Reeling from the savage beating of the guard's attempt at murder, Smiley's body was in the process of stitching-up his torn skin, his cracked bones mending. Smiley was tired of the beatings, the voice in his head whether it was another entity or his own delusion was the first feeling of hope he's felt in so long. He felt his face, the rubbery surface reminding him of the mask burned into his head, his eldritch form making it apart of him. He threw up bile, the beatings weren't without consequence, even if he was a godling his metabolism made the regeneration HURT. He was regretting his choices, not just talking back to the paranoid guard, but the decisions he made leading him here..
When did it all go wrong?
Most people assume that gods simply are, that all are aspects of universal things, that they control such things where ever they go. Smiley is proof that gods can be much weaker than what they embody, or at least that's the feeling that influenced who and what he was. When he was formed within the form of the idiot god that created his world, his body was gaunt, his face ghoul-like, but his eyes shone bright with confidence. When he was created he, like the dreamer, was careless and free. Though he was weak amongst the gods he would whisper sweet hopes into the ears of gentle romantics. the dreamers, the artists, the gentle lover. But there was a day where he broke, a day when he saw even as much as he pushed people to go forward, they couldn't. That their trauma, their pain, whether small or large effected them, the innocent boy who saw the destruction of the pet he had, with no power to right such wrong, the romantic who came across the suicide of his lover after heinous actions have been committed to her, the artist who's words and vision was stolen by one more charismatic than himself.
Smiley would witness all this, and focused on one goal that day. To make the innocents smile by destroying those who have made them weep. To avenge those broken by such tragedies forged by gods and men, to avenge them. He underestimated the rage his more powerful peers would show for such interference. Thrown to another world, imprisoned in a universe unlike his own, he was tortured, the mask he wore over his head was melted into his head to torture him, to break his spirit. His body was left with no unscarred part, like rough carcass his body was darkened and disfigured.
Yet he held on, he didn't know what pushed him to not break from such torture. He may have been a god, but his body was weak from the borderline starving, his physique fragile and meek looking, but he kept thinking of those who would be hurt, and have recently learned there are other worlds out there.. that the pain that was inflicted on the people of his world, that the violence that he committed to preserve such happiness wasn't enough. That his desire.. no.. his destiny was to save all those innocent dreamers, to be the violent psychotic god that will stand for them, he was weak, especially now. But these thoughts.. the beating the pain inflicted to kill him, it reminded who he was. He wasn't just a godling, he wasn't just a killer, he wasn't just a protector. He was smiley, and that he'd stop playing it safe. That if these entities beat him and torture him for protecting the weakest of humanity. Then he'd fight harder, there was no reason to try to survive if he couldn't break out. That that he'd keep fighting until his disfigured body was ripped apart, that his mutilated face was beaten into nothing.
"I am not what they wanted me to be, I am not who I wanted to be when I was young, I am not letting this go... I. Am. Not. Ok. I am wrong." Pushing himself to his feet, his body felt like it was being torn by all the places he had been beaten by the guard. He felt and urge to check the door to his cell, or at least listen to one of the walls, the prison was ever shifting, made to torture prisoners and to be a place inescapable from golden alien haired heroes, from delinquents with psychic powers, to harem kings, and of course, lesser gods like him.. The ways they tortured him his body would adapt as best as it could, due to aberrant nature many would mistake him for a monster, his writhing now scarred flesh, his featureless now mutilated face. His genitals were burnt so many times, beaten in so many times that his body created scarred tissue over it.
He reached out his gaunt hand against the walls of the prison, he felt another mental probing by his 'neighbor', it was some psychic kid named Jirou who's mental words formed in his mind, tired and beaten. They didn't beat the younger criminals like him as bad, thankfully.. or at least the kid didn't talk about it.. Smiley was hopeful they didn't. "Hey mute, heard they killed ya, I hope they didn't." Jirou tried to sound confident but the way the guard spoke about beating, and to the extent. How the guard got back up to beat him harder once he heard the pathetic voice of Smiley. The pause was enough to make the young psychic speak up again in his head. "..Smiley..? Come on man.." Smiley was brought back into reality by Jirou's prodding. "Yeah. I'm alive Jirou don't worry.. heh you think some asshole and his buddies can kill me?" He joked, but the state of his body told a different story. "Don't worry about me, how are things on your end?" Smiley befriended the young psychic through chance, searching for anything to keep himself sane, he found a companion in Smiley, unknowing of Smiley's monstrous form, he believed himself to be a normal human that's been in here too long.. but comforting to know someone else was here. Jirou was here because his blood caused his world to break, madness, riots, death.. He made a deal with beings, that if his world was spared by the infection caused by his blood, he'd give anything.
They took him instead, the boy's existence was an afront to the gods, a play thing being as capable as them? So he was sent to the place to die a slow starvation filled death. "I'm alright, you crazy fucker." He chuckled out through his telepathy.. Jirou tried to put on a brave face, but he had been only been living off of scraps and bits.
Then while Smiley sat alone in his cell, trading telepathic bravado to some poor future victim of this hellish prison.. his hope was leaving him.. if he was a piece of the dreamer's creation what was he? He wasn't the nightmare, he wasn't the dream.. Smiley was thinking that it never paid to be good.. that being as weak as he was-
*BOOM* Smiley felt the shaking of his section of the prison planet.. It couldn't be.. Could it? he thought they were ripped apart, that they had been shred into ribbons.. the things that were his only friends as he grew as a godling..
To be continued ;)