“What do I do after all this?” he asked with tears in his eyes. “What the fuck do I do after this?”
“You asked for this,” the god said.
“No, I didn’t,” he replied. “You gave this to me. I never wanted it. But you saw me after every victory, that I enjoyed being better, that I was happy when I set myself free. So you kept putting me on trials and tribulations to watch me conquer it and be free again and again.”
“I’m commanding you to stop,” he further said. “I’m telling you, take it back.”
“What a haughty thing to say,” the god replied.
“I deserve at least this, God.”
“What really is it that you deserve?” the god replied. “Answer me, my little one.”
He moved his lips. He wanted to tell him, freedom, freedom from you. But he refused.
He merely closed his eyes and bowed down, as if he was to pray, as he always does—used to.
“You are not real,” he finally whispered.
And then the god was gone.