Gods Don’t Bleed

God sat on his gilded throne and laughed at the man before him. The sounds of his mirth shook the world below him, shifting winds and causing storms. The man began walking the length of the throne room towards the deity, unamused, frown plastering his face.

"Child," God said, still laughing, his voice soft, "I love you now, as I love all my children. Turn back now and I will forgive you, as I forgive all."

"No," the man said instantly, not missing a beat. He kept walking towards God and unclasped his cloak, revealing a massive scabbard in his left hand, warsword inside.

God's eyebrows lowered, his face shadowed. "Child," he said, his voice taking on a fatherly, disappointed tone. "I have given you your life and you intend to waste it to spite me. All I have achieved, life and creation itself, and you intend to what? Die in my hall?"

"I intend to kill you," the swordsman said, dropping the cloak from his right hand onto the floor, and in one fluid motion, drawing the massive blade and letting the scabbard drop to the floor. He then heaved the blade onto his shoulder, letting it rest like a lumberjack's axe. He kept the same walking pace, now halfway towards God.

"Kill me?" God said, voice still gentle, yet wavering. "I pity you, son of mine. You have fallen to sin so vast you've lost yourself in delusion. I shall show you the mercy of ending your misery with my own hand, seeing as you somehow made it all the way here." And he waved his hand, striking the swordsman dead.

Except he didn't die. The swordsman kept walking at the same steady pace, a wolffish grin beginning to stretch across his face, eyes growing wild.

God slightly recoiled in surprised. Now he was the one frowning. Was the man an immortal or deity of some kind? No, that couldn't be the case, he could tell he was only a swordsman just by looking at him. Could a mere swordsman be immune to a smiting by the true God himself? Either way, he'd have to deal with the man on a more… personal level. He frowned heavily, and stood from his throne.

"Boy," God said, taking a firm tone, such as that of a judge. "You have made a grave mistake, one that you'll pay dearly for all eternity." He took one step down the small set of stairs before his throne.

The man, fearsome warsword in both hands, laughed wildly, clearly insane. "Send me to hell then," he growled. "Just come and try." He stopped walking and held his ground.

God took another step down the stairs, baffled at how far gone the man was. "Why die?" He bellowed powerfully, trying to not give in to his anger. "Why try and kill me? I can't even bleed!" He took another step down.

The wild swordsman's grin turned crooked and fierce with glee. "Because I can!" He yelled, lunging forward and swinging his blade towards God as he took his final step down.

God reached one hand forward and nonchalantly blocked the blade, forcing it to come to a full stop in his hand. However, when he grasped it he couldn't seem to find his grip on the wide blade, and when the man pulled it out of his grasp, it actually nicked the inside of his palm.

God suddenly filled with emotion. Wrath took control of his body, fear over his mind. His vision swam and his divinity wavered. He easily dodged another swing from the man's sword, not paying attention to him any longer. Not looking, he raised his other hand and blasted the man away, sending him and his damned sword to the other side of the room. He raised and examined his other hand, the one that had caught the sword.

There it was, on the palm of his hand. A cut, barely a scratch. The scratch was already closing up, but enough blood had accumulated to form a small droplet, still clinging to his hand. His jaw dropped. He lowered his hand and raised his eyes to look at the swordsman, who had already recovered. Who was this man to ascend to heaven, only to make a pass at his life? Who was he, to draw blood from his own god? He was God. God's weren't supposed to bleed.

The single drop of blood dripped to the floor and splashed against the white marble.