The twins are not born, they were created out of spite and anger. Not once were they ever gifted a moment of neutrality, but one created for them specifically. Though their mother was that of strength and courage, her words fell to those whom were scared. She took care of those whom had never been lost in the dark or left weak to fend for themselves. She cared not for soldiers as her wretched siblings had. But her children? Guards at the start, watching over their mother like unmoving statues, unknowning of what bubbled away in the depths of their divine souls left behind by their mother’s crumbled sanity.

Though she became a recluse, they found themselves always watching their family plot and scheme as if everything was in secret.

Now, as they grow older, they become colder to their family— meaner. The both of them closer with their outcasts than that of those who needed to pull them up to become the light for others. Neither of the twins wished to follow suit of a route their mother once blessed simply because of the idea that what happened to her could possibly happen to them. Therefore, their relationship strengthened, but worsened for that of their families.

For the simple fact that they were the only children blessed of their mother’s godliness.

It brings fascination, however. As wars amongst one another became rampant amongst that of minor and major gods, the two of them peeled themselves from their mother and found themselves in the middle of outsider chaos.

Oh, how the twins thrived within the arms of viscera and havoc, feeling the fury that stemmed from angry souls and vengful warriors. However, when asked to raise their hand for the banner that offered the most, they smote the land. They brought demise to the people. They brought utter chaos.

They brought death.

Elyxios and Elyon, the inseperable twins, now coined as death and demise— war and destruction. The bringers of the end, and they never thought otherwise. The two of them held that of their mother’s mother, why not use it where it was needed? And to those above, and the one who fought for the protection of their mother, that vengeful king Ninlil, they were to be stopped else come the end of days. As if they cared that it would come.

Their dance of death round that of reaper, their beloved cousin, that as the end crept ever closer, their grandfather put a stop to their behavior, demanding to know why.

“Chaos. Devistation. Grief. Conquest.” The eldest, Elyxios, tells him. “All the things we’ve learned from your children in their own hushed whispers. Were we wrong in their teachings? Their natrual behavior?”

“Have you been swayed by a witch? This is not behavior I have taught my children. The dark has poisoned my daughter, but I shan’t let it poison her kin.”

“Why have you believed that we have been poisoned? We know and have seen everything we need. Disorder to them brings order to us. Can you not feel it?”

Here births the God of Chaotic Disorder as he stands tall to his grandfather. Here that of higher gods watch as he obtains titles once stripped from delinquent deities. Chaos. Disorder. Ruin. Violence. War.

Whereas, that of his sister, goddess of conquest and dangerous ambition, leader of witches and worshipper of the void night, tried to step forward in blame of his turn in behavior as well. Elyxios would never stand for it. And as their interrogation spiraled, he found himself between she and their grandfather, demanding he be punished for actions done by the two of them. Never once swayed by that of a witch, but of his own volition. To which, through the pleas of his mother, his punishment went light— blinded and branded.

The twins share a brand that can only be broken when needed for the world to reset. Purposely freeing themselves from such bond would put them back into the womb of which they were birthed, to live within darkness until their time was needed once again.

He’s been locked in that hole, understanding the madness his mother eventually developed. And stepping away from that of the heavens, he’s found himself secluded, quietly living among humans to avoid returning as he has time and time again. He’ll never return, no matter how much his sister begs for them to take one more step into the fray.

Centuries pass and the god grows alone. In eras where wars thrive, he keeps his head down and watches from afar, taking in that sweet nectar of fury and frustration of wailing souls screaming out to him for their revenge and it is then where he knows that he steps free from the home he placed his anvil. It was in these eras where he found himself as a blacksmith. It felt right to craft weapons of war when he, himself, could not properly participate.

He had watched empires burn. Kingdoms fall. Cities crumble. All while standing in the background, keeping to himself, promising that he would never return to the silent void again. Even if he had been tempted, every few decades by the witch, his own fated twin.

And yet, the world has grown. Blinded by his own blood, only to see the world once again through human invention, he pushed himself back to the top, learning that of human methods to keep his own behavior at bay. One would assume that he would become that of a weapons dealer, and the assumption would not be incorrect. He assumed new lives. A weapons dealer. An assassin for the fun of it. A mercenary out of bordeom. But most importantly, in a metaphorical sense, a god of the underworld. The criminal underworld that is.

In a world of mobs and gangs, he outshined. He had no need to sell drugs nor did he want to particpate in traffiking. None of it was worth his time. But he wanted havoc among their communities in order for them to fight among themselves to deliver him small touches of energy.

And for decades it kept him out of the limelight.

Now, in a world of technology, he thrives in a world much different than that of the one he grew up in. With human disdain and malicious behavior echoing across the globe, why would he ever leave that of the underworld when here he was respected and worshipped properly?

They can’t stop him here.