Of all the things Ezekiel might have been expecting to find in the depths of the Head, what he had just stumbled into was likely the last. As he looked at the grisly sight about him a sickly feeling of dread and paralyzing fear crept over and through his body, so terrible he found he could no longer even try to turn and leave the way he came. Scattered about the cavernous pit at the bottom of the stairs behind him were piles of skeletons too numerous to count, the tatters of their torn clothes clinging to what remained of them, all of them once robed in the same familiar white that now hugged Ezekiel’s own frame. The worst part, though, was what else lay there, strewn across the floor; the imposing silhouettes of the bone-mounds around him were broken up by many dulled, broken and horribly familiar masks.
He did not know how long he stood there afraid. Time might as well have not existed at this point, for all the good it did him; he only became aware of its passing again when he heard a strange chittering echo off the walls around him, and shaking he tried to pinpoint where it came from. Belos had to be looking for him at this point; Ezekiel had prepared himself for whatever he’d thought might be the worst to come of his little exploration trip, but this… this was unlike anything he could have prepared himself for.
He tried to will himself to move but found himself still unable to do so no matter how hard he tried, even as the semi-rhythmic clicking of something behind him drew ever nearer. The young grimwalker could not force himself to turn and look at it whatever it was, even as its breathing came close and became tangible on the back of his neck. Maybe, if he just stayed still… he silently thanked the Titan his own mask was still on, afraid the creature might be able to read the fear from his face.
After a moment, the creature seemed to be about ready to leave, audibly lifting its massive head to stare out at the ancient sea of bodies before it… but then it began to speak, turning its head back down towards him. Its voice was horrible and familiar all at once, tinged with a slight sorrow but mostly laden with barely contained fury.
“Ezekiel,” it lamented, and he shuddered at the mention of his own name; “…Why did you have to disobey me? ”
The child, still shaking, shallowed hard. He tried to will himself to move once more, to turn and face what he now understood must be his father. This must be his curse, he reckoned, a sense of guilt washing over him. This must be my fault. He was, after all, the one who had deliberately disobeyed Belos’ orders, the one who had left him behind for his own childish and selfish reasons. Who was he kidding?
“…I’m sorry,” he whimpered meekly, forcing himself to finally turn as he did so. The knowledge that it was Belos, specifically, gave him that extra bit of a push he needed to turn around and look; he was afraid of what the Emperor might do if he faced him, sure, but far more afraid of what he’d do if he didn’t. The thing that was now Belos was terrible to look at, with its two antlers and its terribly twisted-looking body and its almost skeletal, animalistic face. Ezekiel continued to speak, trembling, through budding tears. “I-I didn’t mean to... to come down h-here, I-I just—”
“Of course,” his father spoke, a mocking sympathy in his voice that the young child could barely recognize as such. “No one ever means for these kinds of things to happen… but it seems they always have a funny little way of happening to us anyway, don’t they?”
“P-please,” the fledgling grimwalker began to beg, a fearful look in his eyes not unlike that of a trapped animal. “Don’t — d-don’t be mad at me.”
“Oh, Ezekiel,” Belos responded, that same lilt to his unnervingly calm voice, “I already am.”