desire for her. I went
through hell, but I didn’t crack. In my mind, I conjured the images of the soft
creases of her skin and the delicious taste of her pussy. They made blood run
into my dick. I was a crucified fool with a rock-hard erection. The absence of
her lips that could suck away the pain hurt me more than anything Perun’s
minions employed in order to make me come to my senses. Now I know that my
father didn’t use everything he could and that this torture was merely a way to
restrain me and keep me there for as long as possible. They knew that I would
come to my senses as soon as I felt the magic of spring for the first time and
they knew that the realization of truth would hurt me more than a millennium of
ruthless whipping.
Even today, my conscience
is not immune to the occasional painful recollections of all the evil things I
had done in the past. The truth about myself, Veles and Morana was too much for
me to handle. In my eyes and deep inside me, there was a burning flame of hate.
All I wanted was to kill them. Because all I had ever known was how to kill. I
needed their blood. I needed revenge. That is why everyone in Yav kept a close
eye on me, day and night. First, I had to learn about Svarog’s laws and then I
needed to learn how to deal with the conflict of the insane feelings inside me
and figure out how to maintain a balance between them.
Soon, everyone realized
that my emotions were permanently damaged. I satisfied my desire to kill in the
fierce battles with the Navi and I quenched my thirst for the female body through
encounters with wild ruslankas, fairies and eventually, mortals. Still, I
remained void. I am the god of the fucking spring. There is a part of me that
craves something more than mere physical pleasure or love for those who are
closest to me. For centuries, I had tried in vain to shut down that part of
myself, kill it if necessary. It was the one thing preventing me from feeling
whole.
After the fall of Arkona
and Perun’s transition to Prav, I became the ruler of Yav. Suddenly, the weight
of the world landed on my back. I had no more time to think about myself, my
past, the rage, the hate and the void inside of me. Over time, I slowly began
to control my anger. I did everything I could in order to make sure I was a
level-headed ruler. I was getting better at it, but from time to time, I would
crack and let rage the take over. There were days when I would helplessly watch
the Slavic people suffer and perish, unable to act due to Svarog’s laws; that
is when the old beast inside me would come back. My wild side would suppress
everything that was reasonable in me. I would storm into a battle without an
army, without thinking. I didn’t mind the consequences, the warnings of Svanevit,
Dazhbog and Zhiva; I would let the eruption of desire to kill guide me. Because I am rage. I am the warrior of rage.
And then, one winter, some
forty years ago, I remained without a single artifact. The best solution was to
impress my legacy into a direct descendant of a Slavic tribe.
On the island of Rugen, March
20, 1973, the Devan baby was born. I
remember seeing her for the first time. She was crying hysterically. I looked
at her, frowning, before performing the act of impression. Her screaming made
me nervous and I knew it was a mistake to leave my legacy in a human being. I
started thinking that perhaps an animal would have been a better choice, but I
was running out of time and I had to do it. I was shocked when, just before I
would impress my legacy into her, she stopped screaming and looked into my
eyes. Although I knew it was impossible, I had the feeling that she could see
me. Then she lifted her arms towards me and fell asleep. I took a step back and
then leaned over the cradle once again. Although everything around her was
still in the state of complete chaos, the little girl was sleeping like a lamb.
This one is going to be a
major pain in the ass, I mumbled to myself and
stormed out, leaving the coast of Rugen covered in my color.
The Light of the Abyss (The Arkona Purpure trilogy) (Volume 3)
Image: Aleksandar Đelošević
