There were those whom called the dark formless. Horus always knew them as naive. He had known darkness. He was married to it, and it was beautiful.

It was when that was taken that he learned the other forms. Darkness could be a broader term than many cared to think or ponder.

Darkness was thought, after all. He learned that when he went through the Void.

His daughter did too.

The Void was like the thoughts of all mortals, immortals and forces congealed into a storm that blinded all five senses like you'd just been bagged and were waiting to have your organs spooned out for sale.

He'd seen that happen more than he cared to count when his Darkness was killed.

He never thought he'd see a perfect recreation of that done to his thoughts before eyes he wasn't sure he had anymore.

But there they were all the same. A knife in the back of a black turtleneck. A knife in the back of the nurses. A twist. A falsehood. And another as his Darkness rose from her deathbed and caressed their child with the blade of a Promise Knife.

A flash of blood as he swiped through the memory like a blob of paint.

That was when he saw another Darkness. When The Void deigned to show him his child being comforted by four unfamiliar women. One looked almost like his wife. One was like the Darkness of space. Two others were bright and Flaming. But the Darkness that weighs on stubborn flames was palpable.

He felt the Dark cloak of confusion sting at his brain like numbness that leaves you grasping for a way out as he looked at the scene.

And Horus then learned another type of Darkness as he saw his child scream across from him as she too was picked and pulled and prodded at like the Devil would his favorite Cursed Doll.

He smelled the laughter of the nothing space around him. He didn't know how. He only knew that it smelled confused when he became impossibly angry as it started to twist his body next.

A stab of the Promise Knife. But his Darkness hadn't faded. The Void had to stab him 88 more times before he stopped growling. Had to restitch his heart and lungs and arms and bones because the Void could be a frantic kind of Darkness.

It only stopped when an ebony hand grabbed the knife and a playing card was offered to his skull like an ATM.

But he couldn't forget Darkness. He knew it, because Rage made up a part of it.

Because Darkness had a form all it's own. And that form was Love.

Author's Note

Is this out of place? Yes. Am I typing on mobile because my wifi is fucked currently? Yes. Am I still grieving for a very dear friend? Yes. Is this dark and reflective of my feelings? Yes...and no.

But I am back, at least. For now. Sorry my Holiday return wasn't more cheerful. But stress plus grief plus hatred of a world that let a friend as close as a sister die...it does things to you.

I do hope you all have had better holidays than I have at least. You all deserve some peace and rest from your daily nose/ball/tit grinders. I'll try and get some chapters out as soon as I can that might help get you all that kind of peace.