Prometheus

You have a favorite Greek proto-god, Prometheus, one of the progenitors of other greater or lesser gods to follow. (Take your pick, as you believe the jury is likely never to complete its deliberation upon this point.) This Titanic figure was reputed to be the creator of the human race, and as such, is worthy of your affection, in at least a generous, largely self-referential way.

He is also, via the agency of our daily meat, as it were, our nourisher, as his greatest altruistic gift to us was fire, rendering our consumption of animals more gustatory and digestible (thank you very much), with a parallel and concomitant benefit being our ability to keep warm at night, during the inconvenience of the sun’s daily absence.

He endured a mighty misery for a while for his fiery bequest, having stolen it from Mt. Olympus against the implacable will of his first cousin, the mighty Zeus; until, after suffering for an indeterminate though lengthy span, was delivered from Zeus’s angry perpetual-near-death-agony of having an eagle consume anew his regenerative liver on a daily basis, whilst being tied to a rock by unbreakable chains (a watershed in the annals of deistic punishments), by the serendipitous actions of the selfless centaur, Chiron, who agreed to die for him, and by Hercules, who slew the eagle and shattered the shackles.

Quite a story, even if you were tempted to recount the tale using only short sentences. Your preference is for the more Faulknerian, slightly-closer-in-spirit-to-metamodern approach to literary linguistic density.