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To Be A Blood God

    Khūvī sits in utter dismay at the blood that drips from the walls of the room. He goes to sit on the throne, but it's made of bones with the flesh still on the bones. Freight takes hold of his heart as he shakes and falls against a nearby wall to slide into a sitting position. Tears fill his red eyes, and his long, black hair leaves blood streaks against the wall as he moves the blood around just by sitting.
   Khūvī is now the Blood God of New. Not that he wants to be. He never asked for this. All he did was help the Blood God of Old. He'd seen an older man who was drowning in his delusions, and he'd offered a cup of coffee and a sandwich, and now Khūvī had this burden on him.
    He curls into his knees and sobs. He doesn't want to cry. But he can't help it as all this death and destruction surrounds him. He can tell the walls were once white. He can tell the throne has been built, it didn't just appear there.
    "What causes this room to bleed?" He wonders aloud.
    A voice booms from above. "As humans kill each other, they do so in your name. The blood that is shed is gifted to you. The rotting meat and the bones are yours as well."
    "I don't want any of it!" 
    "No one ever does. But it is yours."
    "Please take it back! Take it away from me! I don't want it! I won't accept my destiny!"
    "Good luck getting someone to take it from you. It took the God of Old 500 years to get you."
    "... Fuck..."
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