Ice gripped his heart within a fist as hard as stone.
He would suffer for that which he had made as a gift.
The sky above him, so cold and unforgiving,
Casting a baleful eye down upon him.
Never before had the sun frozen him so,
Leaving icicles on his eyebrows,
Dragging out a cloud of mist in every exhaled breath.
Tears crystallized before they could run down his cheek,
Leaving a trail the color of a fleshy burn.
He had seen all of the angles. All of the angles.
Had only he foresaw this eventuality.
He watched as a speck of black in the sky
Took form, then shape, to become an eagle.
Or was it a vulture?
It didn't matter. To him, it looked like a raven,
The eyes of the darkest night,
Glistening, as though saddened by the duty set before it.
He pulled involuntarily from the rocks,
Stretching those adamantium cords to their fullest length,
In preparation for the anguish that lay before him.
He asked himself, was it worth it?
Knowing what he knew now, would he do it again?
Would he gladly suffer the agony
That would soon destroy him,
That had destroyed him yesterday, last week, last year?
As he grit his teeth to lock the scream in,
Although someone nearby was screaming
In a voice that sounded like his own,
He knew the answer.
Of course he would.