Work Text:
Nothing existed without the Child drawing it first, well almost. There was one place in this world that the Child did not make. No-one had gone there in a very long time, though.
Either way, not the air, nor the land, nor the plastic sea would exist without the Child’s penchant for art. The first things to come, however, were the guardians. First Enoch, then Japhet, then Dedan, and finally Vader Eloha, the Child’s surrogate mother for when He got too lonely.
And when the Child drew something new, all of them kept their eyes wide open for when it would arrive. Nobody knew how though, whatever it may be could come down in a shaft of sunlight, or be spat up from the plastic sea, or coalesce from the shadows. Or it may come in the most unflashy way possible, simply popping into existence. And this was the way the world was. Meat sprung forth from a crack in the pavement, books wove themselves out of the air, and the elsen crawled up from the sea. Everything the Child drew, came into being.
That is, except for one.
The first to see the drawing was Dedan, who the Child had shown the artwork once prompted. The drawing- gleefully labelled ‘the batter’ in the Child’s messy and often illegible handwriting -was of a tall, stocky man donning a baseball cap and uniform loosely holding a bat in one hand. Dedan quickly committed the image to memory before praising the Child’s art.
When he made it back to speak with the others, he relayed the image so that all of the guardians knew what to look for. However, as days turned to weeks, weeks into months, neither hide nor hair of this ‘batter’ ever reared its head.
But the Child never stopped drawing him.
The somewhat lanky man dominated the Child’s drawing for weeks, never disappearing for long. And eventually, as spectres began crawling within every shadowy alleyway, the drawings of the already somewhat unnerving man turned monstrous. Powerful claws, hunched posture, a massive snout complete with a set of wickedly sharp teeth.
Still nothing. No hungry beast stalked the darkened streets at night anymore than the spectres did.
Only years later, long after the drawings were forgotten in exchange of more important matters, did the batter arrive to this world. No-one saw his entrance, save for an odd cat in the most lonely of places.
Eventually, during his purification of Zone 1, Dedan saw him. Standing there. Still as a doll, soaked by rain, an expression of distaste permanently plastered on his face, as if the world itself slighted him.
And all he felt was rage.