There is an imposing radiance hewn throughout bountiful sinew and hardy bone which reflects divine statues carved to the likeness of honoured Heracles. A giant among men - a colossus, rare. A God to the eyes of mortal pawns cowering on their frail knees. His very presence leaves an indelible mark on those crossing his path. Rippling strength, malignant candour accentuated by the cascade of waist-length iridescent silver hair, the radiance of lunar light brought to life. A cruel embrace - that peach-dressed iris - a stare commanding obedience and revealing a blend of wisdom and mystery. They are a mirror to the calm before a storm, a silent force lying beneath the rippling surface. Great stories and a plethora of victories mark his flesh, a tapestry of black ink splayed across pallid skin awakening when the dawn of equine power calls him back to the river lands. He stands upon the banks dark as twilights coldest night with the glisten of a golden chain bridle and intricate antlers warped beyond his mortal mirror. His maw twists, grotesque, awry with razor fangs salivating droplets of mortal blood. A testament to one man's thirst for depravity...
For countless Aeons and centuries beyond my birth, they were promised the awakening of a new lord who would rise from the white mother's water of Tsurida and tame the three great rivers; Hikasu, Oyama and Seisu. This lord would be capable of harnessing the power of the old lord's mantle - an ornate bridle crafted with golden chains and sinners' blood - and unite the three powers. Children born during this time were brought before the priests in the grand temple where they'd test their merit and strength. Few showed promise. Even fewer survived. Mothers were wrought with sorrow and mournful cries howled through the night, each begging for the return of their lost children. Pregnant maidens fled before their child faced the trials. That is, of course, if they made it past Tsurida's treacherous banks. Without its lord, the white waters grew restless, cruel, and unforgiving. It wouldn't be long before its people drowned.
Wed to the principle of superstition came divine speakers who claimed they had visions of a prophecy. Oracles that would have otherwise been deemed mad by outsiders were guarded by the temple's priests. They spoke of a boy with glistening silver hair and antlers grown from his head like a buck in rut. Each vision showed him bearing the bridle in infancy, withstanding its power and delivering them from the threat of Tsurida's encroaching shore.
Thus began the witchhunt.
Many in Tsurida celebrated the birth of their child without the fear of loss waiting outside the birthing tent, its haunting eyes and salivating maw gluttonous for the soul of their precious progeny. That is all but one I'm afraid. My mother wept when the priests drug me from her warm breast, her cries a shrill shriek further weakening her already frail body. It didn't stop her from stumbling beyond the deer-hide canvas pushing past those that sought to restrain her. It didn't stop her from falling to her knees and pathetically grovel to a God that had long since perished. That's why I was born, wasn't it? To become their God and deliver salvation to the river-washed lands they called home. If you asked me what had become of that woman, I couldn't say; that was the first and last time I'd seen my mother. Whatever semblance of family I had were those housed within the temple.
The first of my tattoos was earned that day. When they laid the bridle on my head, its power etched into my skin, across the bridge of my nose forever marking me as the new lord of Tsurida. Eventually, I grew into it, developing my strength and power under the learned guidance of the priests. They would nurture in me a vile wickedness, a cruelty spilling gallons of mortal blood into the rivers of our home. All so they would no longer suffer the wrath of a weak God. Perhaps the oracles were right to envision me harbouring the old lord's bridle. After a while, I grew to enjoy the violence they'd created. The monster they had awakened.
My second tattoo came when I gored my closest friend. A taboo in this house of depravity. God's were not to lessen themselves to the likes of mortal filth - they were to be worshipped by them. It was a lesson I took time to learn. That's how I gained four more tattoos before the lesson finally sunk in.
In my adolescence, they thought I was ready to face the first of the great rivers. It was the easiest of my conquests and thus far, the largest of my tattoos. The waters of Tsurida began to recede and with it came many cries of hope and victory. They were pathetic, every one of them. Over centuries I slowly reclaimed the lands and earned my place as Tsurida's great lord. The last great river had been my hardest and latest conquest earning a scar across the honed plane of my abdomen. It was the first to maim me and for it, I took great pleasure in ensuring that Seisu's lord suffered. It was at this victory feast that I noticed her, the priestess Yasiromï.
Before this, I'd had no interest in romantic conquests. Having tasted the thrill of battle, I wondered then what the taste of women would be. Would they be soft beneath my battle-worn hands? Would she be soft against my skin as we lay together in a union of souls? You are a God. I recalled the fate of those whom I kindled friendships with and I would not have the same happen to her. But I couldn't help myself. I couldn't stop my feet from trailing her in the shadows. I couldn't stop staring when she delivered the offerings to my altar. I couldn't help the fit of rage when I'd first witnessed that filth tuck her beautiful hair behind her ear. The river itself could not stop me the moment they shared their vows and I would challenge him for her hand in marriage.
Naturally, I was the victor, but not without my losses. I took her, drug her far from the scrutiny of the priests and into a land whose rivers were thus far untamed, unlorded, and Godless. It's here that I'll find her a bridle and ensure her place at my side for the remainder of eternity. Till death do us part.