《The Reaper King》


 Prologue

    Three figures gazed down solemnly at a meager cradle floating gently between them, undisturbed. Around the three, there was a great and terrible fire. Silently, it burnt for all eternity, illuminating its surroundings with pain and suffering. No sound permeated the conversation the three figures were having. The fire would not allow it. All throughout the realm, an eerie silence held a death grip on reality. Yet, deep within the fire, emitted a faint but unquantifiable litany of screams and tortured wailing.


    Calamities more depraved than anything any mind could fathom, were commonplace within the merciless fire. Horrors born from the evils of billions of years of countless intelligent species, populated every crevice of the horrible landscape.


    There stood also, a thick, ominous, leviathan sized fog, and an equally large, deep blanket of darkness which shrouded the realm in cold detachment from the rest of creation. Yet to the three, it gave them comfort. Hiding them well from the rest of the universe, safe within its horrors.


    For now...


    Within the fog, the light of the hellish fire hinted at the silhouettes of endless scores of incredibly powerful and incredibly dangerous monsters and entities.


    Many of whom, were locked in deadly combat. Since before time itself, they had been compelled to fight, compelled to suffer. Trapped in eternal anguish while fighting fierce, titanic battles. Some of which had been going on for many millennia.


    The scores of monsters and entities spanned all shapes and sizes. All types of forms and states of matter.


    A great myriad of these creatures slithered, flew, crawled, or hovered, battered, made deals, and even attempted to lead rebellions and insurrections, all in a futile attempt to escape from the realm of ceaseless torture. All were eventually caught. And mercilessly reeducated.


    Some of the entities and monsters were frozen and had been for all time, literally and mentally. Many were melting, burning, or being dismembered then repaired and then brutally ripped apart again. It had been going on for so long, many couldn''t remember when the pain had started.


    However, all of them, despite their various forms of torture or battling, all had their eyes arrested on the three figures, and primarily the child laying between them.


    The monsters knew however, to approach the cradle, was to be destroyed horribly.


    Despite their varying levels of power, from some of the monsters only being able to dismember others and cause nightmares, to the most powerful of these beings casually able to collapse planets, snuff the light from even the largest of stars, and even consume and destroy entire realms, none of them dared approach. All knew, beyond any fleeting shadow of a doubt, that the three figures around the child, two men and a lady, commanded powers and energies vastly beyond the scope of even the strongest of the monsters hidden within the veil of fire and shadows.


    Of the two men, one was clearly taller than the other, yet both of them were taller than the woman, which was of note considering she towered at a calm 6''2".


    To call them merely gods was too simple a term.


    They were forces of magic and energy capable of rending universes to ashes were any of them to rage at their fullest capacity, and currently all 3 were locked in heated debate over the future of the child laying asleep in the center of them.


    "You know you can''t leave him here forever right?" The taller of the two males asked with barely contained irritation after a while of silent deliberation. "Taboo will set its eyes upon even here eventually, and then this whole charade will be brought to a crushing halt. I''m risking quite a lot for you two," he said, crossing his arms in frustration, "damn blood debts," he grumbled.


    "We are aware," the second male replied dryly, rolling his eyes in frustration, "however at this point, chaos hasn''t stabilized, taking him out now will be an immediate death sentence."


    The woman shuffled slightly with discomfort, but immediately regained her composure, her features resetting in a state of cold, detached beauty. "He needs to stay another 6,000 years, to try and take him out before then, as was said before, isn''t an option."


    The taller male said nothing, his cold, almost calmly psychotic eyes resting upon the child. "You know," he started, coyly, "aside from how callously you desecrate my realm with your hilariously unholy spawn, you sure seem to trust me a lot to keep him safe for another 6000 years." He crossed his arms and gave a slow, wicked smile, accentuating the barely contained, depthless, depraved insanity that radiated from him, "I''m almost flattered."


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    The shorter of the two males laughed a deep, roaring belly laugh. The tremors from his laughter shook even the darkest, most recessed crevices of creation. "Trust?" he almost wheezed out, "I''d rather cast myself into the void." He too folded his incredibly muscular arms and looked the taller male straight in the eyes with his own, equally insane but innately domineering eyes adorning the wide, crazed smile of a hunter, that slowly morphed into a deeply disgusted, chin raised sneer. "Touch him, and I will show you no mercy, attempt to coerce any of your filth to even dream of touching him, and I will disfigure you beyond recognition. Let any stray harm befall him, and I will extinguish your flame," he spoke this in a calm, level voice, but every word felt heavily lacquered with violence beyond comprehension, heavy with the promise of awesome power to back up such audacious claims.


    At this, the realm went truly silent. A feat, that quite literally, had never happened before. Even the fires themselves stilled, as if too afraid to attract the attention of the shorter male.


    "But," the shorter male continued, this time with a sweet smile that never reached his eyes, all the while never breaking eye contact with the taller male, "that won''t even be a concern, since I''ll be here the whole time."


    The woman looked at the taller male with blatant disgust. "Know. Your. Place," Was simply all she said, yet her aura spelled doom upon whomever was foolish enough to continue this branch of the conversation.


    The taller male for a second showed a nightmarish face. A visage beyond all mortal and even most divine comprehension. The entire universe shook with his rage and sounds that felt like the primordial horrors themselves made physical, cascaded horribly in their ears of all divine and mortal creatures in creation. Unfortunately, most beings that heard it, for a moment, went cripplingly insane. And yet in fractions upon fractions of a moment, the taller male was as if nothing had ever happened, returning everything his power had briefly tortured, to as it had been before. The three could all feel a vast, vast sea of relieved sighs resounding throughout the multiverse.


    Taking a deep breath, the taller male closed his eyes and rubbed his temples. "I can attempt another 6,000 years," he started slowly looking down, then suddenly his sickeningly innocent yet obviously vile eyes flicked up sweetly as he continued in a singsong voice, "but, it will cost you..."


    He started laughing, with his awful, horrible, sickening, multi-voiced dissonant laugh that echoed across billions of galaxies. Now, the previously marred inhabitant''s of creation were treated to a second round of misfortune. Untold trillions upon trillions of sleeping beings in the universe, writhed in pain, wracked with horrible nightmares, yet unable to escape or wake. As the taller male roared his calamity inducing laughter, black tears cascaded down his pale face. All the while, his long, jet black hair splayed wildly about as his tall, emaciated torso shook with depraved glee. The taller male clutched his face with his long, sickly pale hands as he heaved to regain his composure. Eventually, his wild merriment faded to soft sighs and he lifted a hand to smooth his disheveled hair back into place.


    But on his face rested a simple, satisfied smile.


    The shorter male and the woman each looked at each other, and for a moment both shared a somber look of defeat and understanding, gently bowing their heads together, briefly touching. Then, each regaining their composure, they turned back to the taller male. The woman, without breaking eye contact from the taller male, slowly reached out around herself and plucked a long, majestic, shimmering gold and white feather from her massive wings that were neatly folded behind her. Letting her hand drop, the feather was then wrapped in a ball of bloody aura and floated gently to above the taller male''s hand where the bubble of aura popped and the feather fell gently into his patiently waiting, open fingers.


    The taller male, closed his grasp on the feather slowly, carefully, as if his hand were a Venus flytrap. His eyes fluttered in almost primal ecstasy as the feather disappeared.


    "Pleasure doing business with you," the taller male said, again giving one of his signature unnerving smiles.


    "Go to hell," was simply all the woman replied. She looked down at the baby, her baby, and let one single tear drop on the infant''s forehead in a brief moment of weakness. She then whispered a brief enchantment, and the tear blossomed into a golden outline of a flower upon where it had fell on the infant''s head. Smiling softly for a moment, she then immediately vanished in a massive portal of incredible kaleidoscopic energies emitting in endless arrays of colors that had instantly manifested behind her. Just as quick as it appeared, the lights vanished, closing on itself in a planet shattering thunderclap and flash of golden light that would rival even the most brilliant quasar.


    "Moody," the taller male grumbled quietly after she had disappeared and the roar of her energy subsided, absorbed by the titanic fog clouding the realm. He pouted slightly as he rubbed his slightly injured eyes.


    "Tell me about it," the shorter male said with a snort, while secretly knowing he''d also be doing the same if he didn''t have the foresight to look away. But still, he bore a wide smirk of deep pride in the woman, as he went back to staring down at the child in the cradle.


    "Sure hope you''re worth all this trouble my son," the shorter male said quietly, "cause your life is going to be packed full of it."


    The baby then slowly awoke, as if summoned by its father''s voice.


    Its attention was immediately captivated by the flames and shadows around it. Whether or not the baby could even understand what it saw, none would ever be able to completely ascertain.


    Nevertheless, the fire itself felt.... uneasy?


    As if for the first time, in an impossibly long time, it was being judged by a being greater than itself. A being, almost.... almost on the same level as The Almighty itself?


    In an intuitive reflex that the fire itself would never be able to explain again why it did so, it reached out gently to the baby''s forehead with a simple strand of its damning fire. All the while, the two males and the hordes of monsters watched with unbroken attention. The fire spoke into the baby''s mind. While it told the baby its secrets, every monster within the realm paused whatever it was they were doing, and bowed in reverence to the fire. While none could hear the conversation currently happening between the child and the great fire, they all knew the fire was speaking, and none dared show the being even the slightest disrespect.


    Even the two males themselves bowed their heads slightly, though they both were the only ones within the entire realm that had remained standing.


    It wasn''t often that the fire ever spoke. Even the taller male himself, the lord of this realm, had only ever heard the voice of the fire twice before, and only once had it ever reached out to him unrequested. But still, despite the rage the taller male currently felt that made him want to lash out with a fury so cruel he would scour the life from as many universes as he needed to kill the child, when the fire spoke, reverence wasn''t requested, it was demanded.


    The audacity from which the great fire drew its actions upon was simple. Damnation was its fuel, cruel was its


    rage, exact, immediate and eternal were its punishments.


    And Hell was its name.

 Chapter 1: The Orphanage

    Damien''s brow was drenched with sweat as he sighed deeply from exhaustion. "Definitely getting stronger," he muttered to himself sourly, "so why doesn''t it feel like it?" Clutching his heavily bruised left arm, he noted dryly, "and you''re definitely broken aren''t you?" It was the third time this week that he had been pulled into yet another fight, and it was also the third time he would need to go to the infirmary. He groaned in frustration, his allowance for clothes was also petering out.


    Though the orphanage was a massive force that had protected and raised wayward children of all ages for hundreds of years, its large population meant that the meager amount the orphanage could afford to pay the children as allowance for their chores, just couldn''t keep up with Damien''s constant demand for non shredded clothes. He winced as he remembered asking Sister Hua for money or to fix his uniform was a possibility, but the many memories of the nun constantly worrying over his injuries, staying up late to care for him, and mending his clothing constantly while somehow always managing to find time for her own tasks, filled the boy with a deep sense of shame. Suddenly, Damien was ripped from his thoughts by a small, dirt stained hand pulling the corner of his shirt.


    "Thanks for the rescue Damwen," said a chubby child, sheepishly, with dirt staining her cheeks. She picked up the notebooks that had been knocked from her hands, before quickly running away to the larger group of children huddled behind one of the old couches.


    "Thanks for the rescue Damwen!" came a chorus of child voices soon afterward from a small group of similarly dirt stained children before they scattered off.


    Damien looked at the merry, disheveled band of misfit kids running off. He''d come to become something of an anti-bully amongst the littler kids. They came to see it as his duty to protect the other foster home children from the older bullies and their gangs, whether he wanted to or not.


    With a final strained wave he gave the departing kids a fake, pained smile.


    Looking over his shoulder, he sighed solemnly at the pile of 16 year old boys that lay strewn out on the floor in various states of consciousness and suffering. Damien, with his one good eye, gave a pleading gaze, searching the crowd for any assistance. But as usual, there was none.


    Heaving a heavier sigh than the one he had previously given, the golden and diamond blue-eyed, black child rose to go clean up the mess. Purposefully keeping his gaze focused on the older boys, he walked towards the mound of strewn out bullies, blotting out the sea of observers as best he could.


    There wasn''t anything Damien enjoyed about being voluntold by the entirety of the foster home to be their designated meat-shield from the other children that had either become too old to be viable for adoption or were from races considered "unsavory." Ivan''s gang was far from the only one of its kind on the campus, but they had become a serious problem after they turned 13 and had failed to be adopted. Now that "graduation" was only 2 years away, they had transformed into a massive fucking problem. The beatings they gave other orphanage kids had turned from cruel to just savage. Some bullies had even gone as far as getting permanently expelled by Ma LaCroix herself. And yet, they always had a reason for their terrorism. There was always a reason.


    ''Best just try and ignore it,'' Damien thought to himself. It was fortunate that he had the powers he did, but he couldn''t take any solace in them. Despite magic being commonplace, he still had no clue what he even was. At the ripe old age of 12, that placed him solidly in the same unfortunate group of undesirables as the bullies themselves were. And everyone knew it. Though some were begrudgingly grateful, very few outside of the adults and the younger kids ever really spoke to him, if they even approached him for very long. None wanted to ruin their own chances for adoption and have to go through "graduation."


    However, that fear apparently did nothing to their feelings of mercilessly taunting the boy for their own amusement.


    "I told you he''s gotta be an elemental or something!" one of the older girls whispered loudly to her friend, both were in their late teens, wearing hair nets and aprons over their winter uniforms, while sporting green plastic gloves. Their accessories shamelessly indicated cleaning duty they were currently skipping out on to watch the fight. "I heard they have all sorts of weirdly colored eyes, some even look kinda human too."


    "I''ll say!" her friend laughed, her hands cupped around her eye like a scope, "it looks human enough!" Both of them erupted into louder laughter, and for the millionth time, Damien wished he could turn invisible.


    "His energy is weirdly kinda glittery though," the second girl mused, dropping her hand while sarcastically scratching her head, "so which is it Dami, ya gay or ya just European?"


    "Third option," one spectacled 14 year old boy said from behind a massive book he''d been reading, sitting on a massive ornate couch near the two girls, "leprechaun."


    "Don''t be a dumbass Teddy, sure he''s short enough," a different, younger latina girl holding a long forgotten mop chimed in, " but... A: if he was a leprechaun we''d be able to afford constant gas, and 2: everybody knows leps can''t fight, and I''m pretty sure Damien hit Nelson so hard at one point, he actually shit himself!" She murmured with a shrug, "passing out right after was a blessing for him if you ask me."


    "Nelly, learn to at least count first or say your alphabet... or at least stick to one, sheesh!" came the voice of a 9 year old boy from one of the many second floor balconies overlooking the center of the Great Hall. He was lazily levitating a series of brushes to dust the banisters and the massive ornate chandelier that hung over the center of the massive room.


    Nelly turned bright red as the crowd swayed its laughter towards her.


    "Fuck you Siggris!" she yelled back, sticking out a middle finger up at the boy while sticking out her tongue.


    "I heard it," one other silver haired girl with purple eyes called out.


    "I smelt it," another boy yelled, fake gagging while grabbing his throat as the room filled with laughter once more.


    A different girl wheeling a bucket and mop passing by had heard the conversations and was genuinely upset. "On god, seriously on impact? You''re not lying?" she looked around confused, "I just got here did I miss all the action!?" She lightly kicked her bucket in frustration, "damn it I didn''t get to see it?! I didn''t even know trolls could pass out from a single hit, even one as dumb as Nelson." She scratched her head in genuine confusion, "I thought their natural defense was just too strong, even if he is a halfie."


    "As if that''s the craziest thing ol sparky here did," an older, pale boy with light brown skin added from his spot leaning by one of the many massive ancient oil paintings adorning the Great Hall. His bloody red eyes were scrunched in thought. "I''m ruling out human, can''t be, moving the way he does?" the boy shook his head with a befuddled, scrunched face, arching an eyebrow. "He''s fucking 12, but he delivered the most solid hook kick I''ve ever seen, directly into Ivan''s dome!" he said throwing his hands up in frustration, "with no hesitation! How do you outspeed a vamp that teleported?" He scratched his head, "If it wasn''t for Tyson catching him lacking right after though, I would''ve said this nigga''s got mod privileges! he''s scripting!"


    "You''re mad?" A different tall, burly werewolf boy with dusty blond hair yelled out with a jeering smirk, he too had been leaning against another one of the large columns, surrounded by his own gang, as they spectated the commotion. "I had a lotta lunch money riding on his ass at least being somewhat human." He threw his own hands up in mock frustration, "how the fuck am I gonna eat now?"


    The crowd howled with laughter, sharing their various condolences with their future starving dormmate, then going on about their various days, though some stragglers remained. Choosing instead, to remain entertained by watching Damien solemnly continue his self imposed punishment. All the while gossiping shamelessly about their outrageously capable freak of a dormmate, debating on what supernatural race he might be and casting new bets.


    Damien had been dying from shame and anxiety at being in the center of so much attention for so long, but he had already committed himself to the task and so felt like he had to finish it. He began checking on the various states of the boys, while cautiously avoiding touching Nelson.


    ''I have a feeling he''d be thankful for that'' Damien thought sarcastically.


    Suddenly a broom came racing down from behind like the hammer of god, hitting the boy solidly on the head hard with a loud "thunk!" and a massive cloud of dust. He didn''t even need to turn around to know who it was, the anger in her aura came flooding through her intent loud and clear.


    "Hey Jess," the boy began weakly as he turned around to face the angry girl standing before him, rubbing his aching head and sneezing from the dust. Suddenly, the broom came flying for his head once again, although this time much faster and harder than before. Narrowly dodging the weapon this time before it embedded itself into his skull, Damien jumped slightly backwards, out of the way as the broom impacted the ground in a loud boom. Damien was then reminded soberingly, that Jessica was more than just another latina child at the orphanage. She was also a werewolf and even though she, like Damien, had yet to hit 13, she, like him, was still very strong.


    Sadly, unlike Damien, she was currently extremely livid.


    Poking the broom into the injured boy''s chest, she slowly moved it, gesturing in a circle to the still passed out but now sitting up cabal of older kids, she then pointed her weapon back at Damien.


    "Talk," was all she said.


    "Oh my! now there''s even a lover''s quarrel! it''s like a real tela novella!" the same boy with the dusty blond hair called out again while pointing snobily at the two, invoking another round of laughter. "I swear the writers this season are something else guys," he chuckled, shaking his head.


    Jessica said nothing, without breaking eye contact from Damien, she reared her arm holding the broom back, suddenly whipping it as hard as she could. The broom, moments later, burrowed itself up to its frills, centimeters from the boy''s head. Immediately, the Great Hall silenced.


    "Will Daniel fuck off, or will he get his ass beat and hung from the flagpole again, by a werewolf that''s younger than him... again?" Jessica asked nonchalantly, staring at the older boy expressionless, "stick around and find out, on the next episode of get a goddamn life!"


    Daniel glared dangerously at the girl, but said nothing further. The older werewolf, backing off with only a snort, left the wall he''d been leaning on, turned around and walked off surrounded by his posse. Shoving their way through the crowd.


    Moments later the great hall was cleared of any remaining orphanage children, allowing a group of 5 medical nuns that had been trying to get in around the sea of children, to finally arrive at the scene of the fight. Seeing the state of the older boys, and Damien, they immediately began administering healing pastes and chanting simple spells to mend minor damages. One of the nuns secretly slipped Damien an extra vial of healing creams, sharing a knowing, brief wink with the boy as she got up and went to resume tending to Damien''s assailants.


    As the older boys began to regain consciousness, they were checked one last time for head injuries and if they were stable enough to walk themselves to the infirmary. The six bullies tentatively picked themselves up, hoisting up their not completely coherent shit stained friend between two of them, and silently limped away. Doing so while avoiding all eye contact with anyone in the great hall except the few nuns escorting them back to the infirmary.


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    Damien, seeing his cue to escape, turned around. He was looking for a way to make his exit, when a hand grabbed his collar, hard. Damien said nothing, defeatedly sighing while Jessica promptly dragged the helpless boy away to clean himself off.


    ***


    "That quivering pussy," Jessica growled darkly.


    They were in the orphanage greenhouse, Damien had been tending to the rest of his wounds while Jessica attempted to stitch together the remains of his torn button down uniform shirt. The evening winter winds whistling through the open windows made Damien sure he could feel every bruise dotted across his body. He was stuck in a vicious cycle of moaning from the residual pain of his injuries to shivering terribly in the cold as Jessica worked angrily and meticulously to repair his shredded uniform.


    Damien silently thanked the precious few extra ounces of healing salve the nuns had brought for him when they arrived on the scene. It had been meant to mend his arm and get him at least to the infirmary, but he knew couldn''t have another infirmary visit on his record so soon and the nuns didn''t want to leave the boy to possibly get worse. His eyes fell as waves of sorrow and self pity rippled from his aura through his intent. All that he could think about was the last time Sister Hua had found him in the infirmary. The lack of all noise she made when she had seen the state he had been in after his last fight. The look of horror on her face was the last thing he saw as the infirmary doctors put him under for intensive care.


    Damien shut his eyes.


    He couldn''t bear to remember how wretchedly she had cried by his bedside that night. The fight had been close. Too close. He''d just gotten out of the infirmary for a previous incident just earlier that week, when the band of children had descended upon the boy. They mobbed him, pulling his still injured and battered body. He had almost pushed past them desperate to get to his dorm and rest, until they mentioned that Ivan had gone after Theressa this time. Then all Damien could see, was red.


    He knew that the bullies were strong, but they were still slightly more injured than he was from their last brawl. Damien knew that if he could rush them fast enough, and hit them hard enough before they even knew he was there, he could probably put them down this time. For good.


    As he sat shivering in the cold, he began vividly recounting experiencing an innate domineering feeling that he still couldn''t differentiate between vengeful rage and pure malice. The feeling came surging from somewhere in the deepest recesses of Damien''s soul, but it roared with a titanic intensity, it needed revenge, and it was going to take Damien''s body to get it, by any means necessary. It suffocating to the point that he remembered as he was losing himself to the emotions, he felt his ego start to turn off. Blacking in and out as he desperately fought off his inner demons warring for attention alongside the rest of his anxieties. He remembered in the midst of struggling against himself, desperately trying not to lose control then and there lashing out against everything around him, a thought came to him that if he just gave in everything he hated would be reduced to cinders. It whispered sweet promises of final, glorious retribution, and strangely this time, all of his normally tumultuous energy stilled itself. It was prepared, sitting ready like an executioner''s axe, promising bloodshed. No, Damien knew this was different. He knew this time that if he lost himself, that the bullies weren''t the only ones with lives at stake, his could be too, and the rest of the orphanage kids.


    The exhausted boy slumped against the hallway as the children stared at him silently and fearfully. Time slowed to a crawl and Damien could feel his conflicting thoughts threatening to break open his skull, but from his pounding migraine he was delivered a sudden brief respite. It was almost as if the entire universe was waiting for him to choose, and for that moment, everything was silent. Opening his eyes Damien looked at the silently pleading children. Fear of approaching the older, loner boy was etched deeply into their faces, yet in their eyes, he saw an even more prominent, almost single minded hope that Damien would absolutely save their friend.


    It was then, Damien made his choice, silencing the warring emotions in his head. He knew there was a chance he could be fast enough in his current state, he just had to try not to lose total control of himself. At least until he got to the scene. He knew the infirmary wasn''t very far from the great hall, especially if he gave every last bit of effort he had.


    In that moment, Damien had thrown total caution to the wind and exploded forward in a tremendous roar of power and fury. As he tore through the orphanage campus, unknowingly gathering more viewers to the fight, horrifying images of a prior event replayed constantly, chiseled into Damien''s brain. Trying as hard as he possibly could to think clearly and rationalize a fight plan, the boy had continued his mad dash. He remembered the feelings of hopelessness mixed with exhilaration, as he pumped his injured legs as hard as they would allow under the weight of the tremendous energy bursting from his body. Damien admitted to himself he had then fully given in to his rage, especially as he remembered spotting the crowd and Theressa crying on the ground in front of Ivan and his cronies.


    Ivan had done something similar to this before, and Damien hadn''t been able to stop him then. But the last fight had been very different. He remembered one thought, seared deeply into his brain as his aura exploded forth in a rose gold shimmering surge of power, blasting the bullies who had been caught fully off guard hard into the air. As they landed in thuds and proceeded to get up, hatred pouring from their eyes, all Damien could remember was activating his SuperComputer to the fullest extent he could bear, clothing his body in brilliant sparkling rose golden energy as it crackled with rage. Damien remembered his only thought afterwards, until regaining control, was that he was going to hurt Ivan in a way he had never been hurt before. Damien''s shivering breath slowed as he fearfully remembered how when his body filled with arcane power as he connected to the true depth of his aura he called his "SuperComputer," it mixed with the new deeper rage inside him. For a split second, he could swear he heard a voice singing distantly yet clearly, then everything went dark.


    ''Yeah so what,'' Damien thought then, breaking himself from his flashbacks. ''I won, but now I''m huddled in a greenhouse, shirtless in the middle of winter, more injured than before, freezing my ass off, while my best and only friend I have hates me and now I''m also hiding from Sister Hua.''


    The 12 year old had never felt so miserable. Eyes still shut, he shoved his head in his hands, shoulders slumped while he lamented his choices.


    Jessica had been side-eyeing her friend throughout his reminiscing, but said nothing. She wasn''t sure if it was because he was just heavily exhausted from the fight, or because they were in their usual safespot hideout, but his intent came cascading freely, erratically. It was almost as if it was shouting at the top of its lungs through Damien''s aura. Yet what she felt in it, troubled her greatly. She didn''t know the specifics, but something about him felt different now, really different. But from what she could tell from his intent, he likely didn''t know what it was either. But one thing was for certain, her friend was currently suffering from a lot more than just battle damage. She sighed internally. On one hand she couldn''t be mad at him for beating the snot of Ivan and his miserable ilk. But on the other hand, the fool had literally just been discharged from the infirmary after narrowly skirting a coma.


    Now she sighed externally, shaking Damien from his thoughts as his hurried to recorrect his posture, not wanting to incite more of her wrath.


    "Fixed ya shirt," she said simply, flinging the repaired clothes to the boy without looking at him.


    "Thanks Jess," Damien mumbled as he rushed to put back on his woolen winter uniform top, getting his arms stuck in the process.


    As he struggled the werewolf girl wrinkled her nose before sniffing the air, confirming no one had yet come looking for them.


    "D, why do you keep doing this to yourself," Jessica then asked silently. She had moved over to sit beside Damien, huddling her knees up to her chest and wrapping her large, red cardigan around the both of them to conserve heat.


    "It was Theressa, Jess," the boy said, looking at her with remorseful but stern eyes, "I will not apologize for putting that asshole in his place, remember Anna?" Jessica looked down slightly, the memory of the day sent shudders through her entire being. Damien''s jaw hardened, his golden and diamond blue eyes radiating a vicious intensity. "He''s only lucky I got to him before he actually touched her."


    Jessica looked up wistfully, as she sighed.


    "Amen to that," she admitted after a pause, "I''d have stapled his nuts above the fireplace while prepping a nice holy water jacuzzi for the rest of him."


    She looked back down at Damien again and then she smiled sadly. Punching him softly in the shoulder she continued.


    "But D, you can''t just keep going 1v7 every time they threaten someone, yeah you''re strong, but not even you''re indestructible," she said sternly, as they sat under the snowy sunset. "At least wait till godhood?" she giggled softly.


    Damien looked down with shame. She was right. He had wanted so badly to believe he was making a difference, but it was too much. The boy whimpered slightly in the cold as his conviction threatened to shatter, his thoughts threatening to drive him insane. Who was he to believe he could make a difference, who was he to think he could solve everything, wh-.


    He was ripped cleanly from his endless self-ridicule by Jessica''s hand suddenly resting on his cheek. He looked over, shocked to his core at the soft, sad smile she was giving him.


    "No dummy, no spiraling, just promise to at least tell them to find me too next time?" she dropped her hand, resting it on his shoulder and giving him a malicious smirk, "we''d have really put the fear of god in ''em."


    "2 against 7, damn we outta give them an 8th just to keep things fair," Damien quipped, laughing despite the pain. But that was the effect Jessica had on him, he never seemed to remember his pain when he was around her.


    Yet, new anxieties forced him to push down completely anything he had felt from Jessica touching his cheek deep into his inner abyss. He didn''t know if she could read his emotions from his intent, but he was terrified her werewolf senses could probably pick up on something that could out him, ruining their friendship forever. He couldn''t let her know he liked her.


    He wouldn''t.


    ''At least she knows what she is,'' Damien lamented silently, ''at least she''s from a race that''s high in demand, and with her strength, looks and intelligence she''s once practically the princess of the orphanage! She keeps herself here.... because of me.''


    Pangs of deep guilt threatened to make the boy recess deeper into the cardigan and himself, as he remembered everything Jessica had given up by choosing to be Damien''s only friend his age. But at least she still had a chance for adoption, even if being friends with him had kept her there till she was pushing 13. She had never told him, but he knew she''d turned down some adoption requests so that Damien wouldn''t be left alone. She didn''t have to go through graduation like he did, she had options, she had a future. He wouldn''t dare ever take that from her.


    Damien winced as a heavy punch landed on his forehead, knocking him over.


    "Ow!" he cried in pain, "you violent she beast!"


    "Try to ''preserve my sanctity'' again fool and there''s another one like that coming," Jessica growled, holding her fist up, clouded in a thin illusion of rising smoke she''d briefly conjured to affirm her threat. "At least don''t broadcast your intent so loudly, dingus."


    Damien rubbed his forehead pouting in slight pain as said nothing, but gave her his best puppy eyes impression.


    She had been kicking her legs, having unwrapped herself from the cardigan to punch Damien. She arched her eyebrow and folded her arms.


    "Really D, puppy eyes to a werewolf?" she shook her head in mock disdain, "pretty sure that counts as some form of racism."


    Despite his shitty mood, Damien couldn''t help roaring with laughter, doubling over as the remaining pain from his recently healed ribs racked his body. No matter what, Jessica had always been able to cheer him up. He could never tell her, but she was always going to be special to him.


    Damien turned over to pretend to cough, hiding his deeply blushed cheeks. Jessica hid a giggle behind a sleeve of her oversized, worn cardigan. Also blushing deeply.


    As Damien was sitting, enjoying the last few minutes they could spend hiding in their favorite spot, he heard Jessica clear her throat.


    Looking over, his breathing slowed to a crawl. Damien didn''t want to believe what his eyes were seeing, but Jessica was softly holding his hand, her other arm still covering part of her own blushing face.


    The two said nothing for a while. Under the moonlight, golden-green wolfish eyes stared deeply into gold and diamond blue eyes, both saying nothing for what felt like eons.


    "Um, D... ," She began softly. Damien swore he forgot how to breathe. He could swear the universe itself had gone silent, just for that moment. "Um... I-"


    The girl was silenced by the loud, distant banging of the 7 giant, levitating bells that clocked the orphanage''s time. 9 distinct, loud chimes were heard by the two children.


    "Awe shit 9 already?" Jessica muttered sourly, quickly snatching her hand back as she went to find grab her broom. As Damien watched her go, he''d never before wished more than that moment that he had the magical strength necessary to destroy those infernal bells. But, resigning himself to reality, he too got up and dusted himself off. He was late for dish duty anyway, and by now he knew news of the fight had definitely made its way around the campus. He sighed again, heavily. Straightening his posture, he decided ''welp, guess I can''t run anymore.''


    Jessica looked back at him, making a split second decision before she chickened out, she closed her eyes and gave a deep inhale before letting it go.


    "Meet me by the benches after your shift!" she yelled before running off to the gym to finish her own nightly chores, her broom trailing in the snow behind her. Even as she ran with speeds gifted to her from her genetics, wildly trying to outpace the snowfall, Damien could only see the prettiest girl in the world.


    Walking back to the great hall and on from there to the kitchens feeling like he was on cloud nine, Damien felt like nothing could ruin his mood. He didn''t know what she''d wanted to talk to him about, kicking himself mentally that he''d been too distracted to try feeling for her aura to see her intent, but he couldn''t stop thinking about how she had looked under the greenhouse moonlight. The boy wasn''t sure he''d ever had his thoughts so completely silenced like that before. The haze of happy emotions carried him through the cold unphased. Before Damien could even realize how far he''d walked, he was right in front of the double doors leading into the kitchens.

 Chapter 2: The Orphanage pt. 2

    Taking a deep breath he pushed the doors open and a rush of steam and a medley of cleaning smells assaulted him, blinding him for a few moments before the mess of kitchen aides running around cleaning, mopping, sweeping, and performing various other tasks came into view.


    "Damien honey," one of the elder kitchen ladies called out upon seeing him return, "come eat first before you go back to ''em dishes sugar." She paused, taking a leisurely drag from her long ornate pipe while she knitted. She''d been sitting at one of the many simple wooden cafeteria benches that dotted the massive kitchen, while her kitchen aides and many of the nuns ran around attending to their own chores. "Taking out garbage is a tough task even for a little warrior like yourself," she said with a chuckle sizing up the boy''s disheveled state. She took another slow drag from her pipe as a few of the older nuns that were sitting around her, sewing new summer uniforms for the orphanage children, cackled in agreement. There in all her glory, smoking her evening pipe and laughing with her kitchen aides sat Ma LaCroix herself.


    Damien smiled sheepishly, ducking a few passing head ruffles as he spotted the most heavenly warm plate of sausage and eggs sitting on the dingy lunch table that he''d ever seen. He smirked as he spotted Ma LaCroix''s slight, coy smile.


    "Hag," he joked with mock frustration. He knew the food was her peace offering for the hours of gossip and joking they had definitely been doing about him before he''d gotten there. Yet still he walked with a warm, wide smile on his face, giving greetings and well wishes to many of the adults in the flowing sea of workers.


    "Snooze, ya lose bozo," Ma LaCroix joked with a chuckle, bonking Damien slightly on the head, "now eat your dinner sugar."


    "Thank you Ma," Damien said humbly as he tucked into his food.


    "No problem in the slightest m''love," she replied with a warm smile.


    Ma LaCroix was an entity that had always deeply fascinated Damien.


    She was one of the three founding members of the orphanage along with two other men, a vampire catholic priest known as Father Clyde, and a retired Lance Commander of the UWM, Lord Jurovi. The three had been running the orphanage for generations.


    Though she came off normally as an unassuming old creole lady, ever since Damien was even a baby he could tell that she was much more. He''d always been able to see the auras of everyone and everything around him, the ones weak enough or close to his age at least, but that wasn''t special. Anyone with a soul and at least 2 working brain cells was capable of doing the same by his age. No, there was something else that he couldn''t explain that had always sussed him out towards her. Ever since the moment he laid eyes on her.


    Damien had never been able to sense even a drop of aura from the old woman.


    Originally though, he''d just come to assume that the orphanage leaders, a few of the kitchen aides, nuns, priests and soldiers on campus, were just magicless beings or something. He was certain the lack of aura he felt from them was due to it, at least until a certain day 3 years ago.


    His jaw clenched with barely repressed rage as his thoughts finally had time to settle on what had driven Damien to such fury; the event that had immediately drenched even Jessica''s own immense wall of anger at Damien''s lack of critical survival skills...


    ***


    Ever since the orphanage first opened over 200 years ago, there had been many instances of violence between the orphanage children. Try as hard as the orphanage staff had for centuries to solve this issue, attempts that became too invasive of the children''s freedoms either only made the problem much worse or only worked for a few years or so. Inevitably, however, problems would always come back in some way, shape or form. So the staff settled on a set of rules that had proven to be the final form they would take, working absolutely under the threat of a new, final punishment; permanent exile from the orphanage to deal with whatever the outside world had in store for them by themselves, regardless of their age. Essentially, an implied death sentence.


    This rule had struck the fear of god into the children despite spanning all ages from 0-18, and though it didn''t fully solve the problem of campus violence, it not only massively reduced the violence, but it also made sure no one was dumb enough to attempt anything too sinister.


    Again, at least that was true up until three years ago.


    Damien recalled how Ivan and his gang had once been foot soldiers of a much larger campus gang that had been ran by an older succubus girl known as Mindy Pereira. She had been abandoned somewhere in upstate NY by her mother in a desperate attempt to save her from a Brazilian succubus prostitution ring her father had sold both her and her mother into when Mindy had turned 10. The girl had watched her mother get torn to shreds by the hellhounds the ring had sent after them while desperately hiding in the bushes. She had been about to be mauled herself, before she was saved and brought back to the orphanage by Father Clyde. But the girl had never been the same, starting as a recluse and eventually becoming one of the most feared of the orphanage kids.


    As the story went, Ivan had been given an assignment from her one day in an attempt to rise through the ranks. There had been beef between her and a younger, frail fairy girl.


    Damien had only been slightly telling the truth, Jessica wasn''t his only friend. He had once had two friends at the orphanage: Jessica, and the fairy girl, Anna. The three of them had been inseparable. Anna and Damien, having met much earlier bonding due to being social outcasts, had eventually inducted Jessica into their group, after they realized she wasn''t playing a prank on them and genuinely wanted to be their friend.


    One day, Mindy had spilled Anna''s milk after she accidentally bumped into the fairy girl while laughing loudly with her friends and gang members. Mindy hadn''t intentionally meant to knock into Anna, but the fairy''s unusually weak constitution would''ve made her tumble over if strong wind blew in her face. Regardless, Anna''s fall silenced the dining hall and Mindy''s uniform skirt would be soiled with Anna''s drink. Damien and Jessica had then immediately rushed to their friend''s side, glaring daggers at Mindy. Neither 9 year old knew that in doing so, they had doomed their friend in an effort to protect her.


    Even in retrospect, and many had tried to psychoanalyze the aftermath, no one could truthfully say they had seen her retribution coming, nor the sheer depravity of it. Bumping into Anna had been such a seemingly minor event, but the anger Mindy had manifested seeing two younger children seemingly more wretched than herself glaring her down fearlessly, she, the most powerful gang boss at the orphanage, while the seemingly weak idiot that had tripped into her hid behind them, was apparently too much for Mindy to forgive.


    Damien and Jessica would later learn that Mindy had not taken that interaction very well and had been stewing on how to take her revenge on the fairy girl in the worst way possible. And so it would happen, one day, Ivan appeared at her door, begging to be made into a captain in her gang, and Damien had been told she had immediately burst into loud fits of laughter. She apparently had used Ivan''s desire for recognition, as her opportunity to get what she felt was valid retribution.


    And so it would happen that on that shitty morning, Ivan and his cronies almost beat Anna to death in the orphanage courtyard over an obviously staged, incited, petty argument. Their plan was perfect, knowing fully well that Damien and Jessica were not only apart from each other, but both were on separate parts of campus than Anna was. She was all alone, and that was when they struck.


    Damien remembered somberly that was the first day he ever felt his own magic. After the children had found him, alerting him best as they could through tear soaked faces, Damien had promptly lost it. In a roar of fury, his body transformed into an exalted state. Oozing a domineering pillar of burning rose golden energy, his hair, eyebrows and eyelashes and eyes became shining sparkling platinum. His eyes deeply glowing with white hot energy. The children stared transfixed, it was as if in mere moments the older boy had evolved into an avatar of light.


    Immediately, Damien had exploded forward, racing at the bullies screaming in a voice that sounded like an army of millions of voices simultaneously. He remembered his hands, radiating the same golden energy, deeply injuring two of the bullies upon contact. Blasting them away in a tremendous explosion of power, Damien remembered he instantly whipped around grabbing a third by the face. Damien remembered his hand dug firmly into the bully''s head, drawing blood from multiple locations, as the older tried desperately to break the Damien''s iron grip, failing miserably.


    It was then that Damien finally blacked out to the rage.


    Damien had been told sometime later that his hands then began to glow even brighter. He had apparently gripped his other glowing hand to the other side of the bully''s head. While letting out a loud, chaotic multi voiced-laugh, Damien proceeded to promptly light the boy alight in a massive, unholy pillar of fire. With a grip unbroken, u bothered by the heat he was outputting, Damien delivered the judgment of God, directly to the older boy''s head as the he walked bone chilling screams of pain, having lost the ability to annunciate words, begging for mercy.


    At that point Damien had to stop eating.


    This was always the part that made thinking about himself in any positive light, so hard.


    Even in the nicest of words, whenever anyone had retold to him what he did after he had lost consciousness, they made no mistake to say Damien looked like he had no intention of stopping the fire.


    The bully''s life was only saved by the barest of margins, by a chance attack from Tyson.


    The bully had snuck up on Damien. Taking advantage of the smaller, glowing, psychotic child, Tyson launched the strongest haymaker he could muster, directly into Damien''s head.


    Tyson, pushing himself to move as fast as he possibly could, made his entire arm glow a deep, majestic purple as it raced forward in fractions of a second. Clothed with all the power and magic the large boy had left to muster, his blow had landed perfectly.


    Instantly it blew the three apart, launching Damien like a ragdoll through the gymnasium, landing in the orphanage lake in a thunderous explosion. While the burnt bully, who flew backwards, promptly slumped to the ground caught in Tyson''s exhausted arms.


    But even the desperate strike of a full blooded, juvenile ogre, was for nothing.


    Damien had apparently burst from the lake dwarfed within a massive pillar of rose-golden fire, causing a series of thunderous explosions. His chaotic, multi-voice laugher had apparently never ceased as he raced back single mindedly to his hunt while the bullies stared at their impending doom, horror painted on their faces...


    ***


    The boy breathed out slowly, his hands shaking slightly as he broke from his memories momentarily. The mental turmoil he felt after he learned what he did, how he had fought, had never left. Damien couldn''t remember doing such a thing, but something the boy never said out loud, was that he didn''t know if he would''ve stopped himself, even if he could. He remembered the feeling of so much glorious power surging through his veins, he could see farther and clearer, hear better, think faster, move quicker, and hit so much harder. Sadly though he couldn''t remember the fight, he could feel everything that he came into contact with, so much more intensely even from wherever he had been within his subconscious. That unfortunately included the endless onslaught of much more polished, tempered magic and fists of the much older teenage mages composed of vampires, half-orcs, half-trolls, and the orphanage''s only full blooded ogre, Tyson, that came crashing into Damien from all sides relentlessly.


    Even with all that wild new power, Damien somberly recounted how he had eventually succumbed to their violent beating. As even as strong as whatever he was, had proven to be, his magic was brand new, wild and untempered. He hadn''t known how to even weave spells much less control his aura to not pour out all of his maximum energy output constantly.


    Every hit Damien dealt may have been punishing and heavy, laced with contempt and intent to destroy, but he couldn''t even heal his injuries using his own aura, something the bullies were very capable of doing. It wasn''t even a war of attrition, Damien had been all show, and before he had dropped everyone watching could tell. Damien''s body had been aching terribly and overheating to the point that his eyes were blocked by the sweat and blood pouring from his pores and orfaces. He had been "seeing" by trying to feel for the bullies'' constantly moving aura shapes, and lashing out wildly at them. Wasting precious energy with every missed blow. He remembered feeling horrible pain and exhaustion from just the weight of his own energy and the heat he was emitting. So when the punches and spells of the bullies would hit, the pain he felt would be magnified so much more. The amount of trauma the smaller boy was sustaining made his head ring horribly, causing golden blood to come cascading from his eyes and nose.


    Emboldened by all the damage Damien seemed to be taking despite having downed 3 of his goons, and causing the rest of them severe injuries, Ivan and the rest redoubled their efforts. Their only chance to survive was to pummel the strangely bright, burning child into the dirt before he could touch them. All of them had remained deathly afraid of the boy''s glowing hands. All the while, they had never known Damien''s own magic was doing more damage to himself than they were to him.


    ''Thank god for that,'' Damien thought with a resigned sigh, ''they would''ve definitely killed me if they knew all they had to do was wait me out.''


    A bright star he was, but like all newly bright stars, Damien remembered sourly, he had burnt out very fast. Compared to even the weakest of proper mages, he''d always eventually lose if he never even learnt to properly cultivate his aura. No matter how much magic he would learn, it would ultimately be a useless endeavor. Magic was the art of controlling and shaping energies collected and manipulated by multiplying those energies by the base that was the mage''s own aura.


    An aura that was never cultivated and tempered was like multiplying all that fabulous energy by zero at worst, and an extremely small fraction at best. No matter how many godly spells or artifacts Damien could get his hands on, nothing would ever change that. It was a law of magic written into Taboo itself.


    Damien remembered that as he was about to pass out for good, a wave of malicious and unholy energy enveloped the entire courtyard. Before he went out, he remembered glimpsing something that felt like Ma LaCroix, but the image his eyes bore witness to, was seared into his nightmares ever since. Deep oceans of ghoulish, dark-green power, wailing menacingly and loudly riveted from her seemingly frail, but impossibly tall horned figure. She was wearing a wooden, blood red mask, but from her eye holes emanated a silent yet haunting deep green glow and she was holding a tall staff made of bones with jingling bells wrapped around it. The only thing he could think as the dark enveloped him, was that he was staring death itself in the face. After waking in the infirmary, Damien would learn from one of the Priests attending to the orphanage doctors, that for the first time expulsion had been doled out, and Mindy had been the first to go.


    Her gang would dissolve after half of its members would also get the expulsion charge. Children, ages ranging from 14-18 within the gang, were tried by a tribunal of the founders, and if found guilty? They were coldly, finally, expelled for their crimes.


    Ivan and his cronies, along with the other younger members of the former massive gang, had managed to skirt expulsion, pleading instead for a different punishment. Ma LaCroix, against her better judgment had conceded, however she had let them know soundly, there would never be a second chance for expulsion given to anyone again.


    Damien looked up from his food, silently watching the old lady laugh and joke genuinely with her kitchen staff as they all subconsciously returned happy, content feelings coming through from their gentle intents.


    He would later come to affirm that she was no powerless creature, far from it. She was one of the few grand blood witches, an arcmage of several forms of human and demonic magic. Even upon reaching the title of Baba Yaga, one reserved only for the most powerful witches of their era, she refused to stop her momentum in mastering the arcane arts. Her perseverance had long since attained her the pinnacle of her human cultivation, from there she eventually ascended into goddess-hood and immediately had delved deep into the powers and abilities it offered her. She was even rumored to have an art, and a very powerful one at that, though she''d never tell what it was.


    "She''s a goddess," Damien murmured to himself, still awestruck all these years later.


    He''d learned that apparently any creature could reach god or goddess-hood through magical cultivation, though the exact process by which they did so varied immensely for each race. Which was why Ma LaCroix teaching Damien how to cultivate without knowing what he was, was unthinkable. Even so, specific cultivation stage-based powers achieved along the way to godhood, seemed to remain consistent among the creatures of the Mortal Realms no matter the method used.


    Damien cringed slightly as he thought of how the first thing he did after being discharged from the infirmary all those years ago, was to immediately seek out Ma LaCroix and literally beg her, on his still heavily injured hands and knees, to teach him. And all he had achieved for his misguided efforts was messing up his painstakingly tended band aids, tracking blood all over her office carpeting.


    While the old witch had kindly declined to teach him any demonic magic, any of the black magic arts she knew, or any method of human mage cultivation, where she was able to teach him, the old goddess was a literal godsend. She painstakingly taught Damien and Jessica many kinds of basic magic, spell forms and runes. She had also taught them basic magic circles, how to perform simple hand seals, and how to do daily basic mana purification for years. Jessica had progressed much faster than Damien eventually, in part because she had access to the many tomes the library held covering various kinds of werewolf cultivation, but also because of the abnormal amount of natural talent for magic she seemed to possess.


    This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.


    Eventually, on his 12th birthday, Ma LaCroix even helped Damien create a secret spell, which she had promised him never to reveal unless it was absolutely necessary. The old goddess had seemed sad, she lamented that it was all she truthfully could do for him. But to Damien it was worth more than his weight in diamonds. Since no one at the orphanage actually knew what Damien was, they couldn''t and usually just didn''t want to, teach him any deeper forms of magic or even help him control the golden energy he was born with, despite the vast wealth of knowledge at the orphanage libraries.


    Ever since magic had become commonplace on Earth, and the inhabitants of the Mortal Realms reached a universe wide economy, it had become painfully obvious relatively quickly, that teaching a mage the wrong cultivation method for their race would irreparably ruin their bodies forever. Not could, would. It was only ever a matter of time, but the effects were just as horrifying each time.


    As he was finishing the last of his eggs, a warm steaming mug was placed in front of him. Before he even looked up, a big goofy smile broke out across his face.


    "Sister Hua!" The young boy called out in merriment, looking up to see the tall smiling Asian lady''s face. Sister Hua, of all the kitchen staff and the nuns and priests who helped run the orphanage alongside whatever few Dragon Class Lance Paladins that the United World Military or UWM could spare, was the closest thing to a mother that Damien had ever known. She had taken to the young boy as his primary caretaker ever since she first brought Damien to the orphanage as a small child.


    "Happy evening, my little goose," Sister Hua said warmly to the boy. With nothing in her heart but barrels of tenderness and love, her intent radiated out warmly in a cheery bubble of joy that seemed to actually heal Damien''s injuries softly. The boy stared at his now non injured wrists with wonder, turning it around slowly, checking if it was still real. Sister Hua giggled as she reached down to softly caress his soft brown curls. "Here''s your wonderroot tea, my little goose, drink up."


    "Thank you eomma," Damien replied happily, taking a deep sip from the drink, while Sister Hua kissed him on the forehead then proceeded to return back to her work, calling out to the aides and nuns she was working with to bring in the season''s harvest before the snow came in that evening. Ma LaCroix and her aides also saw this as their cue to leave, hearing the chime of the evening bells ring loudly 10 times.


    As they left, Damien let loose a relieved breath that he hadn''t realized he''d been holding. Sister Hua definitely noticed his remaining injuries, she had even just healed the rest of them! But she didn''t even slightly react to it. Damien didn''t know whether to be relieved or to start panicking, but the moment left him feeling deeply unsettled. Secretly, he attempted to reach out with his aura to try and search for Sister Hua''s own aura without alerting her. But, just as every time he had done so before, her body felt stone dry of both mana and aura.


    However, he remembered soberingly, the same could be said about Ma LaCroix. And through his 3 years of training with the old goddess, he learned that it was literally impossible for any existing creature to not have aura, though not all of them used mana like he did. For Damien to not be able to even sense a drop of their aura, meant they were at a level so incomprehensibly strong that both Damien''s soul and brain instinctively denied him the ability to perceive it, lest the sheer awe, magnitude, and complexity of auras of such powerful beings permanently fry his brain. Damien drained the cup to halfway before stopping, sipping cautiously as more thoughts he''d been repressing came back to him.


    Firstly, like himself, no one knew what Sister Hua was exactly. She had just shown up, one misty, quiet morning, carrying a young, sleepy eyed toddler in one arm and wheeling a meager suitcase behind her. Ma LaCroix had met her at the gate while she was raking the crisp autumn leaves that usually fell at the orphanage''s front gates. Silently she watched Sister Hua, who''d appeared to the orphanage carrying infant Damien while in search of a job, approach up the main path to the large orphanage gates. At first the orphanage workers thought the two had to be mother and son, especially due to Damien''s eyes being slanted, hinting that he was at least somewhat Asian, but Sister Hua had constantly dismissed these rumors. Instead, she claimed she had found Damian in a chance encounter. She''d recount how she had spotted the toddler discarded under a bridge one morning, as she was wandering along the Hudson River in search of nanny work.


    But something didn''t add up to Damien, two things in fact. He could never explain it, but he had always felt a weird kind of attraction to Sister Hua. Not romantic, but instead, it was an overpowering feeling of belonging.


    ''It wasn''t that hard to get so attached to her,'' the boy thought sourly, ''yeah the others love me when I protect them, but they don''t exactly hide the fact that they''re all afraid of me.'' Damien felt his vision begin to fog up, ''I''m more of a circus attraction than a person.''


    His bottom lip quivered slightly as he wiped a tear from his eye, shaking his head before it could cause him to cry in public.


    ''Not again,'' Damien thought to himself with a reserved sigh.


    He had long since accepted his unwillingly imposed solitude, since the only people that didn''t seem to fully mind not knowing what he was, seemed to be Ma LaCroix, Sister Hua, and Jessica.


    ''Much less awkward this way,'' he thought regretfully, since after that fateful day, none of them had ever seen Anna again.


    Picking up the tea, he stared at the rest of the remaining drink for a minute, swirling it around slowly before finishing it in one go, tipping it back like a shot. Damien had long since become incredibly suspicious of the wonderroot teas she kept giving him since Anna had left. He had drank the tea from the same cup as her many times before, so had been sure for a long time that it wasn''t poisonous. Yet, for some reason, he felt a base, almost primal desire to drink the herb that didn''t diminish with the years. Actually, the boy could swear he was sure it was getting stronger. And he was doubly very sure it wasn''t a coincidence that it was the only kind of tea Sister Hua would brew for the two of them to share together. Nor was it probably a coincidence that the endless thoughts seemed easier to handle after he drank the tea; nor the fact that the strange itching sensation in his back he would feel from time to time and the rampaging dark inner rage he felt that day, seemed to disappear for days at a time whenever he drank it.


    ''There''s something she''s not telling me,'' the boy thought to himself quietly, ''a lot of somethings, and she''s probably long since been aware that I''m suspicious of that.''


    Though he hadn''t a shred of an idea what the reason for her feigned ignorance might be, and he certainly wasn''t going to challenge his possibly divine surrogate mother and ruin their relationship, or far worse, learn what a chancla throw from a goddess could look like. He shivered in his seat at the thought of a sandal turning him into ash.


    Damien couldn''t help thinking the way he did, truly he tried but it felt that ever since he hit 10 years old, he could literally feel himself mentally developing and aging at breakneck speed. It was like constant agony. Whenever he abstained from the teas for too long, he would become debilitated in his room, unable to move from the constant pounding migraines.


    He could feel the speed at which his brain received and processed thoughts had also super increased, leading to him being diagnosed with a myriad of strange cases throughout his life as local doctors attempted to make sense of the boy''s strange biology, yet always failing. For an entire year after the Anna incident, he had been taken to clinic after clinic. After the local doctors turned up nothing, Sister Hua had even begun spending her own meager income, supplemented by the orphanage, to look for specialty clinics. Though Sister Hua would never let him know how much it cost, Damien had once found receipts of one such clinic visit. The amount he read, before taxes, made the then 11 year old vomit horribly from anxiety.


    Eventually, after exhausting a year and a half, and more money than Damien ever wanted to think about, they landed on a possibly magical strand of incredibly hyperactive ADHD. Some doctors, thinking it was a sign of awakening Lupinism or Vampirism, or that the boy was fae-touched, had prescribed him a medley of top of the line, expensive pills usually given to teens undergoing those processes, in a hope that one would help to stabilize his bucking pre-pubescent aura. And of course, Sister Hua silently, humbly paid the amount, without even a word of contest.


    However, Damien remembered, he had never actually taken any of those pills. Sister Hua secretly took them from him the night he came back from the hospital with them, and had replaced them with a different bottle of rock candies disguised as pills. She had told him the wonderroot teas were all he needed and to lie if anyone ever asked him if he was taking the pills. They silently agreed not to mention it, but Damien never forgot that night. It was then that he had finally admitted to himself that, though it ate him up inside with guilt to be suspicious of his surrogate mother, if anyone knew what he was, it was probably Sister Hua.


    Why she clearly wasn''t willing to divulge that information though, was something he couldn''t figure out.


    ''If only it was just the damn pills,'' Damien thought angrily. Eventually he had stopped having the migraines, even after not taking the tea for longer than a week, but he still remembered, soberingly, to never attempt that again.


    ''Yeah, na,'' he thought with finality, ''what comes after just isn''t worth it.''


    Damien had learnt one morning while cleaning the pool, that the worst of the torture of puberty for whatever he was, came in the form of countless thoughts, unceasing processing of any and all stimuli around him, both physical and metaphysical whether he liked it or not. He often didn''t like it. He liked it far less when in a daze, looking at the world around him, he tripped into the pool and nearly drowned. Since then he also understood why the orphanage always had some of the water dryad nuns watching over pool cleaning.


    The endless amount of forced, deep analyzing... mentally tortured him. Though as he grew, drinking the wonderroot teas regularly, he felt it slowing down more and more before eventually returning to "normal". Damien was eternally grateful for this but it had irreparably changed him. Making relating to other kids feel awkward at best and it made having crushes on girls his own age feel weird and forced. His increased antisocial habits didn''t make his already prevalent problem of not being able to integrate with anyone any easier.


    After he reached his 12th birthday, Damien realized that his hyperthinking brain had not so much grown silent, but had in fact separated itself from his main subconscious and consciousness. As with everything else that seemed to be tied to whatever he was, it was something Damien learned in the most unfortunate way possible.


    One moment the boy was cooking pancakes, the next moment he was a robot, fascinatedly watching chemical reactions mixing with colorful arrays of golden energy through the dense fog of smog that his pancakes and the kitchens had turned into. He had eventually come back to reality while being rushed out of the building, carried by a frantic nun that had found the boy arrested in place, watching smoke mix with magic energy as fire raged around him.


    Damien wanted to be angry at the revived litany of weird looks, constant whispers, and constant forced loneliness that followed his every moment around the orphanage grounds for months after that, but he knew it wouldn''t be fair. He couldn''t ask others to feel safe around him, when he didn''t even feel safe sneezing at times, fearing he''d learn golden fire could manifest from his nostrils. The added fact that the fire had only singed his clothes and burnt half the kitchens, but the boy himself had been found completely unburnt, probably didn''t help.


    It felt like he was sharing 2 brains with himself, in the same head. In time he realized that he could almost... shift brains with the SuperComputer. It was what he named his second personality. In this form, he felt his body heat up significantly, but not overpoweringly. He was hyper aware of everything and all forms of energy moving around him. He could see incredibly far with crystal clarity, hear a pin drop from miles away, and his physical strength increased by orders of magnitude. But nothing came close to the amount of shimmering rose-gold energy and fire that came pouring out of his body beyond his control, at least at first it was beyond his control. Nowadays it pulsed in an aura around him, just taller than Damien himself. Yet, now it felt like the softest hug imaginable that could soothe any and all pain completely. But it also sang and chanted, repeatedly, endlessly, and loudly.


    Damien shuddered as he recalled the sensation, the energy was literally singing to him, chanting in his ears. Songs of power, destruction, salvation, judgment, worship. He truly felt the longer he stayed in that state, while sure he felt unstoppable, he also felt himself going more and more insane.


    Damien recalled the first time he had attempted to intentionally induce shifting into his SuperComputer after it had separated from him. It was the first time he was making contact with the energy since the kitchen fire, and he was determined not to make the same mistakes. This time, he was deep in the woods surrounding the orphanage. He had left a wooden doll that he enchanted to look and act like him to do his chores so no one would notice he was gone.


    Damien reminisced grimly as he remembered how beautiful everything looked in ultra high definition. How slow everything around him moved, as he realized he could ramp up his perception speed until it was far far faster than the world around him. How glorious the shimmering golden energy looked, giving everything he saw through it a thin film of rainbow lighted gold as he spun and spun slowly... until he blacked out.


    When he came to, what Damien saw immediately terrified him. He was laying inside a massive pillar of rose golden fire. It was pillaring high into the sky and had scorched the life out of everything in a 20 meter radius around him. At this point the chanting of the energy that was still pouring out of him, fueling the flames, sounded like thunderous war cries, booming in his ears. Damien recalled how he couldn''t hear anything else over the chanting, he was panickily clutching his ears trying to get any kind of respite. None came, though he was sure he had been screaming for dear life at the top of his lungs. Damien recalled how at some point he had fallen back down to his knees, struggling to shift his brain back from the psychotic walking torch the SuperComputer had turned out to be. Through the intense pain and scream chanting, Damien struggled to keep his eyes open, determined to not black out a second time lest his flames go on to burn down the entire orphanage. Just as he gave in to the pain and passed out for a second time, he saw a dark figure standing above him with deep, golden eyes, that had the clearest, diamond blue hue he had ever seen. His last thought before he fell to the inrushing darkness, was '',those eyes... look like mine.''


    Damien got up, having long finished his food, he walked absentmindedly through the crowd of kitchen aides, as he continued his reminiscing.


    He recalled that after he awoke in the infirmary, the first thing he saw was Sister Hua sitting asleep in a chair next to him. He remembered looking down and seeing piles of used wet towels, he assumed had likely been used to keep his forehead cool for however long he had been there. He felt bad at the damage his selfishness had likely caused, and felt even worse that he couldn''t get the image of the figure with eyes like his out of his brain. Even with his bone tired, surrogate mother sleeping next to him. Instead of thinking of her effort for him, all the boy could think of was if she was the figure or not. He couldn''t make out if the person he saw was a man or a woman, and it had bothered him ever since.


    So close, yet still so far.


    In the following months, he recalled how he had thrown every waking moment he could spare into training to control himself as long as possible while connected to his SuperComputer. Ma LaCroix and Sister Hua were always within sight, coaching the young boy through developing his magic as much as either of them knew how. Ultimately, recently, giving him a blessed 1 minute of complete clarity in his SuperComputer state. Which was how, to bring the circle to a close, he thrashed the bullies not much earlier. Somberly, he went to begin washing the mountainous valley of dinged up fine china, also known as the day''s dishes, where he could start upon his other favorite task, more thinking.


    He thought back to the events just prior, Damien knew he didn''t enjoy beating on the bullies, well maybe the first couple times sure. But it had become akin to a sad eventuality for him, a bothersome chore rather than a heroic duty, not to mention the bullies hadn''t actually posed a challenge for him for quite a while, even when it was 7 on 1. The older boys were cruel and heartless, yes, but they had also long since come to the sad realization years ago that the races they were, simply didn''t have favorable odds for adoption.


    ''Vampires, Orcs, Ogres, Trolls, Dwarves or,'' he thought dryly, ''mysteries like myself or somehow even worse, halfies.''


    Damien sighed, and to make matters even better, everyone knew that if a child wasn''t adopted before 13, their chances of ever getting to know what parental love felt like, would dwindle to almost zero. That wasn''t just true of their modern, vastly interconnected magical society, but even before the Second World War, before magic would become commonplace throughout the Earth, this truth stood untested. Teens did not get adopted very often. For very many reasons, that fact sadly only grew when the issue of magic and a menagerie of magical races was thrown into the mix. If an unfortunate case of an orphanage kid not getting adopted happened, their only path left was sadly, graduation.


    There were usually only two options left for "graduates" of the orphanage. Upon the orphan''s 18th birthday, the three heads of the orphanage: Father Clyde, Ma LaCroix, and Lord Jurovi, would sit with the birthday kid and inform them of their very, very, bland choices.


    The first choice was to leave the orphanage as a full adult. The orphanage didn''t want to cast their kids to the wolves, but at a capacity of over 800 kids at a time, spanning all races and all ages, keeping every graduate would''ve bankrupted the orphanage long ago. Instead, the orphanage would give the graduate however much they could spare, usually it was never more than $500. Then they would wish the graduates good luck as they would leave the orphanage gates, and attempt to survive in the real world on their own terms.


    But with the rampant threat of cultist groups, demon worshipers, actual demons and much much worse, it wasn''t very surprising when many that survived would return after only a week or two. Usually they were very haggard, looking much worse for wear than when they had left, and desperately begging the orphanage to give them a job so they could at least feel safe behind it''s tall, iron gates again. Those ones usually didn''t go outside much after returning, and adamantly refused to go anywhere alone, though they would never explain why. The older adults seeing this would just share sad, knowing glances, and not question it. However, seeing the states their old friends were reduced to after just mere weeks in the outside world, gave many of the younger orphan''s terrible nightmares of what would happen to them, should they themselves fail to be adopted.


    The second choice was constant room and board, 3 square meals a day, state of the art facilities to train body, soul and magic, a wealth of knowledge, resources and connections, upwards social mobility and it was backed by one of the most powerful organizations to ever exist in the Mortal Realms. The downside was, to get any of this, the orphanage grad had to sign away the next 10 years of their lives to the United World Military. This would entail 10 years of semi-active, to fully active duty. It meant always having to be ready to deploy to whatever horrific event was spontaneously occurring anywhere on Earth or on any planet in any realm, at a moment''s notice. Even when on vacation. Sworn to uphold universal peace within the Mortal Realms, the UWM was a true last ditch effort to avoid a full scale, universe ending war after the irrefutable existence of magic, magical creatures, vast intelligent life in 2 half universes, gods, and god with a capital G, became commonplace after WW2. Every world nation that wanted protection from any flavor of rogue mages, monsters, or even the occasional super being or god summoned from wherever that wanted to life wipe their country, was to make annual contributions to the UWM in the form of money, artifacts, magic, technologies, food, and most importantly, new recruits. Nations that joined the coalition were still allowed their own militaries to protect their own domestic interests since the UWM fought the terrors of the entire Mortal Realms and even some of the Divine Realms. On all fronts, on all battlefields, at every hour, the UWM would be there.


    ''It''s a real good thing many cultures and countries consider collecting titles in the UWM to be a high status symbol,'' Damien thought as he dried his hands. Having apparently finished all the rest of the dishes in a trance-like state, Damien proceeded to collect the rest of his things and his coat. ''Their mortality rates are so high among their weaker ranks, that it''s a guaranteed death sentence if you can''t make at least Sargent within 3 years, if you even last 3 years.''


    Damien didn''t really enjoy thinking about these things. Realistically his own chances weren''t looking much better. Magical racism was alive and well, but so was good ol'' reliable racism. Even if whichever prospective couple that came along didn''t racially discriminate against him on some level, which was rare, the eventual elephant in the room would appear. No one knew what he was, non magically or magically. Even if the adopting couple had his best interest at heart, ironically that''s what would usually stop them from taking him. Joining the UWM was the best bet he had.


    Every family on Earth wanted to boast a powerful mage that had won achievements and recognition through obtaining titles and ranks in the UWM. The UWM was the greatest defense of the Mortal Realms, and earth was her homeworld. It assured that no matter how horrifying the battles the UWM fought, it would always have a surplus of recruits. Especially since the possibility of even attaining godhood was much higher the more one rose the ranks. On their own, godhood was many leagues beyond a pipe dream for the vast majority of mages in the Mortal Realms, despite the countless ages and talents, even if technically anyone could achieve it. If a UWM soldier eventually did ascend, going on to becoming a Lancer or higher, they would instantly become world famous celebrities. No matter their country of origin, their families would instantly rise to the highest ranks of their nobility. Sadly, knowing how best to properly train that future divine celebrity was paramount to having a shot at achieving this goal...


    Damien knew that unless something drastic in his life changed soon, the lower ranks of the UWM was the brightest his future could get. Life would be so easy if he could just attain Godhood before he hit 17, he could join the UWM at such a high rank he''d never want for anything again, but that was far too much of a pipe dream to even waste his dish washing time thinking about.


    "If they can''t figure out what I am," the boy muttered to himself as he left the now mostly empty kitchen and began the cool, nighttime trek across the snowy-filled, great courtyard to the benches, "then I need to start getting proactive about that, and soon."

 Chapter 3: The Orphanage pt. 3

    Damien strolled peacefully towards the benches, his every thought arrested by the memory of him and Jessica holding hands. He continued undisturbed, through the now blanket of gentle snow covering the large courtyard. There were many massive buildings dotted around the 82 acres of the orphanage. Some were more modern looking like the shoddy greenhouse the Sisters maintained, while the vast majority were broken down gothic style buildings, giving a slight hint at the true age of the orphanage while making the scene more ephemeral and timeless in the gentle snowfall.


    As Damien gently walked down one of the many cobble stoned paths lining the campus, through the snowfall he saw a few figures walking around in various states of awakeness. Some of whom were Sisters, conducting their evening nunley hymns, a few of them were the remaining kitchen aides and some of the Fathers. They were hauling massive troughs of groceries and very large bags of grain. Standing in lone pairs randomly dotted around the campus were the few Dragon Class Lancers from the UWM. They were incredibly powerful mages, world renowned heroes, soldiers of all genders and races that had gained godhood under the tutelage of the UWM''s trainers, sharpening their magic against the horrors of creation. They were the pride of the UWM, and the first rank that displayed its true absolute power. The orphanage, despite being a hotbed of rampant teen angst filled with equally rampant magic, had never once been found nor attacked. The Dragon Class Lancers were a large part of why that was. Ma LaCroix, Former Lance Commander Lord Jurovi, and Father Clyde''s pedigrees as incredibly powerful gods that, although neutral, were on friendly terms with the UWM, were the only reason the UWM spared as many as 12 of these divine Lancers to keep the orphanage safe.


    Damien waved to the soldiers and members of the orphanage as he walked. Many smiled and waved back at the boy, as most had garnered a positive outlook of him despite the horrific stories and constant fires he seemed to start. Continuing his walk, he noticed another figure in the snowfall sitting on a lonely bench. This figure was much smaller than the adults before and had a mess of beautiful brown and red curls spilling from her hood. Damien lost the ability to breath. His seemingly unstoppable, joyful pace had ground to a halt. Despite the cold, sweat began to bead slightly on his brow. Even without reading her aura, Damien had a feeling he knew who was sitting there. The feeling was confirmed as he got closer and a familiar pair of golden-green, wolfish eyes stared intently at him.


    ''Jessica,'' he thought, as his heart started to beat slightly faster.


    The werewolf girl smiled silently to herself. Her enhanced hearing had heard his heartbeat increase as he approached her.


    ''Good,'' she thought, ''that makes this a little easier.''


    She shifted over as Damien reached the bench she was sitting on, and sat on a patch of soft, powdery snow covering the bench seat next to her.


    "Hey Jess," Damien said sheepishly.


    He didn''t know what it was about her, but she took over his every thought whenever they were together, his powers couldn''t terrorize him when he was with her. Though he knew in his heart he never wanted the girl to leave him, he knew he couldn''t say anything. A relationship started in an orphanage, when one partner could one day be taken hundreds of miles away, wasn''t a very good idea. Both would either have to constantly live in fear of one of them one day getting adopted and vanishing from the other''s lives or stick together and eventually face graduation together.


    "Hey D," she giggled, smiling into her hood slightly. "12pm huh?," Jessica said with a coy smile, "a new record."


    Damien exaggeratedly rolled his eyes with a playful huff, looking away for a bit before asking tentatively with a smirk, "you wanna take dish duty wolfie, ya think you can waste time lookin'' as good as me?"


    Jessica nearly fell off her seat into the snow in front of her, doubling over with laughter. "Yo I went past the infirmary on my way here," she huffed, "dude Nelson actually shat himself, that''s gotta be Guinness worthy my boy!" She cackled harder, slapping Damien on the back with a heavy thump, as she thought back to the earlier fight. Now that she had time to process what had happened, learning that Ivan and his group were to be expelled upon recovery from the infirmary, the girl lost any notion of being angry. All she could feel was vindication for her lost friend, and it admittedly felt sweet.


    ''That one''s for you Anna,'' Jessica thought to herself, as she wiped a single tear, hiding her momentary sadness with laughter, ''stay safe sis, we''ll definitely laugh about this together someday.''


    The passing adults and soldiers looked over in amusement at the two kids laughing and joking together, pushing each other off the bench into the snow and casting snow clouds at each other''s faces. They all began exiting the area to give them some privacy.


    The two kids eventually just sat together in the soft light of the street lamps, watching the snowfall gently and not saying anything. Under the soft light of the stars, the evening snowfall looked serene and magical, a scene in the great, chaotic play of life that they could remain forever. Safe, content, happy...


    "Hey," Damien, started hesitantly, shuffling some snow aside with his old, orphanage issue boots, "you know we can both be gone from here at any time right?"


    "Oh sure," Jessica snorted sarcastically, "a mystery creature, black kid that can become an arsonist''s ultimate wet dream at a moment''s notice, and a sweaty werewolf Latina coupled with that oh so pleasant ,sporadic teen wolf-rage hormones and obnoxious sometimes uncontrollable strength." She threw her hands up incredulously, "we''re practically beating off the prospective parents by the bus full!" She started imitating the scene, swinging around wildly with an imaginary bat and a crazy, exaggerated look plastered on her face as she yelled in crazed rage.


    Damien chuckled despite himself. She was right, given their odds it was more realistic that the two of them would be leaving the orphanage as graduates than anything else.


    ''That would mean,'' he realized slowly, excitement building, ''that we have a potential 5 more years at least...''


    "So," he started, trailing off in a mix of wild hormones and fear, looking away sheepishly, "do you want to try it out?"


    Jessica smiled, Damien could swear for a moment he saw a sad look flash across her face from the corner of his eye, but it was gone before he could be sure it even happened.


    "If by it..." the girl started slowly, "you mean you being my boyfriend... then no."


    Damien whipped around, shell shocked and in hurt confusion, until he saw the satisfied smile on the girl''s face.


    "Oh," the boy said, realization dawning on him, calming his nerves, "you''re teasing me."


    "And you''re lucky you''re cute," was all Jessica replied with a giggle.


    Damien smiled and took a deep breath, this time, he looked her deep in the eyes. His golden, diamond-hued eyes, to her golden-green wolfish eyes. Maintaining eye contact, he took both of her mittened hands that had been folded on her lap in each of his, and said in the most stable, clear voice he could manage, "Jessica, would you be my girlfriend?"


    Jessica flushed deeply, hiding her face in her oversized cardigan she muttered, "about damn time asshole." Before Damien could respond, or even be sure he heard properly, she quickly leaned over and planted a soft kiss on Damien''s cheek. Stunned couldn''t describe the look on Damien''s face. A wild goofy grin broke out as he looked at Jessica''s milky brown face and wide wolfish eyes that reflected the same goofish happiness as his did. Damien scooted over closer to her, and the two kids sat under the soft street lamp light and continued to watch the snow fall in silence, holding hands.


    Eventually, when each of their legs had properly frozen, they both got up and continued walking through the snow towards the dorms, awkwardly waddling to quickly regain blood flow, as lights out was approaching. Soon they reached the dorms and Damien dropped her off on the girl''s wing. Running away from the startled choruses of oohs and ah''s that came cascading after Jessica kissed him goodbye at the entrance to the girl''s wing. The boy''s wing fared little better for him.


    ''Figures,'' he thought with a smile as he was assaulted by a barrage of questions by the sea of boys in the dorm. ''News already travels fast,'' Damien thought to himself, ''add magic into the mix and I wouldn''t be surprised if the entire orphanage was probably watching us in the courtyard.''


    Damien shrugged his way through the boy crowd. He softly projected his aura to push the boys away from him as he moved forward. He couldn''t begin to express how happy he felt that the orphanage kids for once weren''t avoiding him, but there was somewhere he needed to go. He couldn''t entertain any of their questions until after he got some answers.


    Going upstairs to the nun''s wing of the dorm, he expertly dodged a labyrinth of laughs, coos, jokes and head ruffles raining down from above as all the nuns that were still awake and about, congratulated the boy as he tried to squirm past them. Damien didn''t dare even use his aura to softly push the nuns away, he somehow could feel that it wouldn''t be very appropriate. However, it confirmed to Damien that the news really had made its way around with gusto. He continued his path until he came before another dingy, hawthorn door with a simple wooden sign nailed to it that read, Hua.


    Damien paused. He had largely been running on instinct and emotions up until now, doing his best not to think too deeply on anything that had happened to him that night in a desperate attempt to not crack under the massive weight of his rampant anxieties.


    He knew Sister Hua had to have known he was there. If it weren''t for the fact that she could read his aura and would obviously had felt it approach her door, she would definitely had noticed that the usually constant, various sounds of the nun''s wing had silenced beyond a whisper as the rest of the nuns noticed why Damien had come to their wing that night. Damien knew he needed to nut up and knock, he was wasting everyone''s time stalling.


    Taking a deep breath, he knocked twice on Sister Hua''s door, calling in a soft but clear voice, "eomma, mun yeol-eojuseyo."


    "Jamsiman gidalyeola adeul-a," came the reply of a female voice from behind the door. A slightly creaking noise preceded the rusty, bronze handles on the dingy Hawthorne door opening. On the other side, stood a tall, stocky Korean woman with shimmering silver hair and heavy golden eyes in a modest nun''s gown, though she never wore anything over her hair. She smiled warmly as she looked down at the boy in front of her and oceans of unconditional love and protection gushed forward from her intent through her aura involuntarily. She reached forward and grabbed her boy into a bear hug, raising him into the air laughing as she stood up. Some of the nuns that had been in their rooms had come out to join the others watching, almost compelled by the most wholesome display of mother and son love they had ever seen.


    The nuns all knew that Sister Hua vehemently denied being Damien''s mother every time she was asked, but many of the nuns had been mothers in their previous lives, and they called bullshit. Though, out of respect for Sister Hua, her fellow nuns never brought up their true feelings. Many of them chalked her weird actions up to being that she was probably actually seeking asylum in the orphanage, on the run from something or someone. But even then, she wouldn''t be the only one.


    Sister Hua closed her door behind her as she sat Damien down on her bed. Hua pulled out her ornate, crystal and shimmering diamond hairbrush from a closet at the vanity set the orphanage had gotten for her. Then, she laid down a round pillow from her bed on the floor in front of the boy. While doing so, she handed Damien the hairbrush.


    It was a ritual they had done, thousands if not hundreds of thousands of times before. Going back as far as he could remember, Sister Hua would sit in front of him on the hardwood of her room, and while Damien brushed and styled her hair gently, he would tell her all that had been bothering him and she would listen. Responding sagely, and accurately, no matter how long the story dragged on for.


    But this time, Damien did something he realized suddenly he had never done before. He really studied the hairbrush of his surrogate mother and for the first time in his life, wondered how she had even gotten her hands on something that could very likely create generational wealth easily if they sold it. Damien took the hairbrush, staring intently at it, pondering. But he had been looking so intently, that he missed the sight of an incredibly pensive and sad look that had crossed Sister Hua''s face as she looked down at her boy. Sadly, she watched him suspiciously, desperately trying to piece together a life story from what he could gleam from her. Sighing internally, the middle aged-looking nun completed her portion of their little ritual''s set up, sitting on her floor pillow in front of her boy, facing away from him, waiting patiently for him to begin carefully and lovingly tending to her hair while he vented to her his frustrations. Her hope was teaching the boy to remain calm even in moments of intense stress, and also, forging a bond between the two of them that went beyond any words.


    Damien sat still as he thought to himself for a second. Taking a slow, deep breath, he began using the pointed end of the incredibly valuable and ornate brush to undo the braids that were already in Sister Hua''s hair, prepping it to be properly brushed.


    "Eomma," he began slowly, "what am I?"


    Hua tensed slightly, her usually perfectly calm demeanor faltering for a second. "Nae adeul," she said softly, "you''re my boy."


    "Except," the boy retorted with a slight frown, "you keep saying you just found me." The room was painfully silent. Damien, his fingers never stopping, determined even in this headspace, remaining calm and at task, wavered slightly as his vision for a second began to well with tears. "Are you my mother or not?" He whispered.


    Sister Hua sagged her usually proud and steady shoulders, looking like the weight of the world had been dropped on her shoulders.


    "Ever since I met you," she started in a soft voice, "I have loved you, cared for you, understood you, raised you, as my own." Damien felt her every word, like bullets, rip into his conscious as guilt tore at his hubris. Her words tore him from his tunnel vision of suspicions.


    "Have I not been a mother to you?" She asked, as a single, genuine, sad tear fell from her scrunched, pained face as the nun struggled not to cry.


    Damien, horrified at what his question had done to his surrogate mother, wrapped his arms around her and held her tightly, burrowing his face in her wild mass of gentle, silver hair. Sister Hua reached up with one hand to hold both of his.


    "I''m so sorry," he whispered.


    The two of them sat there like that for a minute. Before each respectively regained their composure and continued on.


    Damien took a deep breath.


    ''Alright,'' he thought to himself, ''snarky, petulant child got us nowhere, you can do this D, stay calm.''


    "Sister Hua," he said in a calm voice, "do you know what I am?"


    At this the nun was genuinely silent. She sat in deep consideration, weighting every word of her response before continuing.


    "Quite honestly," she said in a voice mixed with curiosity and annoyance, "I''m not quite sure what you are either."


    Damien was stunned, he could feel her intent boldly. It lacked any hint of deception of any kind. He knew she had to know something about what he actually was, and yet... even she didn''t know with certainty! The boy could feel his head hurting from the consequences of learning this. Steadying himself, he thought about what to ask next.


    "Is there something I''m meant to be doing right now?" The boy ventured, "is there some greater destiny for me or something that I need to start training towards?"


    Sister Hua huffed. She thought to herself, ''anything I say at this point is not going to go pleasantly.'' She rolled her shoulders as she pondered her response. Her nerves that had been peaking since the start of the conversation were being sated by Damien''s soft brushes, but now that too had stopped. Damien had gone still as a rock as she quietly pondered how to respond.


    ''Might as well then,'' she thought to herself, ''time to put on your big girl pants Hua.''


    "Damien, my sweet boy," she said in her usually sweet and soothing voice, "much will be asked of you in your life, much has already been asked of you and those around you already, that you will never remember, and much will always be asked of you in your life." Now her voice also held a foreign commanding tone that the boy had never heard before, "but the one thing I will ever demand of you, is that you live your life, your way, and let your justice bring peace to you and your own, but to do this, you need strength." She sighed, but continued on, "strive for nothing less than absolute strength, the strength to create your peace, and keep it safe."


    Damien didn''t know why those words struck such a deep chord with him. Without context it sounded like his surrogate mother was saying a whole lot of nothing, and while he was certain he had no context whatsoever to anything she said, he couldn''t deny that that was the exact thing he needed to hear.


    "Strength," the boy muttered to himself.


    ''Of course!'' He almost hit himself in the head with the brush as the realization hit him like a train, ''all this time I''d been worrying about everything I can and can''t do anything about, but if I become strong, not just strong, but the strongest, then I can find out everything I need, at my own leisure.''


    The boy nodded to himself, firming his resolve, tempering a new mantra into his mind, ''if I become the strongest, it doesn''t even matter if I die for my ideals, at least then everyone will have to listen.''


    "Thank you Sister Hua," the boy said, having finished his train of thought, giving her a massive hug, he said into her hair, firmly and clearly, "I will become the strongest, I will create my justice and defend it with my magic, and after I prove myself, I will learn the truth."


    Sister Hua leaned out of his embrace and turned around with her half finished hair, but the look on her face robbed Damien of his voice. It was still the same face he had always known, but now, it wasn''t the half gentle, perpetually serene face of Sister Hua, but the calm, unfeeling yet incredibly astute visage of a terrifying commander of armies. Instead of a nun, Damien saw a conqueror, a true apex predator, a goddess and the voice she spoke her next words in, felt like all smashed into the perfect storm.


    "Then fight, Damien," she said, staring the boy directly in his eyes, almost seeing directly into his soul, "Fight, love, cry, and strive. But my boy, never let them forget your name, never let anyone forget Damien."


    Damien stared back into her eyes, equally unblinking and simply nodded with absolute conviction.


    Sister Hua sighed, as she sat back down, but she remained facing Damien.


    "Nae adeul," she said softly, her face and voice returning to normal but now welling with sadness and emotion, "I will have to leave here soon and I don''t think I''ll be coming back."


    Damien, sat as still as a rock as he absorbed the information. A few minutes ago, it would''ve crumpled him into a sobbing mess, but the 12 year old straightened his back and kept his face resolved, trying desperately to imitate the war goddess he saw before.


    ''Good,'' he thought, ''time to try controlling my voice.''


    "I-", he managed, the squeak his voice came out as belying his composed demeanor. "Is, i-", he attempted the second second time but stumbled choking on his own words.


    The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    ''Shit,'' was all he could think before he went silent, the tears started leaking from his eyes, speaking the words he himself could not. But even then, he forced his face to stand firm.


    The tall woman gently grabbed the silently weeping boy and held him in a soft motherly hug as now his composure truly shattered, wailing pitifully.


    "This isn''t goodbye forever my silly goose," Sister Hua said gently, though she also couldn''t stop herself from crying, as now her own tears came gently flowing, "I will see you again, but I need you to stay strong for me, keep defending the weak and lowly, keep being polite, keep brushing your teeth."


    At this point she was heaving with tears, her own composure far forgotten, rambling in her own desperate attempt to freeze them both in that moment together.


    "Keep that beautiful soft hair well maintained," she kissed his forehead, "and even when times get tough, keep a smile on that beautiful face," she concluded, raising his face and gently kissing him on the nose.


    "I don''t want to leave, I want to stay like this forever, with my silly goose" she said to the young boy. He didn''t even need to read her intent of complete truth pouring from her aura to know that there wasn''t a single lie behind those words. Damien couldn''t comprehend it fully, but intrinsically, he felt that her words ran deeper than he could ever know. "But I need to go," she reached out and touched the downcast face of the young boy, raising his face upwards to meet hers using a finger underneath his chin, "if you want to see me again faster, you have to become strong, become the strongest you, that I know you can become, as fast as you can."


    Damien, nodded. Saying nothing he wiped his tears and gave her another, longer, deeper hug.


    ''Strong,'' the aching boy repeated to himself, ''I will become strong.''


    The next day, the nuns awoke to a hushed sight. The dingy sign above a certain door was missing. Horror and sadness rang out amongst the gathering, as the ramifications of the news set upon them. But as news always did, it soared and rang. From lip to lip, from passing whisper to hushed gathering, by noon the entire orphanage was in quiet mourning for its young protector who cried into the arms of his new girlfriend. Her room was empty, her vanity set bare, her orphanage given robes folded neatly into separated piles at the foot of her bed confirmed their worst suspicions. Sister Hua had left the orphanage.


    As the following days turned to weeks, which turned to months, Damien threw himself into training with a robotic, ironclad fervency. When he wasn''t sleeping, he was training. When he wasn''t doing chores, he was training. When he was eating, he was practicing psychic magic that allowed him to shadowbox a figment of his own imagination, that was a perfect replica of his own powers and abilities, in his mind. The only time he wasn''t allowed to train, against his will he might add sourly, was when he was with Jessica.


    The werewolf girl knew Damien was ailing and suffering from severe depression at losing his only mother figure, and in truth losing the nun deeply hurt and upset her as well, but she needed Damien to not slip further into the void of his own insanity more than he had already. Whenever they were out together, she forced him to put all thoughts of Sister Hua and training from his mind. When he refused to do that, she kindly informed him that it could instead be seen as special training to keep Jessica from maiming and dumping him.


    After that, he found new, boisterous vigor in practicing the new "training method".


    Damien found that he could hold his SuperComputer state for longer and longer without blacking out the more time went on and he felt his power grow. He also felt his control firm a little more, now he was up to 2 minutes of control.


    "It''s a week till my birthday now," he said to himself one morning in his bed. He was laying in his room practicing one of his oldest exercises Ma LaCroix had started him on when he had turned 10, telekinetically dancing multiple palm sized, steel balls in various different patterns above him. The weight of the balls helped with develop his mental control over casting multiple simultaneous spells, and the various different patterns helped increase his energy efficiency and general power output. He had finally gotten up to controlling all 10 training balls, all gently dancing about in the air as he thought to himself.


    It was a calm and gentle day in May. The calendar marked the 5th and the weather marked a particularly cool and brisk Saturday morning.


    "I''m almost about to hit a new power spike from the massive power spurts that start when you hit 13," the boy held out his right arm into the air and stared at his hands. "Thankfully," Damien muttered, continuing, "the pre-13 window is also going to close for me in a week."


    He smiled, this was a good thing for him. It had confirmed what Jessica had suspected, no one wanted the two of them. Jess had turned 13 the week prior and they had been eagerly anticipating his 13th birthday as well. It seemed like their safety blanket, allowing them a cover of 5 blessed years to roam the orphanage care free with each other.


    "And 5 precious years to figure out how to get as strong as I can," he said with rigid determination, getting up from the bed, "the longer I stay un-adopted, the more time I have to find Sister Hua." The boy got into a push-up position. Using magic to increase his body weight evenly by 15 pounds, he began slowly doing as many pushups as possible, all the while not dropping a single one of the 10 balls.


    Jessica was raking leaves in the courtyard that morning. She had her dingy earbuds in and was dancing around while she raked. She was in her shoddy spring female uniform, a crumpled egg white button up blouse that had 2 buttons missing, and a slightly too large, many decade old cotton plaid skirt. She was wearing a new, oversized, blue cardigan that Damien had knitted her for her birthday. It had a simple pink rose embroidered onto the back, it was her favorite flower, the one that was on her when the orphanage found her discarded as a baby in front of their gates. She whistled the tune of the song in her earbuds while she worked. While the girl raked, she thought about the events of the last few months since Sister Hua had left. She hated what it had done to Damien, but she understood that nothing more could be done about it as they currently were.


    "I can get him out of his funk at least 3 days a week," she said shrugging to herself, "good enough for me." Jessica went back to raking, slowly piecing together an idea for their date that evening, as a certain scent started gently drifting towards her. It smelled of bourbon and old cornstarch, "eugh," the girl wrinkled her nose, ''smells like priest.''


    The girl thought that last part to herself as some of the priests employed at the orphanage were gods or close to attaining godhood. Ascension always seemed like it gave those nosey, glowey assholes some way of knowing everything anyone weaker than them was saying about them. She, like Damien, was also unable to even feel any divine aura, making it so that she couldn''t sense their approach. This made it so that she only had her senses to rely on while attempting to not get caught doing something she shouldn''t be doing. Although being a werewolf, even one whose magic hadn''t solidified yet and was still early in the growth phase, gave her access to amazing senses, it was nothing compared to what happened to one''s senses if they were ever able to attain sagehood or even godhood.


    ''Cheating pussies,'' the girl grumbled to herself.


    Nevertheless, she decided to continue raking and let the godly priest approach her whenever he got there. Looking up from the pile she had gotten together, she nearly jumped out of her skin as she saw Father George floating before her. The 6 foot, divine elf priest with emerald green hair and cold blue eyes, smiled warmly down at the girl. The priest patiently waited for her to regain her composure, while slightly levitating above the ground with his hands behind his back. Jessica stuck her tongue at him in mock anger but still bowed in respect to the priest and the deity just chuckled.


    "Come child," Father George said, his deep elvish voice radiating softly with power. He held out an inviting hand to the girl, his smile reaching softly to his eyes, "I believe something very fortuitous is about to happen for you."


    Confused, Jessica laid the rake down and straightened out her dingy clothes. She had an idea of what was happening, it was an orphanage after all, and the implications of it terrified her. She gulped and tried desperately to beat down her anxiety. She shuffled towards the priest.


    ''I really hope I''m wrong about this,'' Jessica pleaded silently.


    The young girl could count on one hand the amount of times in her life she had ever seriously prayed for anything, this was going down as one of those times. As she took the god elf''s hand, a shimmering ring of blue energy then wrapped itself softly, and slowly around them, covering them from head to toe. When the energy disappeared, they too were gone. A cloud of blue particles appeared in front of the administration building, and when those particles disappeared, in its place were Father George and Jessica. The young girl, as her eyes registered which building they were standing before, felt her heart turn to stone and drop to her stomach.


    Father George felt the unconscious sea of sadness deeply stitched through the girl''s intent, coming cascading uncontrollably from her aura. He gave her hand a slight squeeze, and gave her a somber, knowing smile. Jessica looked up into his cold-blue hawkish eyes, giving a deep sigh, she turned to face the ornate double front doors.


    "Let''s go," she muttered in a small voice.


    "As you can see Mr. Jeras, Jessica is growing fine and well," Lord Jurovi said as he gestured to the girl, sitting in one of the 5 ornate armchairs, currently in the headmaster''s office. Seated in two of the other chairs were: Ma LaCroix, her elderly ebony hands folded delicately on her lap with her staff standing on its own nearby, and Father Clyde who was gently sipping tea. Across from the three, incredibly powerful deities and the young girl, was a man in a navy blue 3 piece suit. He had a blood red button up shirt buttoned most of the way, pristine black suede shoes, and a loose Armani silver tie. He had thick brown curly locks, slightly brown skin, and golden-green eyes. He had a thick mustache and beard that was trimmed well and cut close. He had one leg resting on another, both eyes closed and looked deep in thought.


    He opened his eyes, gazing at the girl before speaking.


    "Girl-," he began.


    "Jessica," Ma LaCroix cut in with a simple, unamused voice.


    "Apologies, Jessica, I am the alpha of the Great Crystal Pack," the man said in his heavy Colombian accent. "I am going to be direct and honest with you as that is the way of the wolf," the man continued, never breaking eye contact, "I am looking for an heir, to my throne, to my magic, and to my divinity."


    Jessica was floored.


    "So," she began slowly, "so you want me to become... a wolf god-princess?" She howled in laughter as Amos sat unbothered. Lord Jurovi looked on slightly uncomfortably, Ma LaCroix continued also appearing unbothered, and Father Clyde took a very long, quiet sip of tea.


    "I''m serious," was the only thing the man said after her laughter had awkwardly died down as she realized she wasn''t getting a reaction from anyone.


    "...Why?" The girl said with sagged shoulders, "and why me? You''re a werewolf, dude. I know you have good eyesight, especially if you claim to be a god!" She was almost yelling at this point, her pain and guilt at wanting to leave, to touch the godhood being handed to her on a silver plate, but also wanting to live the life she had convinced Damien into accepting with her. For her, because of her. The emotions warred viciously in the young girl''s mind and it all came freely cascading through her aura, permitting her intent so thickly the three gods on her side looked away, each with very uncomfortable looks on their faces.


    "I''m damaged goods!" Now she was yelling, her eyes streaming with tears, "I''m 13! I''m too old to be adopted! Too old to have a future! Why now?!" The girl weeped wretchedly as she held herself, rocking herself in her chair in desperation. Ma LaCroix, saying nothing, snapped her fingers, teleporting the young girl into her lap and she gently and silently held the crying girl.


    "To answer your first question," the man continued, unphased by the crying girl, "too many people in my pack want me dead." He shrugged, "when you''re werewolf royalty and hail from a Great Pack, you''re born with more enemies than you can ever fully kill off or ever hope to peacefully coexist with." He looked up at the ornate ceiling wistfully, "that means, for as long as I have been processing conscious thought, I''ve known very well that I can trust little to no one," he said simply, "too many are insane, want me dead, or both."


    Looking back down at the crowd that was silently watching him, he continued, "as for why you," he continued, "as I said before, I need an heir." He adjusted his necktie uncomfortably, showing the first bit of emotion since he had arrived. "I also may or may not have also maintained a carefully crafted lie for many years about a secret daughter I was training in isolation, that would just happen to be in the ambiguous age range of 13-14, be a Latina with Golden-green eyes and brown hair, and have wavy locks." He gestured to himself, "as you can see, we ironically look similar enough that no one will question anything," he sighed deeply, his cool, suave demeanor dropping for a second, "and I am running out of time to produce an heir to back my story."


    "That seems incredibly irresponsible," was all Father Clyde said, his eyes that had been slowly turning into the feared vampire scarlet red while listening to Amos'' story, while he studied the werewolf alpha unblinking. Behind them, held barely contained rage.


    "Agreed," Ma LaCroix stated coldly, calmly smoothing Jessica''s hair.


    "Hrrrmph," Lord Jurovi grumbled as he cracked his ancient, divine orc bones, tied his long purple hair back, and folded his massive arms across his broad chest.


    "Amos Jeras," he said in a calm, but dangerous voice, "I offer to help you with a plight when you reached out as an old fellow Lancer, asking for such a suspiciously unique child." His voice became laced with deep rumbling power, "I offer to give you a chance to state your plea for adoption out of old friendship with your Great Crystal Pack." He spat out the last words, his divine aura started gently leaking from his body, undetectable to Jessica, but the other deities in the room could feel Jurovi''s intent through it, and he was beyond furious. The former Lance Commander huffed angrily and Jessica could swear she heard the structures of the administration building strain and creak, as if some invisible force was trying to cause the building to implode.


    "Explain yourself Amos," Ma LaCroix said in a flat, level voice, but it escaped no one, that her own eyes had started turning deep green.


    Amos suddenly stood up, and Father Clyde and Lord Jurovi, instinctively started allowing their divine auras to flow, anticipating a battle. The two co-owners of the orphanage knew they each were powerful, war hardened gods, but they knew Amos was as well. Both held a suspicion that Amos could very likely take them on at the same time. Given the particular nature of his magic, and his immense strength, even for a werewolf deity, that was not a pleasant thought.


    Ma LaCroix remained sitting, casually holding Jessica. Her own divine aura however, remained perfectly constrained.


    Amos however, immediately fell into a deep bow on both knees, head pressed to the polished hickory wood flooring beneath them.


    "I swear on my life and by my power," he began, "on my fangs and by my pack, on my honor and by my sword, I will keep this girl safe and raise her as a daughter first, heir second."


    Jessica didn''t know why but she could tell that what Amos had just said was no simple promise. She felt... something appear, but she didn''t see anyone extra in the room. Yet, the young werewolf knew beyond any doubt, something was there watching them now that hadn''t been before. Something far, far more powerful than anyone in that room. None of the gods dared to move. Even Ma LaCroix had a look that Jessica knew for a fact that she and a great many others had never even believed was possible. It was fear.


    Genuine fear.


    But Amos stayed in his pose, unmoving, and yet his intent shone through with oceans of genuine resolve. The werewolf deity held nothing back, and let his heart be felt completely by even Jessica. After a moment, the feeling of massive tension surrounding that silent, watching feeling, disappeared. It was at that time that Father Clyde and Lord Jurovi''s auras immediately died down, restraining themselves as Amos too, retook his seat. Curiously, Jessica noticed, each man had beads of sweat on their foreheads, and Amos'' shirt was partially dark from sweat. Even Ma LaCroix softened her gaze, her eyes returning back to their usual rich dark brown, her past face of fear somewhat still there, but she was back to doing her best to reassure the child in her lap.


    "So what do you say child?" the ancient creole goddess asked Jessica who had long since gone silent while she pondered everything that had happened deeply. The blood witch gave the small girl an encouraging smile.


    "Um," she started, still overwhelmed by everything that had transpired, "Um..."


    "I understand baby," the old goddess laughed warmly, "go tell your sweetums, he''s probably first in line of the crowd that''s been forming outside ever since everyone found out you were in here."


    Jessica gulped as she felt the color drain from her face. Closing her eyes and forcing her aura to fan out as much as possible, she strained to maintain it long enough for it to envelop the entire administration building and a few meters around it, holding it for a few seconds before collapsing in exhaustion.


    The three gods around her and even Amos stared at her momentarily, in open amazement. Aura control of that level, at her age, was unheard of, and she wasn''t even training with Ma LaCroix like Damien was. Jessica had just taken pointers here and there from Damien''s occasional rambling. Understanding dawned upon the 4 gods, the girl was a prodigy, and an incredibly powerful one at that. But Jessica failed to notice any of this, as the girl counted the aura signatures she had read from spreading out her aura.


    ''Jeeze,'' she thought sadly, ''he is at the front, the front of the actual entire damn orphanage.'' She gave a sad chuckle, "don''t these people have jobs" she muttered.


    All of the adults erupted in laughter, even Amos. Amos gripped his hand and a bright, silver light poured from his enclosed fingers. When he opened his hand he was holding a small green orb.


    "When you meet him, squeeze this and think of one place you want to go," he said softly with his own encouraging smile, gently handing the little girl the green orb, "it only works once so choose wisely."


    "Thank you Amos," the girl said, warmly smiling up at him. Amos said nothing, but smiled back genuinely in reply.


    Jessica straightened her clothing, tussled her hair to give it its usual wild look, took a long, deep breath and walked out the office, down the long hall towards the front double doors. But as she left she could hear Ma LaCroix''s voice with her enhanced hearing say, "next time you invoke the will of Taboo, Amos Boy, ya could at least warn someone."


    ''Taboo?'' She thought for a moment, before shaking her head free of distractions. She squared her chest and threw on her signature face of mischief, as she opened both the big doors with iron resolve. She momentarily faced the mammoth crowd standing there and her conviction started to crumble. Looking briefly at as many faces as she could, she saw a great many mixes of emotions. Desperately shoving as much of it out of her mind as she could, lest her conviction finally die. Locking eyes with Damien''s sorrow and betrayal filled, gold and diamond ones, she grabbed the young boy''s arm before he could even react. Immediately, Jessica squeezed the orb and her eyes tight, and in a bright flash of green, both kids were gone.


    "Damn," was all Damien could mutter defeatedly as he absorbed the news. It belied the massive, neigh, cataclysmic panic attack he was currently doing his best to mentally beat back.


    "Yeah," was all Jessica said, laying her head in his lap. They were sitting on her bed in her room, letting the news that Jessica had just unleashed in a hectic, screaming rant, soak into them.


    Damien felt anguish like he had never felt before. His head felt like it was about to crack open. First his surrogate mother had left months prior, and now... and now he was about to lose Jessica as well. Damien could swear his throat was trying to capsize in on itself choking back tears.


    Jessica wasn''t even trying to hide hers, she had been freely crying gentle rivers down the sides of her face the entire time.


    Damien closed his eyes and saw a crossroads. On one fork he saw himself as he was in that moment. He could feel that the visage of himself standing in the path didn''t want anyone else to leave him, at any means necessary. It emanated a feral intent, and Damien could tell that the one in the left fork was himself if he couldn''t stand life taking away everything that made him happy. It would become him if he asked Jessica to stay with him; but on the other fork, Damien saw... Sister Hua?


    The boy was stunned, the feeling coming from this fork was... fear, but also pain, happiness, joy, sadness, and... peace. He didn''t only see Sister Hua the nun, his mother figure, but also Hua the commanding goddess he had momentarily glimpsed for the first time that night.


    He remembered the promise he had cried into Sister Hua''s embrace all those months ago, to become strong no matter what, and he knew what he had to do. Fighting through the immense sadness and grief he looked down at Jessica''s softly crying face. Softly wiping a tear from her cheek, Damien smiled sadly, even he could tell Jessica was a legendary talent, far rarer than one in a million. However, she had absolutely no drive to train or any deep ambition that drove her. Yet Damien knew deep down she wanted more from life, she was just too jaded and frightened to believe it could happen. But now, the golden opportunity had arrived, gift wrapped at his girlfriend''s feet. If he deprived her of this chance, he knew he''d never forgive himself, he knew he''d never be able to stand in front of Sister Hua again.


    "You should go," he said softly.


    Jessica, looked up sharply, shock and anger deeply seared on her face until she saw the visage of utter defeat that was chiseled into Damien''s own. And Jessica saw the true depth of his own internal struggle not to break out into tears, for her sake.


    "But what about you?" she asked softly. Reaching up to softly cup his cheek, "won''t you hate me for making you believe we had time, then lying to your face by leaving?"


    "Hey," the boy said with a weak smile, "I''m gonna have a hot crystal werewolf goddess as a girlfriend, at this point I''m more worried about falling behind."


    Jessica didn''t say anything, but she smiled weakly at Damien''s attempt to cheer her up. Though a small, recessed part of Damien''s inner psyche, something that felt eerily similar to the strange rage he last felt months ago, admitted to Damien over and over, that the boy was only half joking.


    "Hey, Jess," Damien said seriously, looking her straight in the eyes, "I''m gonna become the strongest in the entire Mortal Realms." He pointed a thumb to his chest, "I''m gonna become the strongest even in the Divine realms!" He threw his arms out wide, giving a wild chaotic grin, causing Jessica to giggle despite herself.


    "And," he continued softly, smiling down at her, "I''m gonna need an equally powerful partner, to make sure I don''t get lonely at the top."


    Jessica slowly wiped her tears, she knew what he was trying to tell her. Reaching into her cardigan pocket, she grabbed a small box and handed it to Damien. Opening the box, Damien saw two simple silver necklaces, bound together by a swirling, onyx black, heart shaped, star filled gem in the center. Damien''s voice caught.


    "Did you..." he started, trailing off.


    "Yeah," she nodded slightly, "I saved up all of my allowance and bought this Soul Star necklace just in case I was wrong." She gave a slight chuckle that turned into a brief whimper before she sniffed, stopping herself from falling into another sobbing fit. Damien did his best to smile through the ocean of pain. He would stay strong as long as he needed to, for her.


    "We each touch the center," she continued, wiping away a tear, "and add a drop of our aura and intent of... of love."


    She blushed deeply. Damien looked away, also blushing deeply. Both of the brown skinned kids were smiling goofily. Despite their current situation, both were brimming with happiness that momentarily pushed back the hurt they were feeling. They were... in love, and now no matter how far they were from each other, they had something to prove it. Touching the gem at the same time, they both added in their aura and intent, causing the gem to begin to glow like a starry night. Splitting the two necklaces apart gently, the center gem split into two smaller copies of itself.


    "They''ll help us find each other," Jessica said firmly, still laying in Damien''s lap, "they''ll glow when we''re near each other, and no one can wear this besides us." She was silent for a bit then continued, "it''ll help prove that this existed, that you were my boyfriend, that we are each other''s, even if... even if we forget each other." She sat up staring intently at Damien, speaking feverishly, tears cascading from her eyes. "Even if we forget each other, as long as we''re wearing these, we''ll find each other again." She slipped on her own necklace and it shone gold once, after, she put Damien''s on him and his shone silver once.


    Damien nodded weakly, as if he needed any prodding. The second he laid eyes upon the expensive final gift from Jessica, he had sworn internally that until he met her again, there was no force in this or any universe that could or would separate him from that necklace.


    She reached forward and grabbed both of Damien''s cheeks, pulling the boy into a deep kiss. Their first kiss, each unfortunately aware it could also be their last.


    As Damien laid himself to sleep that night, he cried. He cried loudly, until all the tears had dried, and then, he cried even more, harder and more wretched than he ever had before. He cried till he threw up pitifully, then cried more. He didn''t care that the entire boy''s dorm could hear his wails through the thin walls. As the sorrow and depression wracked his body, thousands of miles in the air, in a luxury cabin on a private jet, that night Jessica also loudly wept herself to sleep, wailing sorrowfully.

 Chapter 4: The Orphanage pt. 4

    Damien walked around the campus in a daze.


    For many days he hadn''t slept well, and had barely eaten. When he wasn''t staring into the sky, quietly weeping, he would be curled in a ball, looking at pictures of Anna, him, Jessica and Sister Hua, and the pain would resurge, fresh and raw. Needless to say, all thoughts of training had been hushed. Damien would attempt to wander into the kitchen''s at night to do his usual dish duty, desperate for any sense of normalcy but he was always turned away by the somber kitchen staff, who would give the ailing boy extra snacks and hugs. It was all they could do to try and ease his pain. Though they definitely needed the help that the boy''s ability to tirelessly wash dishes brought, they all refused to let him work while he grieved. Ma LaCroix nor the other two orphanage directors, wouldn''t even entertain the thought for a second.


    Damien had barely noticed it, but many of the orphanage bullies had largely suspended their terrorism since the past few days. In fact, the entire orphanage seemed to also grieve for the loss of Sister Hua and now one of its most beloved students, Jessica. But nothing could compare to the level of sorrow and sympathy they felt for Damien. He had never been one to gloat his incredible powers or champion how strong he was. His strength had isolated him, and most had ridiculed him for it, reinforcing his isolation. That fact, hanging over the heads of the entire orphanage, made the depressed husk of a child he was now, all the more hurtful to watch. Many approached him offering their condolences. The younger children would also sneak him extra food to try and cheer him out of his depressive states. Other times, the younger kids would drag Damien from his isolation in his dorm, leading the zombie-like, dark skinned boy through the halls of the orphanage in hopes of getting him some kind of daily exercise. As they would wander about hopefully, dragging the sad boy, others would look on solemnly, hearts aching for him and those that he grieved for.


    A couple days later, Damien was strolling silently through one foggy morning. He wore his simple tattered raincoat over his equally tattered, and not recently well washed, spring orphanage uniform. He had not bothered to button it up all the way, leaving it messy and half untucked. He could be seen with his 10 tungsten training balls trailing simply around him, but never touching him. Damien had at some point gotten it into himself to take them out again. They felt... nice. The slight strain on his aura it took now to keep the training spheres hovering, kept him grounded when his mind threatened to drown him in a deep lake of depression and despair. They reminded him of a time where he was less constantly confused, less constantly sad and depressed, less miserable, when he was happy. The boy felt nothing inside him anymore. He was sure he had cried out any feeling he had left. All there was now was a conviction he had made to both Jessica and Sister Hua. To his surrogate mother and to his girlfriend. Though, he still had no idea of how he was supposed to actually achieve any of that.


    Sister Hua definitely had to be a goddess, and now Jessica had a straight shot path to becoming one herself. Damien felt a massive chasm appear in his mind between the ideas of the two women he loved the most in the world and himself. A deep gong of pain rang out in his chest and he almost stumbled along his path, almost hitting one of his levitating balls, almost. But he caught himself in time, muscles flexing with instinctual but deeply conditioned practice, aura flaring out exactly as powerful as he needed it to be to refrain from touching any of them.


    ''Strong,'' the depressed boy repeated to himself simply, robotically, ''I will become strong.'' He brushed himself off and continued trudging along, readjusting himself to not fall to emotional pain slightly better.


    ''It''s not as if that''s my only problem,'' he grumbled to himself as he came upon a simple bench. The same bench he and Jessica had sat on that night, all those months ago. A single tear fell from his left eye.


    ''Fuck,'' he thought to himself, ''guess I was wrong about crying out all the tears, but I''m pretty sure that was the last one.''


    Giving a simple huff, deciding that he would never again touch that bench until the next time he sat on it with Jessica, Damien shuffled on to another bench, plopping himself upon it. The tungsten balls weighed upon his aura and mind even as he had reached such a high level of mastery with them that they barely registered to him. Nevertheless, they forced him out of spiraling into another depressive episode, and into maintaining his thoughts.


    "I''m turning 13 tomorrow," he said aloud simply, tough to no one in particular, although some of the few people that were around him at the time looked away in shame.


    "How the fuck do I even become strong?" He screamed aloud, "I don''t even know what I am!" The courtyard hadn''t been very active, but at this even the few remaining stragglers had cleared the area, the awkwardness growing too palpable to bear.


    "Figures," he muttered angrily as he slumped into the misty bench, yet still his tungsten training balls, his only companions left, remained silently floating.


    Some time after the boy had fallen asleep on the bench, he awoke to a strange feeling of waves of intent being beamed at him. When he opened his eyes he saw... Father George?


    "Come child," the god-elf said, extending a hand to him, a warm, happy smile upon his face, "I believe a very fortuitous event is about to occur for you!"


    Damien had a heavily confused look on his face, but didn''t hesitate in grabbing the priest''s hand; he had recognized the phrase from Jessica''s rant.


    ''It''s about goddamn time something ''fortuitous'' happened for me,'' the boy sarcastically thought.


    Yet, a slight glimmer of hope started to flicker deep within the boy''s dried out heart. He didn''t want to appear too eager as he took Father George''s hand, but he was sure that the god-elf noticed just how hard Damien was gripping his fingers. And yet the divine elf priest saved him the embarrassment by acting as if he didn''t notice. Never acknowledging the vice grip of sweaty fingers that would''ve irreparably cut off all blood flow to his elvish fingers long ago. If the bodily constitution of even the lowest level deities wasn''t so astronomically far above anything Damien could do at the moment, the force the boy was currently exuding would have permanently crippled the elf. Even in the elevated state of panic that was causing Damien''s normally perfectly maintained aura to buck and kick and fight wildly like a wounded lion, his aura maintained its control.


    Mangled, powerful, disheveled, beaten, and weakened as it may have been from all the pain the boy had taken recently, it was still unmistakably, the aura of a future, great warrior. It roared a loud cry that demanded to be heard. Father George smiled softly down at the boy. He knew he would be alright.


    The god elf ruffled the boy''s head and said a prayer in elvish for him before then vanishing in a shimmering flash of blue energy.


    Appearing in the lobby of the administration building, Damien took off his raincoat, and chanted a brief spell to shrink the size of the floating tungsten balls, and store them in the worn, simple leather satchel the boy wore with him. Smoothing his clothes and fixing his hair as best he could, the boy looked at himself in the giant, grand ornate mirror that stood silently levitating in the lobby. Damien wasn''t very tall for his age, he would say he was average height for an almost 13 year old. He looked at his milky brown skin, and slanted eyes. People that came looking for someone with his completion, usually would either have to be really nice or naive to be willing to raise a magical mutt who also happened to be a minority, or dangerously insane.


    He looked at his golden-diamond blue eyes last. Damien stared deeply into the things that had mocked him all his life. Silently holding the secrets to everything he needed or wanted to know, yet happily, callously, keeping them just out of arm''s reach from him. They always made him chase a treasure that was constantly just out of his reach. But he could feel it. He could feel now that this would be the last time he would look at those eyes without knowing what he was. He didn''t know what awaited him behind the massive, wooden doors of the headmaster''s office, but he knew he would never be the same again.


    As much as the thought excited and mesmerized the boy, it scared Damien deeply. Though he deeply hated how his life had turned out, he had to admit to himself that the orphanage life was all he ever had known. Was he really ready to leave?


    But the faces of Jessica and Sister Hua appeared in his mind, as if summoned on call. However, instead of their usual kind loving gazes they looked at Damien with, they both had cold judgmental faces that stared down at him. Judging him silently, waiting for the decision that they and Damien himself, knew ultimately he would make.


    As the boy slowly lowered his head, resigning himself, he took a heavy, shaky, deep and slow breath. When he eventually looked up again. The apparitions were gone and he noticed he had sleep-walked from the lobby towards the headmaster''s office.


    ''For the love of god please have at least some clue about what these eyes are,'' he begged silently, ''about what I am.''


    He stopped before the massive double doors that led to the headmaster''s office. Touching a door with a single hand, he calmly spoke his name aloud, and the massive, enchanted doors swung open slowly, allowing him inside.


    Entering the room, the doors closed behind him. Damien saw 5 ornate chairs with 4 people each occupying a chair. 3 of the adults he recognized: Ma LaCroix, Father Clyde, and Former Lance Commander, Lord Jurovi. The fourth adult was a male that looked to be in his late forties to early fifties. He was well muscled, wearing an ornate, shimmering battle robe topped with a brilliantly shining, green breastplate adorned with a coat of arms etched on the left breast.  He had flowing, long dark red hair and a cropped red mustache and beard. Over his battle robes and armor, he wore a long, thick leather black battle jacket that had a layer of white fur adorning the hood. Along the man''s jacket Damien could notice white and golden runes, but these were unlike those he had seen Ma LaCroix or the other orphanage staff make and employ in their spellwork throughout the years. Damien could swear on his life that he had never seen the kind of runes on the man''s jacket before.


    So why did it feel like he definitely had seen those exact runes before?


    The longer Damien stared at them, the more he began to realize that they were... singing to him. As his eyes slowly grew with fear and recognition, the boy realized that it was the exact same chanting that was etched into his brain from the golden fire that would pour forth from Damien''s body whenever he would connect to his SuperComputer. But something else arrested his attention to the point that everything else faded to darkness except him and the other male. It wasn''t the massive black wings that became visible as the male rose to meet Damien, although that did give him a stumble, it was that when Damien fully studied the man''s face he noticed that the man had golden-blue eyes. Eyes that looked. Exactly. Like. Damien''s.


    "Greetings young man," the man said, before falling into a proper bow on one knee, one hand pressed in a fist to the floor, his head prostrated, and the other arm across his back, "or should I say, greeting My Imperial Highness Crown Prince Damien D''Amorn, what an honor it is to finally meet you."


    ''Well that''s certainly new,'' was all Damien could think as the implications of what the man said, blew his already fragile mind apart.


    "Um..." the boy squeaked weakly, "could you please explain what you mean sir?"


    "Of course," the older man said in a hearty chuckle. "Would you care to take a seat though first Your Highness? I fear the explanation may be a bit long." He gestured to the 5th chair which stood alone, empty.


    "If I move," the boy started slowly, standing as if paralyzed by the news, "I will fall."


    "Oh my!" The man exclaimed, "allow me."


    He clapped his hands together and Damien felt himself get instantly sucked in upon himself, vanishing from the physical world, but not from creation all together. Reforming an instant later, he fell into a slumped into the great chair. Awkwardly trying to correct how he was sitting, Damien attempted to at least make himself more comfortable while he had his entire world view blasted apart.


    "Is His Highness more comfortable?" The man said, clasping his hands together solemnly.


    Damien just sat there shell shocked. Slowly he began to look at each of the faces of the 3 gods he knew, and none of them were laughing. Though, Father Clyde and Lord Jurovi were both sporting looks of absolute shock, similar to Damien''s current face.


    ''Ok...'' the boy slowly perceived, ''not you two...''


    He turned and looked at Ma LaCroix, who looked back at the boy levelly, trying to remain stalwart. But in front of the desperate face of the little boy she considered a son, she broke. Hanging her head in slight shame she just silently nodded, casting a thicker film of shock over Damien and the two other orphanage leaders.


    ''Ok,'' the boy thought to himself again, ''at least this guy''s not crazy.''


    "Yes I am comfortable," Damien replied after a while, "but I am still very confused." The boy sat correctly in his chair, having recovered enough from his shock to move his body again. "You called me a prince," he rambled, anxiety mounting, "not just any prince, an imperial crown prince? You''re telling me I''m the heir to an empire? What kind of empire? ...Wait... Does this mean I actually have parents?"


    Damien had said the last part as a secret desperate plea, hoping this current drugged delusion he knew he had to be in would grace him one last time, but the man''s response was something Damien could never have imagined.


    "Your Highness," the man said slowly, obviously confused, "you do have parents, obviously." The man paused his bearded head slightly tilted in thought, "well... parent to be exact," he chuckled at his own joke as he scratched his head, "no one really knows who or what your father is except very few beings that have all been long sworn to secrecy via the old magic." The man clasped his hands excitedly, "your mother however, is the current reigning empress of the Kingdoms of the Earthly Host, also known as the Empire of Gera," he smiled warmly at the boy, "you are the true heir to the imperial throne that unites all the children of the Angels, the guardians of the Heavenly Host, and your mother has sent me to collect you, that is, if you choose to accept your birthright."


    ''Ah,'' Damien thought to himself sourly, ''so that''s where this not knowing what I am all started, thanks Daddy dearest.''


    Then a thought slammed into him like a raging bull that nearly sent him careening off his chair.


    "Wait a minute," he threw up his hands, his old panic attack redoubling with a vengeance, "mother?! father?! I have parents?! That are alive?! MY MOTHER SENT YOU?!!"


    The boy couldn''t breathe. He was so happy yet so conflicted that a horrible pain that felt like someone was grabbing his lungs in a vice wracked his body. As he struggled to breath through the pain, a gently green glow enveloped him, filling him with soothing thoughts and steadying his erratic heartbeat. Damien, gasped a silent thank you towards Ma LaCroix without even having to look up. After all, he had seen bits of her magic enough times that he instinctively knew who the green energy belonged to. Damien''s thoughts, however, continued racing at a million miles per hour through the young boy''s, no, the young imperial crown prince''s, head.


    Scenes from all throughout his life, that he previously never had any context for why they happened, or what they meant, started stitching themselves together at a breakneck pace. For the first time Damien could remember, his SuperComputer, which he now knew was probably some kind of manifestation of my angelic powers, was working in perfect sync with his regular ego instead of fighting for control like it usually did.


    Seemingly, both egos were being driven by a similar innate, fierce passion to decode and uncover his past. The boy sat still as a stone as his dual minds read between every line of every situation he could remember. Damien was fighting a losing battle with the urge to scream and rip out his hair in happiness and rage. Sister Hua''s cryptic behaviors that night... suddenly were making too much sense.


    He finally knew who he was, what he was! Hidden father be damned, his deepest prayers had finally been answered!


    Even Jessica was now longer an unattainable dream! At this Damien finally broke. Tears of delirious happiness streamed down his cheeks as the deities looked on silently and awkwardly. He had known since she said the word princess, that any future between the two of them would end the second she left with Amos.


    Damien spat the werewolf god''s name in his mind with respect and rage. He was beyond appreciative of the god for giving his super rare prodigy of a girlfriend a chance to become one of the Mortal Realm''s greatest goddesses, but at the same time an equally intense rage burned inside Damien at Amos for taking her. Before today, Damien was coming to terms with never seeing Jessica again. Before today, he was a nobody trying to rub shoulders with royalty.


    ''The poor and the royals of any race mingle extremely rarely if ever,'' Damien thought sourly. Whenever they did, it had a tendency of causing a great many deaths. But that didn''t matter now, he was royalty too! He closed his eyes and tried to calm himself down. The surrounding adults remained silent, looking away from the boy in various states of uncomforted emotions. The winged man, sensing that his words were causing Damien a great deal of distress, tried to quickly backtrack.


    Clapping his hands together, the tall man bowed in apology to the young boy.


    "My apologies My Imperial Highness," the man said with a soft look, "I was under the impression that your mother had visited you here months ago to inform you I would be coming to bring you home?"


    "My mother?" The boy asked perplexed, "but I''ve never met my..."


    Damien''s breathing slowed to a whisper.


    "Wait," he asked suddenly, dreading the answer, "what month did you say she visited me?"


    "January of course," the man replied simply.


    ''...Oh my god,'' the boy realized suddenly, ''that''s when Sister Hua left.''


    He felt his head, threatening to burst as thick ringing assaulted his ears.


    "This entire time," he muttered to himself in shock, amazement, and sadness, "she was my actual birth mother this entire time..."


    The similar looks of shock and betrayal on the faces of Father Clyde and Lord Jurovi told him that there was no mistaking it, Sister Hua had lied to them. Ma LaCroix just looked away silently, unable to meet anyone''s eyes.


    The tall, winged man said nothing. A single arched eyebrow was all he gave as he waited for his prince and the orphanage directors to deal with the apparently upsetting news.


    "Your Highness," the man said, gently extending his hand again, dropping on one knee in front of the boy, "come with me and accept your birthright, your mother is waiting for you, to see you again."


    Damien wanted nothing more than to reach out and desperately take the man''s hand, but he couldn''t... not yet. The betrayal, it was too much. The boy gazed pitifully at the sad, compassionate eyes of Father Clyde and Lord Jurovi''s deep scowl of rage. Despite himself, Damien found himself smiling sadly at the two powerful gods, cowed and reduced to such states out of worry for the young boy.


    Then, steeling himself, he turned to face Ma LaCroix. The old goddess sighed and slowly turned her head, looking back coolly at the boy. Damien saw the same face he saw in Sister Hua, a dominating, all powerful calamity. That''s why this time, he let his aura expand, allowing his intent to broadcast itself to her. The old goddess tried to keep a detached face, but in the face of the relentless waves of Damien''s injured and hurt intent, eventually she too broke. Hanging her head slightly in shame, the old goddess gave a slight, pained nod.


    Damien took a deep breath. Turning back to the man he asked one final question.


    "Who is my mother?"


    The man puffed his chest up with joy as if he had been waiting his entire life for this one question.


    "My liege lord, Crown Prince Damien D''Amorn of the Holy Empire of the Earthly Host, The Holy Empire of Gera," the man began, as he re-assumed his fist to the floor kneeling pose. Emanating a powerful regal, rigid intent, all were silent as his next words burned themselves into the ears of those listening. "Your mother is Hoaquin D''Amorn, Empress of the Holy Empire of the Earthly Host, Commander of the Armies of Gera, and Supreme Commander of the United World Military."


    Damien said nothing. The night Sister Hua, no, the night his mother left, kept playing on repeat in his brain. Her every word echoed endlessly in his head, while all he could see was the strange, commanding face she had bore.


    Lord Jurovi slammed his large, powerful fist into the armrest of his chair. As he screamed out in rage.


    Father Clyde was more reserved, but black veins began appearing, strained and taunt, as the vampire priest slowly curled and uncurled his fingers. He slowly opened his mouth to speak, and all could see his fangs had protruded.


    "It seems," the divine priest started, his voice a dull growl, "that we are being consistently played for fools, Jurovi." The smell of blood began to slowly permeate the room. "First was Lord Amos, now... now it''s Sister Hua... or, should I say Lady Hoaquin" he hissed, his eyes turning deep blood red.


    "Is this the price of playing the neutral field?" Lord Jurovi asked aloud to no one in particular, voice heavy with the threat of violence. He turned his gaze slowly, to the still somber Ma LaCroix. "Angelina," the orc god said through gritted teeth, forcing himself to show deference despite his anger, "have we become such incompetent dumbasses to you that we''re now a disaster daycare while your two closest attendants aren''t even privy to your thoughts?! Is this how you repay the loyalty we''ve all shown you?!"


    The ancient creole goddess rubbed her old, brown fingers together as shame was painted heavily on her face. Every face had some kind of hurt and confusion painted on it as she looked up and gazed into the faces of her two oldest friends Clyde and Jurovi, even the winged man, who looked on in mild amusement, held his tongue, awaiting her answer. However, it was the look of sheer distrust and betrayal from Damien, the boy she thought of as her own son, that shattered her.


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    Ma LaCroix heaved a heavy sigh.


    "The day I met Hoaquin for the first time," the goddess began, her words echoing loudly from her slightly hung head, magnified by the stark silence in the office room, "I knew by her aura that she was powerful, even more so than myself, but it wasn''t for a many years before even I myself learned whom she really was."


    Damien couldn''t stop the feelings of shame racing through his body. He had the gall to glare at her, but she had also been left in the dark as well. He looked away, unable to meet the goddess'' sad, simple gaze as she looked up and around the room. Similar looks of guilt were palpable on the faces of Lord Jurovi and Father Clyde.


    "Despite that," the old goddess said, leaning back into her chair, "I''ve always worn my heart on my sleeve, even before joining the sacred ranks of the 12 Great Disasters." She folded her hands in her lap, giving a resigned, short sigh, "regardless of my unwillingness to pick a fight with what was possibly a wild Supreme Goddess," the goddess looked up again, this time with a flat, regal face, "she was a mother first, bearing an infant, seeking mercy and protection."


    The office was silent, Clyde and Jurovi and Damien were all looking down in shame. Even the winged man, sensing the seriousness of the situation, had his own polished, regal face obscuring any humor he had previously seen.


    "Not one day did I regret that decision," Ma LaCroix said in a firm, powerful voice. Looking down at Damien, love and warmth reentered the ancient goddess'' eyes as her voice softened, "never once did I regret getting the honor to assist in raising you, Damien sugar, prince or no prince, you''s my boy."


    Damien got up from his chair, hugging the old creole goddess in a tight bear hug.


    "I''m sorry mama," the boy cried into her embrace, "I just wanted to know who I am, what I am." He sobbed wretchedly as Ma LaCroix softly caressed the boy''s soft, light brown afro.


    "Never apologize for seeking the truth my love," the ancient goddess whispered softly to the boy, "it is the only thing that keeps us sane in this insane existence."


    "Ahem," came a firm voice. The orphanage deities and Damien were ripped from their thoughts to the winged man. He had gotten up from his armchair, but what they saw was not the same man as before. Now his hair, eyebrows and eyes were a brilliant, sparkling platinum. The blue iris in his eyes, shaped like dazzling blue diamonds, commanded all attention. His jet black battle jacket now seemed onyx black and the runes on it now burned with a deep red fire, but the chanting coming from them was unmistakable to Damien. They were the same chants that came from his own rose gold flames! The tall man''s majestic, black wings were fully outstretched and each feather shone with a deep red brilliance, giving a hint that there was heavenly fire imbued into each feather. Damien had a feeling it was no small amount either.


    But it wasn''t the wings that had completely arrested the room''s attention, it was his face. Or at least, what they could see of his face. Half of it was covered in a thick, bone-like mask. It looked smooth and polished with simple ornate swirls adorning it. But the other side of his face looked like his previous face, but now it was almost too beautiful. It was perfect, beyond perfect. There wasn''t a single blemish, sun spore, freckle, ingrown nor excess hair, wrinkle or sag to be found. It was plump, robust and impossibly beautiful.


    The face of an angel.


    However, the group noted with fear, it was completely expressionless. None could tell what emotion was passing behind that face. Neither the masked half, nor the unmoving, constantly unblinking, constantly staring angelic half gave the slightest hint. It was the most unnerving thing any of them had ever seen. It was then that they noticed the scythe that had appeared in the man''s hands. It was an ornate, wooden rodded scythe. It had a massive jet black front blade, and a spear-like silver, back blade, and it captured Damien''s attention with complete lock.


    The blade sang of death, it''s edge spoke into their minds a hissing sound, promising a journey to the afterlife.


    As their attentions were all completely tethered, it was brutally broken by the sound of the man''s voice. Or the voice that came from the freakish half demonic-half angelic face. It was the same hundreds of voices packed on top of the man''s original voice that Damien had been told his own had turned to after he slipped too far into his SuperComputer!


    "My Imperial Highness demands the truth and so he shall have it," came the thunderous army of voices, "I speak this in my angelized form so that my honesty may not be held in speculation, for upon my power I swear this be the truth in its entirety by the Holy throne of Gera and by the luminous throne of The Almighty."


    Heaving his scythe in one hand, he slammed it down into the marble flooring beneath them, and a gentle, massive wave of heavenly energy erupted from him, bathed in the man''s dark red hue.


    "Sire, you are the Imperial Crown Prince Damien D''Amorn," the man said simply, the chorus of voices though, made it seem like the man was pronouncing a death sentence. "I am Lord of Heresta City, Lord Henry Astallon, Third son of Duke Usreto''l Astallon"  the man raised his other hand, exposing to the group now, that the entire left side of the man no longer had any skin. From his hand down his wrist, and from what the rest of the group could glimpse, he was entirely skeleton on his left side. "You my Lord," he continued, his head slightly bowed, "are the only son of The Terror of Heaven, The Priestess of the Blood Red Sakura, The Supreme Commander of the United World Military, The Holy Empress Of Gera, the Empire of the Nephilim races. We are the legions of the Earthly Host, and by our heavenly blood we venerate the eternal glory of the Heavenly Host" He raised his head, staring directly into Damien''s eyes. "Beside you sits a Supreme Goddess of the Mortal Realms, titled the 5th Great Disaster," he pointed his bony hand towards Ma LaCroix and Damien turned to stare at the goddess who''s embrace he was still wrapped in, in newfound fear and respect. "She is the 5th most powerful deity in the entire Mortal Realms, the great Witch of Pestilence," his hand dropped and now his attention focused on Damien again.


    The next words that came from the many toned face, almost broke Damien''s sanity into pieces.


    "Sire," the chorus of thousands of angelic voices said, "Your mother is ranked the 1st most powerful creature in the entire Mortal Realms, she and she alone holds the rank of the 1st Great Disaster."


    Damien couldn''t believe what his ears were hearing. It was almost all too much. As the young boy struggled to breath, held in the soft healing energies coming from Ma LaCroix''s hands, his two egos weakly tried to piece together everything the man had said. He was only barely able to even notice that the man had apparently powered down into his prior state, his weapon and mask vanished along with his exalted, heavenly form.


    Damien''s thoughts came to him slow and painfully. He didn''t want to leave, but he knew the universe was telling, no screaming at him, that he needed to start his life now. And what better time than the day before his 13th birthday? when his latent powers and magical potential would begin to truly awaken and grow far beyond his current capabilities to train himself.


    And now, after seeing what the man had transformed into, Damien had an eerie suspicion that the man knew Damien had some sort of similar transformation hidden away in him.


    The thought caused Damien''s brow to begin dampening with cold sweat.


    The form the man had assumed had been heavenly lacquered in his unique, divine energies, but for some reason Damien had been able to perfectly resonate with the man''s dark red heavenly energy. For the first time in the young boy''s life, through that resonance, he was able to feel something... see something... that felt like the fringes of the man''s aura. Normally this would be impossible as adults whose auras he couldn''t sense, were normally locked from him in a sort of instinctual survival mechanism against trying to read the aura of a being far stronger than him. But now, even though Damien couldn''t tell if what he had felt briefly was indeed the man''s aura, he desperately wished it wasn''t.


    It was beyond colossal.


    If Damien was to inherit anything close to that after tomorrow, the thought of what might happen if power on that scale erupted uncontrolled for even a second almost drove him to madness. Genocide would be too merciful a term for the amount that would die, the carnage he would cause, as just collateral damage.


    Damien didn''t even know a creature could even have that much aura, and from what he had been able to see, it was far less than even 1% of the man''s true aura.


    Suddenly, Damien turned slowly to look into the concerned faces of the 3 orphanage deities.


    Damien couldn''t breathe.


    He knew Father Clyde and Lord Jurovi were probably relatively as strong as the winged man as they seemed to not have any fear of his aura. But what truly began to break his mind, was beginning to come to terms with the fact that the true aura of the goddess who was currently holding him while stroking his hair, definitely vastly dwarfed all 3 of the gods in the room.


    Slowly he peeled himself from Ma LaCroix''s grasp and sat himself back down in his own chair, shaking softly while he rubbed his arms clutching himself. The concerned litany of gods looked on in concern but held their tongues until Damien had recovered his composure.


    "There''s no way I can be a Nephilim," the boy whined to hide his fear, shaking his head feverishly, "I don''t even have wings."


    Lord Henry laughed loudly, he also had resumed sitting.


    "Your Highness," he began, "had I met you tomorrow instead of today, your hair would very likely have changed from brown to a similar color as the sparking platinum of the angelized state." To Damien''s shocked expression Lord Henry continued with a slight chuckle. "Oh yes My Lord, it is a blessed genetic sign of the great Imperial families, they have the highest percentages of angelic being to their human halves upon birth of any within their respective Nephilim species," Lord Henry said with a slight chuckle, "in fact My Prince, it''s the very reason why you yourself will manifest a set of great, majestic white wings, likely tomorrow as well at some point."


    Damien was immediately shut up. Usually he prided himself on having a quip or self-deprecating joke of some sort to get himself out of sticky situations, and he was quite good at it. But now he had nothing. He struggled to ease the war of emotions inside his mind, and eventually one thought seemed to overcome the rest.


    The conversation he had with Sister Hua, the woman who was actually his biological mother in disguise, rang constantly. Like a heavy set of ancient bells in his mind, silencing all other thoughts, they pounded on, unbothered by any commotion they were causing.


    Now that he knew the peak, at least of the Mortal Realms, his goal became much clearer.


    He had lived with the peak, dined with the peak, he even entered life from between the legs of the goddamn peak!


    He slapped his forehead in frustration. He could see it now, clear as day. Between Sister Hua''s words, he could see it now. The secret message she had been trying to instill in Damien that he had woefully ignored.


    The boy groaned out loud as realization assaulted him relentlessly. She hadn''t been sending him on a wild goose chase to placate him like he was a fool, she had been telling him, "here I am, I am your goal, study me."


    Damien sighed in resignation. Affirming his resolve that had been slipping they boy thought to himself firmly.


    ''So what if they''re all monsters, I''m at least half monster too goddamnit!'' the young boy yelled at himself, ''if my mother is my goal, and the fifth strongest deity in the Mortal Realms was my first teacher, then if I don''t eventually rise to the peak myself then I''m actually just a waste of space!''


    The boy beat his chest hard, "I AM NOT A WASTE OF SPACE!" he yelled out to no one in particular.


    "BWAHAHAHA," Lord Jurovi burst out laughing, dragged from his awkwardness. Father Clyde and Lord Henry both burst out into slight chuckles at Damien''s sudden outburst and even Ma LaCroix let a slight chuckle escape her, as she covered her mouth with a hand.


    "No sugar," the old goddess said warmly, a tender smile on her face, "you''re no waste of space."


    "I will meet my mother again," the boy said aloud.


    The 4 powerful gods around the room not only could see steel forming in Damien''s eyes as his conviction solidified, but the raw feeling of his intent shocked all as it came freely cascading through the boy''s aura.


    "I will finally have a real conversation with her," he continued to himself firmly, "and I will finally understand who I am supposed to be."


    Ma LaCroix waved her hand simply, causing both Father Clyde and Former Lance Commander Jurovi to share a look, before each got up, paid their leaves to those remaining in the room.


    "I pay my humble regards to Lords Clyde and Jurovi," Lord Henry said solemnly, getting up to return a friendly departing gesture that Damien didn''t recognize, "on behalf of the Empire of Gera, we humbly thank you for raising our Imperial Crown Prince with diligence and care for over a decade, we will forever be in your Orphanage''s debt." He waved his hand and 6 brilliant rings appeared in the air next to him, "On behalf of the 6 heavenly thrones of The Empire of Gera, we give these 6 treasure crystals, each crystal holds a collection of magical and mundane treasures and currencies totaling a net worth of 1 Billion USD per ring," he gave a sight bow, "although it is not as magnanimous as the 6 thrones would''ve liked originally to send, please take these megger gifts as signs of friendship with the Empire."


    Blood leaked slowly from Damien''s nose.


    ''6 billion dollars... megger gift...'' he absentmindedly wiped the blood from his face, unconsciously smearing some, ''right right... Imperial Crown Prince... what the actual fuck?''


    Ma LaCroix quietly waved a hand and the blood vanished from the boy''s face. He sent a thankful look in the goddess'' direction as the two orphanage directors accepted the 6 rings graciously.


    ''I think my actual mother readopting me just solved the problem of adoption for everyone at this orphanage... likely forever...'' the boy thought to himself in a daze. ''Ironic...''


    The two male gods nodded and exchanged pleasantries with the man. Turning to Damien, they each gave the boy encouraging smiles, warm words, warmer bear hugs, and a well placed hair tousle from Commander Jurovi. Then, the two gods disappeared in soft, twin flashes of light. After some silence had befallen the administration office, the ancient goddess looked to the standing winged man expectantly, who then bowed apologetically.


    "I mean no disrespect, Lady LaCroix," Lord Henry said while keeping his head bowed slightly, "I cannot leave the Imperial Crown Prince''s side, not until he reunites with her Imperial Majesty, I apologize, I assumed she already informed you."


    "She did," the goddess said curtly, "just checking."


    Before the man could say anything else, Ma LaCroix flicked her wrist and a massive pillar of green energy came crashing down around the ancient goddess and the young boy, enveloping them both.


    Damien looked around in shock, Lord Henry had a slightly concerned look on his face, but didn''t say anything, nor move from his spot.


    "Ma LaCroix," the boy asked weakly, "what''s going on?"


    "Be steady sugar," the ancient creole goddess said, heaving a heavy sigh that escaped from her usually stout figure, "this is a simple but effective barrier, it will keep this conversation completely sound, vision, scry, and telekinesis proof from nearly any being in both the Mortal and Divine Realms."


    The ancient goddess sat on the ground, having manifested herself a big, plush bean bag chair.


    "Sit with me baby," the goddess half beaconed, half commanded to the boy, "I have much to explain, and not much time to do it."


    ***


    The boy sat mystified as the goddess regaled him with a long litany of important things she felt he needed to know. Pausing to let him absorb the initial lecture, she turned his head to face hers. A finger under the young boy''s chin was her tool to guide him.


    "Child," she began, "I know there''s nothing I can do to change your mind in seeking out your mother, and I''m not going to try."


    Damien nodded in silent appreciation as she continued.


    "You are at least half Nephilim, and an Imperial Crown Prince to boot," she said, chuckling softly, almost sadly, to herself. "Your mother, Lady or Empress or any of her myriad titles, Hoaquin of the Blood Red Sakura, is the great pillar of the Mortal Realms, the 1st Great Disaster. That may be the most extreme of pedigrees to aspire to, but is also one that will cause you equally extreme suffering and pain, for the rest of your life."


    The wonderstruck look in the boy''s eyes gradually fell as his once cheerful face grew more somber. Taking hit after hit as the goddess'' words registered to him. The old goddess''s stern gaze then softened, coaxed out of her shell by Damien''s burst of depression.


    "Or maybe I''m just being a crotchety old bat ''cause my favorite dish washer is leaving me," her voice wavered, "my boy is leaving me, and he didn''t even seem to care." She sniffed while rubbing a tear from her eye, "can''t blame me for being mad at being the only woman in your life you don''t even talk about," she said with a half-hearted, depressed joking chuckle.


    But Damien immediately sprung up and wrapped the lady in the tightest bear hug he could imagine. Tears cascading freely down his face.


    "Ma," the boy said, weakly, hiccupping with tears, "I never meant to hurt you, I''m just always so confused these days, so hurt, I thought I''d never see mom or Jessica ever again but now there''s at least a chance." He gave his own weak smile as he separated to look his other surrogate mother in the face, "that is if I don''t find some of the endlessly bountiful ways to get myself killed first."


    Ma LaCroix chuckled despite herself, then she paused for a bit, staring off wistfully. Her face was devoid of any discernible emotion, but Damien knew a war raged behind those divine, stony-brown eyes. She then silently patted the boy''s head.


    "What is a king, child?" she asked suddenly, softly, almost cryptically. "What does it mean to command the lives of many? For your words to be law, to be the deciding factor between generations of hatred or peace? Of prosperity or death?" she asked, looking down at the young boy.


    "What is a god, child?" Ma LaCroix continued after a brief pause. Continuing in her soothing but cautioning tone. "What does it mean to command supreme power? To step beyond the flesh? To become one with the concept of magic itself? To touch the great flow of Dharma? To command authority, even over kings and emperors? Even over other deities?"


    Damien was lost.


    The weight of the questions caught the young boy off guard, robbing him of a response. For what felt like eons the boy pondered her words, deeply lost in the many rabbit holes of implications as his exhausted dual egos tried their hardest to decipher the riddle he wasn''t seeing. His mouth gaped absentmindedly, like a broken robotic fish.


    Ma LaCroix nodded sagely to herself after some time had passed as she intently studied the effects her words had had upon the young boy. Impressed with the deep seriousness that Damien had immediately taken to her questions, the old goddess allowed some of her inner fears to finally be still. She could tell the young boy was desperately wracking his brain for a solution that would benefit as many as he could, and the old creole goddess breathed a deep sigh of relief. She could be relieved that in his search for power, at least her boy would think twice before jumping headfirst into becoming a psychopath.


    Smiling, she ruffled the boy''s head, breaking him out of his train of thought.


    "Had you answered, foolishly and quickly, thinking power would solve all your problems, thinking that the ends would justify any means, I would''ve forbidden you from leaving and told your mother to go suck a lemon. She may be the peak of the Mortal Realms but I am no slouch either," the goddess said simply, "I have long since attained many such titles myself child and can tell you with absolute certainty, I am no closer now to understanding the true gravity of them than I was when they were first bestowed upon me, some centuries ago."


    She looked at the boy, holding both his shoulders softly. She cooed, "seek not power without also seeking to understand, sugar," she then rubbed a thumb across Damien''s forehead. Her slightly long, delicately maintained nails softly drew an incredibly complex interlocking system of circles and runes of green power on the boy''s head. Her eyes began to glow a deep emerald green wailing with a noise that sounded like the echoes of  an endless valley of lost souls. Damien''s vision was immediately clouded and replaced with a massive mental image of the monstrous version of Ma LaCroix he had seen all those years ago.


    But then, in an instant, it and the circle were gone.


    "What was that?" Damien asked hollowly.


    "A gift," the old goddess said with a warm smile, "may it one day enlighten your path." She gave a slight laugh that eventually turned into a tired sigh. "Your mother''s attendant won''t be patient for much longer, and though he is nowhere near as strong as I am, the nature of his magic seems to be somewhat similar to mine. It''s a type I would rather I interacted with as little as possible," she said, frowning slightly. Then it was replaced by a small, content smile as she said coyly, "I do believe I have successfully wasted enough of his time."


    Looking down at the boy, she gave him one last bear hug.


    "You''re always welcome back here when times get rough sugar," she whispered to him, "you''ll always be my son."


    "Thanks Ma," Damien whispered back, choking back tears.


    Breaking apart from each other, Ma LaCroix regained her composure. Flicking her wrist, the pillar of green energy dispersed in a soft cloud of light green, sparkling energy. Making the two again visible to Lord Henry, who didn''t have a very amused look on his face. But nevertheless, he greeted them respectfully.


    "Great Disaster, Lady LaCroix," he began, giving a slight bow at the waist, his massive battle coat rustling as his wings fluttered slightly in agitation , "I appreciate you passing your final divine and wise teachings to His Imperial Highness, but Her Imperial Majesty handed me a very firm schedule with nary little wiggle room." He straightened, looking her in the eye, "furthermore, I needn''t have to remind a Supreme Goddess as well planned as yourself, that our vast oceans of shared enemies are constantly searching for this place and my being here is not doing your orphanage''s protection glamours any good," he raised his golden-blue colored eyes to the sky outside one of the windows.


    Indeed, they could see that the sky above the orphanage was starting to crack and fracture. If the protection glamours fell, the orphanage would lose a massive part of their many layers of incredibly complex defense systems against however many endless flavors of magical and mundane enemies that may want to do them harm for any reason.


    Many of the orphanage staff that had reached the level of godhood had long since joined with each other, forming some groups of casting circles totaling 5 or 7 members at most, to stabilize and repair the orphanage''s protection hexes and spell forms. Other orphanage staff and some of the older teenage orphanage kids that had decent controls over their auras, were helping keep the energies and stamina of their divine staff members up, by constantly casting fogs of healing magic over them.


    The security glamours weren''t the only thing breaking.


    Damien stood in awe as he watched, dumbfounded, as the painfully and perfectly well crafted, incredibly powerful, ancient divine spell forms laid down by many of these incredibly capable divine mages of all backgrounds centuries before, had seemed like a perfect defense. They had stood the test of time against all manor of threats, some even divine.


    Damien looked at Lord Henry with renewed interest.


    ''And yet,'' the boy couldn''t help himself from shamelessly thinking, ''just his mere presence alone is breaking this place apart. This one Nephilim, is causing these almost impenetrable security systems so much trouble they''re literally breaking themselves apart.''


    "Greatest apologies fair and merciful Lady La''Croix," Lord Henry began, bowing as sweat beaded on his own forehead, slight fear evident on his face after he saw the full extent of the growing damages. "It seems my going into my angelized state has sped up this disorder."


    ''Oh yeah,'' the boy thought hollowly, ''she''s still the fifth most powerful being in the entire Mortal Realms... huh... go figure...''


    Ma LaCroix simply gave an unamused, "hmph" arching a single eyebrow.


    "Fine go," she said, waving a hand dismissively while the other remained folded on her lap, "and take your diseased magic with you."


    "My Lord?" The man said to Damien, extending a hand to the young prince, while doing his best to ignore Ma LacCroix''s provocations, or incite her rage any further, "are you ready to go now?"


    Damien took one last, long moment to truly give his life up until now a final, deep thought. Making his decision, he mentally willed his anxieties about all his choices to quiet, forming into a mental vision of himself, who''s entire life consisted of living here at the orphanage.


    All of his old memories made manifest.


    Giving the orphanage version of himself one last look, he smiled sadly and thanked it dearly for everything it had helped him endure and experience. It had kept him safe thus far, despite all the pain it had both perpetuated for him and shielded for him. Giving a firm sigh, Damien willed that vision of himself to burn away, leaving him a new, fresh blank slate.


    After a while there was finally quiet in Damien''s mind.


    Nothingness.


    Then from the darkness a light came.


    Damien saw... himself.


    He was decked in his own, long, regal battle jacket like Lord Henry himself wore, except Damien''s was pure white instead of pitch black. The fur of Damien''s hood however, was deep black, contrasting the layer of snowy white fur adorning the hood of Lord Henry''s. The runes on Damien''s jacket were glowing with soft, yet fiery rose-golden angelic runes. They were the exact same color of his own heavenly, magical energy and of the fire that would come roaring out of him, chanting loudly, fervently, with rigid dedication endlessly. Normally they only manifested, as a wild maelstrom of fiery destruction whenever he lost control of his SuperComputer, but after seeing Lord Henry''s angelization, Damien knew that this represented that this vision had a much more stable control over his own angelic powers.


    ''Guess it kinda tracks that the psychotic, destructive fire would be later unmasked as holy fire,'' Damien thought with a grim, slight chuckle to himself. In spite of the oceans of fear and awe that ravaged through him, keeping his body feeling completely locked still and inert, he felt determined and hopeful to make the best of his new life.


    His new life as royalty.


    Damien saw that the vision of himself was the same age as he currently was. It wore an incredibly beautiful, yet sort of simple crown. It was in fact more of a circlet, than a proper crown. Along with many other incredibly ostentatious jewels and artifacts adorning the vision''s body, that however didn''t seem out of place or like it would disturb his motion if he were to suddenly jump into a fierce battle. The vision of himself sat regally on an incredibly ornate and imposing throne that was elevated slightly by solid platinum steps that shimmered with diamond trimming, and stared down at him in open disinterested disgust, with fierce, domineering... blood-red eyes?


    Damien just stared at the vision seated on the throne. Confusion and fear kept him still, shaking horribly, but still in place. A feeling of intense aching crept up inside him, one of intense anger stemming from the innate knowledge that this vision of himself had everything Damien ever wanted.


    It had the love and attention and safety of his mother.


    It had power.


    It had confidence.


    It had Jessica...


    Damien felt himself begin to break his bonds.


    Feelings of envy, of pride, of rage, of desire, of sorrow, of happiness, of loss, of hope, burst forth from every cell of his being, raging savagely. His intent was heavily saturated with a great many more emotions the young boy couldn''t even begin to understand. He slowly began to walk towards the vision upon the throne.


    His slow walk turned into a rickety shamble, which then turned into a desperate mad dash at a full sprint.


    Damien refused to think.


    Thinking would only make him realize how incredibly afraid he was right now. He could be afraid later, right now, he needed to be strong. Panting wildly, blood rushing in his ears, power surging in his veins, the young boy raced towards the vision tirelessly. Reaching the image of himself seated on the throne, Damien thrusted both hands into the vision''s chest, as it roared with rage and pain.


    Instantly his eyes in the physical world snapped open.


    Damien hadn''t even realized that at some point he had passed out and gone into a full trance-like state, but both Lord Henry and Ma LaCroix could tell something important had just happened. Yet neither could tell what it was, nor its full gravity. But they knew, intrinsically, with iron certainty, something about Damien had just changed, forever. Something about him was different now, and would likely stay that way.


    Looking the winged man in the eyes. Golden-blue eyes to golden-blue eyes, the Imperial Crown Prince of the Empire of Gera took the suddenly outstretched hand of his divine, royal, attendant and said in a friendly, calm yet commanding tone, "Lord Henry Astallon, Lord of Hesresta City, Third son of the Duke Uresto''l Astallon, please, take me where I need to go.""


    I would be delighted to Your Imperial Highness," Lord Henry said with a wide smile, giving a small bow.

 Chapter 5: Exodus

    Damien sat in an ornate armchair, absentmindedly watching the trees whizzing by from a nearby window. After packing the rest of things and saying final goodbyes, Damien and the tall Nephilim lord had been traveling in a limousine that had been parked at the orphanage gates waiting for them.


    Though he''d had never been in a limousine before, but Damien could tell this one was probably a little above the usual squalor and splendor.


    It oozed luxury and came packed with the most advanced magical technology light years ahead of the consumer standard. Damien had been given a suspiciously thorough briefing of the limousine''s war systems from an incredibly roided out, gigantic dark skinned Nephilim that had flaming gold plates adorning the tops of his massive sky-blue wings.


    The young prince had come to learn that the weapon happy Nephilim was none other than the Warmaster of the voyage and a 3rd star, Imperial General in the vast armies of the Empire of Gera.


    The massive, divine Nephilim, casually radiating even more power than even Lord Henry seemed capable of, introduced himself as Holy Warmaster, Saint Benril Smith. The massive Nephilim lord carefully explained to his imperial prince that their vehicle came jam-packed with enough wards, weapons, support magics and defense systems to survive a siege from even a minor god for up to a week.


    In fact calling it a limo was kind of insulting. Sure on the outside it was a massive, but reasonably mid-sized, tank in the vague, unassuming shape of a limousine. But on the inside it was a literal mansion.


    Time-space magic on a level far beyond anything Damien had ever thought possible, allowed a grand villa to be shoved inside a car like some kind of affront to god. And the entire contraption was currently racing along a trans dimensional, magical road it was generating for itself to bypass the rudeness of reality.


    At speeds well over Mach 3.


    The trees Damien had been looking at were whizzing by many meters below him. At some point Damien had stopped trying to actually see what was happening as everything had just become a mix of colors. Yet, as the roof of the car was both above and below him at the same time, Damien could also see the brilliant swirl of aether surrounding them as the vehicle barreled along to its destination undisturbed. The vast layers of stacking paradoxes casually mingling in the magic the prince was currently attempting to comprehend, hurt his brain badly. It was as if some omnipotent, troubled child had been given a truly eye watering sum of money, told to go absolutely hog-wild, and had taken those directions very seriously.


    The limousine was even fully stacked with hundreds of elite Nephilim armed guards, servants, cooks and chefs, and to top it all off, it even had a perpetually self-sustaining food and water system. 27 divine level enchantments casually maintained a perpetual running water and waste management system.


    When Damien heard the price the empire had bought the limousine for, his brain nearly leaked from his ear.


    Generational wealth, liquidated all at once, wouldn''t even be enough to afford the preorder for one of these cars.


    So Damien wasn''t shocked when his eyes almost glazed over hearing that this wasn''t the only one of its kind the Empire of Gera had.


    Rubbing his sore temples, Damien tried and failed to come to grips with the realization of how deep the pockets of the empire, his empire, actually ran.


    The Holy Empire of Gera somehow boasted a magnificent lineup of 12 of these monstrous moving fortresses, second only to the 13 owned by the collective vampire kingdoms.


    The limousines were normally reserved only for the Nephilim royalty, the high nobility, the imperial royalty, and the Empire''s diplomatic guests. Though there were some few, chance events where a lucky citizen of the empire would somehow wind up experiencing lavishness beyond belief.


    It was even said that the particular limo fortress Damien was currently sitting in was the personal vehicle of the ruling imperial monarch. It had seen a wide variety of guests, and once even housed President Barack Obama, as he held secret diplomatic meetings with the Empress of Gera.


    The mounting stress of being in a vehicle that easily cost well over $30 Billion, had caused the boy to try his hardest not to move a single muscle from the safety of the couch-like, extremely plush chair he sat in. The aura of poverty Damien felt himself lug from the orphanage, filled him with great shame. He refused to even step on the carpeting in his shoes, having long since abandoned them. Lord Henry, always there to attend to the prince, had ordered an incredibly expensive set of Louis Vuitton, fuzzy house slippers, to be brought for the imperial crown prince immediately. Lest the feet of the Holy empire''s scion be cold for even a second.


    Damien blushed deeply as he recounted what a scene he had made.


    ''God I''m dumb,'' the young prince lamented to himself, ''all that hoopla to get a new mindset to finally be worthy to see mom and Jess again, and I can''t even step on some fucking carpeting.''


    He sighed slightly as the voice of the tall Nephilim lord slowly tuned itself back in.


    Along the drive, Damien had been getting a crash course of the history of the empire he was on his way to inherit. This led him to believe he had long since lost the ability to be surprised anymore at what incredibly obscene amounts of money and influence could achieve, even without magic.


    He was wrong.


    It both amazed and awed the young prince everything that the Nephilim had achieved. Billions of years of rich history, and a powerful empire were nothing to scoff at, but also scared Damien shitless. As the true weight of the responsibilities he was swaggering headfirst towards began to hit him like cinder blocks, he felt his shoddy beginnings of confidence start to crack.


    Lord Henry had asked the prince not to use his title when addressed by his imperial highness, and had immediately helped give Damien some brief but well appreciate vacation from his royal fever dream. Henry had been seated stoically, with perfect posture the entire time while giving his lectures. Damien felt awful. He didn''t mean to zone out, it was just... Henry was so damn boring. The lord''s constant, attentive focus on Damien, made the prince feel incredibly awkward, not knowing if he were being judged scrupulously, or admired devoutly. But Damien forced himself to power onwards regardless. This was his new normal now after all.


    At least Henry wasn''t shy about answering the young prince''s questions. And Damien had many questions.


    "Henry," Damien blurted out, lost in thought, "I remember you called Ma LaCroix and mother Supreme Goddesses, right?"


    "That is correct My Lord," Henry replied succinctly and attentively. If he was even slightly offended at being cut off, it never registered on Henry''s face.


    "You also said she was the strongest being in the Mortal Realms, so are there different kinds of gods in the Mortal Realms? How do we compare with the Divine Realms?" the prince asked eagerly.


    Henry let out a lighthearted chuckle, the young boy''s utter confusion mixed with complete seriousness greatly amused him.


    "Well to give you an answer you would appreciate, Your Highness," the Nephilim lord started, "I need to go back a few steps."


    Henry clapped his hands together and a flash of blue light shone, enveloping the entire room they both had been in. The ornate walls and ceiling became shrouded in intense darkness. All Damien could see was the carpet, Lord Henry, and the chairs they were in.


    "As you may know Sire, the universe as we once knew it, roughly 14 billion years ago, was born of two beings of pure causation. The Almighty and an equally powerful, and equally ancient existence, The Rainbow Queen, met and merged their energies. The sound of the verst verses of the blessed Hymns of Creation harmonizing with The Rainbow Queen''s Songs of color brought forth the event called, the Big Bang and brought forth a massive universe," Henry began as Damien nodded attentively, remembering the many lectures of magic he had been given from Ma LaCroix.


    "However, as you know, our universe eventually split in two, but the very concept of two simultaneous universes enchained together is relatively a new phenomenon. In fact, up until the mid 1940s when magic integrated with common life on Earth, many throughout the Mortal Realms believed that the Mortal Realms were actually the entire observable universe" Henry continued, making air quotations with his fingers and chuckling to himself.


    Instantly the area inside the cabin changed to become outer space. All around them were the great celestial bodies and the many, many countless realms.


    Damien''s lungs seized up. Panic burst forth, his aura flailed, fear poured from his intent as he faded into the darkness. He was only slightly aware he was beginning to experience what was likely the largest panic attack of his life. Suddenly, Damien was torn back to reality. Henry stood before him, a glowing index finger that was slowly returning to normal was the first thing Damien saw.


    "Breath, Your Highness," Henry said simply, he turned and teleported back into his own chair. "This isn''t a real vacuum, you can still breath."


    Damien blushed in shame, choosing to say nothing, returning his attention to the visuals. It helped that he knew he could breathe, it didn''t help with the fact that they were still scaring the crap of him.


    Zooming past billions upon billions of planets with intelligent life scattered across the universe, Damien saw so many things in mere fractions of moments that if he blinked, entire solar systems would be missed. Immeasurable dimensions of great power and beauty, but also countless great horrors flashed around them as they zoomed through realms. Damien stared transfixed, gripping the armrests of his chair so hard, his fingers embedded themselves into it, clenching for dear life.


    And yet, all the while, the young prince stayed intently focused on everything Henry had been saying. While the Nephilim lord was sitting calm and collected in his chair, the imperial crown prince clung to the monotony of the lord''s voice for dear life, attempting futility to avoid the full brunt of whatever panic attack his manic anxieties could manifest.


    ''Bastard,'' was all Damien''s terrified mind could squeak out.


    "Going back all the way to the great war in Heaven," Henry began saying, he crossed one leg over the other, and sat back leisurely while gazing at the visuals around them. "About roughly 4 billion years ago, to cut an extremely long story short, it caused a lot of far reaching repercussions that have been ever since, written deep into Taboo by forces far beyond even your mother''s comprehension, and thus the Mortal Realms and the Divine Realms were born."


    Damien was pressed so deep into the big armchair he was sure he''d need to be surgically removed from it later at this point.


    He was grateful beyond words, for the first time in his short life, that he was a very average sized kid and was therefore able to fit entirely huddled into the great chair, involuntarily doing his best Gollum impression.


    The rational part of Damien''s brain was telling him that this was probably an illusion and that he wasn''t really going to fall into oblivion.


    The rest of Damien promptly told it to shut the fuck up.


    "You see, my lord," Henry mused on, nonchalantly, finally looking away from the visuals back down to see his prince huddling in fear, fingers burrowed into his chair. Giving a slight shrug, the Nephilim lord moved on, "the distinction is a bit of a faux-positif, if you will. The Mortal Realms and the Divine Realms both have gods and goddesses of many different species and races. Though all the original gods, primordial spirits, ancient beings, elder spirits, angels, demons, devils and so on were left in the Divine Realms. However, there are many, many diverse and powerful beings throughout the Mortal Realms that could challenge and even kill many of them. So turf wars between the great realms as wholes occur rarely, never at best."


    The cabin now showed endless scores of countless powerful beings bearing all shapes and sizes.


    Some of them Damien recognized from his vivid fascinations with various mythologies. Though now, the fact that he was now learning all those mythologies and gods were very real, while remembering the powers and temperaments of many of those deities, made his blood run cold. A little too many of them were deeply unhinged; causing a litany of stories that tended to end very badly for everyone involved.


    Everyone except, of course, the deity that usually started the whole debacle.


    Sensing the imperial prince''s mounting fear, Henry gave a gentle smile and continued in a new, soothing voice, "but don''t worry Your Highness, among the many laws written into Great Taboo due to that terrible event, it also includes the holy statutes that no being born in the Divine Realms may cross The Great Barrier of Totality, into the Mortal Realms unless first being given permission by The Almighty. Or, unless they are willingly summoned from someone originating from the Mortal Realms."


    A line appeared in the great vast illusion of space around them, and it looked like the galaxies themselves were literally moving apart, leaving behind a gaping chasm of nothingness, a true black void between the shell that held the two still expanding halves of the universe.


    "Similarly as beings born in the divine realm can''t cross the barrier themselves," Henry went on, "beings born in the Mortal Realms, cannot cross the barrier either." The Nephilim lord gave a little wink that confused Damien until the man finished by saying, "that is at least, until that Mortal Realm creature attains godhood, then they attain the right to come and go between both of The Great Realms as they please."


    As Damien was pondering why anyone would even want to willingly venture into the Divine Realms, a forest suddenly appeared in the great chasm surrounded by a dense sea of wicked sharp, thorny branches.


    "There are, yet again exceptions to even this rule though," Henry said with a sigh, murmuring slightly, "thankfully there''s only one annoyance that gets that exception, The Fae Forest." His eyes turned very grave and serious, and an intensity Damien had never yet seen before on the tall Nephilim lord''s face took over as Henry stared into the young prince''s own, frightened, golden blue eyes. He then said in a stone cold, clear, hallowed voice, "never, ever go there my Lord, especially not alone. You will not return."


    The manic intensity in his eyes never wavered for a moment.


    "Many have ventured to The Fae Forest. Many beings spanning the divine, primordial, and even mortal, yet slim, slim few ever made it out again," the lord reiterated gravely.


    Damien stared in fear.


    His previous fear of the illusions around the room had been abolished, replaced by a new, fresh desire, to never set foot within the forest.


    Ever.


    A slight nod was all he could manage as he slowly unclenched his fingers from the chair. Henry nodded, and the scene changed again as he exhaled slowly, resting back into his plush armchair, smoothing out his onyx battle jacket.


    A new Nephilim sporting the most perfectly pressed butler''s clothing Damien had ever seen, suddenly appeared next to the two seated Nephilim. He had equally ostentatious, pristine black hair that had been carefully combed and slicked back, and delicately preened gray wings with soft brown spots adorning them.


    In his left hand, he held an immaculate platinum plate, studded with many rare jewels and rimmed with shimmering gold. Perfectly balanced upon it was a vast medley of sandwiches and ornate tumblers of various juices.


    "Refreshments, Your Imperial Highness?" the man asked in a pleasant, husky voice, looking down with smiling, calming golden and blue eyes at the prince.


    Damien nodded silently, never forgetting the surrealness of seeing so many people with eyes exactly like his own, especially after believing himself to be alone for so long.


    Food and drink floated from the plate the butler Nephilim was holding and seated themselves on plates that adorned a huge ornate, wooden coffee table that had, in that moment, appeared in between Damien and Henry.


    "Refreshments, Lord Henry?" the butler asked next, this time giving a slight bow in the direction of the other armchair. After serving the noble, the butler turned back to Damien.


    "A pleasure to finally meet the light of our empire, Your Grace," the butler said with a proud smile, "after your mother, Her Holy Empress Hoaquin publicly announced your imminent arrival as her true heir, a vast, vast may clamored for the illustrious position of Head Butler to oversee welcoming our imperial crown prince home." He gave another deep bow and vanished.


    As he left Damien realized with a cold sweat, even though he saw the butler use many instances of magic, he never felt a drop of aura from the being.


    ''We have butlers that could even be gods for crying out loud,'' the young prince thought to himself as he attempted to eat. His mind was far too blown to even chew his food properly, so Henry found himself eating silently as the prince was reduced to a slow chewing being. He had a half open mouth, in a sort of daze, resembling a mentally challenged cow. Only one thought reverberated in the prince''s head.


    ''What the actual fuck is Gera?''


    ***


    After they had both eventually finished their mid journey meal, the Head Butler reappeared as if on cue to take their plates and de-apparated the coffee table.


    During the meal, Damien had finally gotten the brief break from the forced history lesson that had been edging his brain imploding on itself.


    He had been desperately needing a time out.


    Getting a brief moment to change the subject, the Nephilim imperial crown prince had learned that they were apparently on their way through a thoroughly vetted and charted series of hidden roads, portals and secret, heavily guarded checkpoints, joined by the one that the limo was currently creating by itself.


    These lead to the hidden realm that the Nephilim empire inhabited.


    Their current prime directive was to deliver the imperial crown prince first to one of the imperial family''s hidden estates before they would complete the rest of their journey to the empire proper.


    Their current goal was to get to the safehouse before Damien''s birthday the next day, hence the need to fly at hundreds of mph.


    Though Damien wasn''t yet allowed to know where the safehouse was, he was only allowed to know its name.


    The Garden of Illiyah, the 8th ruling Empress of Gera had built it as a safe place for the imperial nobility.


    This was a consolation that Henry and Lord Benril had taken great length to explain to their imperial crown prince the importance of.


    If he didn''t know, the information couldn''t be tortured out of him.


    In the case of some unforeseen, unfortunate event, at least that''s how Henry had explained it, accompanied by one of his signature almost chuckles.


    Damien desperately prayed internally that the Nephilim lord was just insane, but part of him remembered the stone cold look in the eyes of the vision of himself he had seen back at the orphanage. That guy had definitely seen some shit.


    The prince knew, with sad resignation, that when he accepted that vision of himself and all of its immense hurt, power, glory, and pain, that torture was something he would probably unfortunately experience at some point in his life.


    As the prince desperately tried to channel his new mindset in hopes of calming his increasingly shot nerves, Henry resumed his history lesson. Letting forth a single mighty clap, all of Damien''s inner thoughts were blown away. Leaving the prince dazed and shell shocked, as the room one again descended into inky darkness with two mirrored universes reappearing. Calmly orbiting each other with the thorny ball holding the Fae Forest resting calmly above, yet between them.


    A shimmering, gigantic golden bridge then appeared between the two universes. Its massive arches shimmered and glimmered in the starlight, it boasted 7 massive, thick golden doors wrapped in heavy chains and locks that appeared one after the other along the bridge. The doors had a single thorny rose embossed in the center, standing cold and majestic, but both the first and seventh doors were truly titanic compared to the other gigantic doors. Billions of spiky, golden chains exploded out suddenly, cascading forth from the great bridge, entangling the two vast expansions of space and time together.


    "The Great Bridge of Totality," the prince blurted aloud in wonder, unable to stop himself upon seeing the great golden bridge.


    Henry clapped his hands in delight.


    "Excellent deduction, Your Highness!" the lord clapped cheerfully, "you''re catching on quickly, this sets a good precedent for the rest of your training!"


    Damien simply nodded, his stressed out brain not falling for the compliment as he waited for Henry to continue his answer.


    "In the Mortal Realms, beings that are still mortal both alive and not that haven''t attained godhood have their own rankings," Henry began. "The gods of the Mortal Realms, however, are ranked weakest to strongest as: Lesser Deity, Middle Deity, Early Deity, Outer Deity, Elite Deity, Inner Deity, Late Deity, Grand Deity, Exalted Deity and finally Supreme Deity," Henry listed, finally getting to the point of the question. " The valleys of power between the ranks of the Mortal Realm gods are extremely vast. Many of the extreme few that ever ascend, barely rank up more than one or two ranks from whichever one they were reborn into"


    Henry laughed at Damien''s arched eyebrow.


    "Yes Your Highness," the Nephilim lord said through his laughter, "there is no law stating that one must start as a lesser Deity when they ascend."


    Damien leaned forward in his chair. He could feel some kind of explanation about divinity was about to be given. And considering how many of the closest people to him were currently deities or on their way to becoming deities, he wasn''t going to miss a single word from Henry''s mouth.


    Not for anything.


    "The process of getting a mage to the point where they''re on the brink of ascension is vastly different for every race within the Mortal Realms," Henry started saying as images of countless golden trees representing the various cultivation methods of the Mortal Realms appeared around the two of them replacing the scene that had been there before.


    "However, the entry requirements are still the same," the lord said.


    A bright, shining silver light appeared. Next to it, an equally bright, golden light appeared.


    "The candidate for godhood must present before The Great Taboo, an immortal soul," the lord said as the silver ball of light shone brightly, momentarily, "and an immortal body." The golden ball of light also shone brightly, momentarily.


    "There is also a secret third part that is necessary for The Great Taboo to allow the being to ascend," Henry continued after a brief pause, "but a rule written into The Great Taboo itself, is that this clause is never to be talked about. The prospective godling must figure it out themselves."


    Damien said nothing, but nodded solemnly.


    He didn''t know much about The Great Taboo, but from what he remembered, its rules were absolute once written upon itself. If Taboo noticed a rule had been broken, anywhere in creation, be it the Mortal Realms, the Divine Realms, or even in the Void locked eternally underneath the Great Bridge of Totality.


    The Great Taboo held the power to effortlessly destroy even the Great Primordial Deities of the Divine Realms.


    Damien sat still for a moment as he absorbed the new lesson.


    "What about the Divine Realms?" Damien asked after a brief pause.


    "Well," Henry began, rubbing his beard, "the gods of the Divine Realms are ranked a little differently. They start on a slightly lower tier than the Mortal Realm deities due to the fact that mortals have to first attain sagehood before they can even begin to dream about Godhood."


    14 pillars this time appeared in the vast illusionary room between the two Nephilim. As they lit up on their own as Henry got to each of them.


    "The first few ranks of Divine Realms beings are the same as the mortal realm''s, being lesser, middle, and early," the Nephilim lord said, "but after that it is completely different."


    The rest of the 11 columns began to shine one after another as Henry continued to speak.


    "They go as such, Greater Deity, Herald Deity, Lesser Dominion Deity, Fatebringer Deity, Mystic Deity, Greater Dominion Deity, Titled Deity, Ancient Deity, Celestial Deity, Cosmic Deity, and finally, the peaks of the Divine Realms, the Glorious Aspect rank Deities," Henry finished, recounting the final few ranks. Though something caught Damien''s eye.


    There had been a 15th pillar, still shrouded in shadow.


    "What about that one?" the young prince asked in confusion, pointing at the column with a ruler he had found.


    "That one sire is the rank of Primordial," Henry said with a slight chuckle. "Unlike the other ranks, it isn''t possible to become a primordial out of sheer strength or cultivation alone," Henry continued, "no one actually knows how to become a primordial spirit, though there have been records before of beings from both the Mortal Realms and the Divine Realms at some point in history joined the ranks of the Great Primordial Spirits."


    The prince gaped his mouth silently in wonder, as Henry continued, "but we do know that their existence allows both halves of our universe to exist, their power holds creation together. They existed long before the beings that worshiped them, even asleep, deactivated their sheer power and existences allow the universe to exist without collapsing in upon itself under its own power."


    Damien pondered what he had heard.


    So his mother was strong, undoubtedly so, being the peak of every being in the vast entirety of the Mortal Realms. But even then, the strongest she could probably be compared to the Divine Realms, was somewhere in the Glorious Aspect tier. Unbelievably powerful, but still not at the true top.


    ''If she were a primordial,'' Damien thought to himself as he finished his juice, ''they definitely would''ve been yapping about it every chance they got. They seem so fanatic of the imperial families.''


    "What rank are you then?" Damien asked, silencing his thoughts, "in terms of both realms?"


    Henry chuckled slightly, "in the Mortal Realms, my rank is at Outer Deity. In the Divine Realms," he continued, "I''d be ranked somewhere between an elite Lesser Dominion Deity and a low Fatebringer Deity."


    Damien''s eyebrow shot up in confusion.


    This time Henry fully laughed out loud before he caught himself and got up from his armchair and bowed deeply in embarrassment.


    "My sincerest apologies to Your Imperial Highness," the Nephilim said with the utmost reverence, getting up from his chair suddenly, giving a desperate bow. "I noticed your confusion, the tiers of power in the Divine Realms are much less than that of the Mortal Realms, but because of it, their thresholds are far, far more vast to move up through tiers. This is to account for the vast discrepancy of powers found even within the same pantheon."


    Damien was shocked, "please sit Lord Henry, I''m not offended I swear," the young prince said, waving his hands frantically.


    It was far too early for him to begin to be known as the monarch everyone lived in fear of. Damien couldn''t bear to be alone, not again, not after finally having a chance at life with those he thought lost dangled in front of him.


    Henry bowed again in thanks as he retook his seat. Damien, from the corner of his eye, noticed that two of the guards closest to them, standing stiller than death, shared a slight flick of their golden blue eyes with each other, then returned back to looking forward.


    ''Weird,'' Damien thought to himself, ''but nothing I can do about that.''


    Damien sighed.


    Earlier that day he had been walking through the field of the orphanage, lamenting his life, lost in a daze, and now he was imperial crown prince to a mighty empire of various races of Nephilim that he barely knew anything about.


    Life had an odd way of rug-pulling Damien over and over until he wasn''t sure if he should ever want for anything or run screaming from making any decisions for himself.


    Even though it hurt though, Damien also knew he could never let the loneliness manifest again. Or run away to live as a hermit. But, that being said, he wasn''t sure how much more he could take.


    And the first day wasn''t even over yet.


    Henry, sensing the tormented emotions rushing through the prince''s aura, said nothing as he waited for the prince to come to terms with everything, or not.


    After a while, Damien''s breathing had returned to normal. Giving another soft sigh, he nibbled his ruler and tried to think positively.


    He had to figure out as much as he could.


    "About Gera," Damien eventually murmured, "tell me about Gera, what even are the Nephilim?" The imperial crown prince raised his head sheepishly, laden with sorrow and worry, "please talk normally with me Henry? We''re friends right?"


    Henry nodded with sincerity.


    "Thank you, Prince Damien," the Nephilim lord said gratefully. Bringing his hands together he formed a sort of hand seal, a wave of soft white light began pouring from them. Instantly, the room and the scene around the room they were in, changed again.


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    Now they were thousands of feet in the air.


    Immediately Damien felt his magic roar to life trying to prevent him from falling to his death. Immediately, he connected his dominant ego to his SuperComputer''s. His nerves immediately calmed as he felt the familiar but still frightening detachment from his emotions that the state always brought. Damien immediately floored the breaks on the waves of rose gold energy and fire that came pouring forth from his body as he entered the state.


    As he reconnected to his main ego, not allowing it to give away full control, he regained awareness of the room around him. The prince found that the large, domed, sun room was filled to the brink with every kind of Nephilim soldier that was currently on board.


    Thousands of black battle jackets with white fur rimmed hoods stood patiently at attention.


    Soldier Nephilim of all ranks including those that had stepped into godhood, stood ready to defend their Imperial Prince at a moment''s notice, with all their might. They all bore various kinds of weapons.


    Some had knives, others had blades of various shapes and sizes. Some were partially decked in armor, and some looked like giant walking mech suits of thick angelic armor. Some even held scythes like the one Lord Henry himself had manifested earlier at the orphanage.


    Damien noted all this for later, it was the only way he could avoid panicking at waking up to a sea of soldiers staring intently at him.


    The prince sat shell shocked, mouth agape. But, Lord Henry remembering the weight of his position as an emissary of the imperial throne, rushed to save his imperial crown prince from his ensuing panic. The Nephilim lord immediately corrected himself and stood to address the crowd of soldiers forming a tight perimeter around the two armchairs.


    "E''loise!" the Nephilim called out, letting his intent of peace and reassurance radiate out through his aura. Immediately the crowd as one dropped to one knee, right fist to the floor, heads bent with their left fist tucked behind their backs, as they bowed in reverence towards their imperial crown prince.


    As one they shouted, "Ja Gariea! Il''Saeja! Il''Saeri! La''shieka!" Then immediately, they all simultaneously vanished.


    Damien had never heard that language before, but he had understood every word they had said perfectly.


    Despite the vast many different dialects of the language he had heard.


    They had chanted, "For Gera! Her Empress! Her Imperial Prince! Forever everlasting!"


    Damien didn''t know how he felt about that, he sat stunned, dreading the full comprehension of how many lives were now at his beck and call. But before he had a chance to unfortunately deal with those emotions, Henry thankfully spared him the forced introspection by continuing their lesson.


    "Please do not feel disturbed by this your Highness," the noble, divine Nephilim lord respectfully pleaded as he retook his seat in the ornate armchair. "let us continue from where we left off, but we will address what just happened with your magic tomorrow on your birthday," Henry said.


    Below the pair, a massive supercontinent formed, hundreds of random sized islands that were both at sea level and floating thousands of miles in the air began to form, giving an unnecessary extra layer of ultra extravagance and wonder to the already impossibly complex empire he was seeing on the supercontinent. Then suddenly they were both pulled at lightspeed from the scene, as they started going back in time hundreds to thousands to tens of thousands of years.


    Now they were seeing the regular planet of Earth beneath them. The full, true to scale sized image of the Earth, had currently manifested beneath them.


    Damien struggled to control his suddenly erratic breathing. He reminded himself he was perfectly safe as long as he was with Henry, when the divine Nephilim began to speak, helping Damien to calm down more.


    "After the Great War in Heaven," Henry began, lifting a hand as a vast, vast ocean of stars gently, but tragically fell from the stars above. They turned a deep, angry shade of red, sadly contrasting their previous pure brilliance. "Many angels tragically defected from the Great Heavenly Host."


    Damien felt a weird but deep pang in the very core of his being as he watched the scene unfolding before him. The prince knew he could never even begin to understand the true depth of what that feeling was. It was something that went far, far past him, to a time countless eons ago. A pain brought on by a deep generational empathy for his angelic kin and the horrific loss of billions of their fellows, spanning all the heavenly ranks, to the deep chasm of Hell itself, reverberated throughout the prince''s body.


    "Even after this, some Angels still defected for various reasons," Henry continued, in an accepting but sad tone, chuckling slightly, "in fact, some would argue that since the Great War in Heaven had forced every last member of the Heavenly Host to be painfully aware of their own free will for the first time ever, some were so deeply broken and disillusioned of all creation after the horrors of the war, they they gave way to temptation."


    Now the scene before them showed few of the vast ocean of brilliant lights in the stars above coming down towards the earth and taking on horrifying, monstrous, eldritch forms.


    Angels.


    Angels in their true forms.


    Damien had always read about the true forms of the various ranks of angels and pondered again, for the millionth time, how the purest forces of tremendous holy power could have demons beat every time in the annual, "Scare the dogshit out of random mortals," competition.


    The angels, obviously, were shown terrifying the utter shit out of any and all kinds of creatures in the new Mortal Realms they came across. Eventually, they learned to tailor their forms to be less outwardly menacing, becoming instead of horrifying so unnaturally beautiful. They all bore shimmering platinum hair, shimmering platinum and diamond blue eyes, and all had different but similarly perfectly expressionless, perfectly sculpted faces. They now instead of terrifying the mortals they came across, arrested their attentions.


    And led some to temptation.


    Damien didn''t know how to feel about what he was seeing, but he knew he didn''t feel good about it.


    The appropriately sized, gargantuan elephant in the room, was that these angels were ageless beings, far, far older than any of the beings in the mortal realm they were attempting to copulate with. The angels knew the laws written upon taboo by heart, for of them were there when many were first etched.


    The angels themselves aided the Almighty as they sang the sacred hymns of creation at the beginning of all things. The holy power of even the weakest of Angels was so vastly tremendous, they were easily comparable to even the mightiest of Grand Rank Deities and Cosmic Rank Deities.


    So in the eyes of many, the Angels that fell to temptation definitely had no excuse to not have even the slightest inclination of the great flow of Karma following their actions. They all had to be aware. The fallen angels knew the ramifications of what they were attempting to do. Yet, Damien could only watch helplessly, as the images of the angels continued to mate with the creatures of the Mortal Realms that they set themselves upon. He noted with, slight, unamused interest, that the vast majority of the mates the fallen angels chose, were humans.


    The prince then bore witness to the first of the ancient Nephilim races being born, the Giants.


    Soon after, they were followed by hundreds of other half angelic races that came and went throughout time. Damien could do nothing, except stare as countless years of Nephilim history flew by, viewed in mere moments by the two Nephilim. Soon after, came a seemingly endless span of centuries of incredibly bloody wars. The Nephilim races of Earth waged savage wars amongst each other, with the single purpose of exterminating each other, by any means necessary.


    The final head count of Nephilim races that eventually survived the many, many mass extinction events, in the time that came to be before the establishment of the Empire of Gera, made the prince feel woozy and depressed. It had gone from hundreds, to less than 10 races.


    Damien felt sick to his knees at what he was seeing. The so-called "Angels of the Earth", the "Earthly Host", were slaughtering their own kind wholesale, just as their angelic ancestors had done prior in the Holy Land during the War in Heaven. The Nephilim had proven to have learned a collective total, of absolutely nothing. Eventually the remaining races dwindled down to just six remaining, isolated kingdoms. They were the Nephilim races that Henry explained were listed as: The Ravens, The Guardians, The Hunters, The Elerie, The Illia, and The Vreka. The chosen few races that had survived the brutal holy culling of the half-angels of the Mortal Realms, tempered in the fires of their own hubris.


    Damien immediately sat up in his chair. He had been locked with his troubled thoughts not knowing how he felt at the actions of his angelic ancestors, but something more important was now occupying his brain.


    It was time to find out what exact kind of Nephilim he was, so then he could finally get the catharsis he had been patiently waiting for, for so very long.


    He could finally now know at least half of what he was, and finally be able to access a cultivation method that matched at least a substantial amount of the magic his heritage bestowed upon him.


    He could finally start becoming strong, properly. Guided by an experienced teacher, instead of going off the hopes and good vibes that had consistently failed him.


    "So," the young, imperial crown prince hesitantly began as he raised his question, "of these six, which of these races does the imperial family hail from?"


    Henry gave a slight chuckle.


    "Well this question is going to need some backstory to it, as well as a quick clarification of Nephilim customs," the lord replied. He formed another hand seal and instantly there were six pedestals manifested in the completely dark room.


    Gone were the massive continents and lush visuals, the two Nephilim royals were now just sitting in a dimly lit cavern, the six majestic pedestals stood regally before them.


    Damien rolled his eyes, he knew Henry had been lying about something. Talking to the tall Nephilim lord had proven to the imperial prince that the taller Nephilim liked to respond with half truths, annoying ass riddles, and straight up lies. Choosing instead to wait for Damien to suss out what didn''t add up in what the Nephilim lord was saying.


    ''But,'' the boy admitted to himself with a slightly pained chuckle, ''it does help make this whole mess a little more interesting than frightening.''


    Henry bowed his head, "I can see My Imperial Highness has already accurately deduced that there are more than 6 races of Nephilim currently alive," he twirled a finger and a seventh pillar suddenly manifested out of the darkness, finally revealing itself.


    But, unlike the rest of the 6 pure opal pillars, radiating a crystal, rainbow brilliance, the new seventh pillar was instead, jet black from head to toe, standing alone but domineering over the others. While Damien was trying to wrap his head around what the black pillar could represent, a great light began to glow in the heavens above. Illuminous could not begin to explain what Damien was seeing.


    It transcended every light in the heavens, all except one other.


    There was only one other light in the vast heavens brighter than itself, and Damien could tell immediately, with iron certainty, that it was The Almighty.


    But, how was there another creature almost as powerful as heaven''s chieftain deity? Was that even possible? Was that even fair?


    As Damien stared up at the smaller, glorious light, completely transfixed, he began to feel a sort of primal connection to the light. His eyes slowly began to grow in shock as the prince began to realize, it was the same type of attraction he felt towards Sister Hua!


    ''Or mom, I should say,'' he thought passively, glumly mentally correcting himself.


    Henry bowed his head in reverence before he began the next portion of his answer.


    "No one knows exactly why this happened or what was behind the reasoning," the Nephilim began, "but on one faithful day, the universe itself bore witness to an event that changed the course of all timelines, forever."


    The magnificent light slowly took shape, becoming a tall, glorious, godly, shining angelic figure. It was swaddled in flowing robes of pitch blackness that juxtaposed its massive set of six pure gold, burning wings.


    In its fingers it held a massive, yet simple black rod that ended in a gentle, silver arched blade.


    It was a scythe.


    Just like Henry''s had, the weapon held Damien''s gaze with an iron grip. There was something about that blade. It was so deceptively simple looking, yet it promised a horrifying, unimaginable power along its wickedly sharp edge. The weapon held its power as a hushed whisper, gleamed only in scarce few glimpses from the gentle moonlight that fell upon its blade. Softly yet endlessly radiating death.


    Damien had to break his focus from the blade to notice that, also like Henry''s angelized form, the great, heavenly being also didn''t seem to have any fingers... Well, it did, but that still didn''t explain why they were bones. In fact, most of the being''s body was just ...skeleton. But... that wasn''t correct either, because as it pulled back its deep hood, Damien could see its intensely muscular, humanish body, connected to a skeletal neck.


    Then Damien actually saw its face for the first time, making his blood truly begin to run cold.


    For a millisecond he could swear he saw the most beautiful male face he had ever seen.


    Shimmering platinum, diamond blue eyes that were more intense than any he had ever seen among the Nephilim or angels he''d seen thus far, locked his vision in place. But then, in an instant, the great, heavenly being''s face, its entire head, became just a skull.


    Deep black, soulless holes stared back unfeelingly at Damien.


    Secrets untold hid behind the infinite voids of darkness occupying the place where its once brilliant eyes had been. Truths long lost to time danced surly within them. Each secret trapped there, held within themselves irreparable consequences for all of creation if any, were to ever known by any creature besides itself and The Almighty.


    To call the overbearingly titanic oceans of force gently yet domineeringly leaking from every fiber of that being simply heavenly power, was almost an insult to what Damien was witnessing.


    Unimaginably pure heavenly energy that granted it the title of The Second Authority, came cascading forth from the great being. And yet, for as terrifying as the great heavenly being was, it carried itself with unmistakable grace and saintly dignity, for it was still an angel of The Almighty.


    Not a single blade of grass bent under the weight of the great angel''s presence. Not a single stray wind blew to tussle its waves of long, shimmering platinum locks.


    It was almost as if the great creature wasn''t even existing in the space it itself was occupying.


    "Behold!" Henry loudly exclaimed. His voice came resounding through the deep night that had enveloped the room they were in, breaking Damien suddenly out of his stupor, "The Angel of the Lord stands before you! The Angel of Death! The Second Authority! The Defender of the Throne and The Grand Enforcer of the loving will of the Most High!" Henry went on, listing off a great litany of outrageous titles the great being apparently held. "Before you stands the father of Holy Jerriza himself! The first Emperor of Gera! Ancestor of D''Amorn, the 12th Emperor of Gera, whose name you bear My Imperial Prince, as the name of your family''s long standing dynasty!"


    Henry then appeared before Damien, scaring the imperial prince into falling flat out of his armchair as the lord slowly dropped to both knees before the young prince. The divine Nephilim lord prostrated himself before the young prince in a way that Damien had noticed was only ever done to him. However, Damien slowly noticed Henry wasn''t looking at him.


    Damien had yet to see any other Nephilim bow to Henry the way Henry was currently bowing, and Damien had long since learnt that Henry and Henry''s family commanded almost as much power as any of the Nephilim royalty themselves.


    This time, Henry was bowing in the direction of the great, angelic being.


    "Before you stands the Great One," Henry said in a loud clear voice, his deep bowing having apparently no effect on his ability to reverberate his voice, "The Oldest of the Angels, the Grim Reaper, the Archangel Metatron, father of the Reaper race, the Nephilim race, your Highness, you yourself hail from. The same Nephilim race, I myself hail from."


    Henry finally rose then, and looked down at the awestruck prince who had been flung back into having his mind so thoroughly and repeatedly blown by the information he had just been given.


    Damien wasn''t sure he was even remembering to breathe involuntarily. All the boy could do was move his eyes in a daze, giving any sign to the taller Nephilim that he was still conscious at all, but still Henry persisted, finishing his answer to the prince''s long forgotten question.


    "Though every reaper is similarly, as yourself, descended from an archangel, they are not all parts of the imperial, royal, or even noble families," Henry continued in a toneless voice, almost a hushed whisper, "so too similarly, not every member of the imperial, royal, or noble families are of a similar, single, ruling Nephilim race. Thus all Nephilim races are treated as equally important under the holy law of Gera, no matter the status of their angelic forebears."


    Damien nodded absentmindedly, that had made sense to the prince so far, but his brain was still far too damaged from processing everything he had seen to respond with anything more.


    "The true designation for where a Nephilim fell among those rankings," Henry continued, "was the ratio of their angelic being to their mortal being." The lord gave a wink at Damien''s momentarily confused expression. With a playful smile he said, "I never said all of the Nephilim were half human, you know Sire."


    As Damien pondered the extent of what that could mean, Henry rounded out the rest of his answer, finally coming to a finish.


    "Originally, the ability to enter the exalted state of Angelization, where a Nephilim can ignite with their own innate, heavenly fire, the divine, golden angelic ichor that runs through our veins instead of red blood, wan''t accessible to just any Nephilim the way it is today" Henry continued.


    Damien could swear he had always bled red, and therefore cast some slight doubt towards the Nephilim lord''s words. Then the young prince remembered how right the older Nephilim had seemed to be about everything Damien was, culminating in the same golden, diamond-blue eyes they both shared. His fears began to still. If Henry said every Nephilim bled golden ichor instead of red blood, then he had no shadow of a doubt that sometime after tomorrow, he would no longer have red blood.


    "At first," Henry said, pointing a finger into the sky, manifesting a set of scales between them, "only the Nephilim that were at least 60% angelic and 40% mortal could even activate Angelization, albeit it was a very crappy, old version of the transformation. These were the ones who would later become the imperials and royals of their respective races."


    The scales arranged themselves in all manners of ratios between their two sides. But only the scales that had at least 60% on their angelic sides, glowed with a soft, purple hue.


    "But," the lord said with a joyous clap, "the birth of our sacred empire changed so much of that. Now that the Earthly Host of the remaining Nephilim had sworn loyalty to a single, imperial throne, they were all citizens of the same holy land for the first time. No longer would they massacre each other, now they would progress together!"


    Slowly the ratios in the scales without purple hues began to change.


    "Now that there were no more individual race kingdoms, but now regent kingdoms, bearing many interconnected states and cities, to maintain the empire alongside the ruling Imperial Monarch, Nephilim of all races and social orders began intermingling and intermating under the new banner of one glorious Nephilim nation!" Henry yelled, great nationalistic pride in the monstrous empire was firmly seared on the lord''s fervent face. "And after hundreds of years, this intermingling created a new, evolved 7 Nephilim races. All of whom were now vastly stronger than they were before the existence of the empire. All of whom were now capable of Angelization, not just the royals or imperials anymore. The population of the Earthly Host soon super exploded following the unprecedented era of peace. In order to curb the growing issue of maintaining our secrecy, the empire left its birthplace on Earth and moved to its own private realm."


    It was then that Damien finally learned that the "realms" were the "proper" name for galaxies... The Empire of Gera had an entire galaxy... to itself.


    Damien groaned in pain. Suddenly, it became very clear how the empire had afforded 12 of these moving, lavish war fortresses.


    Damien put his hands up in a sign of defeat, cowering slightly into himself.


    "Please, please no more new history, have mercy" the crown prince begged from his retracted, fetal position on the plush armchair, "I can''t handle this anymore." His intent flooded from him as a turbulent mass of contradicting emotions, driven by a prevalent mass of fear.


    Henry broke out of his almost trance-like state, staring down in raw horror at the state of his suffering prince.


    Instantly the Nephilim lord retreated away from his cowering prince, retaking his seat hurriedly, yet maintaining his poise.


    The scene faded away, and they were back to the large, glass domed room they were originally in.


    Instantly a massive dining table appeared between the two seated Nephilim and the armchairs the two were seated in seamlessly morphed into comfortable, luxury dining chairs seated at the opposing heads of the massive table. Damien noted in amazement that he had no trouble seeing or hearing Henry despite the vast, majestic dining table that had just appeared separating them.


    Henry clapped his hand and the faint reverberating sound of a gong could be heard ringing throughout the entire car-house.


    Five times it rang, giving low, gentle, vibrating booms.


    On the fifth stroke of the gong, 12 dining attendants appeared in the large sunroom. 6 were on either side of the dining table. Each had, levitating over their left hands, perfectly balanced, large plates. Upon each plate, a portion of the meal sat atop expensive jade platters, all hidden under big dazzling silver domes. The attendants'' right hands were tucked neatly behind them, at the front of them was a tall, regally decked Nephilim lady in what looked like a cross between chef''s clothing and royal garb.


    Damien could do nothing but gawk blindly, but at this point, the prince had long since had enough of this. Rolling his eyes he let out a long, hard sigh.


    Damien pressed his head into his knees. He just held himself there for a while, not moving, just breathing. Then, hands still shaking, Damien took shallow breaths while he slowly unwrapped himself from his solitary bundle. Undoing the clasp of his shoddy satchel, he began to take out each of the 10 tungsten training balls from within.


    None of the attendants holding the plates moved an inch, remaining in upright posture, frozen looking forward. The palpable tension kept them all arrested in place.


    None in the room dared to find out what would happen if they upset the imperial crown prince any further.


    The meal proctor nervously tugged at her collar as she looked around worryingly. She had prepared a full speech and a fantastic dinner plan that she carefully curated for months when she had been told that she would be working a top secret mission for the empress herself.


    At first she thought she was insane, but then many royal Nephilim, accompanied by several Grim-Class Knights showed up at her door in the dead of night to transport her to the capital city, from where the empress, seated upon the imperial throne, guided the entire empire, Eden.


    The actual garden of Eden.


    It had been gifted to the budding Empire of the Earthly Host to become its capital city by their forebears the Archangels of the Heavenly Host. A congratulations for finally realizing to stop killing each other and instead, work in tandem to serve and praise The Almighty.


    Eden was one of the few places in the Mortal Realms that was an actual piece of a place in the Divine Realms that Great Taboo had been instructed to allow to let exist. Eden itself was, like the stories had said, an actual piece of Heaven.


    The latent, thick mass of holy energy pouring forth from every molecule of every existing object both animate and inanimate within the holy city, made visiting the capital beyond a privilege for any Nephilim. In fact, numerous religious groups within the Empire of Gera made it a point to have a yearly pilgrimage to visit the capital city of Eden, no matter the cost. Just bathing in the energy of a piece of heaven always had unimaginably positive effects on the cultivation and purity of the Nephilim''s aura.


    Taking a quiet, slow breath, the meal proctor slowly shifted her golden-blue eyes over to stare at Lord Henry''s own, giving a silent but desperate plea for any idea of how to go forward. Henry only raised an eyebrow and slightly cocked his head in return. The lord said nothing but the definite look of, "woman what the hell do you think I can do about this situation that won''t make this worse, or get us killed?" was plastered clearly on his face. All the while Henry didn''t say a word, not daring to interrupt whatever it was the prince was doing with such practiced precision.


    No shred of conscious thought could be seen behind the prince''s eyes guiding his movements, he was operating on actions practiced masterfully to the point of becoming instinct.


    ''Yeah..,'' Henry thought to himself, ''not even going to attempt that one.''


    The meal proctor just silently gulped and maintained her position, having come to the same conclusion as Henry himself had.


    She tried not to let her nervousness and fear show in her ruffled feathers, she always hated how easily her beautiful, large, burgundy wings would constantly expose how she was feeling against her will. She hated how being an Illia made finding feather products so much harder because everybody knew Illia had unusually delicate wings and whatever! But, what mortified her, was if the prince noticed and took it as a slight against him that her feathers were ruffled instead of being perfectly slicked back at all times! After all it was dress code protocol for all imperial family workers!


    The meal proctor clutched her eyes shut tight, she felt she would literally combust on the spot at any moment.


    Damien had finished taking out all of the metal orbs, laying them in the shape of an omega before him on the dining table. He splayed out both his hands. Closing them after turning his palms downwards, a soft glow of energy radiated from the prince''s hands.


    Instantly the balls on the table grew larger and denser, growing from the size of marbles stored in Damien''s bag, to the size of apples.


    Dropping his hands the balls began to rise simultaneously. They rose to just above Damien''s head before stopping, levitating for a moment.


    Then the dance began.


    There was no other word to use to describe what the many Nephilim in the room were witnessing.


    Their prince''s eyes were completely closed, and yet, through just reading his aura alone, they could tell he was not only able to sense the position of every ball relative to himself, but also relative to each other as well. It ensured that no matter what complex dip, loop, accelerate, decelerate or fancy movement that any of the balls took, they wouldn''t hit the prince or each other.


    The balls came to rest in a sort of semicircle behind the prince''s head, looking like a halo. Inside the prince''s mind he finally breathed a sigh of relief. The training balls offered the much needed ground to familiar territory he desperately yearned for before he could re-attempt to allow anything else about this new life to approach him.


    Owning a personal galaxy or however large Gera was, had been far too much for the crown prince to bear.


    Damien was broken out of his deep inner trance by a deep, thunderous applause. All of the attendants, soldiers guarding the room, butlers attending to the prince, the meal proctor, and Henry, began clapping in genuine surprise and amazement at what they had seen.


    Damien, despite himself, blushed sheepishly in the face of the compliments, but didn''t deny them.


    "Sire," the meal proctor said, seizing the opportunity she saw to finally introduce herself properly to the future 25th Emperor of Gera, "my name is Lady Michelle Brown, I am an Early Stage Goddess, an executive chef of some of the best restaurants in Gera catering to the most esteemed of Nephilim, and a former Diamond Ranked Captain First Class in the holy armies of Gera." She gave a slight bow to Damien who gave her a goofy wave.


    Smiling, Lady Michelle continued. "I''ve even hosted your own mother many a time my prince," she said with a smile, "but never before have I seen such a performance of such skill for such a young age!" She gushed with admiration. Damien caught Henry silently nodding to himself in agreement with the meal proctor''s assessment of the prince''s skill in magic control. Henry himself had finally had his own turn to be thoroughly surprised that the prince could even pull off something like that, even if he was trained.


    Which was not something he''d been told to expect.


    "My prince I must ask," the meal proctor continued with an amused but genuinely curious, inquiring look, "what spell did you use to increase the volume and mass of those tungsten orbs? I was reading your aura signature and you wasted almost no energy in that spell, it was almost 87% efficient." Lady Michelle started getting excited, "I''m sorry Sire, I''m a bit of a magic nerd you see, but I really am stumped, what enchantment are you using to make the orbs dance? Your magic output is far too clean for something you did without using heaven seals or even words of power!"


    Instantly she froze, horror at what she was doing was painted clearly across her face. Lady Michelle immediately dropped to a knee, one fist pressed to the ground, the other tucked behind her back.


    ''Oh no not this again,'' Damien wailed silently.


    Before she could speak, the prince spoke out first.


    "Please Lady Michelle, please get up," he begged softly.


    Michelle felt trapped, her anxiety pounding, until she gazed up and saw the fearful young face that was trying desperately despite himself to put up a friendly, inviting front to not further displace the loyal worker before him.


    Michelle blushed and rose to her feet bowing her head simply with her hands crossed in front of her.


    "His Imperial Highness is too kind," she muttered in thanks, having been spared the awkwardness and fear of retribution.


    Damien just chuckled, "no problem, I''m a magic nerd too," the 12 year old boy said proudly, sticking a thumb to his chest. "But I wasn''t using a spell to make the orbs grow," he said with a slight frown, "that was alchemy, and I wasn''t using enchantments on the balls either, I''m manually controlling the movements of every one of them, including their elevations, with telepathy."


    He scratched his head for a second, lost in thought for a bit.


    "Although I suppose," the prince ventured, locked onto his current train of thought, "I am using a simple enchantment to make them constantly move forward, then its all telepathy from there."


    He grinned a toothy, wide childish grin, giving a firm nod.


    "The real fun starts when you have to figure out how to get them to all fly around each other without bumping into each other and sending multiple metal projectiles at your own head," the young prince said, doubling over himself in laughter.


    Damien giggled to himself remembering how many times he''d woken out of accidentally knocking himself out while training. Many times, he''d awoke laying in Jessica''s lap, head thumping painfully, while she would be silently, intently, reading the magic textbooks and physics books Damien had been able to get from Ma LaCroix to help train him.


    Jessica would always claim to not have any interest in the books whenever Damien would ask her about them, but whenever she thought no one was watching, she would be doing her own self training.


    Silently.


    Damien had accidentally glimpsed her training by herself one time.


    Seeing the monster of potential his girlfriend actually was hiding behind the large, exaggerated swagger of a sassy Latina werewolf child, made him so hopeful for her future.


    She at least had a chance.


    Wiping a slight tear from his eyes, the prince registered that no one in the room had said anything for a while.


    Henry''s eyes had almost bugged out of his head and it looked like Lady Michelle looked as if she was channeling every last drop of her power to remember her job and not immediately geek out heavily in front of everyone gathered, at the news they had just bore witness to.


    The other attendants were still standing in their positions, still unbroken, yet Damien could swear he heard a cough of exclaim from someone in the lineup.


    "Your Imperial Highness," Henry approached slowly, "I mean no disrespect at all to your skills, I can accept your exceptional use of telepathy to move the training orbs in perfect control, but when you say you used alchemy to change the size of the orbs, it gives me a little cause for pause." The Nephilim lord smiled to himself at his joke. "Could His Highness give us another demonstration of his alchemy? Maybe a more complex demonstration?"


    Damien pursed his lips at the slight, but complied anyway.


    At least this was something he knew how to do well.


    He had practiced his alchemy long into the night with Ma LaCroix and Sister Hua for many, many months.


    Damien smiled to himself, now that he knew that the two women that had trained him were the 1st and 5th most powerful deities in the entire Mortal Realms, the prince felt like showing off.


    He knew the exact display he wanted to put on if he really wanted to show his skills off, and the young prince was determined to do just that.


    Raising his two palms up and squaring his shoulders, the prince closed his eyes and began to suck in air.


    All eyes were on him, none could fathom even blinking before the presentation was done.


    After all, the prince looked dead serious.


    Damien''s hands began to glow rose gold, and from the tip of his right index finger, a small jet of endlessly chanting rose gold fire appeared. It burned with a regal brilliance, chanting in the language Damien now knew to be the language of the Angels.


    Henry was floored beyond his wildest imaginations, mouth hanging silently agape, but Michelle could no longer even try to keep her composure.


    "Holy Shit!" She yelled in amazement, "how the fuck are you using holy fire! You''re not even 13 yet! You haven''t even been trained yet!"


    Henry was far too lost in his own thoughts to chastise her language, but he brought himself together long enough to give her a stern glare. The meal proctor, esteemed as she was in her own right, bowed immediately, cowed before the anger of the great Nephilim lord sitting before her.


    Henry turned back to Damien, softening his gaze as he asked, almost reverently, "how long have you been aware of your angelic power Prince Damien?"


    "Hm," Damien thought for a second, thinking back to the last time he''d been able to think in peace without having a whole other person in his head, constantly yapping loudly at his every action. "Since I was about 10 really."


    Not acknowledging the gaping fish look Henry was now giving, Damien turned his burning finger towards the table in front of him. Meticulously, the prince burned an intricate diagram of 4 interlocking circles with runes and images adorning them. The prince worked slowly, but masterfully. Not missing a single detail.


    After inspecting his work, nodding to himself in satisfaction, Damien clapped his hands together and began letting his aura expand to fill his entire body and emanate from him. Attuning it to the energy of aether flowing around them, Damien began to form an earth seal with his hands. It was a seal that looked like one hand laid flat with the other pointed down the middle of it, pressed into the flat hand''s palm.


    The mana that Damien''s body used as its source of magical energy was finite. This was one of the very first things he had learnt while training the rare few forms of magic Ma LaCroix deemed safe enough to teach him.


    Spellwork, in a simple sense, was basically akin to giving a quantum computer an arbitrarily complex instruction set, built in a fundamentally simple way, that could spit out any arbitrary energy cost determined by and known only to the mage themselves and Taboo.


    ''At least that''s how Ma made it seem sometimes,'' the prince thought with a slight grimace.


    He remembered how even with his SuperComputer ego, his brains had turned to jelly trying to comprehend the complicated, deep lecture in magical theory that had morphed out of his seemingly simple question. But at least he knew how energy cost for spells was determined since there were so many different types of magical energy, both mortal and divine.


    He had learnt that every living creature with a soul could perform magic if trained properly or in periods of high stress that usually happen when a fight or flight reflex is prompted.


    This was because every creature with a soul possessed an aura, it was another law of the universe.


    Despite the fact that there were more kinds of incredibly and completely different magical, and physical energies in Mortal Realms than one could count, both divine and mortal, few things stayed the same across them all. One of these things was that aura was imperative to not only wield these energies, but to also regenerate one''s own inner supply of those energies. The size, purity and control of one''s aura also determined not only how much energy output a mage could wield, but also how powerful and controlled it would be, and what kind of energy the mage could learn to attune to.


    Damien''s aura pool was nothing special, but his control of it was what had constantly floored both Ma LaCroix and Sister Hua.


    He didn''t know why, but the prince knew that his aura control puzzled the two disasters almost as much as Jessica''s impossibly huge aura did.


    Damien felt inside himself to get a good read on how much mana he currently had saved up through the day. He hadn''t really done much training that morning, and since the day had cascaded into the wild coke dream that was currently transpiring, he hadn''t used much of his mana and anything that was used had long ago been passively recovered.


    Immediately the burnt symbol on the table began to glow a soft rose gold hue. Immediately the tungsten orbs began vibrating, slowly turning from metal into a shimmering crystalline material.


    Now all Nephilim within the room were openly gawking, because not only had they just watched the supposedly untrained young boy turn 10 metal orbs into diamonds, he then proceeded to split each of them in half. Changing their chemical compositions in real time, now into levitating balls of water that then all began spinning wildly before coalescing into a slowly spinning ring of water. After holding the water in the air for a minute, it began to snake onto the boy''s arm, where it then turned to wood, resting softly curled upon the boy''s arm, as if the ludicrous display of magic had just been but a daydream.


    Damien was breathing hard as he finally broke the hand seal.


    The circle that was once bursting with rose golden energy had died down into a weak glow that finally sputtered to death as the young prince broke the seal. He had bottomed out all of his mana. Damien''s brow was heavy with sweat and his body ached and screamed. His muscles were fried and twitching from conducting the flow of so much energy.


    None of this even remotely stopped Lady Michelle from practically mobbing the young boy with questions and wild franticness as the presiding meal attendants and soldiers again clapped loudly for their prince''s display of what no one could now question was indeed alchemy.


    Henry had regained his composure as he watched his prince rest and recuperate from his incredibly taxing display of magic.


    The meal proctor had ordered a drink of the purest ambrosia imbued with the freshest mertal to be brought immediately, under threat of extreme violence, to the imperial crown prince to help him replenish his spent mana and recover his overtaxed aura and body.


    However, none of this mattered to the Nephilim lord.


    He was deeply lost in thought, his mind racing millions of miles per second. The endless implications of what he had just seen was all he could fixate on. Damien, between trying to retreat from the meal proctor''s frenzy, regretting his choice to show off, noticed a weird sort of smile forming on the Nephilim lord''s face as he locked blue gold eyes with Henry.


    Before the prince could ask about the look on his chaperone''s face, instantly it was gone, and Henry was back to being all business.


    Giving the imperial crown prince a friendly smile he heavily congratulated Damien on his spell work, while apologizing profusely for antagonizing his liege lord.


    "Its nothing Henry, serious," Damien said waving his hands in regret, giving a sheepish smile he couldn''t help but asking, "do you think this is a good start?"


    Henry gave one of his signature belly laughs that Damien had come to understand usually preceded something equal parts fascinating and terrifying.


    "My Imperial Prince Damien," he said, wiping a tear from his eye, "we''re certainly going to make quite the powerful Nephilim princeling out of you yet, before we present you to your mother."


    He gave a warm smile and uttered words that the young boy didn''t yet know he desperately needed to hear, "your mother, Empress Hoaquin, wanted you to know how immensely proud of you she is, now we will make her more proud, won''t we?"


    Damien wiped the tears that had been dripping down his cheeks, giving a firm nod, while his bottom lip quivered.


    "Lady meal proctor," Henry said in a calm but demanding tone that silenced the conversation she had started having with Damien about his alchemy, "please proceed with ushering forth the meal." The Nephilim lord gave her a stern glare, staring deep into her eyes, "unless you''ve forgotten your incredibly high profile, top secret position serving and overseeing the personal meals of the Imperial Crown Prince of Gera himself."


    Damien winced as Lady Michelle suddenly drained of all color, silently gaping like a dying fish for only a fraction of a second before she immediately reset back to the imposing, rigid, powerful Nephilim noble that Damien had first seen appear. She proceeded setting the first course of the meal, thanked the prince and Lord Henry for their patronage and understanding, then vanished with her troop of meal attendants.


    ''Hm,'' Damien thought silently, as he distracted himself from having to look at Henry by beginning his meal, ''mildly nice with limits, got it.''

 Chapter 6: Enter, The Ruby Palace

    Clang! Clang! Clang!


    Vicious sounds of metal striking metal rang out in rapid succession throughout the dimly lit training hall. Amid the cruel shrieking of metal scraping savagely against metal, sounds of deadly combat could be heard emanating. A harrowing, clearly one sided fight slowly came into view.


    "Huff, huff, huff," the ragged breaths of a girl grunting as she swung a heavy tungsten sword almost twice the size of herself. Her breaths came in ragged bursts. A tall man in a loosely buttoned, egg white shirt, wearing long gray slacks, parried her every blindingly fast, savage attack. All the while, he was being blindfolded, and was only wielding a butter knife.


    The parried blows came reverberating loudly, like explosions in the girl''s ears, as she struggled to find a way to break through the man''s defense before she ran out of stamina... again.


    Except, the tall man wasn''t just any man. For the past week since her adoption, she''d come to learn a lot about the tall man that had adopted her. Firstly, he was royalty of some kind, a relative of one of the Great Disasters. Secondly he had a cool, detached and aloofly unbothered, outward personality. And a deeply sore temper.


    He was usually cool and reserved, a large man of few words and a too-charming, studied disposition.


    Finally, he was also a werewolf deity.


    A mortal who''d ascended to divinity. A lord of a massive pack the size of an entire kingdom, even including its own few islands. He was a gentleman mage known as Amos Jeras, and an unholy force of arcane devastation the girl had later come to know, as The Ruby King.


    He had inherited the nation as its supreme sovereign, as birthright from his grandfather, the great Iron Wolf, for completing the sacred were-being task of creating one''s own art.


    A feat, the girl had learned, was apparently a one in a billion possibility for even the pinnacle of most were-being mages.


    The majority of the kingdom was hidden in a pocket realm, deep in the forests of Columbia. Its citizens lived life in abject peace and splendor. Not only were they hidden behind the deep forests of Columbia, teeming with viscous wildlife, and the portal gate that was both hidden behind a vast blanket of glamorous and traps. They were also protected by miles upon miles of transcendental magic woven by the many deities that resided within the nation in patriotic service to their country. The kingdom was known as Elorra, The Ruby Kingdom.


    And a week ago, the girl Jessica, had become its one and only, Ruby Princess.


    ''He''s also a massive asshole,'' Jessica muttered to herself in thought, fighting through the screaming pain of her tired muscles, as she continued her barrage. Flowing through hundreds of forms and steps that had been ingrained into her over the past week, she attacked seamlessly, only stopping for mere seconds in between rotations to rest before continuing her assault. Despite the massive blade she wielded.


    Amos was a creature of rigid routine, and as such Jessica''s life since becoming a princess had been sectioned off and pre-planned for her long before she''d even gotten to the Ruby Palace. It wasn''t all that bad she reasoned. After all, for the majority of the day Jessica was free to roam the palace as she chose. But, from the hours of 5pm-10pm every night, she''d be locked in brutal physical and magical conditioning with the divine wolf and his battalion of equally severe trainers, coaches, and sparring partners. It was during those moments, Jessica had come to learn to hate his cocky, know it all suaveness. It didn''t help that this particular exercise was something Amos would only let her do against him. Not to mention that it would only stop the moment she hit him once. Allowing the entire training hall to witness her failure. It had been almost an hour and she hadn''t even come close to grazing him once.


    Oh and Amos was currently blindfolded, fighting against her massive broadsword. With a butterknife...


    Jessica kept her senses peeled as she pressed on, constantly pushed to their brink. It was all she could do to avoid the humiliation of suffering a ring out from a defending opponent.


    Hyper augmented by her hotly burning aura, Jessica''s senses transformed the world around her. Everything could be seen, heard, smelt, felt, tasted, in hyper definition. Currently she was giving it everything she had, just to stay in the spar. The world around her had long faded from view, and all of her exalted senses completely zeroed in on her opponent. Subconsciously, she''d long given up on scoring a hit on Amos.


    Consciously, she''d keep trying until she couldn''t move anymore.


    Jessica hated to admit it, but just trying to perceive even the god''s slowest movements, in hopes of parrying his devastating counters was one of the hardest things she''d ever done. And the resounding force of even his most gentle blocks, would always send her flying uncontrollably. Left to do her best to catch herself lest she ring out.


    Oh and she wasn''t allowed to ever drop the massive sword. Ever. The last 20 laps she ran had drilled that fact sorely into the princess'' legs and abs.


    The werewolf princess had long decided, if she was going to be rag dolled, she might as well try and use it to her advantage. Executing her next series of movements perfectly, she launched herself backwards. Blasting away from Amos in a loud bang, from a fake hit she''d swung at him using the broadside of her sword. Her plan had been to taunt the deity into parrying so she could use the unfair momentum of his causal, monstrous swings to create space. But, as always, she had largely underestimated the sheer amount of force the Ruby King could output, even with such a simple action.


    Crashing in a tight bundle meters away, Jessica was once again thankful for the massive battle stage she was currently sparring Amos within. It kept blowing her mind that the even more massive training hall was even a possibility.


    She skidded violently, careening and tumbling painfully, as she tried desperately to keep her body inert. Sadly, the sea of momentum had other plans, as it dragged her flying backwards.


    The princess began panicking as she noticed she was racing towards the edge of the battle stage.


    If she fell off the edge she''d lose.


    She wouldn''t allow that to happen.


    Jessica tensed every single muscle in her aching body. As she had practiced hundreds of times since leaving the orphanage, she strained every last drop of physical strength she could manifest, hoping to arrest the momentum of the massive sword without breaking from the coiled position she was currently in. Digging her arms down, she plunged her massive sword into the floor of the stage, digging a savage trench in her wake.


    At the last moment, mere centimeters from the edge, many meters from where she''d collided with the Ruby King, the princess managed to stop the insane momentum of the heavy sword. Her white knuckled grip never faltered once, though it was heavily damp with sweat.


    Building up her energy in her shaking legs, Jessica began burning her aura even hotter, despite her wet, hoarse breaths.


    She had learned during her 2 years training with Ma LaCroix, that it was how werewolves and other were-creatures not only cultivated their auras to grow stronger, but it was how they summoned their auras to wield the various, monstrous energies they commanded, guided by their intents.


    The Great Disaster had taught her that a were-being''s aura was akin to an engine, and so they themselves were in their element during a war of attrition. The longer and hotter a were-being could sustain burning their aura, the more devastating their magical output, and the more refined it would be the next time they called upon it. But among the tradeoffs this way of aura cultivation brought, and there were many, overtaxing her aura was one of them, and it could leave her feeling sluggish and disoriented. Or it could completely torch her from the inside out if she really got cookin''. Yet even despite the racial drawbacks of her aura cultivation, under even the brief tutelage of Amos, Jessica''s control and use of her aura and magic had grown tremendously.


    The young princess'' aura roared to life, allotting her up to 40% of her full magical output. And yet, its leviathan-like size allotted her a truly massive output of magical power. It multiplied whatever amount of energy she held within her soul combined with whatever she was channeling from the area around her, by the insane base number that was her unnaturally large aura. Even if her aura was still comparatively very weak and diminutive when held against any sage, much worse a deity like Amos, for Jessica''s age regardless, it put her completely in a league of her own.


    Peering her enhanced werewolf eyes, Jessica''s racially given 20/20 vision could now track the slightest sway of singular hairs on Amos'' mustache, even from many meters away. Her enhanced wolf nose could detect the slightest pheromones emanating from the divine wolf''s sweat, indicating his emotions to the princess before his stoic face gave anything away. She could even feel the slightest tremors of his heartbeats in the ground beneath her clearly, even while wearing heavy combat boots with her enhanced sense of touch. Her aura boosted senses were constantly alerting her at any time if he was even slightly unsure of a move, or when he was about to make one. Giving the princess a beacon to direct a surprise attack. And now, her previously monstrous physical strength, had reached ballistic levels of force output.


    ''Too bad it doesn'' mean jackshit to this guy,'' Jessica thought to herself glumly as she slowly readjusted the massive sword she wielded. Noting in wonder yet again as the thoroughly ruined stage quickly mended itself. She tried her hardest not to break her poise as she silently and quickly pondered her next action. She was comfortable burning her aura at this rate after her 6 days of hellish training, but that didn''t mean she had infinite time. Aura burnout still steadily crept towards the princess, and she needed to move fast.


    ''For every enhanced sense I got, he''s not only got them in spades, but since werewolf genes get stronger with age he''d never even get rusty even if he sat on his ass all day,'' the girl whined to herself glumly. Her brow furrowed with annoyance as her body temperature slowly rose, and the sweat that had long been pooling on her brow, began freefalling, yet hardly obscuring her enhanced, perfect vision. ''And don''t forget! ...the bastard''s a god as well... a fucking Outer Deity.... Yay. Their senses are so refined I don''t even want to think about what they can notice about me that I''m missing.'' Amos wasn''t the only Outer deity that was currently in the training hall, and certainly, wasn''t the only deity in the hall. The veritable sea of bodies that felt utterly devoid of all aura and energy to Jessica, even amid the menagerie of auras of all levels she could perceive, deeply terrified the princess inside. She tried her hardest to never show it.


    Amos, the king of the Great Ruby Pack, chuckled to himself, as if able to read Jessica''s thoughts even while blindfolded.


    "Come Jessica," the king taunted, "I know those weak little arms of yours are getting tir-" Amos never got to finish his provocations as Jessica suddenly exploded forward with tremendous speed. Carried forward by a thunderous bang. Her legs glowed a deep emerald green with the enchantment she wrapped around them, super increasing the amount of force they were able to hold and exert. Hoisting her massive sword like a comically large lance in front of her, Jessica flew forward impossibly fast, in a straight line, towards Amos''s head.


    Time slowed to a crawl. Everything faded to black except Jessica and Amos as her focus sharpened even further, causing her wolfish, golden green eyes to turn more animalistic. Before the princess impacted the Ruby King, giving a wild grin, all the young girl could think of, was victory.


    "Parry this jackass!" she screamed as her sword nearly burrowed itself into Amos'' blindfolded face.


    Instantly, Jessica was blown back. She hadn''t even been able to see Amos'' counter attack.


    He''d moved too fast.


    The blade of her gigantic sword exploded into millions of pieces that rained down around her, bouncing harmlessly off a ruby colored sphere of energy that had manifested instantly around her.


    The insane force sent the young princess blown forcefully through the air. Slamming into the heavily padded, heavily enchanted for safety, walls on the far side of the massive training hall, almost instantly, deeply embedding her body firmly into them... again. Far from the edge of the large battle stage.


    As the princess eventually wiggled herself shamefully free of the wall mats, she noticed Amos had dropped his butter knife, and had started rolling up his sleeves.


    Despite her shame amidst the jeering looks and snickers, Jessica smiled.


    Her favorite part of their nightly 3 hour training ritual was fast approaching. Not only was it her favorite because it signaled the final 5 minutes of training before the two werewolf royals could head off to dinner, fighting barehanded with their claws, fangs, fists, and kicks, was Jessica''s most preferred method to fight. And everyone else had to clear out of the training hall.


    This was their time to practice magic that the others would probably never be privy to, the very reason for which Amos had earned his epithet as The Ruby King.


    After the last trainee and staff member had left the massive hall, all that were left were Amos and Jessica, Amos'' personal attendants, and Jessica''s own Ladies-in-Waiting.


    The princess slowly stretched, alleviating some of her body''s numerous aching pains while softly applying a healing spell to herself to un-dislocate her left arm. She had let her aura cool off after being firmly planted into the wall, so that she could preserve whatever strength she still had left for their final bout of the day.


    Slowly, Jessica shook her worn, dangling arms. She began to let her claws extend as her fingernails began turning into wickedly hooked weapons.


    Obviously, they wouldn''t begin practicing until both had reached their partial transformations.


    Every were-being was born capable of two transformations despite what animal manifested in their family''s genetics. A partial transformation, and a full transformation, were both hidden within the auras of every last were-being. The partial transformation would have the were-being mage adopt characteristics of their particular animalistic trait, but still largely maintain their human forms. The fully transformed state however, differed for every were-creature and thus was activated differently for each. But in every fully transformed state, the were-being became a viscous and monstrous version of their animalistic genes. Werewolves had a very commonly known start condition for their full transformations, the full moon.


    Amos forbade combat with their fully transformed states for at least the next 3 years under his current training plan, but the king at least allowed her to fight him with her partial transformation, using whatever martial art or magic she wanted to try out on him. In fact, he demanded she master at least 15 various human and werewolf martial arts and magical forms to at least grandmaster-hood and archimage-hood by the end of those 3 years in both her partial transformation and her non transformed states.


    He was dead serious.


    Jessica was silently thankful to be free of the insane weight of the massive, cumbersome sword. Heaving a relieved, grateful sigh she swung her arms and twisted her transformed body to stretch. She knew the weapon was a subtle effective training method to address her unnaturally monstrous strength, it allowed her to not have to worry about using too much strength while fighting since even lifting the damn thing took every last bit of energy she was able to muster. Serving as a double plus, fighting with the steel door disguised as a weapon would also offer her the chance to simultaneously curate impeccable control over her own body''s muscle control, magical output and aura were she ever to master fighting Amos with the gigantic sword, but it would also serve to help her in a way that felt like a legitimate challenge for Jessica. Something she had been sorely lacking at the orphanage, especially since Damien would never seriously spar with her.


    That being said, the princess was bouncing with joy at finally being able to fight Amos with her true strength and speed, and magic. At least, with what remained of them. Her eyes had become more animalistic, and her teeth and canines had morphed to wolfish dentures and fangs.


    Partial transformation.


    The princess then began to emit a rush of ruby colored power around herself as their auras began burning hotly. Sending their intents bursting forth, preparing for battle. In her partially transformed state, her aura had also changed. Becoming a more robust and stronger version of its previous state, allowing her access to a full 50% of her full aura output. Something that the princess'' magical output, deeply appreciated.


    Jessica''s claws, teeth and fangs and eyes suddenly began to take on a pinkish hue, signaling she was successfully channeling a portion of the Ruby Force. Albeit, a very small portion. But the incomparably tremendous boost of magical output the princess was blessed with when she stacked her slight connection to the Ruby Force''s energy atop her own normal energies with partial transformation, far made up her shame at her lack of aptitude with thrill at the level of power she was currently wielding.


    Despite the massive strain using the Ruby Force put her already ragged body under.


    Amos however, his claws, teeth and fangs had all transformed into actual Ruby-fied versions of their previous selves. The sign of true mastery of the Ruby Force being channeled through his own partial transformation. Though Jessica couldn''t see his eyes from behind the blindfold, she knew they were "rubified" too. And at his level even though the deity had the force fully manifested, it hardly drew anything out of him.


    Whereas Jessica was going to experience hell just trying to not drop the form before the timer rang out.


    Seeing his rocky, red, wolvish teeth always freaked Jessica out.


    ''Oh well,'' the young princess joked to herself, attempting to calm her shooting nerves, ''guess I''m gonna have to get a sick set of ruby grills too if I want goddess-hood, and I really wanna be a goddess!''


    The 13 year old giggled to herself, the absurdity of the thought was too much for her to not laugh despite how much pain she was under.


    Amos just raised an eyebrow from behind his blindfold.


    In the next moment, almost immediately, Jessica transformed into a maelstrom of fury as she raced forward towards Amos with incredible speed. In a blinding torrent of blows, much much faster than her earlier sword barrage, she sent an endless combo-ed chain of a random mix of light and heavy attacks at the divine werewolf king, throwing every ounce of energy and power she had into her onslaught. For her efforts she was rewarded with her every hit delivering hundreds of pounds of force racing forth, as a tidal wave of angsty teen malice rained down murderously upon the Ruby King.


    However, just when her pride was starting to solidify, Jessica noticed Amos had been blocking her every savage attack, with a single claw.


    Never once had even a droplet of sweat even dotted his perfectly kept brow.


    The buzzer rang aloud, signaling the end of their workout.


    Jessica immediately collapsed on the floor mats in utter exhaustion, immediately dropping her partial transformation, back to her base form as a team of her personal after workout attendants teleported by her side. Proceeding to see to all of her many after training needs. Her Ladies-in-Waiting readied their princess enough for her to be half-levitated, half walked, back to her room to shower, and later appear in the royal dining hall for supper and her evening activities.


    Jessica allowed herself to be carried off, glumly pouting. She hadn''t been able to hit Amos, even a single time. However, the young princess noted contently, she was getting a lot faster, and much stronger.


    ''One day...'' she thought to herself silently. The princess sighed, and smiled. ''Still,'' she admitted silently, pride in herself swelling, ''it''s the first time I lasted the full 5 minutes!'' She began to laugh wildly despite being unable to move properly. Causing some of her Ladies-in-Waiting to exchange worried glances.


    Amos untied his blindfolds while he de-transformed. He silently watched his newly adopted daughter be led away with her ladies in waiting, cackling like an idiot. Coming to a decision after a brief, but fierce inner war with himself, Amos'' usually relaxed demeanor slightly broke. Closing his eyes, he sighed loudly, causing Jessica''s still wolfish ears to perk up.


    "Jessica," Amos called out in his heavy, Colombian accent, "I''ve received word this morning from the orphanage regarding your... friend, Damien..."


    Jessica immediately whirled around, despite her attendant''s shocked exclamations and attempts to block her. Stopping dead in her tracks.


    "You mean my boyfriend Damien, right?" the princess asked in an overly fake, sweet tone. Leering at Amos she hissed, "now spill."


    "Ah ah," the divine werewolf king admonished, waving a finger, "you know how I feel about that."


    Jessica stuck a grubby, small middle finger up at him. She willed all her magical control and remaining energy on the claw protruding from her finger. Briefly she fought a deep headache, and for her efforts, the nail manifested for just a moment, as a single, completely ruby claw.


    "Up yours old man," the princess said dismissively, causing many of her ladies in waiting to gasp in horror, while she absentmindedly wiped a small streak of blood that began flowing from her nose on her training uniform sleeve. "I was dating him months before you adopted me, so your feelings don'' mean jackshit to me!" She grinned satisfied with herself. Crossing her arms over her chest she went back to glaring at her newly adoptive father. "Last warning, spill."


    "Fine," the wolf deity grumbled as he reluctantly agreed despite his annoyance, rolling his shimmering golden green wolfish eyes, "I guess you were with him first."


    Amos rubbed his temples as one of his own attendants suddenly teleported next to him. The attendant had lightly tanned skin and long black hair. It was pinned up and preened perfectly, allowing all to see her stony gray eyes, a were-rhino. She offered the king a fresh, moist towel that Amos used to vent his frustration through wiping off his face, while the attendant gently took the blindfold Amos had unknowingly been holding in a white knuckled, vice grip.


    Handing back the towel with a thank you to his attendant, the king returned facing the princess, who was still posed expectantly, hands on her hips, food tapping, waiting for her gossip.


    "Your boy is royalty," Amos said with a pained expression as Jessica began whooping and hollering with joy. "In fact he''s the gods-forsaken heir to the Empire of Gera, so in terms of royalty... he''s the same rank as us... Technically, he''s actually a little higher currently since my grandfather is the 9th Great Disaster, but his mother is the 1st Great Disaster..."


    Jessica had doubled over laughing loudly at initial news, now she was howling harder at the angry, embarrassed, and defeated look on Amos'' usually content and perfect face. She pointed jeeringly at her adopted father as she hollered shamelessly. For the last 6 days they had been arguing hotly over the official status of her relationship with Damien during the few moments they were able to spend together. Arguments that had resulted in both of them not talking to each other much outside of training.


    Truly family bonding done right.


    Amos had brought up the eventual, inevitable topic during the flight, of introducing her to other magical royalty her age and rank, and Jessica had introduced him to the idea of fucking himself with his own spear.


    After much circular, vicious, loud arguing and screaming that had eventually gone nowhere, they eventually landed on a topic Amos knew Jessica couldn''t refute him on. They had no clue what Damien was, and if he wasn''t royal, or at least a high noble, then a relationship with Jessica, as a princess, was impossible. Unless Jessica was ok with giving up the possibility of goddess-hood and being royalty.


    Jessica, in order to not find out what was the current were-being punishment for hitting the ultimate bingo roll of patricide, deicide and regicide all in one go, had agreed to submit to the rules of the reality they belonged to. Instead, they had agreed not to bring up the topic again until they knew for sure what Damien was...


    Now she was squirming on the floor of the training room, cringing in pain from her own ceaseless laughter, hugging her aching stomach, while Amos fumed silently to himself. Vindication kept her reveling in her victory, despite whatever anyone watching may have thought of her because of it.


    "Oh this is perfect!" she wheezed, finally coming to a glorious break in her laughs, tears of happiness and pain cascading freely drenched her small cheeks. "You''ve really outdone yourself this time D! Never doubted ya once! I told you Anna! There was nuthin to worry about!"


    The princess laughed out loud deliriously from the floor. The deity watched his heir squirm around laughing while he stood aside in deliberation. He felt his wolfish anger bubble up within him at the blatant disrespect from his subordinate. Yet, upon hearing the name of his adopted daughter''s likely dead friend, the Ruby King immediately put together that Jessica was probably so deeply out of her element, she was forcing the memory of Anna to be her solace in her time of need.


    Despite his rage at being bested, Amos couldn''t deny the resounding inner feeling of guilt and shame that this was all his fault. After all, if he had said he had a secret son instead of uncharacteristically panicking and saying he had a secret daughter, Jessica wouldn''t be here right now. She wouldn''t be separated from the one friend she had left. Boyfriend or not.


    Amos sighed, rebuking himself for his selfishness, as he sent waves of calming, peaceful feelings towards Jessica, through his divine intent. The young princess, upon feeling the energy signatures from the deity wolf, sat up curiously from where she had been previously laying, staring at the ceiling.


    Now she stared at Amos, unblinking as he sat in front of her taking one of her small hands in one of his massive ones. For a moment they held the pose, and when Jessica didn''t jerk her hand away, Amos gave her a slight, encouraging smile and began to speak.


    "Damien is a Nephilim, he is the half angel, half something child of the one called The Terror of Heaven, Empress Hoaquin. She is the 24th Ruling Monarch of the Earthly Host, Empress of the Empire of Gera," Amos said, his divine, ancient golden-green wolfish eyes peering deeply into Jessica''s own golden green wolfish eyes. "She''s also the current strongest being within the Mortal Realms."


    Jessica said nothing for what felt like ages. Intently she stared at Amos'' face, searching diligently for any sign he was lying. But in it, the princess could ascertain, there was not even a hint of deception.


    "Well damn," was all she could manage, weakly. A few more moments passed as the princess looked down and thought to herself. "So... I don''t have to break up with him, right?" She asked hopefully? Her usually sour face was on the verge of tears, lacking all prior edge and fury. Her eyes which usually projected animosity and distrust, now were large puppy eyes, laden heavy with sorrow and plea.


    "Sadly no, mi hija, you can keep him" Amos said softly, smiling as he gently patted the princess on her head while she softly, quietly, wiped her tears. "Although whether or not the two of you will ever even have any free time to even meet later in life is very much up for question." He gave a resigned sigh.


    "Why do you say that?" Jessica asked softly, hiccupping softly?


    "Because child, not only is his mother ruling empress of a very, very large empire," Amos began, "she is also the 1st Great Disaster, sitting at the helm of a conference table bearing the 12 of the most powerful, deeply insane creatures in the entire Mortal Realms. Not to mention many of them are completely evil and have their hands deep in more than a few crimes that would curdle your soul to know about, to say the least. To top it all off, she''s also Supreme Commander of the United World Military, so lord knows she has more than enough on her plate to deal with without having to process maybe becoming in-laws with the fucking Iron Dipshit known as my grandfather." The wolf deity rubbed his forehead in frustration. "Don''t forget, once the world learns of Damien''s or your existence properly for that matter, all hell will break loose. Many who want Lady Hoaquin''s positions as Empress or 1st Great Disaster and Supreme Commander of the UWM, will now have the biggest nightmare and rival of their lives to deal with, and deal with expeditiously."


    "The heir of the monster... her actual flesh and blood..." Jessica whispered horrified, her inner sense of impending doom began to grow as she continued to comprehend the true depth of her adoptive father''s words.


    "Precisely," Amos said gravely, "as someone who was also born with an endless valley of enemies before I could even walk, I feel for him, but I know that boy is going to have to endure a life I wouldn''t wish upon my worst of enemies. Those Nephilim guarding him better train him and train him well. For his sake."


    Jessica sighed and closed her eyes. Taking a moment, the young princess resigned herself to the future she was choosing despite the vastly myriad, very valid, potential horrors Amos had just awakened her to.


    But what choice did she have?


    "Better master this Ruby Force as soon as possible then," she grumbled to herself, staring at her palm as she flexed her fingers, "someone''s gotta be there to beat off the crazy bitches when they start getting too uppity, and I heard it takes one to spot them."


    She made swatting motions with her hands together, softly repeating, "pow! Pow! Pow!" with each swing.


    Amos lightly bonked the princess on her head.


    "No," the king said sternly, "you need to go wash up and appear in the dining hall for dinner in an hour." His face lightened up, "then we can talk more about how to get you stronger," he said with a gentle smile.


    Jessica looked up at the powerful divine wolf in his suave, too perfect, divine face. The young princess studied him for what felt like ages. Slowly, she lifted up a hand to him awkwardly and tentatively. It was a simple palm, relaxed and outstretched. Shocked, but understanding quickly, Amos slowly lifted an outstretched hand to meet hers in return. Gently they placed palms against each other and held that pose for what felt like eons to the two. They were no longer enemies, but now father and daughter, and in that moment, both established a new bond between them that only they would ever know of. Jessica didn''t notice it, but a few of her ladies in waiting were silently crying tears of happiness while others had looks of relief and exhausted peace, all 10 of them were celebrating, while Amo''s own attendants had looks of utter shock embedded deeply upon their faces.


    Throwing her arms around his neck briefly, the princess said, "ok dad." Then twirled off skipping after her ladies in waiting, loudly and excitedly telling anyone she could see quite loudly that her boyfriend was the son of Hoaquin of Gera! From the screams and sounds of falling objects that seemed to follow the news as it registered to all who heard it, Amos smirked at the receding image of his adoptive daughter. It seemed like she was determined to get the entire Mortal Realms aware of Damien''s existence before anyone else could.


    Amos chuckled softly to himself. "That''s the first time she''s called me dad," he pondered aloud as he remained sitting. Thinking by himself for a long while.


    "So many are going to die," he grimly conceded, murmuring softly after almost an hour of silent meditation. Heaving another deep sigh, he teleported himself to his quarters in a massive flash of ruby energy.


    ***


    "Fucking dammit," the princess swore under her breath.


    It was the third fork that night she had destroyed. She hadn''t meant to, but at this point, that sentiment hardly mattered. Ever since turning 13, Jessica couldn''t help but notice that her normally hard to control strength had turned from passive misery, to ultimately unbearable.


    She couldn''t stop her aura from buckling randomly, which was just something that apparently happened often to all beings in the Mortal Realm while in puberty. Unfortunately, this also meant that she couldn''t yet control when her strength and magical output would go from reserved and maintained, to rampaging force of destruction.


    The werewolf princess now found it almost impossible to do anything without causing mass destruction whenever her mind slipped and her aura saw it as an opportunity to cause chaos. Even turning over in her sleep one night had resulted in half of her massive new bed collapsing in on itself in a deafening, sudden explosion, as her sleep laden arm struck her bed when she turned over in her sleep. She had even had to eventually accept Amos'' continuous insistence that a proper princess should have a troop of annoying, stuffy Ladies-in-Waiting. This was due to the fact that she had almost destroyed all her dresses, robes, and clothes that the chief royal tailors had pre-prepped for the arrival of their new princess.


    In 1 day...


    It happened 3 days after her adoption. After a particularly heated argument Amos and Jessica had been having about her inability to control her strength and the possibility of running her clothes validating other people dressing her, Jessica stormed out of the sun room they had been sitting in together. In a desperate attempt to prove the 13 year old didn''t need to fully separate herself from any remaining notion of her self respect and pride, she attempted to change from the overly frilly ornate school-girl dress she''d been wearing into a day robe.


    She ended up with almost no more clothes intact before she was frantically ordered to stop by a sea of rushing attendants while Amos nursed a coffee and attempted to convince himself not to kill his daughter.


    The entirety of the Ruby Palace then had the pleasure of witnessing a titanic screaming match ensue between the king and princess. Eventually, it culminated in Amos threatening Jessica to choose between either walking around naked, which would task her with the simple endeavor of figuring out how to execute and maintain her full transformation at will, without losing her mind to the form''s control, or suck it up and accept the help of the Ladies-in-Waiting.


    Jessica was bold, but not bold enough to become known as the first publicly streaking princess of the modern era. Especially not one that was supposed to be the new great-granddaughter of one of the 12 Great Disasters. So, from now all her Ladies-in-waiting went wherever she went, and attended to her every need. Adding insult to injury, until next week, the princess now also only had 3 battle robes and 1 solemn dress remaining in her many massive, walk-in closets that had previously been stacked to the brim with priceless garments. And dressing herself was now out of the question until she could fully control her strength.


    Amos hadn''t spoken to her for an entire day afterwards, not even at training. But, thanks to her werewolf hearing, Jessica could hear him throughout the day yelling obscenities in Spanish for hours from the king''s quarters, while her royal tailor tried in fear to hide herself against a wall, masked behind layers of glamours, till the Ruby King cooled off.


    Bringing her mind back to her task at hand Jessica threw the shards of fork away in a fury, resigning herself to eating her dinner with her bare hands. She glared death at her own personal dining attendant when the fool attempted to approach her tentatively with a fourth, ornate fork. Causing the poor man to yelp in fear, he quickly bowed to both royals before teleporting away nearly as fast as he had appeared.


    Amos watched Jessica silently as the suave, older werewolf silently munched on his own food. Across the great table from her he sat, yet her sour mood made the distance feel like they were galaxies apart. Lifting up a finger, the Ruby King was about to comment on his new daughter''s eating habits, but was immediately cut off.


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    "Don''t try it pops," she growled in frustration, reading his intent, "you only just got off my chopping block."


    Amos just arched an eyebrow and shrugged, choosing instead to return his attention to his own meal when a loud, exasperated sigh brought his attention back to the young princess.


    "Ugh... fine," Jessica exasperated as she slumped backwards into her massive, throne-like dining chair, throwing the food back onto the table as she folded her food stained hands, staining her evening robes. One of her two chief ladies in waiting, Margo, a were-viper, gave a quick painful, horrified gasp and nearly fainted at the sight of yet another ruined article of the princess'' clothing. Other''s caught her, while trying to reassure the woman that the robe could still be saved with a proper wash.


    Jessica glared daggers at an attendant that suddenly manifested himself in the space beside her offering her a glowing towel. Then giving it a thought, the princess'' gaze softened as she looked downcast with shame.


    "Sorry Crist¨®bal," the princess muttered as she solemnly took the enchanted towel.


    The attendant''s soft green, cat-like eyes widened slightly in shock, he hadn''t even expected that the princess would remember his name, given they had only met once days before in passing. Crist¨®bal gave the young princess a wide, warm smile, his green eyes beaming from behind his thick mane of curly black locks.


    "Anytime Your Highness," the were-jaguar said in a heavy boyish Columbian accent, giving a slight bow towards her. Turning towards Amos, Crist¨®bal bowed again. "I take my leave, Your Majesty."


    Amos gave a slight nod to the attendant and the young man vanished just as quickly as he had appeared. The Ruby King remained silent as he watched Jessica dab at her robes with the clearly enchanted cloth, wondering what it did. He chuckled slightly at her rapt fascination, staring as her horrific stains would disappear from the robes as easily as if she was wiping chalk from a chalkboard.


    Amos huffed slightly, rubbing his temples in slight irritation as another inner debate broke out within his psyche. Watching Jessica sink deeper into her inner frustrations while trying everyday to boast a brave face to mask her oceans of loneliness and depression, tore the deity''s conscience to shreds. a war raged behind his stoic, divine, wolfish eyes. With every aspect of his being, Amos detested the pairing of Jessica and Damien. There was nothing wrong with the boy himself, from what the deity had gathered, indeed he was one of the seldom few people his foul-mouthed daughter seemed to have nothing but good to say about. But Amos knew the darkness that lay dormant in the hearts of mortals and deities alike when the lure of power and recognition was thrown into the mix.


    The Ruby King had never even felt safe for a second within the halls of the Iron Palace during his childhood. He only felt a bit safer in his own Ruby Palace, but even then, the amount of his subjects Amos could say he trusted, could be counted with only his two hands.


    Since his infancy, Amos had been painfully aware of the drawbacks that came with being a direct descendant of one of the Great Disasters. There were many, many factions and groups wielding great power within the vast expanse of the universe, but none held more consequences as far reaching as the 12 Great Disasters. His own grandfather was the Iron Wolf, an insanely powerful deity, the High King who lorded over every were-pack and were-kingdom on the planet Earth. He was the creator and master of the terrifying Iron Force, and an absolute egomaniac tyrant. But now that tyrant was also Jessica''s great grandfather, and it was a legacy Amos had sworn before Great Taboo itself, to protect her from.


    But the great deity realized, protecting his adoptive daughter would require trusting her, even if it went against every last instinct in his ancient body.


    "Jessica," Amos started gently, but the princess said nothing in return. A single arched eyebrow was the only indication that she had heard him, but never looked up from her task of de-staining her clothes.


    Amos gave a slight huff. He felt his wolfish irritation building but he stilled his anger. Reaching out with his intent first this time, the Ruby king sent waves of soothing energy towards Jessica. Oceans of great tenderness and understanding came riveting from The Ruby King''s aura, swamping Jessica''s frustration and sadness in a tender hug. Even the princess'' wildly bucking aura that had been reverberating unconscious, sporadic waves of anger and pain through her exhausted intent, eventually began to still as Amos waited for what felt like centuries.


    "Would you like to have a little lesson right now? not combat oriented necessarily," Amos said quickly, holding his hand up in defense to Jessica''s unamused stare, "but it might make eating and sleeping at least a little easier for you."


    Jessica said nothing for a while, hanging her head in silent deliberation. Giving a small nod, the 12 year old looked up softly then whispered in an uncharacteristically meek voice, "yes please..." Amos smiled warmly but was stunned to silence by her next words. "Thank you... father..."


    Amos choked on his words. His perfectly crafted lesson was momentarily forgotten. For the first time in the incredibly long and taxing week it had been for the both of them since Jessica''s adoption, she had properly acknowledged the old wolf as her father. Amos didn''t know it, but in that moment, he ingrained a promise upon his heart. He had already sworn to protect Jessica upon sacred Taboo itself, but this was different. This was personal. It was the promise every father made upon seeing their newborn for the first time. The world itself would burn if it meant protecting his adoptive daughter, even if it was against his grandfather.


    Shaking his head slightly, Amos shook himself from his stupor. Regaining his composure, he coughed into a curled fist and rolled up the sleeves of his familiar egg white, button down dinner shirt.


    The white shirt and gray chino pants seemed to be the only thing Amos wore. Jessica wasn''t sure there was enough of a difference between the shirts to merit calling some dinner shirts, but she''d been sternly warned from approaching that conversation with Amos.


    "Mi hija," he began softly but clearly, his rich Colombian accent pairing beautifully with his deep, voice, "all magic is like one big equation where-"


    Amos stopped briefly as a long groan came riveting from the young princess. The Ruby King merely raised a single, unamused eyebrow at her outburst. After she murmured a quick apology for her rude behavior Amos continued. Jessica hated math and all of its abominable forms, but she wasn''t stupid enough to mock a lesson given from an incredibly powerful deity, especially not one being given for free.


    "Where it is an amalgamation of three core principles that happen inside one''s aura regardless of their race," the king continued as he flexed an arm that began to glow with red energy. "These core principles make up the grand equation we call spell craft. However it isn''t always a linear equation."


    Jessica had at some point crossed her arms over her chest, a look of deep pondering was welded upon her face as she tried her best to comprehend what the deity was saying while never once removing her eyes from what was happening with the red energy encircling the Ruby King''s arm.


    Amos clenched his thick, milky brown palm suddenly and opened it, revealing a small, incredibly beautiful crystalline flower. It slowly spun as it levitated in his palm emanating hundreds of softly changing colors while the flower radiated a soft gentle singing voice.


    "The magic I just used to conjure this flower can be understood simply as y=((Mx)+z)(B)). Let me break this down for you. Y is the product of our grand equation, it is the manifestation of your spell or magical output," Amos explained as Jessica nodded absentmindedly, this had been explained to her before by Ma LaCroix. "M is known as the cast factor, the variable x is the collect factor, and z is the contain factor. and the B they are all multiplied by is the grand base known as?" Amos asked expectantly, waiting patiently as Jessica shook herself from her deep train of thoughts having eventually realized she was expected to give an answer.


    "B is the mage''s aura" she replied simply, as hours of Ma LaCroix''s lectures came pouring back to the forefront of her mind.


    "Brilliant mi hija!" Amos smiled warmly at the young princess, causing her to smile with pride despite herself. "As expected after all, seeing as you received your preliminary training from a Great Disaster as esteemed as the Great Witch of Pestilence."


    Jessica said nothing she didn''t want to detract from the lecture, she could tell that the key to finally being able to live alongside her abnormally massive strength and aura, was hidden in what the deity was saying. For as much as he annoyed her deeply at times, Jessica had to admit, Amos rarely ever uttered a wasted word. And so, upon hearing the title and rank of the deity she could only assume was Ma LaCroix, her eyes grew widely in silent shock. Like every other orphanage student, she''d always been suspicious of their head benefactors'' true pedigree, but none of their guesses had ever come close to what Amos just said.


    The 5th Great Disaster, had been her benefactor and first mentor.


    Absent-mindedly, she nodded a grateful "gracias" towards the deity. Her mind was racing a million miles an hour in every direction, but nothing would distract her from hearing the rest of what Amos had to say.


    Giving a deft nod, Amos smashed his large hands together, creating a massive thudding boom that quickly morphed into glinting, falling lights. Loudly the many soft lights proclaimed a thunderous symphony of gently ringing bells. Spreading apart his hands slowly, now a soft, radiant white light poured forth from between them. Now, where the mystical looking, crystalline flower of lights had been previously, was a... a strange shape.


    It was spinning, Jessica was sure it was spinning, but it also didn''t appear to be moving. But that wasn''t even the only part that disgusted, no disturbed Jessica about the figure.


    She could see inside it.


    Well, more like she could see through the surface of the shape. Which, if anyone was wondering, she did also know was definitely there, though like the spinning it was also not really visible at the same time.


    "Tell me," Amos said aloud, in a commanding yet inquisitorial tone, "what is the equation that created this?"


    Jessica scrunched her brow in frustration as she began attempting to comprehend what she was looking at. Slowly as her doubts and anxieties mounted, and with every dead-end train of thought she attempted, her irritation began to climb. The princess felt dangerously close to lashing out at Amos again, threatening all the work they had been doing recently to understand each other. Jessica knew that she was being irrational, but she couldn''t let that be shown through her intent, she wouldn''t let it. She couldn''t afford a situation where she wasn''t just completely isolated from everyone she''d ever known and loved, but also one where she was completely pitied as the dangerously destructive, simple headed, brute-girl princess.


    A far cry from the mighty, royal goddess she had sworn to Damien she''d definitely become.


    Jessica sighed softly as she thought forlornly to herself, ''wouldn''t be the first time we''ve crushed his hopes and dreams now would it Jessie?''


    Shaking herself from her depressive slump as best as she could, Jessica brought her mind back to the task at hand. Amos hadn''t said a word since he asked his question, in fact except for breathing, Jessica wasn''t sure if he had even moved. He hadn''t even blinked. He was just staring at her with a suave look of mild patient curiosity.


    Jessica realized nothing was going to happen unless Amos got an answer. She closed her eyes and rubbed her temples as two indisputable truths settled in her mind. Firstly, Amos fully expected an answer from her, and not just any random one, the correct answer. And secondly, Amos never asked anyone a question he didn''t think they could actually answer.


    It was one of the few things that Jessica was forced to admit she actually admired about the aloof, too cool for school, royal werewolf deity. It seemed like Amos not only found the mere thought of hypocrisy unfathomable, he absolutely abhorred being in the presence of any he judged to have that trait.


    Heaving a defeated sigh, the king''s eyebrow somehow seemed to arch even higher in question, as the princess resigned herself to deciphering the magical equation that would, ''derive that uppity, overly loud, annoying ass shape,'' Jessica thought murderously, throwing one final death glare towards the magical construct.


    ''I''ll be damned if I lose to geometry,'' she thought.


    She rubbed her temples in frustration.


    ''What about this fuckery, does that hijo de puta rata think I already know?''


    She began humming a gentle tune she''d often used to soothe Damien to sleep on nights he would wake up crying about Sister Hua''s departure. Bittersweet as it was, it was keeping her held together long enough to figure out she was currently making a fool of herself.


    ''Oh, no... really?'' she realized.


    "It''s the same equation?" Jessica replied suddenly? Half sure, half still attempting to convince herself.


    Amos just stared at her. What felt like eons slowly passed as the great Ruby King stared down the ruby princess as she slowly squirmed in place, arrested by the mounting awkwardness of the situation. Slowly, a smile crept across Amos''s milky brown skinned face. A satisfied smirk accompanied a slight chuckle as he rested his chin on his fist.


    "Excellent work, mi hija."


    Jessica huffed. Annoyed as she was with the entire ordeal, she took her praise in stride and simply just sat back in her chair, arms folded, nose turned up at the king.


    "Explain," was all she said.


    Amos gave another one of his annoying chuckles.


    "The flower I made was majestic, yes, it had leaves of myriad colors, shimmering beams and sparkling effects. It even hummed with power, this does none of that, yet arguably... is it more complex?" Amos mused gently, his accent making his words hum poetically. "Within universes, there exists dimensions," the king went on, leaning backwards in his chair. Slowly, the hand that had previously been lifting his head, now was slightly raised with his index finger remaining solely standing. "Dimensions have energies that are constant between them, and energies that are unique to each of them specifically. These unique energies have properties that appear when manifested in lower dimensions," Amos said as his index finger began to glow with a faint ruby energy while a claw began to rise from his fingernail.


    "The common energies are known as the physical energies," Amos went on, "they''re generally composed of kinematics: kinetic energy, potential energy, inertia, acceleration, collision and momentum; but they also compose of: gravitational energies, electromagnetic energies, thermodynamic energies, quantum, chemical, light and nuclear energies. As they are common, they can be found and manifested in any dimension lower or greater in usually the same form." As he spoke small images representing the different physical energies began slowly emitting from his glowing finger.


    Jessica couldn''t help being amused at the display the images made, though his spiel was all stuff she''d already heard before. It was the stuff he had to say about the unique energies of other dimensions that Jessica was waiting, uncharacteristically patiently, to hear. After all, it was a topic of discussion that Ma LaCroix forbade to teach the children under her care nor for any adult to speak of to anyone that wasn''t at least 17 or older.


    "This is where it begins to get interesting," Amos said with yet another smirk and chuckle combo. Jessica rolled her eyes, but sat forward in her chair nonetheless.


    Amos brought both of his hands together suddenly. Dispelling the images produced from his left hand, yet leaving the odd shape that had been previously resting in the king''s right hand, to float idly by. A loud boom suddenly erupted along with a wash of purple light that consumed the entire dining room as the god clapped his hands.


    ***


    When Jessica could see again, the dining hall was now instead of within the Ruby Palace, resting within a wide starry pasture. The floor of the dining hall had remained, along with the massive, ornate dining table, perpetually stacked heavy with food that the Ruby King and the Ruby Princess had been dining at.


    Jessica noticed that the pillars and arches that had been dotted around the room had also remained. Although, through the many archways that led into and out of the massive, lavish dining hall, Jessica could still see into other parts of the Ruby Castle.


    "Wow," Jessica breathed aloud, despite her usual feelings of pure vitriol at the thought of feeding any more into Amo''s already massively overfed ego. Even she couldn''t not be shocked at what she was seeing, after all, there weren''t any walls anymore, nor a ceiling over their heads for that matter.


    Where previously there had been a massive, domed ceiling, sporting a heavily painted, beautiful sprawling mosaic of the Great Wolves'' entire family lineage, lined with riches and dotted with gigantic chandeliers, was now the starry night sky. The walls had given way to show the vast seas of beautiful, carefully planted wildlife that was in full bloom all around them. A massive garden of various flowers laden with nightly dew, swayed softly all around them and a gentle night time breeze swept through, tickling Jessica''s nose, causing her to sneeze quietly.


    However, her attention gradually became grabbed by a source of gentle silver light. It was the moon, a full moon. Jessica felt the world start to melt away for a moment. Her perception shrunk to just her and the great celestial object. Her lupine genetics stimmed beneath her, causing her eyes to dilate and her teeth to begin to grow, morphing more sharp as her canines slowly expanded beyond the other teeth, sharpening into wicked, razor sharp weapons. She was feeling the call of her full transformation, and it felt... nice.


    Amos chuckled again, snapping Jessica out of her unintentional partial transformation. Hurriedly she de-transformed while hiding her face to mask her shame, giving a small grunt.


    "My private garden," was all the king said, as the deity continued his lecture. Jessica took a mental note that Amos apparently couldn''t be bothered to elaborate any further on whatever it was he had done to the dining hall.


    "Now onto the unique energies," Amos said as he also gazed up at the moon. "In our lowly third dimension," he started, his accent again making his voice sound oddly poetic in the moonlight, "there are many unique energies. These energies affect the metaphysical realm, within the third dimension, they are known as the mortal energies. They are the highest dimensional tier of energy beings that reside within the Mortal Realms can normally manipulate. The list is as follows: Aether, Mana, Nature Energies, and Mortal Dharma, Belief, and Impel."


    This time, again as with the physical energies, images appeared every time Amos named a mortal energy group, a figure manifested above the two royals. Jessica noted that The figure for Aether was a Tree with burning vines, Mana''s was an oasis with pristine, beautiful... purple water? The image for the Nature Energies was a dense cluster of 12 orbs, all with their own individual constitutions, and textures, and Mortal Dharma''s was a large, golden scale, a silver feather was on one side and a burning, black skull was on the other. Belief''s was an altar with a sword plunged deeply into it. Finally, the image representing Impel, the energy of impurity and negativity, was a sick-looking bubbling tar pit.


    "Remember mi hija," Amos began again, "magic is the process of manipulating these energies either stored within your body or taken from the world around you, by sending them to your aura, channeling them into and through your equation, then shaping them with your willpower, and finally casting them as spell craft." He continued as Jessica passively nodded. "Any action or phenomena can be done in the Mortal Realms by employing either the physical energies or the mortal energies. Physical actions are usually done without the need to employ any of the mortal energies, but any act of magic must employ some mix of both the mortal energies and the physical energies. In fact, most creatures in the Mortal Realms employ at least two of the mortal energies to perform any sort of magic at all."


    The floating figures then suddenly raced inwards, mass colliding into each other. Then, with a soft explosion that briefly blew Jessica''s hair about wildly, hundreds of thousands of spheres, all with their own individual looks came flying about. Gently, the mass of small, ethereal spheres came to rest above the heads of the two royal werewolves.


    "And throughout billions of years of existence, of countless creatures and countless intelligent minds interacting with these energies" Amos went on, his voice now emanate a strange resonating effect it had not previously had, "these 6 groups of metaphysical mortal energies, through various combinations of the different forms of these mortal energy groups, applied to various, arbitrarily different steps, gave birth to countless forms of Mortal Realm magic."


    Slowly, one by one, the images began to vanish. The gently swaying air became very still, Jessica softly shivered. Her body was chilling slightly more as there were still no walls in whatever weird meadow they were still currently sitting in.


    Even then, Jessica couldn''t stop herself from rubbing her hands together in obvious anticipation underneath the massive table while she kicked her short legs expectantly and happily.


    ''Finally, it''s here,'' she thought to herself with glee.


    After every image had dissipated, the mighty lupine deity, the Ruby King, Amos Jeras, hung his powerful head in silence. Slowly, massive rainbow colored orbs began to form.


    ''One, two, three...'' Jessica thought, slowly. It was all she could do, she was at a loss at how many of these colossal orbs were forming.


    "Every structure with its own floors needs support beams," the Ruby King began suddenly, breaking the princess from her thoughts. "If the different floors are the different dimensionalities, then the glue that binds not only the many, many floors together, but also an entirely separate, equally massive building with equally endless floors, tied together for all eternity, are the fundamental energies. They are the great exalted energies, the oldest of the old, strongest of the strong, the bedrock and building blocks of the universe itself."


    The large orbs began to arrange themselves in the vast expanse of the night, starry sky above the Ruby royals. Jessica forgot how to breathe. Well, her body remembered the process pretty well, and was sure it could pull it off, except starting to do so was currently escaping her. A mystical representation of many answers to the young princess'' deepest questions, finally stared her in the face, as if taunting her.


    Transfixed, all Jessica could manage was a half squeak, half hiccup as her completely overloaded brain struggled to burn every last thing she was seeing to memory.


    From each of the mighty, luminous orbs emerged a figure. Sometimes two figures or more emerged from a single orb. Some of these figures looked like animals, some like dragons and phoenixes, some like dark amalgamations, some were humanoid with animalistic features, some were small, some were massive. All were clearly far beyond incredibly powerful. And Amos'' next words proved that beyond any doubt.


    "The fundamental energies are these byproducts of these esoteric beings. The energies exist, and our universe exists, because they do. Their bodies, alive, animated, dead, or inanimate are the actual building blocks for all of creation. Hark, for they are the primordial deities," Amos proclaimed, lifting a hand.


    The figures all seemed to come to life at Amos'' words and stare down at Jessica. She knew it was merely a representation of the exalted deities, but even the representation of these apex beings of pure change and energy made her feel an innate sense of fear she wasn''t sure she''d ever felt before.


    "The existence of the primordials and by proxy their fundamental energies, allows our incredibly ass backwards and mangled universe to exist and function. Through these energies, the unique energies and the physical energies exist to begin with," Amos lectured on, "though there are a great many of them, only a total of 12 fundamental energies are currently known to be permitted by Great Taboo to interact with either the Mortal Realms." His voice became grave and dark, "however, it is possible to find not only most if not all of the fundamental energies by traversing the Divine Realms, but one just might fuck around too much and find themselves facing one of these actual primordial deities."


    All the young princess could do was give a long, dry gulp of fear as she continued to stare, rooted in place by fear.


    Slowly, the vast sea of primordial gods standing before massive spheres, receded, leaving a solemn 12 remaining. Amos continued to speak, "these 12 energies are Heavenly/Angelic, Hellish/Demonic, Draconic, Fae Madness, Earthly and Heavenly Dharma, Lustful Good, Pacifistic Evil, The Energies of the 4 Great World Trees, the Earthly Forces that only we were-beings can inherit since the primordial that created it was the first were, the Celestial Wolf; Djinn energy, Void Energy, and finally Old Aether."


    Of the 12 remaining spheres, standing before them, Jessica saw deities she''d recognized from her and Damien''s many mythology books that they would take out from the Orphanage library. The absolute fear on her face from learning that these gods, some of whom were exclusively known for their depraved actions, were real, was palpable and thick. As she was eventually able to put names to faces, the princess soon began identifying members of the group.


    "Those are the Seelie Queen and the Unseelie Queen," she said, pointing at the Fae Madness sphere. "That''s the Trimurti!" Jessica breathed, truly mystified as she pointed at the sphere representing Dharma, where three powerful gods stood. "Shiva the Destroyer, Brahma the Creator, and Vishnu the Judge..." There was also the first were-being, Jessica realized as she spotted the large, hairy, caveman looking primordial, The Howling One. It was ultimately through him that Jessica was able to wield the Ruby Force, even though it was technically a Force created by Amos. In fact, any and every were-being lucky enough to be permitted to learn any of the numerous but incredibly guarded and well hidden Forces, were only able to do so, because of The Howling One.


    Turning to look at the sphere representing Hellish and Demonic Energy, she studied the figure she saw standing before it intently.


    It was a male. It was also tall, very tall, likely 7-8 feet. He had long, oily, disheveled, jet black hair. The male had pale gray skin, but also had an impossibly beautiful face. A simple red crown of bones sat atop his hair and in his left hand, he held a long, simple black trident tipped with golden spikes. Behind him, a soft halo of blinding white light emanated. A simple robe that was darker than the most pitch black of starless nights was draped over his slender, emaciated frame. His eyes... his eyes hurt to look at for long. It hurt badly, and was slowly driving her insane. They were peaceful, yet at the same time, wrought with unending madness, insane depravity, and endless suffering. Silver ram horns protruded from the sides of his head, and massive wings boasting an impressive array of beautifully preened pitch black feathers and a thin devilish tail made her breath catch in her throat.


    "...Is that... is that The Devil? Like... the actual Devil?" Jessica asked, wracked with disbelief and deep confusion as she pointed at the being. A chill ran down her spine as Amos just silently nodded. Slowly turning her head back to the figure, she stared for what seemed like a long while before she spoke again. "He seems so weak, but he feels like one of the strongest among the primordials," she mused.


    "Your intuition is impressive mi hija," Amos said with another small smirk. Jessica nodded in thanks. "He is indeed among the strongest of the primordials, but there still exists a pecking order above even the likes of him."


    Jessica raised an eyebrow in confusion and Amos laughed again, his cheeky, know it all laugh.


    Amos pointed to the sphere representing the Heavenly and Angelic energies. In front of it, there were 9 figures. Two massive lights, though one was significantly larger than the other, and 7 human figures, all sporting 6 white wings and burning halos.


    "Technically I lied with that one," the Ruby King said with another small chuckle, "because as it seems you''ve started to realize that if the devil was in front of the other sphere, this one must be..."


    "Big G god," Jessica whispered.


    Amos roared with laughter.


    "The Big G god indeed, who technically doesn''t count as a primordial since it is so far above every other existence in the universe, and was part of the union that created the primordial deities in the first place" he said, wiping a tear from his perfect face, "otherwise known as The Almighty. The other 7 winged figures are the Blessed Saints, the Illuminated Princes and Princesses of heaven, the Archangels."


    "Who''s the other big light then?" Jessica pondered aloud.


    "That annoyance is the reason your boyfriend and his entire particularly annoying subsection of the Nephilim races exists," Amos said, breathing a sigh of frustration, "that light is the Great Angel of the Lord, the Angel of Death, the Grim Reaper, Metatron, formerly known as the Archangel Azrael. Legends say he is the only angel allowed to stand before the throne and scribe the words of The Almighty itself directly, earning the esteemed title, The Second Authority."


    Jessica was silent for a time. Carefully she pondered everything she had heard before responding.


    "Hm... I guess that all makes some sense..." she reasoned, "but what does any of that have to do with the shape? Are you saying that you just changed the dimensionality of the energy you put into the equation? Did you just use the fundamental energies to create the shape the second time, as opposed to using the mortal energies to create the flower?"


    She had been rambling, thinking as she spoke. Finishing her train of thought, she looked up to see Amos, still leaning back in his chair, drinking something from a short, heavy glass tumbler.


    "Seems like you answered your own question," he said as he stared passively at his tumbler, swirling around the contents in the glass.


    Jessica just stuck her tongue out at him. But then the 13 year old began to think to herself.


    "Ok... so energy from a higher dimension takes on a unique property as it manifests in a lower dimension, whereas energy that exists in every dimension does so no matter what dimension it manifests in, since technically everything is in a lower dimension relative to the fundamental energies themselves..." Jessica bit the side of her lip in thought. "What were you even trying to create?" she asked the deity.


    "A Cube," was all he said.


    "Uh huh," Jessica simply nodded, accepting that this was her life now so might as well get used to it. Then another thought occurred to her.


    "Hey pops, so the reason my nails turn into ruby''s when I''m channeling the Ruby Force, is because that''s the property the fundamental energy takes on as it manifests right?" She suddenly asked Amos.


    "Si," Amos replied with a slight head nod before resuming tenderly tending to his drink.


    Jessica realized he was doing this to allow the princess to come to her own conclusions. Giving a small burst of thanks towards Amos from her intent, she continued, "So I''m using a fundamental energy when I''m using the Ruby Force, even if I''m not fully manifesting it and can only manage the pink glow. Hm... I''m guessing that''s the direct pipeline to goddess-hood I''m supposed to inherit from you that you were talking about at the adoption meeting."


    Amos nodded again silently.


    "So Damien''s chanting, rainbow, rose gold fire is also a manifestation of him using a fundamental energy then too right? It should be Heavenly or Angelic energy right?" She asked, though her neck snapped upwards as a crashing and breaking sound reverberated through the calm meadow and dining hall.


    Amos was staring at her, refusing to blink.


    "He can use the Heavenly Fire?" Amos asked almost in a whisper. Croaking from nearly choking on his bourbon.


    Jessica snorted and rolled her eyes, missing the change in Amos'' demeanor.


    "Control it? No. Spurt it everywhere like some homicide bent, pyromaniac''s ultimate fetish, human torch? Yes." She threw her hands up in frustration, "ya know, I''ve always wondered, where does he fit so much fire inside himself, he''s not even that tall!?" Falling backwards into her chair, she crossed her arms over her chest, "and furthermore, its so damn loud, I can''t even understand what it''s saying but it keeps repeating it incessantly, over and over and over, it never friggin stops" Jessica said incredulously as she used an annoyed breath to breath a stray lock of hair off from her nose, "D always says its telling him to pray or something."


    Amos stared, glass eyed.


    For the first time since Jessica had met him, he''d openly, heavily skirted from his usual steady, suave manner. But it wasn''t only the king that was having such a reaction. The two attendants that had been constantly standing behind Amos as he ate, had been trying to not show their reactions to the "dynamic" conversation that had been playing out between the king and his daughter. But even they now equally looked like all the blood had been drained from the were-creatures'' faces.


    ''Huh so that''s what a Columbian vampire would look like,'' Jessica thought to herself, the irony not escaping her.


    Jessica''s Ladies-in-Waiting, whom had all been attempting to find God while listening to their princess cuss out the Ruby King like her life depended on it, were now silently weeping. Trying to come to grips with the fact that the princess they were tasked with protecting, was hell bent on dating someone who could not only wield fundamental energies earlier than should even be physically possible but was also not yet in control of when he did so, was not an easy task.


    None of the attendants were having a very pleasant time, but the Ruby King clearly looked to be the one taking the news the worst.


    "... He can... manifest.... large quantities of Heavenly Fire?" Amos asked fearfully, hand slightly shaking, "explain, now."


    Now it was Jessica''s turn to just silently nod, eyes wide as she waited to see what was wrong with her adopted father. She''d never seen the deity this outwardly shaken before, none had.


    Amos'' dropped drink had been long forgotten, seeing as his jaw had dropped further. The fact that Hoaquin''s son was using fundamental energies before Jessica, filled him with competitive wolfish rage. But the fact that Hoaquin''s son, his new daughter''s boyfriend, was apparently also gushing out large quantities of fundamental energy, well before his 13th birthday, while being trained by a Great Disaster, filled him with insurmountably more stress and fear.


    Jessica began regaling the group with stories of her and Damien''s training and the events of his latent abilities appearing. For a while the only sounds were Jessica''s words and the sounds of sweat cascading freely from the faces of those who heard the princess'' words. Amos'' attendants and Jessica''s Ladies-in-Waiting were all powerful were-creatures. Being sage tier mages at least, some even being gods, they all had access to powerful magics and so were trusted to know the truth of who Jessica was. They knew she had actually been raised in an orphanage ran by the Great Witch of Pestilence. What they didn''t know, was anything about Damien, it seemed.


    Neither did Amos.


    Leaning back in his chair Amos closed his eyes and softly massaged his aching temples while allowing healing magic to flow from his fingers to his migraine.


    "That little jackass is definitely her son after all," he grumbled, "show off."


    Jessica smirked, and gave a laugh. She couldn''t help feeling proud of her little insurance write off.


    "Don''t start laughing so fast," Amos said, waving a finger at Jessica warningly, "this is dangerous, very dangerous. Child, there is another reason for the difference in the shape, I lied when I gave you that first equation."


    "I figured," Jessica replied. A nagging feeling had been weighing on her for a while that simply changing the tier of injecting energy shouldn''t change the property of the output magic that much.


    Amos nodded. "When one employs the fundamental energies, they are added to the grand equation as exponential energies," Amos began, "that is why they are both far harder to control and why they amplify the magic you cast by so much more. A linear increase in the amount of fundamental energy applied, gives a tremendous increase to the magical output of the mage, but it also tremendously increases the risk to the mage''s body. Be it from excessive energy strain, energy drain fatigue, aura fatigue, or worse, losing control of the spell and suffering magical backlash."


    Jessica gulped, but said nothing as she nodded, waiting for the king to continue.


    "So now our grand equation now becomes Y=((Mx)^E + z^E)(B^E))+i," he said. "Oh," he added, "I double lied, the original equation was actually Y=((Mx)+z)(B))+i, with the I variable bein-"


    "Intent," Jessica said, staring unimpressed at Amos, she had figured out his duplicity a while ago and had chosen to refrain from mentioning it. Amos just flashed her yet another signature smirk, to which Jessica returned to him one of her signature, casual middle fingers.


    "Si intent," Amos continued after a brief chuckle. "And the E variable stands for the fundamental energy used. See how it didn''t replace where the physical energy or mortal energy interacts with the equation, it just expanded upon it," his voice became very serious, something that only happened when he had actual wisdom to impart. Jessica leaned forward in her chair. "Remember child, all energy is important, and understanding not only how to use it, but where its place is in the grand equation, not only naturally purifies your magic, it protects you, it makes you stronger than others will become, faster than they will, and stay stronger than them for longer," he said, staring deeply into the princess''s wolfish, golden-green eyes. "It also protects you from hexes and curses. They are magics that function with extreme efficiency to produce horrifying effects by preying on the vulnerabilities commonly found in the magical equations of mages who do not truly understand the magics they cast nor the energies they wield. Yet a mage with a deeper understanding of their equations can shrug off these effects by simply refining the weak point of the equation in real time, or the hex could simply fail to take any effect at all."


    The king sat back in his chair, letting out a massive sigh, "mi hija, have you heard the saying the larger one is, the harder they will eventually fall?" Jessica nodded. "Well subsequently," Amos mused, leaning back, "the more powerful a mage becomes, eventually reaching sage-hood, hopefully reaching godhood..., if that mage waits to build a proper power base while they are still green and malleable, instead choosing to do so after they have become rigid, set in their ways and having already amassed their powers and influence, it will become nearly impossible to do afterwards. This will always leave a giant, gaping vulnerability. And it will only take one person who knows how to exploit that vulnerability to kill you. No matter how powerful you are. I''ve seen it happen to greenhorns and I''ve seen it happen to eldritch horrors and even the primordials themselves."


    Amos began to draw on the section of the large table before him absentmindedly, with a single finger.


    "Jessica," he started, calmly, "do you see now what I''m weary of? As news of this boys very existence is currently making its way around the Mortal Realms at this very moment, many already have made up their conceptions as to who or what this boy is and are already plotting to either use or kill him. Nothing will sway them, they will only be emboldened to seek to end his life or try something else equally as stupid faster, if news of what you just told us ever becomes common knowledge." Amos took a moment to stare into the eyes of each of his attendants and Jessica''s ladies in waiting, before returning his gaze back to the princess. Jessica just stared back, shellshocked. She didn''t know what to say. "Many will assume he is much further along in his magical development and aura cultivation than he actually is. They will assume he knows far more than he actually does about their politics and about secrets to whom he''s never been privy. Many will even sadly see him as their messiah, their rallying figure. Some will radicalize and kill untold millions in his name, no matter if he wants them to or not. Some will kill untold millions, in order to kill him and besmirch his name. They will believe he is far more prepared for the horrors of this universe than he actually is, instead of seeing a poor, defenseless, scared boy, they will only ever see a monster in the making, the perfect puppet of Hoaquin. He will never get a choice in this matter, never get a chance to reason with any of these endless sea of depraved and insane forces, all because of who his parents are."


    Amos looked down at her, "and neither will anyone who ever chooses to publicly tie themselves to his eternally sinking ship." A look of great sadness came over him, "I''m not trying to be evil to you daughter, but with people like him are born not only a cloud of death following him, but also death literally running in his veins as a descendant of the Grim Reaper. Someone close to a person like him, always dies eventually. It''s only ever just a matter of time. I just don''t want that someone to be you."


    Jessica tried to absorb the depth of the king''s words. As she sat in her chair, her mind was a million miles away. The 13 year old gave a long, low sigh of her own. Her bottom lip trembled. At that moment, she was not a 13 year old young princess, a young girl, but instead, she was an old crone, hundreds of years old. She was hunched over, dragged down by all the fear and sadness she constantly had to go through all throughout her short life. She was all alone, bitter, distrustful, yet afraid, longing for touch. Desperately seeking the warmth of familiar affection, instead finding nothing but the coldness of the void.


    Jessica never allowed herself to ever think too deeply on those thoughts that would randomly appear to her as she never wanted to seem ungrateful for the magical heaven the orphanage was, compared to growing up in the real world homeless. But now, all Jessica felt was extreme fatigue. Her head splintered and threatened to explode with pain from all the thoughts about how this would only end badly and in the bloodshed of many. But the princess refused to buckle, choosing instead to stare her father definitely in his divine Golden-green, wolfish eyes with her own mortal ones. In that moment she summoned all of her remaining strength, banishing all of her fears. Her usually golden-green, wolfish eyes slowly started turning more intense and animalistic.


    Then, they began to glow red.


    Slowly the energy collected itself as Jessica struggled to maintain her concentration, sweat pooling on her forehead as she grunted with frustration. Yet still she pushed herself. Now her head threatened to split from exertion and pain, but onwards she pushed, holding the energy, forcing herself to shape it despite the pain. Her nose began to slowly leak blood, and eventually both nostrils were freely cascading the princess'' blood. Yet onward she pushed. Until eventually completely ruby versions of Jessica''s wolfish eyes, crackling with rocky texture, humming deeply with power, stared defiantly at Amos''s, despite being covered by a mop of sweat laden, curly brown hair. Jessica looked like the 13 year old had attempted to run the Tour De France in a 30 pound jacket, yet she stood up slowly and painstakingly to stare down at Amos'' sitting figure. Though she was using the edge of the table to keep herself upright, gripping it for dear life as her extended nails embedded themselves deep into the wood.


    "They better watch themselves then, he isn''t the only one that can use the fundamental energies at 13 years old," Jessica said. Raspy and painfully strained as her voice was, it was still heavily lacquered with violence and determination. "Damien and I can take on anything!" she yelled despite her fatigue, wresting a hand free from the table and jabbing herself in the chest with a thumb, "So let them try it, we''ll maul ''em sons of bitches! Then we''ll wear ''em like scarfs!" She gave a triumphant, crazed grin as the young princess reached the end of her stamina and crumpled like a paper bag into her chair.


    Despite themselves Amos'' attendants grinned wildly with pride in their princess, and even her ladies in waiting hid satisfied smirks behind their robe sleeves as they rushed to help rejuvenate the collapsed princess. Amos bore his own instinctive grin of pride in the girl, despite everything yelling at him internally that he was making a horrible mistake. She might not be his blood, but at that moment, Amos was proud to say he had doubts. Despite the lose-lose situation she faced, the thought of breaking the trust of her loved ones didn''t even occur to her. Amos smiled inwardly, she was too much like he himself was.


    ''Good, at least that will help keep her safe from my Grandfather and family... for now,'' he thought passively.


    Shaking his head as he got up from his seat finally to retire for the night, the king said one last thing as he stared down in challenge at the sweaty mess that was his new daughter, who although swarmed by her attendants and despite lacking the energy to continue to manifest the ruby eyes, still glared back at him defiantly.


    "You want to date him? Fine, but absolutely no falling behind. Your training gets redoubled starting tomorrow," the Ruby King growled, as his own eyes easily turned to rubies, while his teeth simultaneously morphed into a set of large, glinting, ruby wolfish teeth. "God help you if you fall behind in creating an Art before he does too."


    Jessica just nodded, too tired to annunciate anything. Yet a wicked grin grew on her face. As terrified as she was, and as much as she wasn''t looking forward to the prolonged body aching and magical exhaustion, she would never back down from a personal challenge, especially not this one. Not when she stood to lose so much, she would never forgive herself if she didn''t at least give it her best shot.


    ''Soon,'' she thought to herself as she felt sleep come over her, the adrenaline and stress finally giving way to her immense fatigue, ''soon I''ll be able to wield the Ruby Force that easily too, then I''ll smack him on his big dumb, suave forehead.'' She giggled to herself as she started to close her eyes. Her ladies in waiting began chanting a spell to softly levitate the princess between them as they started to walk her from the table.


    Amos waved a hand and the room returned to normal, his shattered tumbler had even reformed in his hand. He was about to leave but the princess had just recalled something very important.


    "Wait!" Jessica called out suddenly, startling her ladies as she suddenly burst upright. "You never told me how to control my strength! Wasn''t that the whole point of this?" she called out from the sea of Ladies-in-Waiting around her, half confused, half annoyed.


    "Oh," Amos said, turning around nonchalantly, "just imagine your aura covering your body, and try to keep the burn heat the same as it covers you."


    "That''s it?!" the princess screamed, "you tricked me into sitting into a long ass lecture for a two second answer? I could''ve had clothes to wear and a bed to sleep in, DAYS AGO?! over a TWO SECOND ANSWER?!"


    Amos shrugged, holding his hands up "two seconds is a lot when it''s you nagging me," he said, laughing evilly as he walked off, trailed by his attendants.


    A plate full of spaghetti suddenly raced at Amos''s head from behind, yet the Ruby King didn''t even attempt to dodge. In fact, the plate seemed to just... phase through his head and disappear. It then promptly appeared from a portal that had suddenly opened above Jessica''s head. Amos''s laughing got harder as he walked away from Jessica''s shrieks of murder and vengeance as her attendants fought valiantly to keep their princess from assaulting the king, especially while covered in spaghetti.


    ''Good mi hija,'' Amos thought to himself, ''get mad and stay mad, then use that anger to get stronger, quickly. This might all go to shit faster than I thought...''

 Chapter 7: Son of The Terror pt. 1

    Damien sat on the green and yellow, massive carpet embroidered with black roses.


    The night had been uneventful after dinner, but that wasn''t necessarily a good thing. Damien had been left to the mercy of the one thing that always seemed to wake up bright and early to hate on him and his entire existence, his own thoughts.


    A petrified mess, wrapped in the snuggly comfort of a straight jacket while being taken on a grippy socks vacation, would be Damien taking the last few hours before biologically his destiny would start lightly. He might as well start swaggering around like the freakish love child of Napoleon and Alexander The Great.


    The longer he fought sleep to remain awake, the more Damien knew for certain, he was going to be dragged to the next day, whether he was actually ready for it or not.


    Tick,


    tock,


    tick,


    tock.


    It was standard practice that the imperial crown prince be given respite from his royal duties after he had taken his evening meal. And so it was the only brief but blessed time that should''ve been where Damien could find requiem from his daily duties pretending to be a perfect, tranquil, idol. He could relax behind closed, massive double doors, to just be a 13 year old.


    However, as reality often disappoints, Damien''s free time instead became the time where he would be held captive by his own thoughts, tormented with no one to desperately cry out to for help.


    It had only been a 9 hours since they''d left the orphanage, traveled thousands of miles and finally arrived at the D''Amorn family manor, but Damien had begun to learn that he was now a beacon. A giant and bright one. One that, against his wishes, would arrest the attention of every room he was in, drawing in looks ranging from manic radicalism, to gracious loyalty, to distrust, indifference, fear, and ... hate?


    The crown prince shuddered as he curled into a huddle on the soft, gigantic red carpet that lined the spacious, overly extravagant, cavernous suite that he had un-ironically been told was meager housing for the likes of he.


    ***


    11:30 PM.


    Damien stared at the time on his alarm clock.


    Thinking.


    Again, thinking.


    He''d eventually been called by one of the 6 courtiers the imperial palace had spared to ease the prince''s journey home. Thanks to them, the brooding boy, manically undergoing death by anxiety, was finally spared his torment, freshly showered and put to bed.


    And yet, there the prince sat, staring at his ornate alarm clock, because of course even the alarm clock had to come studded with more precious metals and rocks than he knew what to do with, and his name embossed upon its heavy brass chassis with emeralds. Damien snorted with disgust. It was as if being an imperial crown prince meant that suddenly if he wasn''t constantly wondering whether a thing he was staring at would bankrupt a country if it was sold, then that item wasn''t even worth being brought before his eyes in the first place...


    Damien sighed.


    "And what are you gonna do about it Mr. Self Righteous?" he asked himself aloud in a bored voice. "You gonna sing the blues and wail about how rich you are now for the umpteenth time? What, are you gonna ask them to take it all away?" he asked himself sarcastically, rolling his eyes into the pillow he was clutching.


    As the young prince sat there, shoulders slumped, he could feel sleep was almost upon him. His consciousness was beyond tired of being jerked around from being afraid of to being proud of whatever he was supposed to fully become, to only eventually turn back again to fear.


    But he just had to tough it out 30 more minutes. In just 30 minutes, the clock would strike 12 midnight, it would be his birthday, he would retain at least some control over a life that progressively was seeming to no longer be just his own.


    He couldn''t just give it up... he wouldn''t.


    From being, hated, feared, avoided, despised, to being at least talked to, willingly... Damien could never go back. Back to how he used to be... Back to how lonely he was. He knew it would break him to a degree he could never return from.


    "You really couldn''t just be born average if you had to be born Nephilim?" He asked himself, semi-coldly, through a slurred grumble, "your overachieving ass just had to shoot for as high as possible, the golden ovaries."


    Damien rolled his eyes, stretching as he yawned greatly. Slowly. tiredness and fatigue was overtaking his other emotions and the young prince wanted nothing more than to fall into the gentle, dark embrace of sleep and finally be at peace. Even if only for a few hours. But his body fought one last desperate battle.


    ''If I can just stay awake, another 30... minutes...'' he thought, groggily, ''at least, at least I finally won''t be caught off guard by this anymore, this annoying, weird, angelic... power.''


    Damien''s head dropped. He caught himself, but his head felt as heavy as a sack of potatoes, and thickly laden with molasses.


    He couldn''t fight it anymore, it was as if Damien''s own king xl sized bed had cast a spell on him. Almost as if the universe itself wouldn''t allow Damien to see his powers manifest. He would have to trust his biology and accept whatever he would emerge as the next morning.


    And so, with one final tear for his freedom falling from his eye, for an existence being left behind that he didn''t even fully comprehend, the young prince cried, and fell deeply asleep.


    The clock finally struck 12 AM.


    And the latent powers of the heir of Hoaquin, began to emerge.


    ***


    "Huh, it really did turn platinum," Damien stared at his hair. It was early the next morning, and despite how late he had gone to sleep the night before, the young prince was up and active at the early hours of 7 AM the next day.


    Currently he was shirtless, in his massive, marble bathroom, staring at himself in his full length mirror.


    He thought Henry had been playing him for an idiot and was just yapping when he said that Damien''s hair would change color on his birthday, but the lie loving lord had apparently been telling the truth.


    His hair and his eyebrows and eyelashes had indeed turned platinum. Not the shimmering version that they and his eyes turned to when he connected with his SuperComputer state, but it was close enough.


    Damien had ripped his shirt off in his frenzied excitement to see his new wings. It had been explained to him the prior evening that every Nephilim grew their wings after they turned 13. In fact, it was one of the most popular ways of getting around in the empire for citizens 13 and up. But the main reason Damien wanted to see his wings was because the prince had also learned that the 7 imperial families were the only Nephilim of their respective half angelic-half human species that manifested pure white wings.


    Damien needed to see them, he had to see them.


    Sure there was his silver hair, but he could just be on heroin or something. Or any of the countless gods and goddesses strutting about had snuck in and dyed his hair as he slept. It wasn''t as if Damien would be able to sense them anyway. No, Damien''s frantic mind, needed to see, needed to feel his wings. He needed to know for certain, beyond any doubt, that he was part of something more, that he had a mother waiting for him.


    So it was understandable that the young prince was understandably crushed when it was 9 AM his birthday morning, and he still had no wings.


    Damien was now back to sitting on his bed, bummed. Every Nephilim onboard the limousine and now at the manor always had their wings displayed, neatly folded behind their backs. Only Damien didn''t. Only their crown prince.... Didn''t. Sure they all had the same eyes as him, and while that brought catharsis untold to Damien''s aching soul, to be the only person on the 80 acre manor without the intrinsic symbol of their angelic heritage, made him feel like a fraud and an outcast.


    At the foot of his bed, neatly folded and in their own sections, were his new clothes. Damien didn''t know if these had manifested themselves by some spell or enchantment or if they had been brought by some attendant, because they hadn''t been there in the morning and he hadn''t heard anyone enter his room. But when he eventually came out of the bathroom, all silver-haired and decently depressed, they had been sitting on his bed. Patiently waiting for him.


    A pair of beautiful black slippers were the first things that Damien saw. As his eyes slowly traveled, he saw a set of breezy, long black pants. Next to it was a long ornate, armless silver robe. It was a shimmering material that looked like a mix of thread, satin and silk. It looked gentle, yet authoritative, the house robes of a monarch. They were lined with golden runes and hummed with holy power. Next to it, was a simple, unassuming golden breastplate. But Damien could tell most ballistic warheads would have serious trouble leaving a dent in the armor piece.


    Seeing the sheer amount of heavenly energy calmly radiating from the breastplate made Damien feel like he would be flattened into a pancake if he attempted to wear it. His throat dried up as a strong feeling of claustrophobia washed over the prince.


    Finally, Damien''s eyes fell upon the battle coat.


    "... it''s the same one from the vision..." the young prince whispered to himself, equal parts in great fear and awe.


    It was a long, leather-like coat. The coat''s material was sparking white, with rose golden runes humming with heavenly fire etched all over it in beautiful patterns. It also had a hood lined with deep black feathers that seemed to suck in and entomb all light.


    Damn was looking at the single most powerful artifact of the Nephilim war machine and a marvel of millions of years of holy magical science. Nephilim war coats were largely considered the pinnacle of heavenly magical technology, harnessing techniques many races would never know were even possible. Centuries of work among thousands of the empire''s brightest minds had created a mass producible artifact that could relegate the body temperature of the wearer perfectly, could glamor the user at a moment''s notice behind layers of powerful illusion, and were supremely capable at defense of the wearer. Seeing as each battle coat was fully autonomous and sort of had their own consciousnesses that the wearer could connect to and command, adding more functionalities was a fairly simple task. The battle coats, although reserved for only those who admitted themselves to the ranks of the Nephilim Holy Imperial Forces, were openly given to all the military admitted. No Nephilim that wore a battle coat had ever paid for one even though they were allowed to keep the coat for life, and the empire sought to keep it that way.


    Damien let out a sigh, the courtiers were going to come looking for him soon. His daily itinerary started at 10 AM everyday. Currently, his meandering thought had burnt 20 minutes of his last hour and it was now 9:20 AM. Just as Damien stood up and stretched, submitting himself to the reality of being wingless for just a little longer to help hide his embarrassment, he felt a sharp pain begin to grow in the middle of his back.


    A slight scream of surprise, akin to a yelp, was all he was able to annunciate before he slumped to his knees having passed out from the sudden explosion of pain. His head clipped the bedroom drawer as his unconscious body slumped to the floor.


    His passed out form looked peaceful, even the stream of blood flowing from his forehead wound, came cascading gently as if to not wake the prince from sleeping.


    Then the prince''s body began to spasm terribly. His still passed out body became frantic, scratching at his back, tearing out skin and sinew despite being asleep. And then, came the screaming.


    ***


    The exhausted prince could barely comprehend what was happening around him. Groups of Nephilim were running in and out of his room, tending to the mess Damien had caused. All were being extremely cautious to not touch him as they cleaned, after all, the time right after one''s wing''s emerged was some of the weakest a Nephilim could ever be. As the maids worked meticulously to clean the mess of skin, tissue, blood and bone matter that had somehow even gotten on the walls and satin curtains, many couldn''t help but marvel at Damien''s wings. Soaked in blood and viscera they still were, but none could mistake the pure white feathers. The true mark of imperial blood.


    Of course all of this currently meant nothing to Damien himself, as he could barely perceive any of it. The residual pain and stress of what he had just experienced, had left him paralyzed, laying face on the side, in a pool of things he rather not think about as he teetered in and out of a coma. Somehow he''d initially woken himself up from being passed out after he''d clipped his head on his nightstand while falling, by screaming himself awake and tearing out his own back.


    Awake and confused he was, Damien couldn''t stop. As if he was compelled, the more he struggled to stop, it seemed the more frantic his tearing and ripping became. He started screaming louder and louder, yet no one would come to help him. He cried, as an unbearable pain he''d never felt before racked through his body and soul. When his giant wings eventually burst forth from his back, Damien not only felt more pain than he''d even had before, but also a bliss as he ceased to feel anything else, and numbness finally took over.


    Now amid the fuzzy crowd of bodies that were moving hurriedly in and out of his room cleaning everything and tending to him, Damien lay on the carpet, head wound and concussion long forgotten. He heard what sounded like voices but it was just a sea of jumbled noises that sounded like his head was being held underwater. Eventually Damien started to regain his sight enough to see that Henry and another Nephilim lord that looked sort of similar to him, were kneeling above him offering him gentle words and checking to see if the prince was still stable.


    After a half hour, Damien''s angelic constitution had allowed him to recover enough stamina to stand, slowly, with the care and gentle assistance of 3 of his courtiers. Slowly, they half carried, half levitated the prince into his bathroom. One of them chanted a spell that teleported the prince into a massive, cobblestone, ornate bath that sat embedded into the marble floor of the large bathroom. The princes'' clothes soon after apparated into a neatly folded pile of laundry, and with a flick of his wrist, the courtier activated the enchantments controlling the bath, creating a warm, thick bubble bath, jacuzzi that the prince slowly sunk himself into.


    Soon after, the doors to his bathroom were closed and the prince was left to his own privacy to recover and clean himself off. After about an hour or two of sitting in the bath, Damien was finally clean. He had been gently scrubbing himself off and watching in amazement while the water quickly recleaned itself, even as it became filled with blood and gore.


    Slowly, the boy emerged from the bath. Picking a long, fluffy, pink towel from one of the many that were folded and waiting for him on a levitating marble shelf, Damien dried himself off and wrapped the towel around himself before walking over to the full-length mirror to see his reflection now.


    Damien could see the same platinum haired doofus wearing his face, he had been introduced to that morning, but now, two huge, white wings sat folded gently on his back.


    The prince stared at his reflection for a while. Silently. Slowly he became aware of the fact that he could feel every last feather in both of his wings, albeit very weakly. Regardless, Damien felt like he could angle each one to move slightly with enough extreme focus and effort. After a while, the exercise of wiggling random feathers left him sweaty, and with a mild migraine but he smiled in satisfaction. Sooner or later, controlling his wings would become second nature for him anyway, so there was no point in destroying all of his brain cells now. Damien gave one last, dedicated push and slowly his wings unfurled to their full length.


    "Wow," he said, truly awestruck.


    The passing thought that it wouldn''t be very long now until Damien would be able to fly for the first time, was so tantalizing he almost forgot he was being waited on, until a magical message appeared on his bathroom mirror, jump scaring the prince. It was a letter telling him that he had no more than 30 minutes to report to the dining hall for breakfast.


    Solemnly, the young prince went to put on some underwear and socks. Then he moved on to tying on his pants and sticking his feet into his black slippers. Looking at the ornate robe, Damien now noticed that there were slits on the back, likely for his wings. But the young prince couldn''t for the life of him figure out how to put on the robe while just staring at it. He was still heavily mortified of the state his attendants had found him in, too many had seen him crumpled stupidly on the floor, almost naked, crying for his mommy...


    It was going to be a while before Damien looked anyone in the eyes again, so he didn''t want to imagine anyone finding out he didn''t know how to put on his robes.


    As he reached out to pick up the robe, the second Damien''s finger grazed its material, the clothing immediately sprung towards Damien, opening up and wrapping itself around him. Automatically it resized itself where necessary and in a matter of seconds became perfectly fit to the prince''s body.


    "...Guess that answers that question..." Damien laughed shakily with relief, trying to ignore how creeped out and excited he was.


    The prince was now wearing most of what he assumed was going to become his usual attire going forth. A perfectly form fitting outfit that oddly referenced some ancient Korean designs.


    That factoid didn''t escape Damien''s notice, though, in the hopes of not ruining his only 13th birthday for himself, he forcefully repressed the thought.


    Equipping the breastplate was similarly simple, Damien just slid it over his head, and it too automatically resized itself to fit the prince''s body while atop his robes. Damien, twirled slowly, checking himself out in a different full body mirror that was in his room.


    "I look like some old fashion battle mage," Damien whispered to himself.


    Taking a deep breath, the young boy shook his head, readying himself to approach the battle coat. Slowly and gingerly, he unfurled the robe like, slim leather battle coat. Unzipping the long zipper open, Damien finally donned his battle jacket for the first time.


    An electrifying jolt of power shot through Damien''s body as he briefly cried out in pain. But it was cut short. He was much more mystified watching the separate articles of clothing react to one another. Everything from his boots, to his robes, to his breastplate, to his battle jacket hummed with heavenly power. The angelic runes and scriptures dotting the white material of his jacket all flared with Damien''s signature rose gold heavenly fire, causing the rest of the princes'' outfit to begin pulsing gently for a few moments, before eventually falling dim. Leaving the prince left, decked in more complicated magic than he''d ever seen, his mind thoroughly blown, and itching to play with all the interesting magic he was seeing. For once in his short life, Damien was proud, no, elated for his half angelic heritage. After all, it was an added plus to the prince that his Nephilim eyes naturally allowed him to see all of the otherwise invisible, incredibly complex heavenly magic woven so deeply into his gear.


    Pulling up the hood of his battle jacket, the prince watched, stupefied, as his entire face disappeared, obscured behind a thick blanket of darkness within the hood. And yet, the prince could see as clearly and with the same field of view, as if the hood wasn''t even on at all. Slowly, the young prince reached up to feel for the hood, watching his hands in the reflection moving around, touching more of the material, brushing against the soft, black feathers lining the rim of his hood. Confirming it was there.


    Damien didn''t know how long he''d spent pulling his hood off and putting it back on, his attention had been completely unbroken from his bedroom mirror. But the 6 courtiers he eventually noticed in the mirror reflection, all with equally pissed off intents radiating from their veiled faces after they were yelled at for the hundredth time over where the prince was, told Damien he might have gotten a little sidetracked.


    As the prince moved to leave the room, his lack of spatial awareness to the new, massive white wings that were now protruding from him, caused him to clip the side of the large door frame, hard, with his still very tender, incredibly sensitive, left wing.


    Damien let out a sharp squeal of pain and fell to his knees. His courtiers, leaving behind their looks of anger for ones of embarrassed empathy and concern for their future emperor, moved to assist the ailing child. After all, all of the mighty, deific Nephilim that now called themselves imperial courtiers, were once regular, mortals too. They had all once been the princes'' own age, with their own, new tender wings that they themselves had often forgotten existed while getting accustomed to them. Bumping into anything and everything in existence, only to then writhe on the ground of whatever place they were in, in extreme pain, was a shared, core experience for every Nephilim above the age of 13. The courtiers poured healing spells over their prince, gently coaxing him to be able to walk again, he would have to deal with the rest of the pain himself.


    Giving a rain of ashamed apologies to his disgruntled courtiers, Damien limped into his usual place between them. One courtier walked at the helm of the train, they were the Herald Courtier, responsible for announcing the comings and goings of the imperial crown prince''s party. The second row was occupied by two massive, beefy Nephilim. They were known as the train''s Shield Bearer Courtiers and their purpose was to repel and eliminate all forward threats to the crown prince. Then, on the third layer, was Damien, sandwiched between the 6 powerful mages that made up his private guard and staff. The last layer, the fourth, was known as center command. It was arguably the most important layer of the royal train, besides the prince, allowing space for two more, even more powerful, rear guards known as Controller Courtiers, to monitor both the side and rear threats at all times. And the Nephilim that walked between them, directly behind the crown prince, was the head of the group, a Grand Courtier of the imperial family and Damien''s official royal secretary. He was one of the very few Nephilim at the manor that took orders directly from the Empress herself. He was also the only courtier whose face wasn''t hidden behind a beautiful, silk veil.


    As they began to walk down the long, ornate hallway, Damien''s anxiety began to swell like a tidal wave. The young prince closed his golden and diamond blue eyes, then breathed in slowly and out slowly.


    ''No, Damien, bad,'' he admonished himself, ''Imperial Crown Prince Damien, not Orphan Damien. Be worthy.''


    Damien squared his shoulders, fixed his posture, corrected his still aching wing and resumed pace with his courtiers that had patiently waited for their prince to collect himself.


    As they continued their journey, they came across many Nephilim. Some were in regular working clothes, some were in various housekeep uniforms. A great many were in various forms of armor of lack thereof, but all of the combat oriented Nephilim were wearing some form of the usual pitch black battle coat. By contrast, Damien being the only Nephilim in a stark white battle coat, made him stick out like a sore thumb. Wherever he went, he was immediately spotted, invoking looks of all kinds. Damien had expected pitying looks or jeering admonishment, but now in the faces of the Nephilim he spotted as the royal train walked, there was only silent wonder. But not a single other emotion was readable on their faces. The prince silently pondered whether that was a good thing or not.


    Suddenly, every Nephilim they passed began bowing or saluting as the imperial crown prince passed, and Damien began to notice, they were all continuing to stare at him even as he continued past them. As if every eye was glued to the black boy with the audacity to suddenly dye his hair and eyelashes platinum, grow white wings, and be the only one on the entire moving mega fortress to be wearing one of the fabled white battle jackets. An actual imperial Nephilim.


    Talk about an attention whore.


    Damien sighed internally, ''fake it till we make it, till we meet mom... till we finally can put at least face to a name.''


    Sister Hua''s lack of a direct answer of whether she was his mom or not, had never stopped bothering him. Everyone had all but given him her DNA test to confirm she was actually his mother. But that didn''t answer why she kept saying she wasn''t?


    Was she using a different body?


    Was that not her actual face?


    Why did she lie?


    The questions never stopped coming, and thankfully they blocked out everything going on around Damien, carrying him safely in their damned, cold grip, to the giant, golden arched doors leading to the dining hall.


    The Herald Courtier raised a hand and the mighty doors began to split apart.


    "Announcing His Heavenly Highness!" the Nephilim proclaimed aloud, "Imperial Crown Prince, Damien D''Amorn!"


    ***


    In the past hour, ever since getting a much needed crash course on how to sit in a chair with the added impairment of a brand new set of large white wings, Damien had eventually settled into his morning meal and was being presented his morning itinerary. Henry was giving the briefing while a Nephilim lord that Damien was currently having a very hard time processing was Lord Henry''s older brother, Viscount Jorie Astallon, was currently levitating a ring of burning grapes that he was twirling with an idle finger.


    Damien sat stunned. The young prince didn''t know whether to cower in fear or break out laughing. With every grape Lord Jorie idly floated up to join his incendiary circus show, igniting the grape as it lazily rose from the grape tray, Henry''s voice became more and more strained with barely suppressed rage.


    "Would My Lord, Viscount Astallon mind refraining from distracting the imperial crown prince from what is possibly the most important morning briefing of his most esteemed, young life?" Henry hissed through gritted teeth.


    "Nah, I don''t mind," Lord Jorie replied lazily without bothering to even return a look at his younger brother, "please continue My Lord."


    Damien couldn''t resist letting slip a snicker at watching Henry finally cowed and destabilized for the first time since he''d met the Nephilim lord in Ma LaCroix''s administration office. The young prince tried to hide his laugh with a white dining handkerchief that had been carefully prepared for him while he continued eating his eggs, but it was too late. Henry shot Damien a pained look of betrayal and shock, while Lord Jorie smirked. Giving his hand a wave, the older Astallon lord dispelled his burning grapes and the levitating cloud of ash it left behind, gently floated over to form a tiara on Henry''s head and the rest coalesced as a stereotypical, evil french mustache and beard on Damien''s face.


    Not able to hold in his laughter anymore, the young prince doubled over, howling with desperate, muffled, snorting laughter through his biscuit filled mouth. His body rocking laughter eventually caused Damien, who was still not used to eating with so many layers of clothing on, to accidentally slip out of his seat, landing on the polished marble flooring in a crumpled head atop his still aching, raw wings.


    "Owww," croaked the 13 year old from beneath the large dining table as he slowly, shamefully got back into his seat.


    Damien was blushing wildly as Lord Henry had raced to assist him. The Nephilim lord carefully nurtured the prince back to his seat like a big baby, all while Lord Jorie howled with his own loud laughter. The older Astallon Lord was clutching his stomach and pointing shamelessly at his imperial crown prince, not a single care given. But Damien didn''t feel insulted, no, he realized he felt... glad. He could tell Lord Jorie wasn''t making fun of him but laughing with him, and besides, Damien held a secret mortal fear of becoming a jackass leader, whose impossibly frail ego made it impossible to laugh at themselves. He knew a combined coalition of Ma LaCroix, his mother, and Jessica would likely be waiting for him, ready to "reeducate" their wayward Nephilim if he ever went rogue.


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    "Who had the nerve to put that floor there," Damien grumbled sourly after thanking Henry, picking up his dropped fork and gently massaging his freshly injured wings, "can''t they see a guy is busy falling here?"


    Lord Jorie, who had been starting to regain his composure, suddenly spat out the coffee he had been sipping, all while tears from his wild laughter streamed openly down his face.


    Henry glared at his older brother but held his tongue as it seemed that the prince was enjoying his antics. Eventually Lord Jorie regained his composure. Smoothing his long, red hair back, the older bearded Nephilim Lord gazed down at the prince, not speaking for a minute, evaluating what he saw.


    "I like ya kid," the viscount eventually said with a strange, satisfied smile and a thumbs up. Damien nodded in thanks. "So I''m not going to bullshit you," Lord Jorie continued. He gazed over bored at Henry''s unamused face, saying nothing for a minute. The younger Astallon had eventually taken a seat of his own, his itinerary documents resting in a beautiful stack beneath his perfectly folded hands.


    The viscount eventually returned his bored, dead eyes back to Damien. "No one in the entire empire currently knows you exist but us...," Lord Jorie said in a grim tone, breaking Damien from his good mood, "however, that is apparently going to change very soon."


    A blanket of silence fell upon the dining hall.


    The Grand Courtier was the first to speak up.


    "Lord Holy Viscount Astallon," the usually silky, deep voice of the dark skinned courtier came now in a hushed whisper, "do you mean to tell me, our security wards were breached?"


    Damien couldn''t see the faces of the other courtiers nor of the 6 royal guards standing at constant attention in front of the hall''s grand doors, but he also didn''t need to feel for their barely sensible intents to tell that none were currently having a good time being beholden to the news they were currently hearing.


    "Oh God no," Lord Jorie responded aghast, a horrified look seared on his face, "those specific ones placed on the Mavrlion Model 4 parked outside were placed by her Heavenly Imperial Majesty, the empress herself. And the wards on the manor have been maintained by the house D''Amorn for thousands of years."


    He shook his head and shivered.


    "Don''t even want to imagine something that could remove a ward placed by the empress knowing our location."


    The ensemble of slight nods and silent gulps of involuntary action Damien saw breaking out amongst the collective group of various highly trained, deity Nephilim around the young prince peaked his renewed interest in who his mother was.


    And his renewed crippling fear.


    "How then brother?" Henry cut in, a deeply worried and furious look was burned into his face.


    Viscount Astallon gazed briefly for a moment at his younger brother, Lord Astallon before continuing.


    "I''m here right now because a wire came in for the Empress herself this morning, from the great Lady LaCroix herself," Lord Jorie said bluntly, staring down his younger brother as the color began to drain from Henry''s face. "The great Witch of Pestilence postulates that someone had probably managed to sneak in undetected during a particular disturbance caused by a certain Angelization that disturbed her organization member''s carefully constructed security systems."


    Lord Jorie had a blank look on his face. All notion of prior humor were gone, and instead, Damien began to see hints of someone else, of something else, hiding just beneath the surface within the viscount''s dead eyes.


    Something darker. Much darker.


    None dared to speak, held in fear by the imposing presence that Viscount Astallon was suddenly emitting. However, no one looked anywhere near as distressed as the younger Lord Astallon. Henry was almost geysering with perspiration, head hung wretchedly as the implications of the viscount''s words pierced the godly Nephilim lord''s ears.


    Viscount Astallon flicked a hand and looked up wistfully, "though I guess it''s not too bad, after all they managed to capture the suspect as they were escaping the forests'' edge. After applying some... persuasive tactics, their friend divulged that they had only spread a name and it''s relevance, but nothing else." The lord then chuckled, "and when they tried to ask who sent the poor fucker, his body fucking imploded." The viscount turned and looked over his shoulder at Damien, "hexes, nasty stuff, Your Highness."


    Henry looked up to find the eyes of his sightly taller older brother looking down at him. At Henry''s resting 6''3 not many could make the divine Nephilim feel small with just a look. His oldest brother had always been amongst that short list of people.


    Staring silently at the scene playing out before him, Damien was floored at the similarities he was beginning to see between the two, red headed, divine Nephilim while Lord Jorie stared down his younger brother. Damien didn''t know what he was supposed to glean from it, but if Lord Jorie had held his tongue until now, Damien had a nagging feeling there was something happening he was supposed to be paying attention to. The young prince''s attention snapped back as he realized he''d almost started daydreaming, when Henry spoke.


    Dropping to one knee, left fist to the floor, right tucked behind his back, Henry let out a deep, defeated sigh. "I have shamed the Empire, Her Imperial Heavenly Majesty, and His Imperial Heavenly Highness," the Nephilim lord began in a low defeated voice, "my hubris overcame me, briefly I forgot the nature of my magic in an attempt to educate His Imperial Heavenly Highness, but the fault is mine alone."


    "Hey! Stop!" Damien called out suddenly while raising a hand, breaking everyone out of the current scene. As he felt the attentions of both Nephilim lords and the attentions of all the other divine Nephilim in the room shift to him, the young prince gulped silently, anxiety mounting. Instantly, with the first order as a royal Damien had ever given, the boy flipped the dynamic of powers within the room. Though he was the only mortal in a sea of powerful divine forces of heavenly destruction, none dared challenge an order from a member of the imperial families. The anxious prince felt his breathing begin to seize up under the weight of so many powerful gazes upon him.


    ''No!'' Damien felt his inner conscience immediately admonish himself harshly, ''you''re their imperial crown prince now.


    You speak out of line, you speak that shit proudly at least.''


    Taking a deep, steady breath, Damien began, addressing the silent room.


    "Great, Holy, Lord Viscount Astallon," the imperial prince began, "Hen-, I mean Lord Astallon was merely acting upon my own orders."


    Damien looked down, overcome with shame, "misguided and naive at it probably was, unaware of the true weight of my birthright as I was," Damien shut his eyes and tried to gather his nerves, failing more and more to calm his fears and anxieties.


    Raising his head, through still shut eyes, in an effort to not lose his morale, the imperial prince shouted aloud, "despite all that an order is still an order! I gave that order and Lord Astallon obeyed! Is it a crime to follow the orders of the crown prince just because he didn''t know he was royalty?" Damien clapped his sweaty, clammy hands together loudly and bent his head, in a small voice he pleaded, "please be lenient?"


    When none had spoken after a brief minute, Damien eventually opened his squeezed shut eyes, looking up and around the room. All he saw was an assembly of equally shocked expressions staring at him, including Henry.


    The viscount said nothing as he stared into the prince''s eyes. Golden and blue eyes to golden and blue eyes.


    Slowly Lord Jorie began to break out into a wide goofy grin.


    "Well done shrimp," he said with a slight chuckle. Looking down with a frown at the still kneeling form of his younger brother he sighed. "Get up Henry, you''re not gonna be plucked and tarred, yet. No matter how badly I asked for it, it seems."


    Henry quickly got to his feet. Lord Jorie sauntered over to meet the other lord till they were both standing shoulder to shoulder. Viscount Astallon leaned over and whispered something to his younger brother. Although Damien could see Lord Jorie''s mouth move, there were no sounds to be heard. Not to mention that the more Damien stared at the viscount''s and Henry''s mouths, the more he began to feel like what he was seeing wasn''t even real. He couldn''t be sure, but he could almost swear a slight shimmering wave of energy was masking their true words from being lip-read. Before Damien could continue pondering his hypothesis, Henry''s eyes suddenly grew very wide, before becoming stony and dark. He nodded once and saluted his older brother. Turning, he bowed to the imperial crown prince and bid his leave then vanished into a pillar of dark red heavenly fire that suddenly exploded around him, consuming the Nephilim lord as he teleported away.


    Lord Jorie walked back over to his seat before slumping down into it with a loud groan. Looking over at the courtiers, he began in a low voice. "Grand Courtier, I counted 15 within this dining hall, including myself," Lord Jorie''s head turned slowly, eyes first as he remained slumped back in his chair, but was now facing the Grand Courtier, "given what these 15 people have head here this morning, I would be... greatly unamused if that number became 16."


    None spoke as the viscount''s words sunk lazily, heavily into the ears of the royal guards and the courtiers.


    "The safety of his Heavenly Imperial Highness is my top concern," the Grand Courtier replied levelly, his dark skinned brows beginning to thin dangerously as the two powerful deities stared each other down, "I would do nothing to jeopardize that." "Perhaps," the Grand Courtier went on, spite entering the tone of the much older Nephilim, "maybe Lord Holy Viscount Astallon, could use some free time away from the holy militaries of Gera to reeducate the younger Lord Astallon on how to not jeopardize the imperial crown prince''s safety?"


    The silence was thicker than molasses. The already strained atmosphere of the dining room suddenly grew more tense by an order of magnitude. Surprisingly, Viscount Astallon was the first to break their staring contest, instead choosing to gaze up wistfully at the grand, incredibly lavish ceiling.


    "Damn Jeeves no need to get asshurt," Lord Jorie mumbled under his breath, looking like a child that had just been caught stealing cookies, "just making sure we understood each other."


    Sitting back up, he addressed Damien again.


    "Henry''s gone on a mission, direct deployment from the crown," he explained to the young prince, "so for the next few months until your actual teachers arrive, I''m going to take over helping you assimilate to being a Nephilim." He clapped his hands together before rubbing them gleefully, "don''t worry Sire, you''re in great hands."


    Damien didn''t know whether to be glad or run.


    The newly silver bleached prince would later come to learn, he should''ve ran.


    ***


    A month had passed before Damien even knew what hit him. It wasn''t as if it had been a particularly enjoyable or uneventful month for the new 13 year old, he was just surprised he''d somehow survived this long. Damien was used to thinking that Ma LaCroix and Sister Hua had grueling training methods, but Lord Jorie''s was downright sadistic. Every morning, noon and evening there were horrifying 2 hour exercise blocks. Every day. It was to capitalize on Damien''s newly changing body. Allowing him to experience the bodily tenacity of a Nephilim for the first time. Damien had to admit, he was constantly shocked at how much longer he was able to keep up exercising now compared to just before his birthday.


    It was like he was a whole different person.


    That didn''t seem to matter to muscle fatigue as the perpetual aching throughout the young prince''s body began to increase and increase as time went on. And that wasn''t even mentioning the many, many random times throughout the day that his wildly morphing and bucking aura, something that had also started happening after his birthday, would rack his body with horrifying spasms of pain. Something that Lord Jorie had empathetically called, while patting Damien''s head, through fits of laughter, magical periods.


    At some point through the suffering, Damien began disassociating, hoping he''d either end up dead, or at least ease through the aura convulsions under the soothing blanket of being perpetually passed out. In the little free time Damien could find between the many, many lessons on Gera''s history, diplomacy and economics that a vast array of Nephilim staffed at the villa were mandated he be taught, Damien slept. In his dreams he would always be at a table, talking to and drinking tea with what seemed to be... a giant squirrel.


    But it wasn''t just any squirrel. Eventually, the great being had revealed it was actually the great Nordic deity Ratatoskr, the keeper of the great Yggdrasil. Though Damien could never remember what exactly they talked about, he would always awake knowing he had met the god in his dreams, and that it wasn''t just any old hovel they were sitting in. Endless winding and stretching branches and twigs wove themselves together to fashion the room Ratatoskr and Damien sat in. Endless streams of runes in all languages etched upon the bark, led Damien to eventually realize where it was the two of them even were. They were sipping tea and gossiping, within the Yggdrasil itself! The great World Tree of Runes and Knowledge had become their glorified treehouse.


    Damien didn''t know why his dreams always took him back there, but it comforted him greatly.


    ***


    As two months past his birthday soon became 3, Damien barely recognized himself anymore. He had gotten used to his new platinum hair, eyebrows and lashes, even his huge white wings, but that was no longer all that was different about him. Somewhere during his many sessions of sleeping to avoid feeling pain, the prince had undergone several chaotic growth spurts. Bringing him from an average height of 5''1" for his age, to a wild 5'' 6". His body was always toned, but now he was shredded beyond belief. The killer workout regimen that Damien had soberingly come to learn was the basic workouts for new recruits in the holy militaries of Gera, had demanded every ounce of Damien''s Nephilim heritage, rewarding him for his efforts with a body that was beginning to befit a half angel. Even one that was only 13.


    At some point, the frequency of the magical periods had largely diminished to about one a week, if at all. With them, strangely, seemed to also go his dreams of tea with Ratatoskr. Damien reminisced sadly as he began to dress himself for the day, but reminded himself to cheer up. At least his aura had finally stabilized. Now he was recently slowly allowed to use basic spells again, though only ever under strict supervision.


    A thought caused Damien to beam with pride though, as he slipped on his pants, slippers and sleeveless day robe, he had finally managed to hover for 30 seconds! Yes he might''ve crashed down afterwards, completely paralyzed from stress and muscle fatigue with a somehow burnt out aura, but that didn''t even slightly phase the prince. The thought of one day soon, finally being able to soar through the skies with the birthright of every Nephilim, his very own wings, left Damien incredibly giddy, swirling around as if on the proverbial cloud 9. Leaving behind his battle coat, as there was hardly any reason to wear the over engineered piece of super armor while at the already hyper-protected manor swarming with divine Nephilim. Damien knocked three times on his front door, and the Herald Courtier opened the prince''s bedrooms'' large, beautifully carved, oak wood double doors. Greeting their charge, the courtiers allowed Damien to fall into what was now his usual place amongst the royal train as they proceeded throughout the halls to have breakfast and later find Lord Jorie.


    ***


    Days began turning to weeks, Damien and Lord Jorie would continue working on covering all of Damien''s bases, speedrunning for the young prince 13 years of Nephilim development before his true tutors arrived. It was only five months away.


    The more Damien''s body grew tempered and strong, as his aura cooled and swelled, the prince found himself doing less mundane tasks. Now the real fun began. The viscount eventually made Damien nearly pass out in a fit of joy one afternoon. It had been during one afternoon walk through the gardens they always took, where Damien would bombard the Lord Jorie about modern day Gera and Nephilim daily life. Suddenly, Viscount Astallon stopped the prince, leading him to a secluded clearing, ringed by glowing blue flowers. Within the large, possibly magical, bioluminescent ring, were two, large, flat stone tablets. Though they were largely unassuming, aside from all the angelic runes and symbols Damien could spot that were etched on them, the rocks emitted oceans of deeply saturated heavenly energy.


    "Ok," Lord Jorie said, hands on his hips as he leaned back to crack his waist, "pop a squat on one dem rocks kiddo, I''mma teach you how to cultivate your aura, it''s frankly surprising you got so far with such a shitass aura Sire."


    Damien''s neck almost broke from the speed with which he turned to stare at Lord Jorie.


    "What. Did. You. Say?" He asked, not daring to believe his ears.


    "Oh I''m sorry," Lord Jorie apologize, taken aback and genuinely shocked by the prince''s sudden burst of intensity and emotion, "I meant no disrespect my Lord-"


    "No no, stop it''s not that," Damien said, waving off Lord Jorie''s formalities before they could ruin his good mood. The young Nephilim prince''s eyes went wide and almost began to sparkle as he ran up to the much taller Nephilim viscount, and tentatively asked, "you''re really gonna teach me how to cultivate?..."


    The viscount looked dumbfounded for a moment before he began to belly laugh and tousle Damien''s hair.


    "Yes Sire, I will now teach you the secret method we Nephilim have devised to train our auras. But you must remember Sire, these methods are heavily guarded sec-"


    Viscount Astallon never got to finish his words as his imperial crown prince suddenly barreled into him full force, wrapping the deity in a bear hug.


    "Thank you, Thank you, Thank you, Thank you, Thank you, Thank you, Thank you, Thank you, Thank you," Damien repeated feverishly, tears of happiness streaming down his face.


    "Uhhhhhh," Lord Jorie responded, deeply confused at the prince''s reaction, "Sire, they weren''t torturing you at that Orphanage, were they?"


    "Hah!" Damien yelled aloud in a gruff, fake laugh, "nothing could torture me the way my own powers and genetics did Lord Jorie."


    "True," the Nephilim lord admitted with a sideways head nod, "can''t even imagine what being a developing, young Nephilim again and not having the faintest idea would be like." He paused to ponder the thought, reflecting on his own early life as a mortal Nephilim.


    The viscount shuddered, deeply disturbed at the thought.


    "Well," he clapped his hands on his temples, banishing the thoughts, "enough time wasted we''re burning daylight as it is." He pointed to the two, large, flat stones, "Oi, pick one and sit, stupid." He slightly ushered the prince towards the stones.


    Damien picked the left stone, standing on it awkwardly flapping his arms like a penguin as Lord Jorie took the right stone. Sitting down in a cross legged position with each of his feet resting on his knees, the viscount''s hands were forming what Damien recognized as an earth seal, but he couldn''t tell which one. Intrinsically, Damien knew he was supposed to copy this form, and so proceeded to spend the next hour, trying and failing to hold the pose, until he finally started to get the hang of it.


    ''He acts like a demon,'' Damien thought to himself in his exhausted mind, ''yet somehow also has the patience of a saint.''


    As the hours progressed, Lord Jorie began to explain many things to Damien about Nephilim cultivation practices while they cultivated. Firstly the prince learnt that the area and the stones weren''t necessary for Damien to cultivate, but they created an area of extremely holy ground, which did wonders for cleaning and purifying Nephilim auras that were cultivated atop it. Damien hollered for joy when he learnt that as a member of the Imperial Families, he was fully allowed to visit this location and most similar locations within Gera to cultivate at his discretion.


    Secondly, the process by which Nephilim actually cultivated, was by doing something called Star Forging. Firstly, a Nephilim mage would have to master sensing both their souls and their auras, and then somehow find a way to meld them atop each other. This process wasn''t specific to the Nephilim, as it was a generally discovered method of entering a mage''s own inner realm. As the name denoted, an inner realm was sort of a metaphysical, liminal space that appeared at the border of where the soul overlapped with the aura. Once a mage was aware of their inner realms, a whole new reality of magical possibility and potential was awakened to them. Many races would only learn how to enter their inner realms deep into cultivation, approaching Sagehood. Nephilim however, needed to learn it just to begin cultivating.


    Upon entering their inner realms, a Nephilim would first see a massive pathway of hundreds of gigantic, gray hollowed orbs, connected by streams of what seemed to be the starry night sky. Known as the Star Paths, the orbs, represented all of the major nodes and meridians existing in the Nephilim''s body, and the streams of night sky connecting them, were the minor nodes and meridians. Damien would learn that these orbs were actually heavenly stars, massive celestial artifacts forged by the denizens of the Heavenly Host, allowing their half human relatives on earth to weaponize the fundamental energies of The Almighty.


    That is, if the Nephilim mage proved equal to the task of cultivating that level of power.


    To cultivate, a Nephilim would have to not only stretch a fragment of their aura throughout the Star Path until it met every giant, dead star, illuminating them and bringing life. The color yellow heavenly fire would then radiate throughout their Star Path, lighting up the dim environment with explosions of heavenly light.


    Then came The Walk of Penance.


    After igniting a portion of the Star Path to the nearest heavenly star, the cultivator would then have to create an astral projection of themselves that would walk the Star Path.


    Except it could never just be that easy.


    The Star Paths raged with a torrential river of heavenly energy. Angelic, chanting fire that came roaring along the Star Path from the awakened star, burning with the heat of solar fusion would be their challenge. Shrouding their astral bodies in the most powerful heavenly fire that the mage could generate, the Nephilim cultivator would then attempt to walk through the sea of destruction, trudging towards the star as heavenly fire bore down upon them from all around then, shredding and burning the cultivator mercilessly, with the literal fury of God. To eventually reach the star, sit within it and cultivate the heavenly scripture held within it was the goal of the nephilim cultivating.


    The stars didn''t hold just any old Psalm or Gospel, instead, the billions upon billions of runes that made up the stars'' cores would channel the verses of the literal Song of Creation itself. Etching remnants of the awesome, almighty power of the glorious choir that spoke the Primordials themselves into being. The longer the Nephilim sat within the star, the more they would absorb more of the scripture, becoming exponentially stronger and advancing the color of that star, but also the longer the cultivator sat in the core of a star made of heavenly fire so hot it was constantly undergoing a form of magical nuclear fusion, the longer the heat of the power would torture their poor astral forms. Whenever Damien''s astral body would be forcibly ejected from his inner realm, as the eventual pain and banging of the chanting energy would always inevitably break his concentration, Lord Jorie would be there to admonish, and guide him. Restoring the prince patiently to a more stable condition, then mercilessly forcing him to reenter his inner realm and resume cultivating.


    Once Damien had successfully, agonizingly, cultivated up to 10% of the Song of Creation, Lord Jorie''s astral body, that had been sitting calmly within the raging star, overseeing the prince''s cultivation, alerted him that he had finally become attuned enough to the heavenly energy to attempt to awaken the second star. The viscount warned that when the fire of the second star eventually connected to the star they were currently in, the entire star path would become unquantifiably hotter. But instead of showing weakness, Damien instead, without replying, raised his aching, burnt astral arms and began begging the second star to awaken.


    "OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM"


    A loud, hollow sound came emanating from the gigantic star, it was Damien''s only warning, before the gentle giant artifact suddenly flared to life, gushing power with a horrifying, tremendous roar.


    Again Damien would attempt trudging against the massive, rushing torrent of heavenly fire, again he would battle the heat of another star''s core, adding to the previous, while bearing the crushing, imposing dominance of a pitiful few dregs of power of the Song of Creation that his crappy yellow stars could output. But as his withered and burnt astral body reignited the much stronger rose-golden heavenly fire that Damien had access to now and joined the cool, calm and collected astral body of the divine viscount, the two proceeded on with their journey to the next star in Damien''s Star Path.


    Pain and suffering had long become synonymous with Damien''s existence, but with every step the battered yet determined young emperor took, the clearer the image of a version of him with the full epic verses of the Song of Creation inscribed upon his half-divine soul, became in his mind. A version that was constantly accessing a titanic, endless ocean of heavenly power that was the fundamental energy of the creator itself, seared itself into the boy''s determination. A full set of rose-golden stars became the only things his mind saw worthy of illuminating his Star Path. And as the prince was ejected from his inner realm, halfway to the second star, the imperial crown prince swore, between bloodied, ragged breaths, that he would have it. Fortunately, his increasingly strengthening body mixed with the divine viscount''s healing magic, allowed the young prince to bask in his delusions for a few more seconds, until fatigue brought him the now increasingly familiar, sweet release of blacking out.


    In the foreground, sitting on a beautiful stone slab, sitting perfectly unmoving for hours, Damien''s body would be amassing power and sharpening his aura control. But in the background, illuminating more and more of his Star Paths, the prince slogged along, illuminating more and more stars, allowing his aura and potential to also continue growing exponentially stronger. Both physically and magically, by cultivating the power of Heaven that was heavily imbued within every golden blood cell comprising the ichor now running in Damien''s veins, the stats of the imperial prince would continue to explode dramatically. Suffering and tribulation would reward him by increasing his body''s energy storage limits, aura size, efficiency and grade. And, as he would come to learn after accidentally kicking a crater into the dirt of the manor''s soccer field while playing with some soldiers closer to his age, his physical limits had also dramatically grown.


    ''Jeez, I''m almost as physically strong as Jess now,'' Damien thought to himself in wonder.


    Damien would later come to learn that the giant stars also changed colors, but only after every Star Path star was first illuminated. The more the color of the stars progressed through the ranks, the more powerful the mage and their inner realms would become, giving the mage a cultivated soul and aura that were more and more connected to the fundamental energies of the Heavenly Host. The Star Path''s stars could ascend from starting at Yellow, to Blue, to Green, to White, to Purple, to Orange. Finally, stopping at Red. Finally at true mastery, the stars would change to match the color of the Nephilim''s own heavenly fire.


    Lord Jorie had also explained that the purpose of the enchanted rocks and the glowing flowers was to create an incredibly powerful area of holy ground known as Sympathetic Grounds. Not only making it impossible for any demon, vengeful spirit, or fae of any kind or caliber to enter within the flower ring, but also inside the flower ring, was one of only 6 locations in the entire Mortal Realms that was a site of sympathetic ground. Its special properties allowed any two Nephilim to cultivate together, no matter the power imbalance or difference of auras. And so Damien was experiencing the teaching of a lifetime, having a deity Nephilim guide his cultivation from its inception, from within his own inner realm, helping the prince build the best power base possible.


    At the moment, Damien who had proven to be an extraordinary quick study, mastering how to enter his inner realm in only an hour, only had a meager 3 Yellow stars to show for the now combined total 60 hours of deep mental, physical and magical torture he had undergone while intermittently cultivating for the past week. Damien was far beyond thoroughly exhausted in every way shape and form. Yet he still had 127 more stars left to ignite. But the difference was already extreme. Even as he was hobbling out of the garden again, supported by Viscount Astallon, Damien''s body was continuously, rapidly healing his fatigue and stress. Damien hadn''t been able to heal himself before without the aid of a potion, salve or some other healing apparatus to at least start the process, and even then, his self healing was always shitty at best constantly requiring a more skilled healer to rewound and then reheal him. But now, the imperial crown prince''s body was both starting to mend and completely heal wounds completely on its own. The part that terrified Damien at best and made him nearly shit himself at worst, was that it was also at a rate far higher than anything he had ever known was possible for him.


    With crystal clarity Damien could recall the fastest healing he knew someone his age was capable of. A very bloody fight had once left Ivan with his arm dangling off by a few tendons at his elbow. While the vampire was only 14 at the time, he had an unnatural proficiency for blood magic. One of his cronies had offered the gang leader their neck, and after a savage, uncomfortable drinking session, a crowd of onlookers stared in shock as Ivan''s arm stitched itself back together. Until, within seconds it looked as if nothing had ever happened.


    This the same level of healing that Ivan and his gang had!


    Damien couldn''t believe it. They were older than him, and had been cultivating far longer, but with just 60 hours of hell on earth, he had wretchedly climbed the ladder of power to where they currently sat. The prince knew, unquestionably, certainly, if he were to fight the group again, he would soundly thrash them all by a country mile. It reverberated throughout his entire being.


    But Damien couldn''t believe it. Even as he flexed his fingers, feeling his entire being, his incredibly developed muscles and much denser bones. Even as he reached inward and felt for his aura, expecting to see the mild pool it had once been, instead now seeing a massive lake of power. Even as it confirmed to him the truth.


    Surreal, was just the beginning.


    He had finally done it, finally upheld his promise to his mother disguised as Sister Hua.


    He had finally started becoming strong.


    By the time the pair had reached the exit to the gardens, Damien was even already walking on his own and soon began jogging. A wild smile was plastered on his face as he jumped, shooting meters into the air hollering with glee and conviction.


    ''Only 3 crappy, yellow stars brought this much of a difference,'' he silently pondered, mind blown, ''sheesh.''


    Not for the first time Damien''s mind wandered to thoughts of his mother again.


    "Lord Jorie," he called out, turning back to address the leisurely walking noble.


    "Sup?" the viscount called back, not bothering to turn around.


    "What color stars am I expected to have when I arrive at the imperial court?"


    "Hm...." Lord Jorie thought, scratching his red beard, "there''s technically no such thing as ''expected'' but if you''re talking about as compared to the other princes and princess from the rest of the Imperial Families, including your own? They all have at least full sets of purple stars by the time they''re 15. Some of those imperial monster hellspawn even have full sets of reds! AT FUCKING 20?!." Lord Jorie shurred, grabbing himself. "But," he went on, "the expectation is purple. It''s almost considered a rite of passage for those freaks." Putting a hand on Damien''s shoulder, Viscount Astallon smiled down at his imperial crown prince. "You may be a freak, but you''re a good freak tho." The viscount laughed and tousled the prince''s hair again, but Damien didn''t notice.


    Truthfully, ever since his jaw had involuntarily unhinged from hearing Lord Jorie''s answer, Damien hadn''t noticed much of anything really. There he was, excited over 3 yellow stars, and yet his peers were already cultivating blue stars. The prince sighed and his shoulders sagged. How he was ever going to attain 130 purple stars in only 2 more years was far out of his mind''s ability to fathom.


    Damien''s sigh was lacquered with depression and self loathing. He was surely going to embarrass himself in front of all 7 imperial families, and lord only knew how many other royal and noble ones. The prince sank to his knees in defeat, his beaten and lifeless eyes couldn''t even find the strength to cry in self pity.


    "Hey kiddo," Lord Jorie said, turning back around to comfort the prince, kneeling to look the young boy in the eyes, while using a finger to lift the crown prince''s chin, "don''t be depressy, if you''re depressy, you can''t cultivessy."


    Damien gazed up silently through tear soaked eyes.


    "...There''s something deeply wrong with you," Damien grumbled as he got up following a brief moment of silence, "you do know that right?"


    The viscount guffawed, a heavy belly laugh, "there''s so many things deeply wrong with all of us, Sire." he said wiping a tear from his eye, "I''m just chilling with mine."


    ***


    Damien had found that since becoming richer than his wildest dreams by proxy of his heritage, time had essentially lost most of its meaning for him. He vaguely was aware of the passage of time as Henry had eventually returned to the manor at some point. But every moment the young Nephilim wasn''t spending in his studies, sharpening his wit, knowledge and skills as a future head of state, he was cultivating like a madman.


    Lord Jorie''s teachings continued to prove invaluable for Damien. After only month of cultivating every moment he physically could, Damien had finally struggled to reach 30 yellow stars under the god''s guidance. The prince had learnt that after his aura control had blossomed to a certain degree, his inner realm had changed.


    Drastically.


    Whereas originally all Damien could originally see was a large expanse of darkness, filled with gigantic stars and streams made of the night sky connecting them, now the Star Paths were way up in the sky of his inner realm.


    Oh yeah, his inner realm now had a sky...


    And a dark, large field, covered in dew soaked blades of grass...


    And there was also now a massive, 8 floor, black, spiraling tower?


    After Damien had mentioned it to the viscount one morning in passing, he was greeted to a scene of Lord Jorie crashing into a vase. Lucky the Nephilim lord managed to catch the priceless artifact before it shattered, but nevertheless, Damien was still beyond terrified.


    As far as he knew, gods didn''t trip, or stumble, or bump into things. Ever. It was almost as if they couldn''t. From what Damien could gather, their senses were simply just too refined, to the point most mortals were convinced any stumble made by a deity was likely fabricated and intentional. However, the look on Lord Jorie''s face silenced those suspicions.


    Lord Jorie had actually tripped.


    The god''s next words made Damien realize why. An inner realm being able to manifest an environment and reveal the weird tower known as a Soul Pagoda, was one of the hidden requirements for sagehood, not only that, but the Soul Pagoda was the physical manifestation of a mage''s soul despite what race they were. Manifesting it, was when true power would begin to emerge for that mage. Manifesting a sky however, was one of the hidden requirements for godhood. It wasn''t merely something that just happened by mistake, and definitely not after igniting only 30 yellow stars in the Star Path. So the implications of all 3 just appearing out of nowhere, to a 13 year old that was barely a month into cultivating, was so far out of the bounds of anything normal, that the deity viscount''s brain had actually shut down.


    Lord Jorie felt he probably didn''t need to swear the young prince to secrecy after seeing the effects his words had on Prince Damien, but he still did so anyway.


    Damien recalled how afterwards, the viscount had heaved an audible sigh of relief, muttering something about "thanking God no one else had heard that," and that, "if I had any doubts left about the shrimp being the Empress''s son, they''re definitely gone now, sheeeeesh."


    Though after the viscount eventually regained his composure, post his existential breakdown, he had finally taught Damien how to cultivate by Astral Boxing. Though it was no small decision. Astral Boxing a secret, transcendental form of cultivating that was a high value secret of the Empire of Gera. It was what allowed their sage leveled mages to have a much greater chance at breaking into godhood.


    Lord Jorie explained to the increasingly excited boy that it was normally only taught to the brightest sages of the Nephilim empire because of the extreme danger learning this method entailed. However, seeing as Damien had suddenly now somehow manifested an inner realm of a sage, while not being anywhere near that level of strength, a level of extreme caution without precedent had suddenly emerged. Lord Jorie swore he would be damned if talent like this was wasted on "pussy ass, greenhorn cultivation, for Christ knows how long?"


    Yet when the Viscount''s plans for the imperial crown pince''s training was brought to a council, the Heat Courtier and all of the other deity lords had stringently objected the decision. That was, until Lord Jorie, to the immense surprise of Damien, pulled rank revealing he actually stood above all of them in terms of his rank within the militaries of Gera as a Lord High General, and forced them all to submit to his order. Silencing any further dissenting voices with a stone cold line.


    "I''ll stand before the Empress herself and say the same, train him to his actual potential not to the ceilings placed by your own ignorant, arbitrary fears, or you are an enemy of the empire," his divine energy and stoney grey heavenly fire began to bubble up around him before he continued eerily, "and I will treat you as such."


    With a combined total history of over 10 million years the Empire of Gera had seen what was thought to be every possible anomaly within the Nephilim youth since the inception of the races of half angels, culminating in its strangest one of all time, the Empress Hoaquin herself. Though only about 3 million years of their history were reliably recorded, there was very little that could surprise the learned of Nephilim history. Leaving a bookworm like Lord Jorie so thoroughly stumped for answers wasn''t a very easy thing for Damien to achieve.


    Within his inner realm, Damien would attempt to focus the power of his available greater and lesser meridians to coalesce into a copy of himself. Under the power of the heavenly stars radiating down from his inner realm''s sky, and stabilized by his Soul Pagoda, upon the ghostly blue grass, a rose gold version of himself would form. It would be outfitted with all of his current weaponry, would know all of his spells, have access to all of his cultivation and had mastery of all his techniques. The copy was fully autonomous, could think and act for itself, and would only disappear if Damien either defeated or dispelled it.


    Seemed simple enough.


    12 days of brutal, constant failures resulting in many ruptured meridians, random internal and external bleeding, constant horrifying migraines, and many, many doctors running in and out of the prince''s ward, would prove to Damien that learning Astral Boxing, especially without having yet achieved a divine body, which was normally attained by reaching sagehood, would be anything but simple.


    But onward, the prince pressed forth.


    Eventually he completed the astral body, and after being given all of 12 gratifying seconds that Lord Jorie permitted Damien to rest, the prince began combat against his rose golden copy.


    Damien was still mentally reeling a week later. His copy had thrashed him so badly, his aura had just ejected him to save him any further humiliation.


    He wasn''t allowed to astral box again until the ringing in his head subsided. But when it did, Damien threw himself into it with reckless abandon. He finally had a method of cultivating he could do at any time.


    He meant any time.


    While he showered, Damien was astral boxing. While he was on the toilet, eating, walking, exercising, he was astral boxing. The prince even practiced the cultivation method in his sleep, at least for as long as he could before he fell to his subconscious. A month of cultivating astral boxing alongside his normal sessions in the grove of Sympathetic Ground with Lord Jorie had made something glaringly obvious to the young imperial crown prince. While cultivating in the sky of his inner realm, walking along the Star Path, would bring the greatest, most explosive change to Damien''s aura size and the size of his mana pool, it didn''t increase his aura control or aura efficiency anywhere near as fast. However, astral boxing, while it didn''t give tremendous increases to aura size, was almost like a cheat code at increasing Damien''s aura efficiency and control.


    It was now glaringly obvious to Damien why Lord Jorie had endured such a crisis over divulging the information.


    But the true horror of the efficiency gained from mixing both cultivation methods that Damien soon realized one morning, dropping his toast in shock, was that astral boxing was allowing him to traverse the Star Paths for longer periods of time, and withstand its obliterating, holy heat much, much longer.


    Risky cultivation, a few more constant visits to the manor''s infirmary ward that were beginning to feel eerily familiar to Damien, and a few sessions of emergency jumpstarting the prince''s heart, had eventually been how Damien would wind up in a hospital bed, 7 total months in to living at the manor.


    Though, as he raised a heavily wrapped hand with random IV''s sticking out from his arm, Damien couldn''t help but smile.


    All 130 stars of his star path were now activated, and about 20 of them were Blue!


    "Worth," he croaked with a pained chuckle.


    "I''ll say!" Lord Jorie laughed aloud, having just materialized into the room, not bothering to knock or use the door, "you keep speedrunning becoming a vegetable and soon I won''t have anything left to return to Her Majesty! You know she''ll like, actually turn me into canned soup herself if you die right?"


    Damien hollered with laughter, despite his injuries and the wincing in pain his laughter caused him.


    Lord Jorie patted the injured prince on the head, smiling both crazily and gently. "Your tutors have almost arrived, and your aura isn''t as shit ass now," the viscounts smile turned devious and devilish, "perfect time to teach you how to angelize!" The god rubbed his hands in glee, "and I just really wanna see what your scythe looks like, there''s lots of money being placed on some bets already."


    "..........My what?" was all Damien''s mind could attempt.

 Chapter 8: Son of the Terror pt. 2

    Damien turned to look one last time at the collection of Nephilim that had gathered to attend the momentous occasion.


    Sweat slowly dripped from his brow.


    The encouraging faces of Lord Jorie, Lord Henry and Lady Michelle, were the solemn few places in which the imperial crown prince found any solace. The rest of the faces however, the flat, focused features of every soldier and worker in attendance spanning various ranks, and the almost zealous visage of his Grand Courtier, scared the 13 year old so badly he wanted to run for the hills. Even the hidden faces of his 6 veiled courtiers unnerved him now. It didn¡¯t help that he had absolute certainty that every single Nephilim left working at the manor were currently scrying in to secretly witness the very first angelization of their next emperor.


    Damien¡¯s wings still weren¡¯t able to even properly carry his body weight yet, and yet, there he was, about to attempt the greatest ritual of all Nephilim tradition and in doing so, finally carry the weight of his family¡¯s long standing dynasty. It would be his first time igniting the golden ichor that ran through his veins. His first time hearing the song of creation from his heavenly fire.


    At least, it technically was supposed to be.


    The Nephilim that had been brought to conduct the ceremony was a short, non-imposing man. An Archbishop of sorts. Though he looked more like someone¡¯s grandfather than a deity priest, the glorious robes he donned decked with a litany of war medals, priceless jewels and thick gold bands, spoke otherwise. The Archbishop continued to drone on the hundreds of verses, psalms and spells necessary to set up the ritual. As his deep rumbling voice recited the words, melding with the man¡¯s intent gentle waves of power reverberated from the ecclesiarch¡¯s short figure. Tendrils of brown, chanting, exalted fire, birthed from the Archbishop¡¯s fundamental energy, emanated from the man, drawing around him the most complex series of interlocking magic circles Damien had yet seen.


    Caging him in.


    For what was probably the 14th time that morning, Damien wished he¡¯d just kept his big mouth shut. But like with everything else he learned about his powers, he would learn his lesson after the fact. And in the most PTSD inducing way imaginable.


    The ringing of the 3 massive bells floating above the altar within the small, opulent temple lulled Damien into a deep day dream, mercifully letting him escape from his fears if only for a few more moments.


    As his thoughts slowly took over, the circular, tall walls of the temple, the many, tall stained glass windows enchanted with moving scenery, and the epic congregation of over 20 gods and goddesses of the Nephilim species, faded to black.


    In its place, a scene from a week ago took hold.


    ***


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± Henry said, his morning coffee totally forgotten mere centimeters from his lips, ¡°c-can you repeat that sire?¡±


    Lord Jorie sat there, trying to dab up the coffee that had ejected from his nose. Though it had stained the viscount¡¯s burgundy, designer, button down and his impossibly expensive rug, he never once broke eye contact with Damien.


    ¡°U- um, uh¡± Damien stammered, losing his cool.


    It was the day after he¡¯d been released from the infirmary, a sunday no less. It was the only day of the week the Nephilim empire forbade any forced labor from being done, essentially giving the entire empire, except of course their armed forces and essential services, a complete day off. Any laborer still in service on a Sunday, did so out of personal loyalty to the empire, not out of necessity. But regardless, on that very Sunday, without any scheduled training, or classes to distract his normally turbulent thoughts, Damien¡¯s mind wandered. Eventually, the memory of Lord Jorie saying that his real tutors had nearly arrived resurged, almost sending Damien into comatic shock. The viscount had been promptly booted from the prince¡¯s infirmary ward by the angriest trio of winged doctors Damien had ever seen after he¡¯d delivered his news, but not before the thought could plant a deep and firm seed of worry into Damien¡¯s still recovering mind.


    ¡®My angelization¡­ my scythe¡­¡¯


    Everything about being a Nephilim was still too new for Damien for him to fully grasp the nuance of everything he¡¯d seen, heard, and experienced attempting to understand himself and his magic. But he would never forget seeing Lord Henry¡¯s angelization.


    The endless power.


    The vibrations, akin to earthquakes.


    The bony, skeletal hands.


    The impossibly perfect face, devoid of all emotion.


    The wooden mask that covered half of it.


    The chanting fire¡­


    ¡®Chanting fire¡­¡¯ he had thought eerily, ¡®wait a minute¡­¡¯


    It reminded Damien of something that he couldn¡¯t believe he¡¯d forgotten to mention for all this time. Something he hadn¡¯t thought about since he¡¯d left the orphanage¡­


    Clearing his throat, Damien repeated to the two lords, ¡°I think I¡¯ve been able to angelize for a while now, since I was 10 actually. B-But I always used to attribute it to my SuperComputer. Don¡¯t you guys have one too?¡±


    Lord Jorie slowly turned to look at Henry. His deeply confused face meeting Henry¡¯s deeply concerned one, as the viscount silently mouthed, ¡®what the fuck is a SuperComputer?¡¯


    Henry shook his head from side to side, equally as confounded. Nothing about his briefing from Lords Jurovi and Clyde had prepared him for his imperial crown prince being trained much, less any kind of competent with his fundamental energies.


    ¡°My lord,¡± Henry said, addressing Damien slowly and hesitantly remembering what was now referred to in hushed whispered by the staff as ¡®the alchemy incident¡¯, ¡°can you demonstrate for us this¡­ SuperComputer?...¡±


    Slowly, Damien nodded.


    Squaring his shoulders, and taking a deep breath, he prepared to do something he hadn¡¯t done in almost a year. Long before he had ever cultivated a single time.


    He was going to attempt to connect his SuperComputer ego.


    Slowly, the prince closed his eyes, and the world around him vanished.


    Opening his eyes again, all he could see were sprawling fields of dense gray and teal long blades of grass. A vast meadow enveloped the boy prince, while the fields of ethereal grass swayed with silent, ephemeral winds. In the distance stood a tall, 8 floored gold and purple pagoda. It had massive, beautiful arched windows and many lighted adornments, radiating soft orange light. Though for all that as his Nephilim eyes allowed him to see Damien had never been able to see inside those windows. Lord Jorie had warned him he was far too weak to enter inside his Soul Pagoda, yet its presence, having suddenly manifested within his inner realm, already had massive impacts on the stability, purity and strength of the young Nephilim¡¯s magic.


    Looking up, he saw 130 massive stars.


    110 pillars of domineering yellow light stood silent watch over his inner realm beside 20 more pillars bearing an even more powerful blue light. A shimmering, silver path connected all of the stars, captivating Damein¡¯s vision as he slowly traced its length.


    ¡°Ok,¡± his astral body murmured, ¡°not exactly sure what to do now, but I guess it should be just like the past.¡±


    Damien let his mind rest and began feeling within himself for the mental presence he¡¯d come to associate with his angelic powers. His SuperComputer ego.


    For what felt like ages, he waited and waited, and waited, but nothing happened. Frustrated and ashamed of having to go back to the material world looking like a fool before the two divine Nephlim, Damien screamed into the empty landscape. His rage lashed out at everything and at nothing. Despite how hard he mentally pulled and pulled on the feelings that used to elicit his exalted, wild transformation, nothing happened. Well, nothing except the stupid feeling of being shaken that hadn¡¯t stopped.


    Eventually, Damien began to realize that the more he tugged at the feeling lost in his frustrations, the more his astral body shook with violent force until he tripped, landing face first in a patch of grass.


    ¡°The fuck¡­¡± he said slowly, looking up and around him.


    Slowly, he came to realize that pulling for his SuperComputer more intensely, caused his inner realm to shudder more violently. Damien¡¯s eyes slowly widened. His SuperComputer¡­ was his inner realm!


    ¡°Wow¡­¡± he whispered softly, mind blown. Then a thought suddenly broke him from his stupor. ¡°Wait,¡± he realized, suddenly annoyed, ¡°does that mean I¡¯ve always just been slamming myself into my inner realm like a dumbass to use my powers?¡± Looking back up at the stars above him he gave a low whistle, ¡°Christ almighty, if those stars are all of the heavenly fire within me¡­ then I¡¯m really glad I never fully lost it.¡±


    The complete scope of the carnage he could¡¯ve actually caused every time he¡¯d lost control¡­


    No, he couldn¡¯t think about that, not when he was going to attempt to reconnect with it.


    ¡®Remember you got up to a few minutes of control a year ago,¡¯ he reminded himself. Then a thought shook his budding confidence. ¡°wait but that was also before I started cultivating,¡± he blurted out, stopping himself in his tracks ¡°before I was even 13 and my powers fully activated¡­ I have no idea what would even happen if I tried it now, now that¡­¡± he looked up hesitantly at his fully illuminated Star Path.


    Memories of a massive, burnt kitchen, a smoldering forest and a boy who Damien was now the same age of, screaming for his life as a giant torrent of rose golden fire burnt him from the inside out, robbed the prince of his confidence. There Damien sat, in a patch of blue gray grass. Thinking.


    ¡°I¡¯m different now,¡± he told himself, speaking for the first time in what felt like an eon, softly, confidently. ¡°I¡¯m different now. I know who I am now¡­ who we are now,¡± he spoke aloud, addressing his entire inner realm as if speaking to a long lost friend.


    ¡°Inner realm or SuperComputer or whatever you are, you¡¯re still me,¡± Damien continued, ¡°and I¡¯m still you, too.¡±


    Taking a deep, slow breath, for a single moment, Damien could passively smell, lavender? And¡­ lilies?


    Then, amidst the serenity he commanded his inner realm, his aura, his energies, and his angelic blood, to obey him.


    In the material world, with a simple voice, devoid of fanfare, the prince uttered the first word that occurred to him then. As if gifted to him at that moment, by the universe itself, a word bearing power Damien had yet to comprehend came forth, and the prince spoke it aloud, connecting it to his intent.


    ¡°Ignis.¡±


    The two Astallon lords felt their divine auras immediately perk up with alert, as their prince erupted with heavenly fire. Damien''s silver afro, eyebrows, eyelashes and eyes became a fierce shimmering platinum. The blue of his irises, turned almost impossibly clear, crystalline and radiant, becoming the eyes of an angel.


    The prince screamed aloud, falling to his knees. His right hand clutched his chest as chanting, rose golden fire poured forth from him. Lord Henry and Lord Jorie both burst to their feet, immediately springing to their liege¡¯s aid, but a light brown hand stopped them dead in their tracks.


    Slowly, under the colossal weight of the fundamental energy made manifest as beautiful, burning energy, Damien slowly rose to his feet. The fire began to dim and rescind, pulling itself back into the prince¡¯s body. Huffing and straining with exhaustion, Damein forced the energy to stay within him. It was taking so much of him just to not blow like a bomb, scorching the opulent room with the unimaginable amount of heavenly energy he was forcibly stuffing back into his body, that he almost missed the mix similar of horrified and confused looks the two lords were now both giving him.


    ¡®Huh,¡¯ his exhausted mind mustered, ¡®you know they do kinda look alike.¡¯


    ¡°What the actual fuck,¡± Lord Jorie began slowly, ¡°is that?¡±


    ¡°Brother! Mind your language before his Heavenly Highness!¡± Henry reprimanded sharply, whipping around to admonish his eldest brother. Turning back around to study the prince again, he relented, forehead covered in sweat, his voice heavily exasperated, ¡°but I have no fucking clue either¡­¡±


    Lord Jorie raised an eyebrow at his youngest brother but said nothing.


    While giving Damien cautious, appraising looks, the two began to whisper between themselves.


    ¡°That¡¯s a lotta heavenly fire coming out of that kid, aint it?¡±


    ¡°Yes brother I agree, what¡¯s really troubling is that he doesn¡¯t have a mask, even a partial one¡­ But there¡¯s no way he could¡¯ve mastered his angelization before he even had an anointing ceremony¡­ he is a reaper right?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s quite the amount of heavenly fire he¡¯s stuffing into himself,¡± Lord Jorie muttered softly. ¡°It¡¯s almost funny really¡­¡± he said pointing at Damien, ¡°I think it¡¯s actually bursting from his wings. Look, you see it? You see the smoke rising from his primaries? I didn¡¯t know they could do that¡­¡±


    ¡°Great Almighty! What do we tell her, Imperial Majesty? I mean he doesn¡¯t even have a scythe either?!¡± Henry¡¯s hands worriedly rifled through his long, scarlet red hair, messing up its usually meticulously maintained form. ¡°Brother¡­ did we happen to break his Highness?¡±


    ¡°You know,¡± Lord Jorie replied, scratching his red beard slowly, eyes still studying the weird form his prince had transformed into, ¡°he¡¯s like, actually on the verge of explosion.¡±


    ¡°HE¡¯S WHAT?!¡± Henry screamed.


    Immediately Henry raised his right hand. The entire appendage was enveloped with dark red heavenly fire. Plunging his hand into the prince¡¯s chest, Henry screamed, ¡°I¡¯iek ri afhka!¡±


    Henry¡¯s own golden and blue eyes briefly turned to shimmering platinum and diamond blue ones that roared with Damien¡¯s rose golden light while the dark red fire had now lapped its way up the lord¡¯s entire arm, greedily sucked up the golden fires that came roaring from Damien and into Henry. Eventually an exhausted Damien slumped to the floor caught at the last moment by a disheveled and rattled Henry whose long, scarlet red hair puffed out frayed all around him.


    ¡°Thank you,¡± Damien croaked weakly. The fire had stopped pouring from him, and his hair and eyes finally returned from the ethereal shimmering platinum to its now usual sliver.


    Lord Jorie remained standing where he¡¯d been, scratching his beard slowly, his eyes never leaving the prince¡¯s limp form.


    Henry looked up at his brother dryly, ¡°don''t rush to help too quickly brother.¡±


    ¡°So what do we do now, Lord High General?¡± he asked, sarcasm dripping from his tone.


    ¡°Well whatever that was, it was almost an angelization,¡± Lord Jorie said, shrugging. On the outside he employed a calm demeanor, yet within, his thoughts were turbulent and perturbed.


    Both lords were ripped from their thoughts by a small cough.


    ¡°I think¡­ I think I need to give you guys some context,¡± Damien said weakly.


    Henry helped lift him into a sitting position as the young prince began to regale the two Astallon brothers with his horrifying clusterfuck of experiences his angelic powers had been for him since Damien had turned 10. Every experience from attempting to seek vengeance for Annie, to his last experience taking on Ivan and his cronies came pouring from the 13 year old. Slowly at first, then faster and faster, unrelenting. As if like a rushing, thundering torrent. The two lords¡¯ eyebrows rose with similar speed, their eyes widening at an astronomical rate at all they were hearing.


    ¡°Almighty be damned, if he¡¯s been doing this long before his 13th birthday, then that¡¯s intensely troubling,¡± Lord Jorie muttered, ¡°especially now that he¡¯s cultivated, he¡¯s incredibly unstable¡­¡±


    Scratching his beard he looked down at Damien, ¡°oi brat, why you gotta be so fucking weird all the time man?¡± the viscount asked in a frustrated tone.


    Damien looked down in shame. Tears began welling in his eyes. It seemed, even amongst his own people, he¡¯d always be nothing more than a freak and an outcast¡­


    ¡°..Sorry¡­¡± the boy prince whispered to the floor bottom lip trembling, his voice barely a whimper.


    However there was no need for Damien to shout or even proclaim aloud his feelings, the hearing of a nephilim was already on par with that of the Werebeasts. But the auditory senses of the divine, across every species, was beyond extraordinary. As such, both gods heard the prince¡¯s wretched cries and depressed apology with crystal clarity, despite how much the boy tried to hide his feelings.


    Instantly, Henry seethed with rage. A murderous look entered his eye, and his face contorted with absolute fury. Slowly he stood up, staring daggers at his eldest brother. Through teeth gritted so hard they could smash carbon into diamonds, the younger Lord Astallon challenged the older Viscount Astallon.


    ¡°Brother..¡± he hissed with venom, ¡°there. Are. LIMITS TO YOUR THOUGHTLESSNESS!¡±


    Standing, Henry outstretched his right hand and a pillar of dark red heavenly fire erupted forth, shooting out with a force so strong it blew Henry¡¯s hair backwards. Clenching his fist, the fire broke apart, and in its stead¡­ Damien saw a very familiar artifact, Henry¡¯s scythe. Calling it a marvel of magic was too unflattering, too simple for what Damien eyes beheld. Standing over 7 feet tall, Damien beheld a majestic scythe, completely comprised of a soulless, beautifully haunting, ashen wood. The weapon ended in a massive front blade, blacker than the darkest void, and a shining silver, spear headed back blade that shone with heavenly power.


    Damien had all but forgotten how to breathe. He hadn¡¯t seen Henry''s weapon in almost a year, and though it didn¡¯t hum with the same kind of dreaded majesty it did when Henry was angelized, it was by no means even a shred less deadly. Not even a shred less hauntingly eye-catching.


    ¡°I may not be as strong as you brother,¡± Lord Henry stated aloud, heavily thumping the butt of his scythe into the marble floor, causing a soft boom of heavenly power to radiate from him in all directions, ¡°but I am still more than strong enough to maim you, if at least, rip out that insolent tongue of yours before I die.¡±


    There wasn¡¯t an ounce of merriment in Henry¡¯s voice, instead a strange malice that Damien immediately recalled from many months ago that Henry had used against Lady Michelle, resurfaced with a vengeance.


    Lord Jorie, stood shocked, and for the first time since Damien had met the deeply erratic and eccentric viscount, Lord Jorie looked shaken, unsure and¡­ ashamed?


    The older lord gapped silently. Futily, the lord attempted to reach for any of his usual explanations or quips for his actions, or maybe one of his signature flagrant and flippant disregard for the concerns of others that only Lord Jorie was able to deliver. But this time, the viscount did none of those things. Instead, he bowed towards his youngest brother, right fist to the ground, left fist firmly folded behind his back, wings tucked, head down, deeply prostrated in total humility. It was what Damien had come to learn, was the ultimate sign of respect amongst the nephilim.


    To bow to another in the old way, the way the angels themselves did when they venerated the All Mighty, was not a mindlessly done action. Especially not by one residing at the incredibly lofty ranks of power and social influence of those akin to Lord Jorie¡­


    His next words highlighted the intense pressure of the situation, silencing Henry and Damien¡¯s deeply shocked expressions from even the slightest peep.


    ¡°My youngest brother, and my imperial crown prince, please forgive me,¡± the Holy Viscount Jorie Astallon of Gera began with complete seriousness and clarity, ¡°in my fear and impudence, I lashed out at His Heavenly Imperial Highness. A scourge born from the darkest depravities of hell, is too blessed a torture for my actions, for slighting the heir of one such as the Empress herself.¡±


    He dropped his left hand to the floor, he turned to face Damien. Then, the deity lowered his forehead to the marble floor, fully prostrating himself in a way that Damien had only ever briefly heard of. A bow of complete submission, in the old way of the Angels at that.


    ¡°My liege lord,¡± Lord Jorie said, regret imbued deep into his tone, ¡°please, I beg of thee thy pity.¡±


    Damien just stared in shock.


    None moved. Henry¡¯s mouth hung agape, his scythe rested uselessly forgotten in his hands. Lord Jorie remained prostrated, until Imperial Crown Prince Damien, could give his verdict.


    But nothing came to Damien.


    How could it?


    Before him knelt a Nephilim Lord. A Lord High General, who had led his empire¡¯s people to countless victories throughout the Mortal and Divine Realms. A mage of the highest caliber. A god¡­


    Who was he to judge a being such as the viscount?


    Who was he to demand the respect of such a being?


    Because he was a prince?


    ¡­Or because he was HER son.


    Her only son¡­


    Was he truly so fragile a being that he couldn¡¯t handle a friend lashing out at him in what was truthfully very justifiable frustration?


    Was he truly doomed to never be allowed another friend since Jessica and Anna?


    Because of the person, the mage, the Nephilim, the god, the¡­ emperor¡­ that he could one day become? Or because of the goddess that his mother had become?


    ¡®Nah, Fuck all of that!¡¯ Damien¡¯s mind roared.


    Though his passion and rage was severely weakened, it would not die. It would not be smothered, lest, his own life be first.


    ¡®I¡¯m not going back,¡¯ his mind half ordered, half begged itself, ¡®we¡¯re never going back. We will never be weak again¡­. Hoaquin¡¯s heir can¡¯t be weak.¡¯


    Speaking up after what felt like ages, Damien¡¯s voice resounded full of so much confidence, it deeply shocked him.


    ¡°My Holy Lord Viscount,¡± Damien said, proceeding to take the exact same pose as Lord Jorie was still locked in, causing Henry to fall over, crying out in pain and shock at what he¡¯d witnessed. The younger Astallon passed out where he fell, unable to maintain the immense stress the unnatural situation was putting on him. Upon hearing the shriek of surprise and pain from his brother, the viscount raised his head for the first time. His eyes stopped dead in their tracks, slowly widening in horror upon seeing Prince Damien also bowed to him, the thin crown circlet upon his head pressed to the ground. ¡°I won¡¯t leave this pose until you leave yours first dumbass,¡± Damien said chuckling, raising his head to stare down Lord Jorie, waving his tongue at the god tauntingly.


    Lord Jorie was deeply mind blown, his mouth hung agape as his brain struggled to comprehend what was going on. Slowly, he began heaving shakily uncertain, deeply fearful chuckles. They were more of a trauma response than a reply to Damien¡¯s humor. But then, as the absurdity of the situation finally came barreling into the Lord High General, he barrelled over, falling to the floor onto his back, hollering with laughter.


    Breathing a sigh of relief, Damien also rolled over onto the marble floor, laying on his back similarly to the hysterically laughing divine nephilim.


    ¡°Thank god you didn¡¯t call my bluff,¡± Damien sighed, ¡°kneeling when everything in your body hurts from almost becoming a firework is horrifying.¡±


    Lord Jorie just began laughing harder after hearing Damien¡¯s remark.


    Despite himself, Damien also began to chuckle, eventually leading to the child prince¡¯s own mad belly laugh. The two of them, amidst their stomach cramping, uncontrollable laughter, spotted Henry laying passed out, ass up in the air, where he¡¯d fallen over. Lord and prince stared at each other, wide eyed and silent, neither believing the scene they hadn¡¯t known they needed to see,but were both so grateful they had. It was the perfect little bow to top their majestic cake of insanity.


    The two then promptly lost it, crying freely flowing streams of tears as their uncontrollable laughter reached new, beautifully painful heights.


    The silent, Grimm class knights guarding the room outside, glanced at each other briefly, as sounds of the chaos emanated to them. Saying nothing, they each then returned looking forward, and proceeded with their sentry.


    ***


    ¡°Brother,¡± Henry inquired after the three had taken the time to eventually compose themselves, ¡°what troubled you so that you spoke in such a way to His Heavenly Highness?¡±


    Reminded of his earlier shame, Lord Jorie groaned, wincing softly. Slowly, he swirled a glass champagne flute of some kind of liquid. Damien had never seen Lord Jorie this uncomfortable, despite himself, Damien could feel his dread start to swell.


    ¡°The Illuminated Ecclesiarchy,¡± the viscount replied dryly, voice full of venom and disgust, stretching out every syllable as if his words were an Illuminated Ecclisiarch he could rip in half just as slowly with his bare hands.


    Henry closed his eyes and took a deep breath, letting his head hang over the backboard of his lavish, plush armchair, he then gave the single most ¡°I¡¯m so fucking done with this shit,¡± groan that Damien had ever heard. Growing up around Anna, Ma LaCroix, an entire orphanage full of hundreds of children of all ages, a gaggle of nuns and vampiric priests, a swarm of ex soldiers, current soldiers, young adults and especially Jessica¡­ that was a serious achievement.


    Deeply concerned, Damien tentatively inquired aloud to the two depressed, brooding Nephilim gods, ¡°what¡¯s the Illuminated Ecclisiarchy?¡±


    The two brothers each sat up in their chairs. Glancing at each other, silently for a moment, each was in heated, silent deliberation in a psychic conversation Damien was not privy to, until Lord Jorie eventually broke the silence.


    ¡°As much as I would love to take on the job of explaining that well ingrained, parasitic mass of tumor ridden, maggot shit to His Heavenly Highness,¡± Lord Jorie began with a resigned sigh, angrily swirling his wine, ¡°he¡¯s going to need to know exactly what he¡¯s doomed to inherit the moment his royal rear pops a squat upon the imperial high throne¡­ all I¡¯d end up imparting him with would be countless new swear words and nightmares, so this one¡¯s yours Henny. And you were always placed high amongst the bookworms of the empire.¡±


    ¡°I appreciate your honesty brother,¡± Henry said with a deft nod towards his eldest brother, ¡°but please stop calling me Henny.¡±


    ¡°Noooo,¡± Lord Jorie sang nonchalantly, but respectfully returned the motion, before immediately returning to getting himself more inebriated.


    Henry turned to face Damien, and began to speak. Then he paused, thinking about it some more. Turning back to his brother he pointed to the open bottle and second empty champagne flute sitting atop Lord Jorie¡¯s end table.


    ¡°I¡¯m going to need one¡­ or three of those first,¡± he admitted.


    ¡°Attaboy!¡± Lord Jorie cheered drunkenly, ¡°I knew we were family! I never lost hope no matter what everyone said about you behind your back! Buuurrp!¡± The viscount burped into a hiccup, nearly spilling the drink he¡¯d poured for Henry all over himself, but never once did it ruin his gradually lightening mood.


    Lord Jorie gestured at a perplexed Damien as he sat slumped back into his armchair, watching the brotherly scene born of depression transpire.


    ¡°We givin¡¯ the shrimp some?¡± the viscount slurred, facing his brother.


    ¡°1, he¡¯s 13, the empress will personally flay the flesh from our bones,¡± Henry responded before throwing back the entire glass in one large gulp like a shot. Then another, and then a third. Lord Jorie sat silently amazed, staring at his youngest brother anew as if meeting the man for the first time. Then the viscount broke out into a chaotic whooping cheer, jumping out from his armchair to clap Henry enthusiastically on the back with one hand, while pouring the coughing younger lord another drink with the bottle in his other hand.


    You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.


    ¡°2,¡± Henry went on, after he had composed himself. He was now noticeably very drunk, though he still cautiously sipped the rest of his wine as he talked, sitting perfectly composed as he usually did. It was almost as if his coughing fit had never occurred, though, Henry slightly swayed drunkenly as he sat. ¡°He¡¯s still mortal, one drop of this wine, even heavily diluted, would still be enough to quite literally kill him and hundreds more mortals combined. Even a sage would be hospitalized for at least a week if they drank this.¡±


    ¡°Awe,¡± Damien whined forlornly, slumping back into the plush chair.


    He¡¯d been trying to cook up a way to beg or demand for some alcohol to partake in the merriment, but upon hearing the disastrous consequences that decision would bring, his excitement immediately imploded on itself.


    ¡°HA!¡± Lord Jorie laughed jeeringly, pointing mockingly at the crown prince with a now empty wine bottle, ¡°you know what sucks the most Your Highness? No one may know what or who your father is, but on the pedigree of your mother alone, in the old dogma of the universe you would¡¯ve been immediately born a god.¡±


    ¡°Ain¡¯t Taboo a bitch?¡± Henry chimed in quietly while Lord Jorie laughed aloud evilly at Damien¡¯s silently pouting face.


    Walking over, Lord Jorie rubbed Damien¡¯s pure silver afro, messing up the hair that the prince¡¯s daily hair groomers had meticulously worked hours on.


    ¡°Chin up kid, all you gotta do is just ascend. It''s easy, I mean,¡± he said chuckling, ¡°even Henry managed to do it.¡±


    Lord Jorie burst out into his signature hyena like, hysterical laughter at both of their upset faces and Henry¡¯s outstretched middle finger.


    ¡°Anyway, have fun in class brat,¡± he said, walking away and giving a wave, ¡°I¡¯m gonna go grab another bottle.¡±


    Though, before the god vanished, he gave Damien the same taunting tongue wave the prince had done to him earlier before giving another drunken snicker, vanishing in a flash of purple light.


    ¡°Jackass,¡± Henry muttered, hiccupping softly. Sighing, he shook his head, took another sip and turned to face Damien. ¡°Guess it¡¯s class time yet again, my lord,¡± Henry said with a weak smile.


    ¡°Guess so,¡± Damien replied beaming back, genuinely just happy to be included in the banter. ¡°Though,¡± he said, fingers stroking a bare chin where a beard would one day populate his face, adopting a fake snooty tone while turning his nose up and folding his arms, ¡°it is a little absurd that both of my esteemed Lords are both staying so well taken care of and their crown prince can¡¯t even be spared a juice box¡­¡±


    Henry gasped in fear, then realizing Damien¡¯s banter he began to softly, drunkenly chuckle as Lord Jorie suddenly teleported back into the room right in front of him. Henry shrieked aloud in fear, falling over out of his chair.


    ¡°Oops,¡± the viscount drunkenly apologized before reclaiming his seat, ¡°teleporting while very krunk¡­ very hard¡­. buurp¡±


    With his other hand, he threw a juice box he¡¯d apparently been holding, directly into Damien¡¯s forehead. Catching the prince off guard with a yelp of surprise at how much force the tiny box held, before he too was knocked off his chair. Lord Jorie burst out in laughter again and nonchalantly resumed pouring himself more alcohol.


    ¡°Alright, alright¡± Henry said in an annoyed, slurred tone, sourly picking himself up off the floor and reclaiming his seat, ¡°class is back in session. Like it or not, we¡¯re gonna go over the Illuminated Ecclisiarchy today students so shut the fuck up and listen, both of you. And yes this will be on the midterm.¡±


    Lord Jorie¡¯s raised hand silently fell as Henry finished, glared at his eldest brother.


    Though Henry had called them all to attention, bringing the three back to the topic at hand, he still stuck out his empty glass for another refill, shamefully avoiding glancing at his brother. Damien wanted to burst out in laughter, but restrained himself if only just barely. Lord Jorie, to his credit, just silently obliged his brother¡¯s silent request with a silent smirk of his own, choosing to conform to the struggling studious atmosphere so Damien might at least learn something.


    ¡°Oh fuck,¡± Henry groaned softly, smoothing his slightly damp, red hair back from his lightly sweat saturated forehead, ¡°where do I even start with those jokers?¡±


    Giving a sigh, he let the glass in his hand go. Damien had long since known not to expect physics to be at play regularly wherever mages frequented, and so, wasn¡¯t shocked that the glass hovered in the air where Henry had let go of it instead of crashing down to the opulent carpet. What did shock the prince though, was seeing the spell Henry proceeded to cast, while heavily drunk, with the earth seal he¡¯d freed up both his hands to form.


    ¡®Ooh,¡¯ Damien thought to himself as the scenery in the room melted away to darkness, ¡®it¡¯s the story telling spell again.¡¯


    ¡°Igrael, santare, yo¡¯ultr,¡± Henry chanted softly as his hands began glowing with dark red light. ¡°Expand,¡± Henry finished, breathing the word of power, heavily imbued with the god¡¯s divine intent.


    His thoughts were validated as in place of the darkness, images he had seen many months ago of the millions of years of horrific and bloody wars resurfaced. The then many Nephilim races had constantly fought amongst themselves till only a pitiful 7 remained, started filling his vision as the room they were in melted away back to death and carnage all around them.


    ¡°Your Highness, would you believe there¡¯s more than a few absolute sickos all throughout the empire that consider this mindless, savage, constant bloodshed as the ¡°Golden Age¡± of the Nephilim?¡± Lord Jorie muttered darkly, looking over at Damien with an incredibly pissed off expression seared onto his divinely perfect face.


    ¡°Indeed there are,¡± Henry replied ominously, to no one in particular, watching the carnage unfold around them.


    Damien gulped fearfully and quietly sipped his juice.


    ¡°Ok,¡± Henry softly grunted as he slowly lifted a foot to rest it on his other knee as he lounged backwards into his chair, ¡°here''s where we Nephilim, as a collective species, managed to finally solve countless generational Conflicts and issues, and in doing so, we created countless worse ones.¡±


    ¡°Huzzah!¡± Lord Jorie cheered emotionlessly.


    On that bright note, Damien could see a warband of Nephilim moving around them. The style of their robes and of the armor they wore were incredibly ancient. Now that they weren''t watching the past from above, but instead getting a live look at the horrors of these past battles, Damien studied the apparitions with renewed interest. For one thing, he noted with rising interest, in stark contrast to the various colors and forms of feathered wings he¡¯d seen every Nephimim sporting, the vast majority of this warband lacked wings of any kind. In fact, only one Nephilim in this vision seemed to have them at all. He was currently hovering way up in the sky, many meters above the disheveled group, but Damien could still clearly make out the shimmering platinum effect his hair and wings were taking. With immense shock, the prince realized that the strange man¡¯s wings were like a mass of blades fashioned to look like feathers. Taking his gaze back down to the larger group of ragged and battle weary Nephilim from the flying one providing sentry, Damien pondered how most of these Nephilim were largely indistinguishable from regular humans were it not for the golden and blue eyes they all shared.


    ¡®Weird,¡¯ the boy prince thought, ¡®and strangely ironic.¡¯


    As if reading his thoughts, Henry resumed speaking, answering the questions Damien¡¯s mind was progressively generating.


    ¡°Remember, Your Highness,¡± he said, ¡°in the dark ages of Nephilim history, it was only the Principium of their respective species that could fly or even angelize.¡±


    ¡°Principium meaning the original Nephilim born directly from the Angels and their mortal fuckbuddies,¡± Lord Jorie cut it, making the two empty bottles spin around midair while Henry paused to take a drink.


    ¡°That particular Principium,¡± Henry went on, pointing to the one that was still angelized, watching over the warband, ¡°is the Nephilim who, in a few years from this moment, will become the first emperor of the Empire of Gera. Your blood ancestor, the first Reaper, Jerriza The Illuminated. Ancestor of Emperor D¡¯Amorn The Great.¡±


    ¡°Wow,¡± Damien breathed in wonder, ¡°first Emperor Jerriza was also the first reaper?¡±


    ¡°Indeed,¡± Henry nodded, ¡°and he and his freedom fighters, as they were called, were getting slaughtered, horrifically. Trying to be the only force attempting to unify a sea of warring, bloodthirsty crazy people, proved to be almost too much to handle. His small force was on the verge of death, and at the 12th hour, an unlikely force came to his aide.¡±


    The scene skipped forward in time and now they were in an underground cave. There was a mass of rock, seemingly magically manifested from the cave floor in the shape of a large round table. At it, there were 12 powerful Nephilim. Damien couldn¡¯t tell exactly how strong they were, but the symphony of multi-colored heavenly fires burning around them, gave hint to the scale of destruction they could cause as a single force. Of the 12 gathered, Damien could count 5 Principium Nephilim amongst their number including Emperor Jerriza, and yet the other 7 in attendance stared them down unfazed. Talking to the direct children of angels, treating them as equals despite the great differences in distributions of heavenly blood.


    ¡°A mix of 5 Principium from various Nephilim races would sit at a table fashioned crudely from stone, in a random fuck off, miserable literal hole in the ground, with 7 heads of some of the most powerful and influential of the veritable hundreds of Nephilim religions at the time,¡± Henry went on, unbothered, ¡°and there, in a place that would, many centuries later, be the cave atop which the Imperial Palace would be erected, they would draft The Veu¡¯u Yanik Qwerxinum Tu¡¯un, roughly translating to, The Commandments of The Earthly Host, the document by which the Empire of Gera was formed and is still led by till this very day. With many, many amendments of course.¡±


    The small dayroom was silent.


    Lord Jorie sat back, staring at the scene with barely kept contempt and disdain. Henry just sighed.


    ¡°Those 7 non Principium would later become known as the first 7 saints of the Illuminated Ecclesiarchy. They brought their religions together to create a single fighting force, held together by the saving power of delulu. They offered this mammoth army to Jerriza that they called the Illuminated Ecclesiarchy,¡± Henry finished, ¡°though they would never admit it, and to say it now is considered great heresy by the ecclesiarchy punishable by torture or death, but Holy Jerriza was originally interred as the 8th saint. Yet, all throughout Nephilim history books nowadays, he is instead listed as the first saint of the empire, the patron saint of the ecclesiarchy.¡±


    ¡°God bless the saving power of mass book burning! And God bless the wholesale slaughter of the whistleblowers!¡± Lord Jorie called out, raising a glass for an imaginary toast.


    ¡°That¡¯s horrible,¡± Damien breathed, horrified.


    ¡°Oh, don''t worry Sire,¡± Henry reassured dryly, ¡°it''s only about to get so much worse.¡±


    Upon each of the gathered signing the massive document that brought the first notion of an empire of mortal half angels into existence, large, thick silver cups, more akin to goblets or chalices, were brought out and placed before the 12. Each of the Principium took out one chalice each, but, Damien noticed, the 7 Nephilim that would later become the first leaders of the Ecclesiarchy, had at least 4 chalices each that they revealed. Leaning forward to get a better look at the red liquid that seemed to fill each chalice almost to their brim, Damien yelped in shock.


    ¡°Is that, Is that blood?!¡± the boy cried aloud in fear.


    Looking up at the face of quiet frustration on Henry and the face of open rage that was seared onto Lord Jorie, a dark, ominous feeling slammed into Damien like a ton of bricks.


    ¡°Indeed Sire, for those cups, are the blood chalices of the Nephilim,¡± Henry affirmed quietly, almost as if regretfully.


    ¡°Blood chalices?¡± Damien asked, deeply disturbed, ¡°what do blood chalices have to do with the Nephilim? We¡¯re not vampires¡­ are we?¡±


    ¡°Well Your Highness,¡± Lord Jorie cut it, ¡°it¡¯s simple really. The only Nephilim that existed at one time, were the Principium. In order to make more Nephilim, they had two ways.¡±


    The viscount stuck up a ringed index finger, ¡°fuck like rabbits, or¡± he stuck up another ringed finger, ¡°drink from a Nephilim race¡¯s specific blood chalice. Those shit filled cups were given directly to the first Principium of each respective Nephilim race, by their Angelic fathers or mothers, in hopes of increasing their numbers to one day serve the All Mighty. The angels filled the chalices with their blood, and water from the earth. To pass on their powers but not their lineage to any mortal the Principium deemed worthy to drink from the cups, and ascend to the Earthly Host. Those cups cannot be forged, not by any deity in the mortal realms, they¡¯re the personal artifacts of the angels themselves. True 1 of 1¡¯s.¡±


    Realization slowly dawned on Damien. As he slowly turned his head back to the visage he was seeing, his mind roared a million harrowing questions.


    The boy meticulously counted and recounted the number of chalices he saw.


    Once, twice, thrice.. More¡­ at least 7 times.


    He then studied the defining features and characteristics of the 12 Nephilim he was seeing, looking for defining racial differences. Counting the distinct races he could ascertain.


    12 separate races the Nephilim prince affirmed, yet, there were still at least 30 chalices gathered on the stone table¡­


    ¡®But,¡¯ his mind asked, rejecting what he was seeing, ¡®how could they have so many chalices? There¡¯s no way they would¡¯ve convinced that many Principium to give up the main way of creating more of their races during the largest euthanasia and genocide focused wars of all time. Unless¡­¡¯


    Damien¡¯s eyes grew to the size of dinner plates.


    ¡°No¡­¡± he whispered, horror soaked into his tone, ¡°they wouldn¡¯t.¡±


    Lord Jorie gave an impressed, half-hearted chortle, ¡°it seems princie here is a quick study.¡±


    ¡°From the son of Hoaquin of 10,000 minds,¡± Henry¡¯s depressed, half slurred tone agreed, ¡°I¡¯d expect nothing less.¡±


    Facing the prince, Henry looked deep into Damien¡¯s eyes before saying his next words, clearly and slowly.


    ¡°Yes, Your Highness,¡± he said gravely, ¡°yes they did, and yes they have continued to do. While they may have started out with morally questionable but arguably good intentions, make. No. Mistake. Though the ecclesiarchy is mostly a broken and disjointed mess of beliefs and insane people, they are still the single largest religious force in all of Gera¡¯s expansive empire. They command power that allowed them to commit countless heinous atrocities in the name of The Almighty and the Imperial Throne for many thousands of years¡­ Do not incur their attention unless you absolutely have to. And if you must, do not offend them. Lest you are ready for war.¡±


    ¡°Yeah except fat chance at that,¡± Lord Jorie shot back in, ¡°if it wasn¡¯t for him being the empress¡¯ only son, he still needs a proper anointing ceremony to unlock his true angelization and his scythe, and a goddamn Reaper¡¯s mask so he doesn¡¯t recreate Fat Man. He¡¯ll be forever neutered, stuck at 50% or less of his true potential, unless he gets a proper anointing. And I¡¯m sure Empress Hoaquin would just looooove that.¡±


    He closed his eyes and took the most pained, strained, deep breath Daimen had ever seen from him. Though his next words made Damien realize why with crystal clarity.


    ¡°And only a Grand Ecclesiarch can lead such a ceremony on such short notice,¡± Lord Jorie grumbled hatefully with resignation, ¡°unless, of course, any of you jokers know how to contact any of the Earthly Saints from wherever the fuck throughout the Mortal Realms they currently are. Oh, and get them here before the kid farts the wrong way one day, and blows the entire damn manor off the face of the goddamn earth.¡±


    The group fell silent as the three deliberated their choices and how bleak the situation was becoming.


    ¡°What about Saint Bernil Smith?¡± Damien asked, suddenly speaking up.


    ¡°Saint Benril left many months ago after we arrived at the manor, Your Highness,¡± Henry replied softly, swaying slightly from the godly alcohol, ¡°he¡¯s currently deployed out on an expedition deep within the Andromeda realm for another 6 months.¡±


    Turning to face Lord Jorie, Henry arched an eyebrow.


    ¡°And you brother,¡± he slurred drunkenly, ¡°shouldn¡¯t have been rejected for sainthood so many times then, maybe you would¡¯ve at least learnt the anointing rites.¡±


    ¡°Oh fuck you!¡± Lord Jorie yelled, chucking the other empty bottle at Henry¡¯s head, which the other drunk god deftly dodged. ¡°That¡¯s the most openly rigged rank to attain in all of creation and you know it! I¡¯m more than strong enough to easily cripple more than a few of those so-called saints.¡±


    Leaning back, Lord Jorie kicked up his feet and smirked, ¡°besides, why would I want such a prudish, self righteous title anyway? I just got me a much cooler one recently anyway¡­¡±


    ***


    Snapping back from his memories to the ceremony he was currently in the middle of, Damien looked down at the long, pure white and gold ceremonial robes he¡¯d been forced into that morning for his anointing ceremony.


    Sweat began to slowly bead up on Damien¡¯s brow.


    Thankfully, the layers of magical makeup and glamours he¡¯d had mercilessly caked upon him, against his will with unbelievable perfection, by the imperial makeup stylists, held true. The paints and spells did the lord¡¯s work trying to mask his fear and dread, but nothing could hide the frantic shaking of his hands. He had long since plunged them deep into the folds of his robes since they had not stopped shaking horribly since he¡¯d woken up that morning. When any had tried to mention that hiding his hands was improper and that he should take them from their hiding place, Damien¡¯s unintentional resting bitch face made all withdraw from him under the imperial heir¡¯s withering glare.


    But now it was too late.


    There he stood on the altar.


    A choir of ecclesiarchy Nephilim, bearing fabulous red and green garb, along with golden helmets obscuring their faces, sang aloud in a unified voice more beautiful than anything Damien¡¯s ears had ever perceived, second only to The Hymns of Creation themselves. The brown, heavenly fire of Archbishop Maxwell grew stronger and stronger. Its own chanting, a lesser imitation of the sacred words that the original members of the Heavenly Host had sung alongside The Almighty itself to rend reality into being, roared stronger and clearer.


    The indescribable ocean of heavenly power amassed by the choir and the archbishop reached out into Damien¡¯s soul, resonating with his own. It flowed into his inner realm, alighting his star paths, and forced forth Damien''s own rose golden flames.


    A soft gasp rippled throughout the crowd.


    The beautiful flames of their prince, of their future emperor, roared to life around him. Surging forth, his rose golden flames were drawn into a massive, jet black candelabra bearing 13 huge candles that had been standing beside Damien and Archbishop Maxwell at the altar. As more of his flames were sucked in, and with each candlestick they alighted, the amount of energy pouring forth from Damien redoubled.


    Quiet murmurs turned to silent amazement as the pillar of rose golden fire billowed out stronger and stronger from the prince, till it finally evaporated, leaving behind an exhausted Damien that was barely standing and a firmly blazing 11 massive candlesticks.


    The archbishop¡¯s attention was completely arrested. Mystified, he stared at the number of lit candles. The grand ecclesiarch counted them again, then twice for affirmation, and unconsciously, a feral smile broke out on his face. His back had been facing the rest of the congregation, so almost none had seen it for the mere fractions of a second it happened.


    But Damien had.


    Despite his exhaustion, his body began shaking anew with rejuvenated fear of the short, portly deity standing before him.


    Slowly, the blood red wings of Archbishop Maxwell began to spread open from their perfectly folded resting state, arching upwards as if to cup the sky between them as he stood directly before the candelabra.


    A small orb of blinding yellow light began to form, hovering well above the ecclesiarch¡¯s head as the archbishop lifted his hands to the sky. Streams of burning fundamental energy from the 11 burning wicks flowed into the orb of light, changing its glow to match the color of Damien¡¯s fire.


    ¡°In the ancient days of blood and strife,¡± Archbishop Maxwell began, his deep rumbling voice magnified many decibels beyond normal by his magic, ¡°we Nephilim and our forebears fought with anger in our hearts, with violence in our souls, with hatred and evil in our magic. But with faith, with blood, with The Almighty, we prevailed. We survived. We prospered!¡±


    The archbishop closed his eyes and the light began to grow in size and intensity. ¡°Holy Jerrizah. First of the blessed Reapers. First of the Heavenly Emperors. Do you watch from the exalted lands? Does the hearts of the ancestors sing with glee and jubilation?¡±


    The light began to grow brighter as if answering the Archbishop¡¯s questions. At this point, Damien had to avert his gaze. The shaking of his did not stop.


    ¡°Hark!¡± the choir of helmeted ecclesiarchy hailed, ¡°Hark! The glory of The Lord is at hand!¡±


    ¡°Do the angels of The Almighty bear witness? Does heaven, recognize its son?¡± the bishop¡¯s voice continued, raising in intensity as the light now shone with painful brightness.


    ¡°Hark! Hark! The glory of The Lord is at hand!¡± the choir chanted again.


    ¡®


    Peering into the congregation, Damien¡¯s breath caught in his mouth. Hundreds of shimmering platinum and diamond blue eyes stared back at him. Unblinking, unbothered by the harsh light. The entire crowd had angelized at some point during the ceremony. The mass of so much heavenly power amassed into one small temple, shone with a horrifyingly punishing intensity.


    What light could be harsher, than that of salvation and forgiveness itself?


    ¡°The Earthly Host recognizes its son,¡± every voice responded as one.


    Each angelized Nephilim spoke in a voice that was compounded millions of times, across millions of tones and annunciations. When they spoke all together, it was as an ocean of heavenly voices, an army¡­ the might of heaven itself¡­


    ¡°Then who is he!?¡± the archbishop screamed, his eyes burning with brown, heavenly light, mirroring the brown fire that was still pillared around the exhausted boy.


    ¡°He is the son of The Terror!¡± the army responded, unmasking him.


    ¡°The blade of Gera!¡± they screamed, shackling Damien to his fate.


    ¡°The Defender!¡± They cried, ¡°First, to rise! Last to die! For Heaven! For Gera! For The Almighty!¡±


    The light reached its zenith, quaking under the weight of its own immense light until it burst. Silently, the oppressive force of light shattered into a rain of trillions of softly falling, sparkling lights. Above the archbishop¡¯s head, where the light had previously been, was a small, glowing, crystalline chalice.


    ¡°So you have proclaimed,¡± came the thunderous voice of the only Nephilim other than Damien who hadn¡¯t yet angelized. The archbishop continued.


    ¡°So the venerated, holy ancestors of old have testified, and so heaven hath ordained¡­¡±


    The chalice softly descended till it landed in the hands of the grand ecclesiarch.


    ¡°And now,¡± his voice came, thundering into Damien¡¯s ears like the howls of damned souls, ¡°by the sacred chrism, with which you shall be anointed upon your honored death, I will anoint thee. Before the master of earth and sky, before the hymns of strife and joy¡­ thou shall be bathed in the merciful, saving light of The Empress and The Almighty. And thou shall give unto Gera, your life.¡±


    Damien wanted to puke. A great and terrible fear like he¡¯d never known prior overtook him. Though the ecclesiarch¡¯s eyes and fire glowed with the might of heaven, all the prince could see, was a demon.


    Cruel and malignant.


    Approaching him.


    Reaching for his soul.


    Damien wanted to flee.


    He would run through the wall of thick, brown, heavenly fire madly thrashing and screaming, if only he would be free. If only he didn¡¯t have to stay another moment in front of the archbishop.


    But duty held him in place.


    Service to his people, to his empire, to his mother¡¯s honor, glued his legs to the altar, though they quivered terribly in fear.


    The 13 year old knew he still had much to learn about the world, but in that moment he knew one thing for sure, he did not want that ecclesiarch to touch his soul and anoint him. He did not want any that could condone extermination of their own kind with a smile, to recite verses of love, sacrifice, honor, righteousness and duty to him.


    It sickened him. To his very core.


    But, for the sake of his people, the imperial crown prince raised his quivering chin, and stared down the demon as it approached him, cornered like a rat in a cage of fire.


    And yet, embers of that same fire burned deep within the defiant eyes of the child scion.


    The pillar of brown fire burst apart, and suddenly the bishop stood before Damien.


    Though the prince stood a full 3 inches taller than the archbishop¡¯s 5¡¯2¡±, his presence loomed over Damien like that of a leviathan. Reading the man¡¯s divine aura was as unnecessary as it was impossible for Damien.


    ¡°Kneel,¡± came the thunderous voice of the archbishop. It reverberated throughout the entire soundless chapel. Though the short man had barely spoken above room level, the sheer presence he commanded, backed by the swarm of still angelized Nephilim of all backgrounds, encircled around him in a ring of oppressive, shimmering platinum, robbed the last of Damien¡¯s willpower. The prince¡¯s exhausted body and mind gave out, and he crashed to his knees.


    In that moment, his bravado gave out.


    A single tear fell from his eye.


    ¡®Save¡­ me¡­¡¯ was the last thought his brain could process, before a massive explosion of white hot light erupted behind the archbishop.


    In one second, hundreds of pairs of eyes turned in unison to face the sudden explosion of light, and in the next second, hundreds of mouths hung agape, as before them, hovering at the altar, was a 7 meter tall winged figure.


    It was beautiful, beyond all comprehension. The massive, flowing, simplistic white robes it wore, tied in place by a simple string belt, belied the causally oppressive yet strangely loving aura it gave off. The powerful, ashen gray and gold chestplate adorning its torso, matched the holy majesty of the halo of light emanating from behind its head. From its right hand, a long, golden chain held a large incense burner, billowing a strange yellow smoke that instantly soothed and calmed Damien¡¯s ragged body, in its left, was a massive, burning sword and from its back were 4 massive, white wings. But it was not for any of these things that Damien would be able to name the being that had manifested before him, he would always recognize those shimmering platinum and diamond blue eyes anywhere he went.


    After all a sea of them were currently also staring at the massive being.


    The being spoke, but only to the child kneeling fearfully before it. Only, into his mind. Almost like a hard command as much as a warm, heartfelt greeting.


    ¡®Do not be afraid.¡¯


    ¡°...angel¡­¡± the child prince whispered breathlessly, his mind thoroughly shattered.


    ¡°Ayo! Is that a motherfucking Power?!¡± Lady Michelle screamed in her multi-hundred, angelized voice, breaking the paused serenity of the event.


    A sea of shimmering platinum and diamond blue eyes turned to her disapprovingly, including the angel¡¯s own.


    ¡°Sorry,¡± she squeaked, again in her exalted, heavenly voice. Averting her gaze quickly and looking to the ground shamefully, she quickly drew the hood of her black battle coat over her simmering platinum hair.


    ¡°Indeed, honored daughter of Heaven,¡± the great figure spoke.


    Its voice put anything the effect of angelization did to the Nephilim¡¯s own to shame. Its tone was singular, distinct, melodic and true. Yet held so much more regality and beauty than anything even the deities of the Mortal Realms could fathom. It came reverberating throughout all of their minds the same time as the being said them physically. It was a voice that if any listened carefully, could be heard amongst the scores of chanting ones within each and every Nephilim¡¯s own heavenly fire.


    Immediately all eyes snapped back to the exalted denizen of light, Lady Michell¡¯s outburst instantly forgotten.


    ¡°Indeed, I am a Power,¡± it proclaimed. Turning its great head and billowing brown hair back to face Damien, it continued. ¡°Child of Heaven, Son of the Archangel Metatron. Son of Jerrizah and D¡¯Amorn. Son of Saint Hoaquin,¡± it spoke aloud, ¡°Behold. I am Jurael, defender of the throne, Power of The Almighty, and herald to Their most holy, loving and sacred will. I will anoint you. Thus, says the Lord.¡±


    ¡°Amen.¡± came an almost immediate, unconscious reply from the mouths of every Nephilim, including Damien, despite himself. Though his came as a hushed whisper.


    ¡°B-but,¡± interjected the voice of Archbishop Maxwell, reminding the entire congregation that had completely forgotten he was even still there.


    ¡°Silence ecclesiarch,¡± Jurael commanded, turning to deliver a withering stare towards the short man, ¡°unless¡­ thou deign to perceive¡­ that thou knoweth more than The Almighty itself?¡±


    The archbishop sputtered silently, grasping for a million words, yet, for all of the man¡¯s mighty, divine, heavenly power, not a single word could be summoned before the angel of The Almighty. Even casual bursts of heavenly energy surrounding the great being, effortlessly trumped anything the archbishop could manifest.


    ¡°N- never,¡± the grand ecclesiarch managed to eek out, crashing to the beautiful altar floor on both knees, forehead pressed firmly to the floor. ¡°Never my Lord Power, how can a lowly Nephilim such as I ever question thy will, for it is the same as that of The Most High, itself!¡±


    Juriel looked down at the shaking, kneeling man with barely contained, lazy disgust.


    ¡°Then I will say it only once more, ecclesiarch,¡± the angel said, its powerful voice crushing the archbishop under oceans of tremendous heavenly power, ¡°I WILL ANOINT HIM, SO SAYS THE LORD. NOW FLEE MY SIGHT!¡±


    The archbishop ran to the back of the temple so fast, diving to hide behind a pew, that Damien could¡¯ve sword he¡¯d teleported instead.


    ¡®Damn,¡¯ the prince thought amazed, in a weak attempt to sooth his erratically surging anxiety, ¡®I didn¡¯t know gramps could book it like that.¡¯


    Looking back down at Damien, the great angel stared into the boy nephilim¡¯s eyes.


    Golden and blue eyes met emotionless shimmering platinum and diamond blue ones, and for what felt like eons, time slowed to a crawl. Reaching out with a hand, the massive angel beconned the floating, shining crystal chalice of sacred chrism up towards itself from where the Archbishop had left it in his haste to flee. Slowly Juriel raised its sword and plunged the blade into the chalice. Though the chalice wasn¡¯t much larger than a regular one, albeit it was slightly larger, the entire 6 foot sword disappeared into the floating cup.


    When Juriel spoke next, it was thundering, overpowering. As if every word casually spoken by the Power came from The Almighty itself, threatening to tear Damien atom from atom. Thundering all around him and yet, only within his head.


    ¡°Damien Son of D¡¯amorn, for countless generations your family has served the heavenly host and The Almighty,¡± the angel boomed, ¡°and for countless generations more, lost to time, the Nephilim have continued to prove themselves as Heaven¡¯s greatest failure¡­ and yet still, its greatest pride.¡±


    Damien¡¯s head that had dropped in shame snapped back up in surprise. On the face of the angel, was the barest of a smile.


    ¡°Let the blade guide you,¡± Juriel proclaimed aloud, lifting the chalice. ¡°Let the shield bear you. Let the kingdom be thy strength. Let the mighty legions be thy wisdom,¡± the angel tipped the chalice over, and a long, slender stream of silver blood fell forth and splattered onto Damien¡¯s forehead, drenching him, soaking completely into his body.


    ¡°Let the Song of Creation embrace you,¡± Juriel whispered, ¡°and let The Most High, light thy fire. Roar little one, show heaven thy power.¡±


    Immediately every orifice, every cell of the prince¡¯s body, exploded with rose gold fire.


    But Damien didn¡¯t scream, there was no need to. There was no fear, no anxiety, no pain.


    No pain.


    He couldn¡¯t remember the last time unlocking anything related to his powers and magic hadn''t been painful.


    As his aura swelled to twice, five times, eventually to 10 times its original size, Damien¡¯s fundamental energy and his mortal energies exploded and mixed. As one, unified front, the prince¡¯s internal energies tore his body asunder as they finally surged forth from his body in a beautiful cacophony of multicolored flashes of lights within a massive wave of rose golden energy.


    Though Damien would never know it, at that exact moment, millions of statues all over Gera, statues of great heroes, saints and royals began to glow with immense rose golden light. Billions of Nephilim would stare perplexed, deeply confused about what the strange phenomenon could mean. But, deep within a massive palace, in a private room, in front of a great, blood red fire, a woman seated in a massive throne, momentarily paused from the Wanderroot tea she had been drinking, and smiled slightly.


    Time slowed to a crawl.


    Damien felt his body fall away to ash. But there was still no pain.


    A scratchy feeling crawling across what was left of his face brought his slowly fading conscious racing back to reality.


    The itching grew and grew in intensity until Damien actually began screaming¡­ but it was in a voice that was not his own.


    It was the multi hundred voice of his SuperComputer¡­ of his angelic angelization¡­.


    The itching sensation turned to a horrific burning feeling. Heavenly fire had somehow inched across Damien¡¯s face, completely engulfing it, turning him into a floating, burning, screaming head, hovering amid the turbulent mass of burning energies his body had once been.


    Slowly, the fire consuming his face, began sucking in the energy around Damien. As the flames hungrily and greedily lapped up the prince¡¯s power, the flames began to cool, and Damien¡¯s body began to reform.


    The boy that had once been anxiously kneeling before the massive angel, shrouded in uncomfortable ritual robes, was gone. In his place, stood a true avatar of light. An angelic being, swaddled in new shining, golden robes. A being, with shimmering platinum hair and eyes bearing diamond blue, cold, unfeeling pupils peered out from beneath a mask of black bone obstructing his face. Unblinking, he stared down the crowd and the massive angel, all of whom, bore the same shimmering platinum and diamond blue eyes as he. The mask that obscured his face was a thing of heavenly beauty.


    It had a smooth, polished, onyx black surface. Swirling rose gold patterns and runes alight with burning energy adorned its surface, and from it, within it, all could feel the roar of the prince¡¯s heavenly fire. Perfectly stable and safely tucked away, his heavenly fire stood at attention within the mask, silently waiting for the prince to beacon them forth. Ready to mercilessly scour the life from anything that wrought his ire with a fury and vengeance only Heaven could bestow.


    It wasn¡¯t hard to deduce that the scythe held lovingly, yet always at attention in his hands, held a significant part of that threat.


    The collective silence as the crowd of Nephilim beheld the scythe of their crown prince, was deafening.


    6 feet of beautiful white and black material lay in his hands. Ending in a massive, clear blue front blade, connected to a cleaver style, short back blade, it was as all Nephilim weapons, angelic beauty intertwined with heavenly wrath and death. Upon the front blade, was a faint etching of words etched into every Nephilim¡¯s angelized weapon.


    ¡°Noli me tollere sine causa,¡± came the booming heavenly voice of Juriel, full of reverence. The angel bowed its great head, lifting a hand to cover its heart, ¡°noli me ponere sine honore.¡±


    ¡°Do not pick me up without cause,¡± Damien repeated automatically, ¡°do not put me down, without honor.¡±


    Upon the thunderous, yet reserved reply of amen from the crowd, Damien could feel his consciousness roar back to life, waking him out of the trance-like state he¡¯d stuck in since he¡¯d transformed.


    For a moment, the boy prince just stood, dumbfounded. Unconsciously he reached for his aura and his inner realm and felt, for the first time in his life, the full extent of his innate power. Through the blessed, long awaited union of his Reaper¡¯s mask, and his scythe, Damien finally could access 100% of the magic stored away within him since his birth. 100% of his refined, cultivated power. 100% of the Nephilim he was always meant to be. The son of Hoaquin. The son of the Terror.


    Softly, Juriel smiled down at Damien.


    ¡°Little one, little warrior, little angel¡± it called to him, ¡°give unto The Almighty thy power and thyself, and unto thou, the entire glory of Heaven will be given. May all of its might shall strike down thy enemies. So says The Great One.¡±


    Juriel lifted its blade to Damien¡¯s forehead.


    ¡°Speak, Reaper, son of The Grim Angel,¡± Juriel commanded softly, ¡°and let all bear witness to thy will.¡±


    Damien could feel all eyes on him, but it was of little concern to the prince. He wouldn¡¯t be able to recall what gave him such conviction in that moment. Maybe it was all the heavenly fire that would normally be burning everything around him to cinders while fervently praising The Almighty, locked safely behind his mask. Maybe it was the power and reverberation of his strength that had manifested as his beautiful scythe inflating his tortured and broken ego. Maybe it was finally touching his full power, and swearing then and there to himself to never be taken advantage of again. But the answer was of little importance. In that moment, behind a beautiful pitch black mask, shimmering platinum and clear, diamond blue eyes, stared back at Juriel¡¯s own, unblinking, unwavering.


    And the boy prince responded.


    ¡°Unto The Great One, I give myself,¡± Damien whispered, still unaccustomed to the strange, exalted voice coming forth from behind his mask, through his now angelic lips. ¡°Unto Heaven and Gera,¡± he continued raising his scythe into the air, with one hand, ¡°I give my scythe, my heavenly fire, my blood. Till my eyes forever close, and I join my heavenly ancestors in the ancestral planes.¡±


    ¡°Then take the gift prepared for you by your forebears and serve heaven well,¡± Juriel finished. The Power began to shine with unimaginable intensity, yet all of the angelized Nephilim continued staring, unblinking, unbothered. A harsh, yet beautiful song tore through Damien¡¯s mind and for a moment, all he could see was¡­ red. Instantly liquifying and restoring his brain, millions of times over in fractions of seconds.


    And then, with an epic, resounding thunderclap, Juriel¡¯s glowing form collapsed in on itself, and the great being vanished.


    ¡°OH. MY. GOD!¡± Lady Michelle shrieked, pointing at the swaying, stumbling form of Damien leaning on his scythe for support, brutally mauling the peaceful serenity that had befallen the temple.


    ¡°HIS WINGS! HE HAS THE BLADED WINGS!¡±


    Resounding gasps of shock echoed throughout the temple, one even escaped the lips of Damien himself as he turned to look at his massive, white wings.


    Immediately, the memory of Emperor Jerrizah standing lone sentry above his warband of refugees and warragged warriors from various Nephilim races, as they scurried for their lives amid the perpetual hellscape of war that the Nephilim races had turned the Earth of the far ancient past into. The same white wings bearing beautiful, glinting swords masquerading as large, white feathers, were now attached to Damein¡¯s back. If there had been any remaining doubts among any witnessing about the crown prince¡¯s ancestry, they had been soundly quashed.


    The prince stared at his new wings wonderstruck.


    One hand released its grip on his scythe, and brushed against his now blade-like feathers. Damien knew with one look that the wicked sharp edge each feather now bore, would stop at nothing to carve down his enemies. And yet, as the boy prince found, poking his finger against their edges and eventually squeezing a hand softly around a bundle of his larger feathers, the blades refused to cut him. Not even a minor nick was left upon his hand.


    ¡°Wow,¡± Damien breathed, lost in deep fascination.


    ¡°Wow indeed, Your Highness,¡± came a deep voice that ripped Damien from his fascination with deep fear.


    The super heightened reflexes of his properly angelized state had caused Damien to blow himself away from the voice with a powerful burst of his bladed wings. Hefting his scythe defensively, the crown prince¡¯s aura instantly roared to life, exploding around Damien in a massive rose golden pillar of burning light. All before a single thought had the time to form in Damien¡¯s mind.


    Damien found himself glad for the weird, black, smooth reaper mask obscuring his face. At least no one had to see how badly he wanted to shit his pants in that moment.


    ¡°Woah Your Highness, be at peace,¡± Archbishop Maxwell said, hurriedly raising his hands before him.


    Even in Damien¡¯s new exalted state, even with the first emperor¡¯s bladed wings, even still standing a calm 5¡¯5¡± to the Archbishop¡¯s 5¡¯2¡±, Damien felt a deep, primal fear of the Grand Ecclesiarch that had not subsided. In fact, since his angelization, Damien could swear, it had increased.


    Though, a thought shot through the veil of tormenting thoughts haunting the child prince¡¯s horrified mind.


    ¡®Don¡¯t offend the ecclesiarch Your Highness,¡¯ Damien could recall Lord Henry saying to him all those days ago, amid the small dayroom.


    With the balance of power between the royal families and the Illuminated Ecclesiarchy being as currently strained as it was, the royals couldn¡¯t afford the consequences. Were they to have the loyalty of the noble houses and the lesser royal thrones tested or the allegiance of their Holy Saints put into question if conflict between the Imperial throne and the Illuminated Ecclesiarchy were to break out, even over an unintentional slight from the Imperial Crown Prince, a civil war to end all civil wars would likely be imminent.


    Damien¡¯s nerves were firing on all pistons. His newly exalted, angelic body silenced the terrible quaking that would¡¯ve made him drop his scythe, as the prince fought his every flight and fight reflex to slowly lower his defensively raised weapon.


    ¡°Good, Your Highness,¡± the archbishop cooed, raising a glowing hand, ¡°let me bestow upon the future emperor of our great empire, a gift, a blessing courtesy of the Illuminated Ecclesiarchy.¡±


    All the prince could see was the glowing hand of the archbishop approaching him. He didn¡¯t know why, but everything within Damien was screaming at him, not to let that glowing hand touch him.


    Closing his eyes shut, Damien resigned himself to his fate.


    At the last few moments before the glowing hand of the ecclesiarch fell upon his masked forehead, Damien whimpered, quietly, wretchedly, begging the universe for a savior.


    ¡°No¡­¡±


    Instantly, a sea of shadows fell over Damien. Opening his eyes slowly he saw the glowing, glorious angelized figures of Lord Henry, Lady Michelle, and his Grand Courtier and stood at attention around him. Like a personal squad of warrior angels, they were all brandishing their heavenly weapons, protecting their crown prince. In Henry¡¯s bony, skeletal hands was his wooden scythe, held at the ready. Lady Michelle bore 4 powerful, burgundy wings that blocked Damien from sight while a long, thin, golden rapier burned with viscous, purple heavenly fire. The hawkish features that her expressionless, angelized face, beautifully chiseled with righteous malice, had adopted, peered thinly with barely kept rage at the archbishop. The Grand Courtier¡¯s milky brown skin was hidden within a massive, 7ft suit of silver, glowing exalted armor. The pitch black battle cape the Grand Courtier usually wore, had come alive. It had grown to cover his new, taller, bulkier angelized, armored form, roaring to life with great angelic power as it met the surging aura of the Nephilim within. The runes embossed across the Grand Courtier¡¯s armor¡¯s thick, heavy plates, growled with an angry, teal heavenly fire. Though Damien couldn¡¯t see the deity¡¯s face behind the large helmet that obscured his head, the tightness with which the deity gripped his massive, shimmering warhammer, clued the boy in to how the Grand Courtier was probably feeling.


    ¡®Huh, so not all religious zealots are on the same side apparently,¡¯ came Damien¡¯s intrusive thoughts, despite the near constant ringing in his exhausted head.


    Lord Jorie¡¯s skeletal right hand held the archbishop¡¯s in a death grip and his half skull, angelic face, devoid of a reaper¡¯s mask stared down at the ecclesiarch unblinking. His normally red hair and beard were now shimmering platinum, and dark violet heavenly fire softly lapped up the rod of his rocky scythe.


    ¡°Ecclesiarch,¡± Lord Jorie said in his exalted voice, emotionless, ¡°I believe the crown prince said he would not appreciate the blessing.¡± A faint but definite sense of malice crept into the lord¡¯s voice, ¡°I hope you¡¯re not assuming your will is above that of His Heavenly Highness, the Imperial Crown Prince Damien?¡±


    The archbishop leered at the tall lord in return.


    ¡°Smells like an Astallon,¡± the short Nephilim replied, waving a hand before his face, ¡°release me Lord Viscount. I have done nothing out of line, I am simply doing my duty and blessing a future saint of the Illuminated Ecclesiarchy!¡±


    Wrenching his wrist free, the Archbishop turned to face the crowd. Lifting his hands to the air he cried out, ¡°behold, the wings of the First Saint! Heaven has blessed our prince! The soul of Holy Jerrizah has blessed our prince! And so, Heaven itself has blessed Gera! As it once blessed our blessed Empress Hoaquin!¡± A wave of murmurs of agreement, some reserved, some more enthusiastic, began bubbling up amid the crowd.


    Turning back to face the 4 deities still protecting Damien, he clicked his tongue.


    ¡±Tsk, now now,¡± he admonished with a warm, hearty, fatherly chuckle, ¡°is it so wrong to give an extra blessing to our great scion? Was there ever a time that too much protection proved a bad thing?¡±


    Lord Jorie sighed slightly.


    ¡°I know you ecclesiarchs have hearing problems and issues with being told no,¡± the angelized viscount gravely voice boomed dangerously, ¡°but I would be really disappointed if I had to educate an elder on manners.¡±


    Archbishop Maxwell seethed at the barely veiled threat.


    ¡°Are you pulling rank? upon me?¡± he asked incredulously, a dangerous smile tugged at the corners of his lips, ¡°does the rank of Lord High General really fill your head with such empty fantasies¡­ boy?¡±


    The old man laughed heartily, shaking his head as if he¡¯d been told the most ridiculous story he¡¯d ever heard. ¡°Incase you¡¯ve forgotten, we have more than a few Lord High Generals enlightened under our churches, Holy Lord Viscount.¡±


    ¡°Oh no,¡± Lord Jorie chuckled merrily, though his exalted voice was completely devoid of mirth. ¡°I would never dream of pulling a rank as meaningless as Lord High General over one such as, you. But¡­¡±


    Lord Jorie smiled evilly, tilting his head innocently, ¡°what about Nightmare Rank 1?¡±


    A visible wave of shock tore through the entire temple.


    Even the 3 divine Nephilim protecting their crown prince were visibly shaken.


    ¡°Brother¡­¡± Henry whispered, fear somehow evident on his expressionless half covered angelic face, ¡°how?¡­¡±


    Lord Jorie simply winked and stuck out a tongue at him.


    Recovering from his shock, Archbishop Maxwell growled with rage. ¡°You dare attempt a lie so egregious as that! Lord High General Astallon?! On behalf of the Empress, I should have you exe-.¡±


    His screams of rage died in his throat as the eyes of not only the Grand Ecclesiarch, but also the entire temple bore witness to a gray, skull shaped medallion held around Lord Jorie¡¯s neck with a simple, golden linked chain. Upon the skull¡¯s forehead, was a simple, golden number 1.


    Color drained from the Archbishop¡¯s face. Sweat began heavily perspiring, soiling the Nephilim¡¯s perfectly preened robes. Immediately Archbishop Maxwell fell to his knees before Lord Jorie, shaking with fear.


    ¡°Any more proof needed?¡± Lord Jorie asked sweetly, eyes closed.


    ¡°NO!¡± the Archbishop screamed involuntarily, ¡°I-I mean, no¡­ My Lord. Forgive me my insolence.¡±


    ¡°Awe, don''t worry¡­ boy,¡± Lord Jorie replied down at the kneeling man, dropping to a squat till he was just above Archbishop Maxwell¡¯s head. With the largest, most shameless shit eating grin plastered on his angelic face, making the Nephilim viscount appear demonic and insane, Lord Jorie studied his prey mercilessly, enjoying his suffering. ¡°It¡¯s not everyday that one such as you gets an audience before the Empress¡¯ right hand. The 2nd strongest within the entire empire.¡±


    Losing the childish voice he spoke with empty, commanding wrath, ¡°I alone speak for Her Heavenly Majesty, Empress Hoaquin. And she says, begone.¡±

 Chapter 9: Son of the Terror pt. 3

    Henry brushed aside a cloud of dandelion tufts swaying gently in the late winter wind. The divine nephilim lord gazed levelly at the 13 year old prince, halfway to being 14, seated upon his magically imbued stone, cultivating beside the lord¡¯s older, also divine brother.


    ¡®He¡¯s growing at a decent pace,¡¯ Henry admitted to himself begrudgingly, ¡®but he¡¯s still nowhere near the level of his cousins, nor the other 6 imperial houses¡¯ princes and princesses.¡¯


    Henry¡¯s brow creased slightly, a millions thoughts raced through his head, hidden behind his perfect golden and blue eyes.


    ¡®Not to mention the lesser royals,¡¯ he groaned inwardly, ¡®nor the scions of the noble houses, nor even the rising stars of the Illuminated Ecclesiarchy¡¯s acolytes. It will be a massive pain¡­ unless¡­¡¯


    The lord was momentarily ripped from his pondering as a sudden explosion of power rocked the gentle grotto that safely hid the Sympathetic Ground the two were cultivating in.


    His brother¡¯s form had barely changed, as the viscount remained meditating unbothered as if nothing had happened, but Prince Damien had changed massively. It had been a week since Damien¡¯s anointing ceremony, but Henry had never forgotten its events. Not once. After all, it wasn¡¯t often an Archbishop of the Illuminated Ecclesiarchy was brought to heel, especially not one as old or as influential as Archbishop Theodorus Maxwell.


    And yet even that was a moot point.


    The presence of an angel¡­ especially a Power was not something that was ever taken lightly by any in the Mortal Realms, especially not by the Nephilim. Especially when the visitor was one of the holy exalted closest to the throne of The Almighty itself. A creature that had actually seen the great being with its own holy eyes appearing and personally anointing the crown prince, had caused a massive ripple effect to take place across the entire congregation of those at the manor. Though each and every last Nephilim chosen to staff the manor had been sworn, threatened, and hexed to secrecy many times over as to not reveal the existence of the imperial crown prince, it didn¡¯t stop them from feverishly conversing amongst themselves about the miracle they had witnessed.


    Even though none of the manor staff could answer any of the myriad calls pouring in nonstop from their friends and families about the strange glowing of the many great statues, while feigning ignorance, they still gossiped shamelessly about how the strange event had rocked the entire empire. Every faction with any sort of power was expecting something big to happen, yet none knew what.


    Lazily, Henry¡¯s eyes drifted from Prince Damien¡¯s jet black reaper mask, hiding the imperial crown prince¡¯s angelized face, down to his bladed wings. The soft reflections of light bouncing off each individual razor sharp, blade-like feather arrested Henry¡¯s attention like a bear trap.


    Those wings that had thoroughly expunged the silently growing discomfort and discontent Henry had been sensing coming through the intents of some of the many flavors of Nephilim staffing the D¡¯amorn house manor, had also reignited the lord¡¯s beliefs in the top secret plans that had once seemed nothing short of absolute madness. Even when Empress Hoaquin herself had personally briefed the noble on what she needed him to do, the divine lord¡¯s mind screamed in fear behind the cool, collected exterior with which he returned the great being¡¯s level gaze.


    Even when he¡¯d first met Damien, Henry couldn''t help but feel in some deep recesses of his divine mind, that he was being played for a fool. Sure seeing the young boy wielding heavenly fire and alchemy of all things before his 13th birthday had shocked the lord to his core, part of him remained pragmatic and unbelieving that this ignorant little shrimp was actually the blood heir of the current strongest.


    But now he had seen with his own eyes the same wings that hadn¡¯t graced the world of the living in hundreds of thousands of years, everything was different. The same wings that had once held aloft Holy Jerrizah eons ago, a being that at his peak was the first to ever be formally titled the strongest mage in the Mortal Realms, were now resting gently folded on the back of the son of the 16th being to hold the title of the strongest mage in the Mortal Realms.


    The light of hope began to burn in Henry¡¯s eyes. Hope¡­ and something else¡­


    But, as Prince Damien and Viscont Jorie opened their eyes, having finished the prince¡¯s morning cultivation, the look was immediately expunged from Henry¡¯s eyes, just as quickly as it had appeared.


    ¡°My lord,¡± Henry called to his imperial crown prince, ¡°how has acclimating to your true angelization been going?¡±


    Damien stared at his fingers in disbelief, slowly turning them around as his angelized state slowly faded back to normal.


    ¡°It¡­ it feels like I¡¯ve been asleep my entire life, with my eyes wide open,¡± the boy prince whispered, ¡°but now, now that I can actually feel 100% of my aura, of my internal energies, it feels like my eyes are finally able to see¡­ everything¡­¡±


    ¡°Well said shrimp!¡± Lord Jorie laughed, thoroughly ruffling Damien¡¯s hair, ¡°you¡¯re definitely on the right track to growth now, and even better, you¡¯re no longer in danger of exploding from your own power!¡±


    Damein laughed shakily, giving the viscount a sharp, beaming smile.


    ¡°Brother, lest not your merriment blind you,¡± Henry said formally, hands folded patiently before him, ¡°there¡¯s still two more things left to do before the prince¡¯s teachers arrive.¡±


    A whining groan elicited another roaring laugh from Lord Jorie.


    ¡°Henny¡¯s right though boyo,¡± Viscount Astallon jeered at the prince, eliciting a stink face from Damien, ¡°you still have yet to actually fly, and we still need to attune your angelization.¡±


    ¡°Attune?¡± Damien asked blankly.


    Flying he had anticipated, hell even broken out into cold sweats at night dreaming of. But he had no idea what the hell attuning his angelization meant, much less what it would even entail.


    ¡°Is it gonna be painful?¡± he asked in a small voice, wincing slightly.


    Henry and Lord Jorie both paused for a moment. Each Astallon shared the same look of deep pondering, looking upwards slightly while each stroked their scarlet red beards.


    ¡°Kinda?¡± Lord Jorie replied.


    ¡°Maybe a little?¡± Henry offered with a simple shrug.


    ¡°Awwwwwwwww,¡± Damien groaned.


    This time both Astallon brothers chuckled slightly.


    ¡°Fear not, sire,¡± Henry said soothingly, sending waves of calming emotion to the disturbed young prince, ¡°this is the last of the ceremonies for quite a while, and the best part is we don¡¯t even need any of the Ecclesiarchy here to do it.¡±


    Lord Jorie nodded silently. Damien looked between both lords and slowly uncurled his folded arms, lifting his sour expression slightly. It wasn¡¯t often that the two brothers were in agreement about much of anything, so seeing them so in tune, disarmed Damien¡¯s fear, even when he wasn¡¯t looking forward to what was coming next.


    Well that wasn¡¯t completely true.


    The idea that there was another, deeper aspect to the awesome new world his proper angelization had given him, filled a part of him with crazed glee.


    ¡®There really is something wrong with me,¡¯ he groaned internally.


    ¡°When do we do it then?¡± Damien asked tentatively.


    ¡°Tonight my lord, beneath the full moon, one week from your anointing ceremony, as it is typically done in the old way,¡± Henry answered sagely.


    ¡°Full moon¡­¡± Damien muttered softly, robotically.


    Instantly a memory of Jessica blasted forth into his mind, destroying his fears. Her last words she¡¯d told him nearly a year ago now, resounded again overpoweringly in his head. She would become a goddess, a warrior princess of the Ruby Force, and she would be waiting for Damien at the top of the ladder of mages of the Mortal Realms. Waiting expectantly for her boyfriend. Waiting to challenge the universe together, Mortal Realms and the Divine Realms, hand in hand, without any fear.


    Intense shame tore through Damien, both at forgetting the words of his diligent girlfriend, and at allowing himself to ever be pussy enough to groan at a chance to get stronger. Especially, after everything he¡¯d promised Jessica, his mother, and Ma LaCroix.


    The divine Astallon brothers said nothing.


    Both could easily perceive the turbulent mess of emotions subconsciously radiating forth from Prince Damien¡¯s turbulent intent, and though neither knew the true depth of his emotions, neither noble was fool enough to ruin the moment for him. The look of absolute determination that slowly engraved itself into every part of Damien¡¯s face, told them their insight had been correct.


    With a deft nod Damien replied in a steady, clear voice, ¡°thank you my lords, I¡¯m in your care.¡±


    Henry bowed, formally saluting his imperial crown prince as Lord Jorie broke out in a warm, genuine smile, also bowing to the prince.


    Reaching out, the viscount again softly ruffled the prince¡¯s hair again, breaking Damein¡¯s stoic face.


    ¡°All in due time, sire,¡± Lord Jorie said softly, ¡°first, you have some homework to do.¡±


    Damien¡¯s face turned from annoyance, from getting his hair continuously messed up, quickly back to deep intrigue.


    ¡°I want you to go around the manor grounds and talk to the staff,¡± Viscount Astallon continued, ¡°it¡¯s high time you formally educated yourself on the 7 remaining races of the Nephilim and their distinct angelizations. How best to do that, then to talk to them yourself?¡±


    Damien gasped, horrified.


    He could obviously see the sense in the viscount¡¯s words, but Damien knew he wasn¡¯t the best at interacting with others. His childhood of intense loneliness was a severe understatement and testament to that fact. Though Damien had to constantly fight feelings of intense anxiety from always being the center of attention over the past year no matter where he went, he knew he needed to break that habit once and for all. If he were to really grow, to fully step into his birthright as the first and only son of Hoaquin, to be the Empire of Gera¡¯s next ruling monarch, its emperor, then talking to a bunch of staff was going to be the very least of his social challenges for the literal rest of his life.


    However short or long it happened to be.


    Giving a shaky, long sigh, Damien nodded, with a slightly trembling bottom lip. With the energy of rose golden heavenly fire burning in his golden and blue eyes, Damien nodded.


    He would succeed. He had to succeed.


    ¡°Good lad,¡± Lord Jorie laughed, thumping Damien heavily on his shoulder, ¡°you have until 1, have fun!¡±


    ***


    Damien shuffled awkwardly around the large campus of the manor. His feet felt like lead, and his heart beat in his ears, but still he trudged onward. Eventually, Damien¡¯s aimless wandering through the large gardens led him to a secluded section sporting a large, opulent gazebo. He hadn¡¯t been able to sense many auras but he¡¯d largely expected that since he was still so much weaker than many of the weakest staff members. While Damien had verified only about 20 of the 300 staff members to actually be gods, the rest were still sages, demi-divine mages boasting auras far beyond Damien¡¯s current comprehension, or very powerful mortal mages. Not being able to sense their auras didn¡¯t stop him from hearing the raving voices and wild laughter coming from the lone structure however.


    Working up his nerve Damien crept forward towards the voices.


    ¡°And then Roma¡¯s dumbass actually threw a fireball, wait for it, at the fucking cinder-mauler!¡±


    The group of soldiers erupted again into heavy laughter.


    The large soldier clapped a younger, much smaller, female soldier who was blushing fiercely on the back heavily while laughing so hard tears were coming from his eyes.


    ¡°I swear to The Almighty, I still have absolutely no idea how we survived, at least without getting grilled well done!¡± the large soldier guffawed, ¡°with a co-captain like this one, ain¡¯t got no need for enemies!¡±


    ¡°Oy!¡± Roma shot back, swaggering up to the large soldier with a sassy look and a coy smile in her eyes, ¡°with a meat head like you as head captain, Marcos, the Einstien who actually almost ate a fucking fae fig, especially on a full moon might I add, I belive you owe me a few fuck ups.¡±


    The large nephilim soldier, Captain Marcos, held his hand up with a sheepish smile on his face as the group burst into another round of drunken roaring laughter.


    ¡°Um¡­¡± Damien¡¯s small voice cut in through the soldiers¡¯ merriment.


    ¡°What?!¡± Marcos yelled, annoyed and pissed off, turning around, ¡°can¡¯t you see we don¡¯t wanna be fucking fou-ou-ou, uhhhhhhhhhhhhh¡­¡±


    His face drained of all color, horror replacing his earlier boozed ease and merriment, his words dying on his lips.


    Instantly he and the rest of the soldiers dropped to one knee, right hands folded in a fist over their hearts, left fists pressed to the floor, heads bowed, in unison. Though none of them had even sensed him approaching, before them stood their imperial crown prince. None wanted to be on the chopping block for disrespecting His Heavenly Highness, along with sneaking away from their posts to drink and laugh unabated.


    Marcos nervously shifted to block the table full of shot glasses and drinks with his slightly extended large, barn owl-like wings. With a slightly damp forehead the captain asked nervously, ¡°um, what brings you here¡­ Your Highness?¡±


    ¡°Um¡­¡± Damien repeated again, shifting nervously, looking down in shame at having ruined the soldier¡¯s fun. ¡°I¡­ I just had some homework I needed help with¡­¡± he muttered, feeling like a complete asshole for ruining their fun.


    Captain Marcos had a deeply confused look on his face for a moment.


    ¡°Soooo,¡± he started slowly, ¡°you¡¯re not here intentionally looking for us or to punish us?¡±


    ¡°No no!¡± Damien answered hastily, shaking his hands and head vigorously, ¡°Lord Jorie just gave me some homework and said I had to ask around to get answers! I was just wandering around! And you guys¡­ were the first people I found that I wasn¡¯t afraid of approaching¡­¡±


    The raw, unfettered anxiety pouring forth from the crown prince¡¯s intent, told Marcos that the boy likely wasn¡¯t lying. He clearly was struggling just approaching them. Instantly the large nephilim laughed heartily and rose from his prostrating stance. The rest of the group of inebriated soldiers stared on in various states of horror, maintaining their bows, as the captain nuggied their imperial crown prince, throwing a thick arm the size of a barn door around the boy¡¯s shoulders and led him into the gazebo.


    As he passed Roma, Marcos motioned for her to stand. Sending her a psychic message through one of their many protected networks he commanded his co-captain, ¡®toss up a glamour, at least 20 layers deep, 3 keystones and a shifting foci.¡¯


    ¡®Aye sir,¡¯ she replied back over the network, accompanied with a quick nod.


    Turning back to face Damien, Marcus clapped him again on the shoulder, ¡°my Liege, I am Captain Marcos Du¡¯Reish, captain first class of the 18th legion¡¯s 3rd company. 8 time veteran of the Draconian Occupation.¡± He waved his other, massive, heavily muscled arm gesturing to the group of 6 other heavily inebriated soldiers clad in their black battle coats that were slowly, and shakily also getting to their feet. ¡°Crown Prince Damien D¡¯Amorn, meet the executive members of the 18th legion''s 3rd company.¡±


    Captain Marcos gestured to the soldier with glowing white hands, softly muttering chants, ¡°that¡¯s my Sub-Captain Roma Uresh, there¡¯s Jeremy Connors and his twin sister Erica Connors, they¡¯re my Lieutenant First Class operatives. That¡¯s Zachariah Barley but we call him Zach for short, he¡¯s my Lieutenant Second Class. That one¡¯s Paul Anothony S¡¯Aoan but we just call him Dumbass for short. He¡¯s my Master Sergeant and our Head Tactician so you know we¡¯re cooked.¡±


    The group nervously laughed, still incredibly fearful of having an imperial within their midst.


    ¡°And that shrimp is Damian Flaggan, he¡¯s my Sergeant First Class ¡± Captain Marcos gave a wide goofy smile, ¡°hey look sire, you two even have the same name!... Kinda!¡±


    The captain roared with laughter as Damien slowly waved at each soldier with a nervous smile, disarming their reservations. Slowly each soldier resumed their places at the circular table, retaking their places on the gazebo benches. Paul Anthony slowly reached for his shot glass, looking slowly between Captain Marcos and Damien for approval, when no rebuke came, he downed the rest of his drink and the others followed suit.


    ¡°My lord,¡± Roma called out to Damien, ¡°what homework did Lord High General, Lord Jorie give to you that requires our help anyway?¡±


    ¡°Indeed,¡± Captain Marcos asked, secretly downing another shot.


    Damien sat nervously between the massive Nephilim captain and Erica, twiddling his fingers.


    ¡°Well,¡± he began tentatively, ¡°I need to learn about the 7 Nephilim races and their angelizations.¡±


    ¡°Sire, forgive me,¡± Paul Anthony began slowly, ¡°but aren¡¯t you a little too old to be asking about this?¡±


    Damien looked down shamefully, regretting his choices instantly.


    The captain glimpsed the boy¡¯s reaction from the corner of the large man¡¯s eye.


    ¡°Sergeant Dumbass!¡± Captain Marcos roared, snapping Paul Anthony to attention, ¡°unless you want to do pushups till your arms quite literally fall off, grow back and fall off again, don¡¯t you dare question His Highness again! Sheesh at this rate you¡¯ll really never beat the allegations.¡±


    The group chuckled again as Zach slapped the Head Tactician on the back of his head, sending Paul Anthony¡¯s blond curls flying about.


    ¡°Sorry, m¡¯lord,¡± the soldier mumbled.


    ¡°No no!¡± Damien said hurriedly, ¡°don¡¯t apologize please. I know my knowledge is lacking, but I am in your care.¡± He looked around at the shocked faces of the soldiers, getting up he bowed to them and continued, ¡°In fact, I should apologize. To all of you. Thank you all so much for humoring my dumb request. I know I¡¯m not the best at being a prince, even less a crown prince, and even less so an imperial crown prince.¡± He raised his head, ¡°but I will do my best to learn, in hopes of becoming an emperor half as well liked and renowned as my mother seems to be, so I humbly ask for your help.¡±You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.


    None of the soldiers knew what to do. Even Rosa had paused where she stood, her task of erecting the complex glamour long forgotten.


    None of them had ever heard of a noble apologizing to a regular citizen. Even less had any of them ever even considered dreaming of a royal apologizing, for anything, to anyone but another royal. An imperial Nephilim would likely cut off and sell their own toes, before the thought of apologizing to a lesser royal would even occur to them. To see their next emperor bowing before them, apologizing for ruining their fun and earnestly begging for their aid, was a sight so far beyond reality that it immediately sobered up the entire group.


    ¡°My lord,¡± Roma called, directing the attention of those seated in the gazebo to where she stood on the grass, ¡°I think I could help and maybe ease the rest of my fellows to aid you.¡±


    She began to extend her beautiful 4, ashen gray, osprey wings.


    ¡°I am an Illia, we are children of the great Cherubim Jophiel,¡± she began with a curtsey, ¡°the sacred Cherubim are some of the most powerful angels in the great heavenly hierarchy,though their ranks have sadly included the many of likes of the Wretched Fallen who, ironically, became some of the most powerful devils after their heresy: Bune, Berith, Belial, Paimon, Moloch, Asmodeus, and even the first Satan, the first angel, oldest of the Archangels, the primordial Lucifer himself.¡±


    An eerie silence befell the group for a moment. Even Captain Marcos swallowed his next shot uneasily.


    Roma gave a slight sigh before continuing. ¡°If you know the legends, sire, my species'' heavenly Cherubim ancestors have heavily muscled, humanlike bodies, 4 wings, and 4 heads: one of a human; one of a lion, one of an ox, and one of an eagle. And so,¡± she said before an explosion of power came bursting forth from her body, turning her hair and eyes shimmering platinum, increasing the size and density of her muscles and changing her face to one of a divine lion, ¡°when an Illia angelizes, we take on one of the 3 animalistic faces of Blessed Jophiel, but only when an Illia truly masters their abilities, do they gain access to the angelic, human face of Jophiel, massively boosting our abilities. Regardless, our bloodline allows us to inherit a portion of his incredible affinities for fire and water..¡±


    Damien¡¯s eyes were wide as saucers.


    ¡°And that would make your heavenly fire stronger right?!¡± he asked with barely contained awe.


    Roma chuckled warmly, ¡°indeed Your Highness, astute observation.¡± She waved a hand in an arch motion and a spiraling, majestic arc of water and magenta heavenly fire manifested as her hand moved through the air. ¡°Our gifts allow us the strongest natural manifestation of heavenly fire amongst all Nephilim, at least when compared without any training,¡± she shrugged with another smile, ¡°and it allows us to be some of the best painters and cooks in the entire empire.¡±


    ¡°Ooh,¡± the boy gasped, ¡°that¡¯s why Lady Michelle is the Head Meal Proctor!¡±


    ¡°Well, not to disregard Lady Michelle¡¯s many years of service within the Legions of The Earthly Host or her immense magical control she has elevated to becoming a goddess of Gera,¡± Roma began slowly, before giving Damien a coy smile, ¡°but it doesn¡¯t hurt either when she knows she¡¯ll never burn a meal.¡±


    ¡°Ok, ok,¡± Captain Marcos interjected, ¡°let¡¯s break up this yap session before we waste all of His Highness¡¯ incredibly valuable time.¡±


    With a curt nod he dismissed Rosa to return to constructing her glamour. Waving a bottle around he called out, ¡°twins! You¡¯re up!¡±


    ¡°Aye Sir!¡± the two called out, snapping a salute before they both vanished in flashes of light, reappearing before the group at the entrance to the gazebo where Rosa previously stood.


    ¡°Greetings, Your Highness!¡± they chanted, again in perfect unison, bowing at the same time at the waist, ¡°we will now perform for you our angelizations!¡±


    A great flash of power exploded forth as two pillars of exalted heavenly power burst forth, enveloping both Nephilim.


    However, after his initial excitement, Damien¡¯s confusion began to grow exponentially.


    Though the two were introduced as twins, and sure enough though they were fraternal, they shared many physical similarities, their angelized states however looked nothing alike.


    Jeremy¡¯s skin had turned into a sort of greenish golden metallic, shimmering alloy from head to toe. His face had become impossibly perfect, along with the shimmering platinum hair and platinum with crystal clear diamond blue eyes of the angels. But his wings, that had previously been a shade of moss green, were now literally made of intense, golden Heavenly fire. A Vreka.


    Erica on the other hand, while she maintained the usual angelized hair and eyes, now had a myriad of platinum and blue eyes all over her body. Around her arms and wrists were bracelets of interlocking wheels, burning with a similar golden heavenly fire that Jeremy had, and constantly spinning and morphing in a way Damien was sure 3rd dimensional shapes couldn¡¯t possibly move. An Elerie.


    Seeing his clearly befuddled face, the two exalted Nephilim shared a knowing look while the rest of the group broke out into laughter.


    ¡°My lord,¡± Erica said in her exalted voice, resonating with hundreds of other heavenly voices, ¡°is there something that confuses you?¡±


    ¡°Um.. yeah¡­¡± Damien began uncertainty, trying to figure out his words, attempting not to offend the soldiers, ¡°I thought you two were siblings, twins if I remember correctly¡­ So¡­ why do you guys have different angelized states?¡±


    Jeremy tried to block the spurt of spit preceding a sudden laugh from escaping his lips. Failing miserably and partially choaking on his own spit, the Nephilim doubled over wheezing, coughing and laughing uncontrollably while his twin sister hid a tiny smile behind a hand.


    The rest of the company couldn¡¯t resist the humorous scene, also joining the Jemery¡¯s persisting laughter.


    Damien felt his cheeks warm with shame. For the millionth time in his life, he was grateful that his milk brown skin hid a decent amount of his blushing.


    It did absolutely nothing for the feelings of shame leaking from his intent, however.


    ¡°Sire,¡± Erica coughed, beating back a small chuckle, ¡°there is nothing at all to be ashamed of, your question was very insightful.¡±


    ¡°Indeed, Your Highness,¡± Jeremy confirmed, having regained his composure, ¡°in fact, I can offer you an answer I think you would appreciate.¡±


    The twins simultaneously powered down back into their base forms, causing their parallel pillars of heavenly power to dissipate and vanish in a soft explosion of power.


    ¡°You see Sire,¡± the Lieutenant First Class began, ¡°a long, long time ago¡±


    ¡°Approximately 350,000 years ago,¡± Erica cut in.


    ¡°Thanks sis, 350,000 years ago, towards the tail end of millions of years of The Age of Blood, the Empire of Gera was established,¡± Jeremy resumed, ¡°for the first time, ever, instead of trying to scrub each other from existence, with extreme prejudice, the Nephilim began to intermingle and intermarry.¡±


    ¡°That started The Age of Blessed Harmony right?¡± Damien wondered aloud ¡°when all of the Nephilim became capable of Angelizing?¡±


    ¡°I see someone¡¯s done their summer reading,¡± Captain Marcos drunkenly laughed.


    ¡°Maybe you should follow the Crown Prince¡¯s lead then, captain,¡± Rosa said curtly, giving Marcos a light whack on the back of his head with a golden energy hand she manifested from across the field.


    Marcos silently mimed her, rolling his golden and blue eyes while giving Damien a sly grin accompanied by a side-eyed wink.


    ¡°Yes, my lord,¡± Erica replied, taking up where her brother had left off, ¡°after many millennia of this, the 7 remaining Nephilim races stopped being actual distinct races, and eventually became more like what the humans know of as ethnicities or species. This allowed us to increase the ratio of our mortal beings to our heavenly beings to at least 55%, though the actual amount is still arbitrary for every single Nephilim. Not only did finally being over 50% angelic give all Nephilim access to angelization, it caused us to all grow wings and through them, harness the fundamental energy of The Almighty, our heavenly fire. And so, any Nephilim picked at random has such a myriad of different Nephilim ethnicities in their blood that they can literally give birth to any kind of Nephilim if they decided to mate with another member of the Earthly Host. Of course the direct species of the parents are still more likely to occur in the children, but in truth any pairing of Nephilim can produce a child that expresses any of the 7 Nephilim ethnicities. Or, in very rare circumstances, when one of us mates with the Heavenly Host it can lead to anything really.¡±


    ¡°But,¡± Jeremy interjected, ¡°if a Nephilim has a child with a creature outside of the members of the Earthly or Heavenly Host, the resulting baby will always present as the ethnicity of the holy parent, even if they were to retain any racial powers, physical features or even inherited magics from the other parent.¡±


    Shocked couldn¡¯t begin to explain how Damien felt.


    This information, he knew, was paramount to his own existence. Suddenly, Damien was very aware that every last member of staff working at the D¡¯Amorn Manor, both mortal and divine, were probably constantly thinking about his parentage when they looked at him. The side glances he caught some of the company members passing each other back and forth, gave a solemn confirmation to his suspicions. Empress Hoaquin was famous for being the Almighty Bachelorette. The mage with no man, and now suddenly she had a son.


    No matter what way it was sliced, two plus two was equalling fish, and people had questions.


    Lots of questions.


    Though the staff had been sworn to secrecy and secretly trained for roughly 2 years prior to the start of the mission meeting and escorting the imperial crown prince, it was beyond an understatement to say that many were fearful if not downright apprehensive of the young imperial. The fact that there even was an imperial crown prince, not an adopted son that drank of the reaper blood chalice to become an imperial reaper somehow, but the actual flesh and blood of Empress Hoaquin, was not an easily digestible pill by any standard.


    Damien didn¡¯t have the faintest idea who his father could be, even after all his training and cultivation. Not even his anointing and finally properly transforming into his angelized state offered the slightest hint to what could be hiding in the other half of the boy¡¯s genealogy.


    And yet, his anointing ceremony did nothing to dissuade the rumors. In fact, recent events seemed to only emblazon the gossipers. Many rumors that were carefully monitored as to never to travel beyond the protective walls of D¡¯Amorn Manor¡¯s powerful wards were running amok.


    Always stirring just beneath the surface.


    Coming and going, briefly, like a whispering breeze.


    After all, who would want to invoke the wrath of the rank 1 Nightmare, or worse, the crown prince himself if either had to directly confront the rumors?


    And since none of the staff envisioned being tortured by Her Heavenly Imperial Majesty to be better than not offending her supposed son, they were always careful to never let any of their ideas reach the ears of the crown prince himself.


    Understanding this, Damien had never let it slip that his Grand Courtier had secretly been filing him in on the more audacious rumors the staff cooked up of his mother¡¯s seemingly salacious affairs.


    Fae?


    Vampire?


    Human?


    Angel?


    Something... else?...


    One thing was for sure though, no matter what race his absent, mystery father, ended up being, the fact that Damien had clearly brown skin and a fluffy afro, in stark contrast to the long straight hair, and milky skin he¡¯d been told his mother had, definitely gave some of the more¡­ creative gossipers a few ideas that were less than ¡°appropriate¡±. In fact, if it weren''t for the slanted shape of the prince¡¯s slanted eyes, which many had to begrudgingly accept matched the empress¡¯ own, his imperial Nephilim features, and now the bladed wings of Jerrizah that Damien could now manifest upon angelization, very few would¡¯ve even believed he was even Hoaquin¡¯s son.


    Damien solemnly remembered how before his 13th birthday, when the only signs that he was even remotely a Nephilim to begin with, were his golden and blue eyes and the rumors of him somehow manifesting heavenly fire. At the time, many didn¡¯t even fully believe he was a Nephilim. The dismissive looks and snide sneers that Damien could catch in his peripheral vision, that he had to pretend he didn¡¯t see, sent daggers of sorrow and depression through the young boy¡¯s heart.


    Though he knew he should¡¯ve probably been more offended, Damien humbly kept quiet. Choosing instead to intensely ponder all of the options the gossipers, both benign and malicious, had offered him with Lords Jorie and Henry. For days the trio had run a vast myriad of paternity tests. Lord Jorie and Lord Henry both called upon every favor, and employed every bloodline spell and technology their combined deific and noble influences could offer, but ultimately, nothing rendered anything close to an answer. There was no definitive way for sure to know who Damien¡¯s paternal sire was, at least not until the prince continued to grow more years, and temper his aura to its peak. Allowing his more latent, innate abilities to become manifest.


    The veritable mountain of doubt and depression, had threatened to crush Damien like a merciless tsunami. Silently, he remembered the tear drops that filled his lifeless eyes, though he¡¯d fought futilely and miserably to keep them at bay.


    The same tears now threatened to betray the crown prince again, until one memory broke through the dense cloud of sorrow in Damien¡¯s mind and heart. A beacon of hope. His last beacon of hope.


    A memory of what Lord Jorie had told Damien immediately after seeing the prince¡¯s depressed, frustrated tears, began to overtake him.


    ¡°No,¡± the lord had commanded Damien softly, in a manner of complete seriousness that Damien rarely ever saw the viscount employ, ¡°you will not cry. You will not betray your lineage like that. You will not betray yourself like that.¡±


    Damien remembered Lord Jorie then knelt down to face him eye level.


    ¡°I know something, something that the Empress has never told anyone else before,¡± Lord Jorie spoke with a charming, coy smile, lifting Damien¡¯s tear stained eyes softly to meet his own, ¡°your mother told me, that she would never, ever mate with a mage weaker than her. She¡¯s never openly taken a husband or a partner of any kind, simply because no one has ever matched her since she became the strongest¡­ And yet, you exist¡­ Peculiar don''t you think? Even if you don¡¯t know who your father is, for now, know that at least he is a being that can rival the universe ending might of your mother. I think that¡¯s something to take great pride in, no?¡±


    Damien remembered how his wide, astonished eyes had immediately ceased their tears. The viscount¡¯s words touched an aching spot deep in the 13 year old¡¯s soul that he didn¡¯t know existed. It healed a part of him that Damien hadn¡¯t known even needed healing. He remembered how, with a sudden leap he wrapped the kneeling viscount in a tight bear hug, this time crying tears of gratitude and relief.


    And Damien hadn¡¯t forgotten the strange look Henry had gotten in his eye, accompanied by a face of utter bewilderment and surprise, at his brother¡¯s words.


    ¡°Thank you¡­¡± Damien murmured, bowing slightly at the waist as his memories faded, returning him to the present.


    ¡°The pleasure is all ours, Sire,¡± the two responded in unison, returning the bow simultaneously.


    As the twin Lieutenants started to return to their seats, giving the floor to the next of their presenting comrades, Damien held up a hand, pausing the two to abruptly stop in their tracks. A deeply confused look was on the crown prince¡¯s face.


    ¡°Wait,¡± he said slowly, ¡°if the ethnicity, or species, of the child is completely random between the two Nephilim parents, how do the imperial families all have members with the same respective ethnicities?¡±


    An uncomfortable look crossed Jeremy¡¯s face. After a while of silent deliberation, Erica ultimately spoke up first.


    ¡°That, Your Highness,¡± she began sadly, ¡°is a result of both the greatest triumph of the Illuminated Ecclesiarchy, and subsequently the greatest failure of the entire Nephilim race. There are many that believe in the Ecclesiarchy¡¯s vapid desire for what it refers to as ¡°blood purity¡±. They want every Nephilim to return to how they were before, homogenous groups, separated, but equal they claim.¡±


    Her and Jeremy¡¯s similar exaggerated eye rolls clued Damien in that they probably weren¡¯t the biggest supporters of that particular campaign.


    ¡°Even though to even utter such nonsense should obviously be the height of utterly depraved and insane hypocrisy!¡± Captain Marcos spat furiously, causing Damien to cautiously turn over to the massive Nephilim seated next to him recoiling slightly from the large, powerful man''s sudden outburst. Captain Marcos, however, was too busy angrily nursing an empty bottle with an enraged, thousand mile stare baked into his face to care,¡°to say every last Nephilim has benefited extremely from The Age of Blessed Harmony, is the understatement of all time. From finally allowing all of us, not just the Principium, to finally share even a minute part of the heavenly glory of our angelic ancestors.¡±


    His face contorted in even deeper rage. His words became little more than a barely restrained, screaming, manic growl, rising quickly in both intensity and volume.


    ¡°AND YET THOSE SELF RIGHTEOUS BASTARDS HAVE THE GALL, TO ENFORCE BLOOD PURITY UPON EVEN OUR RULING CLASS! THEY FORCE OUR IMPERIALS TO DRINK FROM THE BLOOD CHALICES, PURGING THEM OF THE SPECIES THEY WERE BORN WITH AND REPLACING THEM WITH ONE OF THE CHALICE! WHAT THESE INSANE MURDERERS SEE AS CLEAN! AS FIT! AS IF THEY DO NOT HAVE HUNDREDS OF OUR LONG EXTINCT BRETHREN¡¯S BLOOD CHALICES HIDDEN IN THEIR DECREPIT, SATANIC PITS! WHY NOT BRING THEM BACK IF THEY CARE SO MUCH ABOUT PURITY?!¡± Captain Marcos roared, chucking the bottle far into the stratosphere, with pure physical might. A testament to the intense rage coursing through the sage Nephilim captain. ¡°IT HAS LONG BEEN CLEAR THAT THE ILLUMINATED ECCLESIARCHS HAVE NO UNDERSTANDING SHAME! BUT THIS? HAVE THEY NO HONOR AS WELL? NO FEAR OF THE ALMIGHTY?! DO THEY EVEN TRULY SERVE THE ALMIGHTY?!!!¡±


    ¡°CAPTAIN!¡± Roma reprimanded sharply, looking around in fear to see if any had heard his deeply sacrilegious and dangerously polarizing outburst. ¡°While you know all of us present here share in your sentiments, might I remind you that not only are there many working on these grounds, including several sages and deities, that would gladly, violently disagree with you. This glamour will hide us from much, but it won¡¯t hide the voice of one as powerful as yourself, especially if you start YELLING LIKE A DAMN OGRE!¡± she yelled at the large Nephilim.


    Briefly, she looked down at Damien, her fierce expression softening slightly if only for the barest of moments, ¡°and we should allow his future Imperial Majesty to forge his own opinions, ones that will one day be the deciding factor between another Age of Peace¡­ or another Age of Blood.¡±


    Marcos glared down his sub-captain as she stared back, unrelenting.


    The auras of the two powerful mages then roared to life, slamming and bucking against each other like viscous broncos, until, with a bitter spitting motion into the grass, Marcos relented, turning his head aside in an angry pout with a loud ¡°harumph!¡±.


    Roma heaved a heavy sigh that Damien couldn¡¯t tell she¡¯d been holding back. Wiping some sweat from her brow, she smiled down weakly at Damien, holding up a shaky thumbs up.


    ¡°Twins, you¡¯re dismissed,¡± she called out, attempting to keep her exhausted voice level and commanding.


    ¡°Aye ma¡¯am!¡± they saluted, snapping to attention before vanishing in flashes of light to reappear at their seats at the gazebo table.


    ¡°Well, we don¡¯t want to take up anymore of His Highness¡¯ most valuable time do we?¡± Roma sighed, clapping her hands together sharply, ¡°Lieutenant Second Class Zach! Master Sergeant Paul Anthony! Sergeant First Class Damian! ATTEN-HUT!¡±


    ¡°AYE MA¡¯AM!¡±


    Three flashes of power and light preceded three Nephilim suddenly appearing behind their sub-captain instantly, all standing perfectly at attention.


    ¡°You know the drill,¡± Roma commanded, ¡°Angelize for His Highness, and explain your angelizations.¡±


    Her words were succinct, snappy, well enunciated and incredibly precise. For a moment, only a moment, Damien¡¯s mind was dragged back to a scene he could never forget, Sister Hua¡¯s face the first time he¡¯d ever heard her take on that voice.


    ¡®No, not Hua,¡¯ he reprimanded himself silently, ¡®Hoaquin. Mother. My Mother.¡¯


    The three Nephilim soldiers, still locked at attention, screamed as one, ¡°AYE MA¡¯AM!¡± before three simultaneous epic explosions of holy power rocked the grotto holding the gazebo.


    As the searing, holy light began to subside, Damien beheld, three exalted figures standing where the three soldiers had once been.


    Where Zach had been, was an angelized Nephilim with raven-like facial features with what looked like thick black ink covering both of his well muscled arms. The ink seemed to travel up well past his upper arms, leading Damien to wonder what it even was.


    In Paul Anthony¡¯s place, stood an angelized warrior that looked very similar to how the soldier normally looked, aside from the standard, shared exalted features that came with every angelization. However, Damien had to note that almost every square inch of the mage¡¯s body was now covered in heavenly runes, burning and pulsing with angry, pink heavenly energy.


    Finally, Damian, who apparently shared not only a namesake with the crown prince, but apparently also angelic ethnicities, had a large tiki mask covering the entirety of his face. His fingers and hands were completely skeletal, and in them was a 6 foot tall, beautiful scythe of bronze twisting metal, ending in a single massive, cerulean front blade that shone with golden-green heavenly power.


    ¡°I, Your Highness,¡± Zach began in his exalted voice, ¡°am a Raven.¡±


    ¡°I, Your Highness,¡± Paul Anthony took up, ¡°am a Hunter.¡±


    ¡°And I, Your Highness,¡± Damian finished, ¡°am like you, a Reaper.¡±


    Damien silently mouthed a ¡°wow,¡± staring with deep fascination at the 3 soldiers.


    ¡°Sergeant Damian,¡± the prince began hesitantly, ¡°I don¡¯t mean to offend you, but why does your mask look like a tiki face? And why are there so many cracks in it on the left side?¡±


    Paul Anthony held a hand over his mouth to refrain from bursting out laughing.


    ¡°Hey,¡± Damian admonished his Master Sergeant, ¡°don¡¯t laugh at the kid, he literally doesn¡¯t know any better.¡±


    Damien couldn¡¯t see the angelized Reaper¡¯s face, but the soldier¡¯s shimmering platinum and cold diamond blue eyes shining through his Reaper¡¯s mask, were filled with warmth and mirth.


    ¡°As you¡¯ve seen Your Highness,¡± Damien began with a chuckle, ¡°every Nephilim species manifests their angelized power differently, even though we all undergo largely the same training. Since reapers carry the largest remnants of the Archangel Metatron¡¯s blood, unlike many of our Nephilim brethren, our angelized faces are sealed beneath our bone masks since we radiate so much more power naturally. These masks cannot be removed by any means, but they will break off more and more as a Reaper masters their angelization, until it falls off completely when true mastery is reached. Again, every Nephilim species manifests a mastered angelization differently, but a reaper will not only lose their masks on their journey to mastery, but also their angelized bodies will progressively burn away, becoming more skeletal in relation to our blood sire, Metatron, the Grim Reaper.¡±


    He held up a boney right hand, wiggling his skeletal fingers to emphasise his point.


    ¡°Our masks,¡± he went on, ¡°are also a manifestation of our souls and auras. We don¡¯t choose what shape, color, or form our masks will manifest as, just like our scythes. They awaken for the first time during the anointing ceremony that every Nephilim undergoes, when we find out what ethnicity we actually are. A reaper¡¯s mask will follow the reaper until death or until they destroy it by fully controlling their angelized states.¡±


    Damien was quiet for a minute, pondering the reaper¡¯s words.


    The prince slowly nodded.


    ¡°One thing still doesn¡¯t make sense to me though,¡± he began, ¡°if all the modern Nephilim are mixed and the individual races no longer exist, and you can¡¯t tell the species of the child until they¡¯re anointed, then what exactly determines the species of the child?¡±


    ¡°That would be the ratio of angelic ichor to mortal blood within the Nephilim, my lord,¡± Paul Anthony answered.


    ¡°It typically follows the hierarchy of Angels. Reapers have the highest ratios being between at least 85% and at most 90% angelic, and therefore hold far more of the Archangel¡¯s blood than any other kind of Nephilim,¡± he continued, ¡°next would be the Hunters. They¡¯re at least 80% angelic, allowing them to manifest the blood of the Seraphim. At around at least 75%, the Nephilim will manifest the blood of the Cherubim, making them Illia. Being at least 70% will manifest the blood of the Ophanim within the Nephilim, resulting in an Elerie. Next would be the Ravens, they¡¯re at least 65% angelic and so, will manifest the blood of the Powers. Nephilim that are at least 60% angelic will manifest as Guardians, reflecting the blood of the Guardian Angels that awoke in them. And finally, the lowest concentration a modern Nephilim can be is at least 55% angelic, resulting in a Vreka, ones who manifest the blood of Herald Angels.¡±


    ¡°This isn¡¯t to say that any one specie is definitively better than any other,¡± Zachariah chimed in, as the three simultaneously powered down back to their regular states, ¡°but every Nephilim knows that the greatest joy of any ass backwards family within the Empire, is to give birth to a Reaper. Subsequently¡­ the greatest failure of the blood purity families and the Heirarchists, those that only care about blood percentages, is to give birth to a Vreka.¡±


    The Lieutenant Second Class gave a deep sigh.


    Damien turned over aghast to look at Jeremy who had a dark look on his face as the soldier stared down at his shot glass. Erica softly rubbed his shoulder, sending gentle waves of healing magic and gentle, soothing feelings from her intent into her brother.


    ¡°We all know many a Nephilim that has been undeservingly praised and nurtured far more simply because they were born Reapers, Hunters or even Illia,¡± Zach continued glumly, ¡°same as we all know many a Nephilim that has been mercilessly abused, tormented, bullied, even sold into slavery, treated as second class citizens, murdered, abused, or worse just for being born a Vreka. It¡¯s complete and utter unfounded evil stupidity. I know just as many that have become decorated High Chaplains, Lord High Generals, Nobles, Royals, Imperials, Blessed Saints, Ecclesiarchs, sages and even gods that have been Reapers as have been any other kind of Nephilim, including Vreka.¡±


    Zach stopped speaking, his face contorted in fierce anger thinking about the injustice many citizens of Gera had undergone.


    Erica took up from Zach¡¯s silence.


    ¡°There were some that would spit in our parent¡¯s faces for giving birth to Jeremy, or even treat him worse if I wasn¡¯t around,¡± she murmured hatefully, ¡°and yet somehow, I, his twin sister, was never treated the same, just because I was apparently ¡°blessed enough to be born more holy¡± as an Elerie. They told me I was born lucky, they told Jeremy, he was lucky to be born.¡±


    She spat the last few words with a level of hatred and anger that rocked Damien, heavily contrasting the stark contrast to the happy go lucky attitude Erica had seemed to normally have.


    Damien didn¡¯t know how to respond. His earlier feelings of wonder and pride in his race, in his people, had yet again crumbled to dust.


    First it was the Illuminated Ecclesiarchy. Then it was blood purists. Now he was learning that even amongst the Empire of the Earthly Host, fanatical racism was alive and well in the form of Hierarchists and possibly much worse he had yet to learn about. Every time Damien wanted to finally feel pride in learning such a large part of who he was, there seemed to be some insane evil hiding behind a corner, waiting to mercilessly beat his happiness into submission.


    ¡°However, all is not completely lost,¡± came the voice of the only Nephilim who hadn¡¯t yet angelized for Damien.


    Captain Marcos was leaning back in the bench seat, crossing his massive, muscled arms before his thick, barreled chest.


    ¡°At least ever since Empress Hoaquin ascended to the imperial high throne,¡± he continued, ¡°she¡¯s mercilessly gone after any who dared to openly perpetuate such draconian ideas, reimbursing victims massively for their suffering and even executing the particularly nasty offenders. Some call her Hoaquin the Warden for how many she¡¯s stuffed into imperial prisons with life sentences for refusing to follow the socio-political reforms she heavy-handedly slammed down. Others call her Hoaquin the Honorable, for defending the idea that all Nephilim deserve to exist in The Almighty¡¯s light, and that we are all worthy of respect, blood percentages be damned.¡±


    Captain Marcos looked down at Damien¡¯s face, and his features softened slightly.


    ¡°Which kind of Nephilim will you be, Your Highness? Which kind of emperor will you eventually saddle Gera¡¯s empire with when you eventually ascend to the imperial high throne? Will you uphold your mother¡¯s legacy, and be a defender of the common people? Or will you be a fundamentalist, and undo centuries of progress for the sake of a few depraved lunatics?¡±


    Despite the many, many mixed emotions Damien still had over his mother and all of her lies she¡¯d told to him, he couldn¡¯t help but feel intense pride well inside him from hearing the deeds of his mother and her unwavering dedication to her people.


    All of her people. And they were his people too.


    Damien stood and looked every one of the soldiers in the eye respectively. In turn, each of the 7 soldiers, all with various looks of confusion on their faces, held their tongues in respect, returning his gaze with silent reverence as their imperial crown prince began to address them.


    ¡°I do not yet know what it means to lead, and I probably never will fully know. I¡¯ll probably make mistake after mistake, and people will definitely find a score of reasons to curse my name long after I¡¯m gone, ¡± Damien began in a small voice, looking down in shame, ¡°the thought of having so many lives depending on me always making the right decisions, quite honestly scares the shit out of me something awful.¡±


    A soft, quiet chuckle of understanding rippled through the group of soldiers.


    ¡°But,¡± Damien continued, his voice growing stronger. He raised his head, a look of fierce determination shone vibrantly in his eye, ¡°my mother taught me to follow my own justice and to be strong enough to defend it, no matter the cost. My justice is the happiness of my people, all of my people. I do not care where the opposition may come, from within the Empire, or from some external force, but I swear, on my name, on my aura, on my empire, on my crown and on my bloodline, I will die before I let anyone put my people, those who lay their trust in me, to harm.¡±


    7 deeply shocked expressions stared back at him in unison.


    A single, soft tear fell from Jeremy¡¯s eye. The soldier slowly stood, right hand folded over his chest, upturned fist over his heart.


    ¡°LONG LIVE PRINCE DAMIEN!¡± he yelled in a formal, commanding tone, bowing at the waist.


    The other 6 followed suit. Saluting their imperial crown prince, and chanting the same, ¡°LONG LIVE PRINCE DAMIEN!¡±


    Damien was overcome with emotion, tears of appreciation began to well up in the boy¡¯s golden and blue eyes. He was about to speak when 13 loud gongs reverberated throughout the Manor grounds.


    Captain Marcos grinned and tousled Damien¡¯s hair.


    ¡®Why does everyone keep doing that?¡¯ Damien groaned internally.


    ¡°Best run off now Your Highness!¡± Captain Marcos laughed heartily, ¡°hopefully we¡¯ve helped sufficiently with your homework!¡±


    Damien, smiled gratefully as he got up and bowed again to the group of soldiers, ¡°thank you all, you¡¯ve all been beyond helpful.¡±


    A coy smile flashed across his face as he came back up.


    ¡°Oh and I won¡¯t tell Lord Jorie or Lord Henry about your day drinking, so carry on! That¡¯s an order!¡±


    And with that, Damien vanished in a flash of light, teleporting off to meet the Astallon lords.


    ¡°Well, you heard the lad!¡± Captain Marcos yelled with a roaring belly laugh as another round of laughs and loud cheers for their future emperor rang out and the drinking recommenced.

 Chapter 10: Son of The Terror pt.4

    ¡°Sooooo,¡± Lord Jorie asked in a singsong voice as Damien appeared in a flash of rose golden light, ¡°what¡¯d ya learnnn?¡±


    ¡°I learnt,¡± the young imperial crown prince replied, a sour expression stuck on his face, ¡°that you two are assholes.¡± He pointed at both Astallon brothers, who now had similar shocked expressions, before continuing his rant, ¡°and that the Nephilim seriously suck as a whole. I mean seriously? Blood Purists? And don''t even get me started on the complete and utter travesty of logic that had to have gone down to birth to a faction like the fucking Hierarchists, who are seeking to destroy the very system, THEY¡¯RE FUKCING BENEFITING FROM!¡±


    Rage oozed from Damien¡¯s seething aura, like daggers of hot, shameful emotion seeking a target and instead finding too many to count.


    ¡°I thought the Illuminated Ecclesiarchy was bad, but excuse my french, they seem tres fucking normal compared to some of those guys!¡± he ranted on, ¡°why the fuck didn¡¯t either of you see fit to mention that in your, ¡°make Damien afraid of even the drinking water in Gera,¡± lectures?!¡±


    The two astallon brothers were left stunned by Damien¡¯s sudden ire and foul-mouthed outburst, contrasting starkly with the boy¡¯s usually reserved and kind disposition.


    Then Lord Jorie burst out laughing wildly, gaining a less than amused look from Damien.


    ¡°No disrespect, my lord,¡± the viscount said between laughs, gasping for air, ¡°it¡¯s just so vindicating to see you that mad from just talking to your people for an hour,¡±


    ¡°Indeed, Your Highness,¡± Henry went on, taking Damien¡¯s attention from the still manically laughing older Astallon brother, ¡°as His Highness accurately deduced, we knew the likely outcome of sending you off on this mission, especially why we disguised it as something more benign.¡±


    But then a smile spread out on Henry¡¯s preened, usually reserved features. His smoothed back, red hair seemed to glisten along with the lord¡¯s golden and blue eyes, he seemed to see his prince in a new light.


    ¡°But my lord,¡± he went on with a sigh and a chuckle, ¡°we can¡¯t tell you how to think, who to protect and who to damn. I mean we could, but that would amount to nothing more than a slow burning cataclysm waiting to boil over the second you ascended to the Imperial High Throne without any capacity to think for yourself.¡±


    He shook his head slightly, but the look of pride in Damien only seemed to grow on Henry¡¯s face.


    ¡°No, we had to let his highness come to his own conclusions,¡± he finished, giving Damien a disarming wink that seemed to shut down the remnants of the boy¡¯s bucking aura, ¡°and you have done us, and your mother proud.¡±


    Damien didn¡¯t know what to say, stunned couldn¡¯t begin to describe the mess of emotions he was feeling.


    At some point Lord Jorie had stopped laughing and pulled himself together when he heard what Henry had to say. The viscount got up and walked over to his younger brother, standing beside the other tall Nephilim lord in a rare act of kinship between the two sibling deities.


    ¡°Hate to admit it, but Ol¡¯ Hennesy here is actually right, my lord,¡± Lord Jorie said, with his own proud, sly smirk deeply embedded on his own divine, too perfect features, ¡°I swore to be your mother¡¯s right hand when I became her Nightmare, even more so when she blessed me with the rank 1 position.¡±


    His features hardened, ¡°but make no mistake, if given the chance, I would gladly and happily murder the majority of your family and the rest of the imperial, royal, noble and Ecclesiastical scum polluting our empire if I were given the chance. No line of duty would ever have made me present you to the ones coming to train you if you were just going to end up like your cousins and fellow imperials.¡±


    Damien¡¯s mouth grew very dry. He tried to gulp in fear and found himself incapable.


    He didn¡¯t need to be able to feel the lord¡¯s divine aura to sense the complete honesty coming through from his divine intent. Damien suddenly felt very small and tiny in front of the two powerful deities, feeling very foolish about how easily he¡¯d challenged them in his earlier outburst by pulling rank upon them.


    As if reading Damien¡¯s thoughts, Lord Jorie¡¯s features eased once more back into his usually uncaring and mirthful smirk.


    ¡°Good thing not only am I sure I won¡¯t have to dust you,¡± he said with a laugh, ¡°I¡¯m pretty sure I¡¯ll deeply enjoy seeing what kind of emperor you become, My Imperial Highness.¡±


    Damien¡¯s mouth hung agape as the two Astallon brothers knelt before him, saluting him with their twin scarlet red haired heads bowed low, showing him respect in the old way.


    Not knowing what else to do or say, Damien just muttered a soft, ¡°umm thank you, but please rise¡­. Please?¡±


    ¡°Now we address the elephant in the room,¡± Lord Jorie breathed with a self-content sigh.


    ¡°Indeed, brother,¡± Henry nodded, facing Damien. ¡°It¡¯s almost time for your maiden flight, my lord,¡± the younger Astallon said with a wink and a rare, shit eating grin.


    ¡®Oh lord,¡¯ Damien whined silently, ¡®they¡¯re so much scarier when they agree on anything.¡¯


    ***


    It was about 3 hours later, and the trio of Lords Henry and Jorie along with Prince Damien, were trudging along a mountain trail. They had left his group of courtiers at the bottom of the trail, much to the displeasure of the Grand Courtier and his fellows, but none would challenge Lord Jorie¡¯s word after the display at Damein¡¯s anointing ceremony.


    Damien had been asking a stream of questions to the two lords, mostly to calm his nerves about what he knew was inevitably approaching.


    ¡°Hey there¡¯s something that¡¯s been bugging me for a while now,¡± he suddenly mentioned, ¡°Lord Jorie, what does it mean to be a Nightmare rank 1 anyway? Why¡¯s everyone so afraid of you now?¡±


    Lord Jorie looked at his youngest brother, amazed.


    ¡°He doesn¡¯t know?¡± he asked Henry with a truly shocked expression, ¡°I thought you said he grew up with and under the tutelage of Lady 5th?¡±


    ¡°Indeed he did brother,¡± Henry affirmed with a nod, tilting his head to think for a moment, before shrugging, ¡°apologies, I guess I assumed he already knew.¡±


    Damien¡¯s expression of confusion only grew.


    Who was Lady 5th?


    Context clues and a faint memory of Henry calling Ma LaCriox the 5th Great Disaster, nudged at Damien, giving him some explanation, but what did she have to do with the Nightmares?


    ¡°My lord,¡± Lord Jorie finally answered, shaking his head in amazement, ¡°the Nightmares are the right and left hands of each of the 12 Great Disasters respectively. Every one of the 12 has 2, and thus there are 24 Nightmare raked mages in total. Not all of them in the exact order of strength work for the Disasters in their same order of strength, but your mother, being the strongest of the Disasters, by a wide margin I should add, obviously has both the rank 1 and rank 2 Nightmares at her disposal. We serve our Great Disasters as their strongest servants at their disposal, but in the extremely unlikely event of their demise, to avoid a horrifying universal event of a power vacuum as massive as any of the 12 would leave behind in their wake, their Nightmares are also amongst the first to be considered to replace them.¡±


    He stopped walking and turned to give Damien a slight bow and a smirk.


    ¡°And your¡¯s truly is Nightmare rank 1.¡±


    Damien felt his brow grow very damp with fear, he was glad his now platinum hair hid his sweat because he was sure it was soaked through. As were the boy¡¯s underwear.


    He had known that Lord Jorie was powerful, but to be the runner up for his mother¡¯s position as a Great Disaster, to be 1 of her 2 closest warriors, was a next level of pedigree and power Damien hadn¡¯t even considered was a possibility.


    ¡®No wonder he speaks so casually not only with me but with even Blessed Saints, and High Ecclesiarchs,¡¯ Damien realized, mind blown. But there was still another pressing question on his mind.


    ¡°Wait, wait, so back to Ma LaCroix, or Lady 5th, or the Grand Witch of Pestilence or whatever her most current title is,¡± Damien began, realizing the old windbag wasn¡¯t lying in the slightest when she¡¯d told him she held just as many titles herself as his mother did, ¡°why did you think I should know who or what the Nightmares are just because she was technically my first teacher?¡±


    ¡°Oh,¡± Henry began nonchalantly, as he turned to resume walking up the path with Lord Jorie who¡¯d gone off to look at an exotic butterfly that had flown past the group, ¡°that¡¯s because Lords Clyde and Jurovi are her Nightmares. They¡¯re ranks 4 and 6 respectively.¡±


    For the umpteenth time that day, Damien¡¯s mind threatened to shatter from what he was hearing. He knew the pedigrees of the two deity orphanage co-owners had to be high to be such close friends with Ma LaCroix, but just as he had never expected her to be as powerful as 5th Great Disaster, he had never realized the two old men were gods of such strength and might as Nightmares rank 4 and 6.


    Nor that apparently Father Clyde was stronger than Former Lance Commander Lord Jurovi.


    ¡°Damn,¡± he whispered before running off to join the two lords ascending the mountain.


    Eventually they made their way to a mountain grotto that seemed at least a thousand feet from where they had entered. The fact that the grounds of Manor D¡¯Amorn were big enough to hold their own private mountain range wasn¡¯t something that bothered Damian much anymore. No, currently what was gripping his heart with a whole new, fresh, unceasing kind of dread, was a sinking feeling that Damien knew what was coming as the group slowly walked towards a ledge at one of the ends of the grotto.


    ¡°Hey, guys,¡± he began shakily, coughing slightly to hide the palpable shakiness and fear lacquered throughout his tone, ¡°umm, the rest of the mountain pass is over there.¡±


    ¡°I like your chutzpah kid,¡± Lord Jorie laughed, ¡°but I¡¯m fine over here thank you.¡±


    ¡°Indeed,¡± Henry chimed in, as he gracefully crouched to smell a bush of roses and weird, white and orange flowers, ¡°why don¡¯t you come join us and enjoy the break from the walking, my lord?¡±


    Damien knew what they were doing, he had long since realized that for as different as the Astallon brothers were, they¡¯re family held the same affinity for never saying exactly what they meant. One always had to read between the lines when talking to an Astallon.


    The alarm bells ringing in his head from the two now as he picked up on their psychotic unsaid intentions, turned his legs to lead. Though, in a desperate attempt to not be seen as a supreme level bitch in front of not only his two trusted advisors; but also his courtiers, who were no doubt watching the skies for any sign of their prince, with their enhanced Nephilim vision; ¡­But most prominent of all, were the memories of Jessica, that would no doubt relentlessly mock him of being afraid of something he had literally been given blessed appendages for.


    And then there was his mother.


    Damien forced himself to trudge forward, regardless.


    ¡°Attaboy!¡± Lord Jorie cheered him on, forcibly rubbing Damien¡¯s platinum afro.


    ¡°You¡¯re gonna rub a bald spot into my head one of these days old man,¡± Damien muttered darkly, leering up at the divine lord as he went to look at a tree growing purple plums that sparkled in the sunlight, ¡°and then I¡¯m gonna have you chained deep in some forgotten crevice, and flogged, repeatedly. Nightmare or not, I¡¯ll give you some nightmares.¡±


    Henry¡¯s mouth hung agape, a horrified look seared onto him. Lord Jorie just blinked, completely stunned. Then a wide, goofy smile broke out on his face while he howled with laughter, clapping and cheering on Damien¡¯s growing skills in shit talking.


    Despite himself, and remaining facing the tree so Lord Jorie couldn¡¯t get the satisfaction, Damien had a slight smirk on his face as he sighed and shook his head.


    To their credit though, they left Damien alone for about another hour to admire the grotto and calm his nerves before the two approached him again. Since it was early January, the sun was starting to set, thrusting the grotto under a beautiful blanket of orange, yellow, reds and violet colors, while the seemingly endless stars of the Mortal Realms began to show themselves, accenting the lack of light pollution on the mountain grotto.


    ¡°It¡¯s time, Your Highness,¡± Henry said gently, placing a hand softly on Damien¡¯s shoulder, breaking the prince from his brooding.


    Damien just sighed and walked with the tall lord towards the mountain ledge where Lord Jorie was already standing, staring up at the stars, his hands folded behind his back.


    The wind whipped around his long, flowing red hair that wasn¡¯t tied back like Henry¡¯s was, giving him the impression of a heavenly wild demon.


    As Damien approached, he saw the great distance to the bottom and a stone sank deep into his stomach. His nerve broke and he began attempting to reason, no barter for his life as Henry marched him forward.


    ¡°Wait guys!¡± the boy began pleading hysterically, ¡°I can¡¯t fly now, it¡¯s too dark. What if I can¡¯t see where I¡¯m going?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re a Nephilim,¡± Henry said blankly, giving him an encouraging smile while continuing to march Damien forward, ¡°flow some energy into your eyes and you can see in the dark just as well as any were-being, fae or vampire.¡±


    Damien gulped, he knew it was a weak start, but he didn¡¯t expect how nonchalantly he¡¯d been shot down.


    ¡°O-ok but!¡± he began again frantically, ¡°I can barely fly though, I¡¯ve only been able to just barely get off the ground.¡±


    ¡°You can hover, can¡¯t you?¡± Lord Jorie asked, unimpressed.


    ¡°Um¡­ yes?¡± Damien replied.


    Lord Jorie currently held a look on his face that Damien had come to learn to interpret as, lying to him right now would be a very bad idea for his health.


    ¡°Perfect!¡± the viscount cheered, his face immediately morphing from judging and stern to cheerful, ¡°you¡¯ll do great! If you get flustered, just return to the basics and just try to hover.¡±


    Before Damien could even utter his next excuse, Lord Jorie¡¯s hand flashed a deep purple. A massive, ethereal, purple hand closed around Damien¡¯s torso and promptly threw him off the ledge, following the swinging motion of the viscount¡¯s fast pitch.


    ¡°THIS IS CHILD ABUSE!¡± Damien screamed as he shot forward, carried by the extreme kinetic force, and tumbling wildly through the sky, ¡°I¡¯M TELLING MY MOOOOOM!¡±


    ¡°Heh,¡± Lord Jorie chuckled to himself, then called out over the ledge at the still falling, still screaming boy, ¡°DO IT THEN SHRIMP! BUT YOU¡¯RE GONNA HAVE TO NOT DIE FIRST IF YOU REALLY WANT TO TATTLE! SO YOU¡¯D BETTER FLYYYY!¡±


    ¡°BASTARDDD!!!¡± was all they heard in reply as Damien continued to fall, picking up speed, obscured by the large clouds quickly swallowing him.


    ***


    Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    Harsh winds tore all around Damien.Water droplets shot into every square inch of his body like bullets as he tumbled down through the massive cloud at tremendous speeds. For the first time in his short life Damien was glad his hair was afro shaped, so at least he could see himself fall to his death, courtesy of Nephilim vision¡¯s Ultra HD, without having to worry about getting the hair from his eyes.


    Hyperventilating, Damien¡¯s aura exploded out around him. In moments, he instinctively leaned on the almost full year of magical training and aura cultivation he¡¯d painstakingly survived. Damien began pouring half of his heavenly energy and as much mana, as he could manage, into his intent. The effort manifested a simple yet effective magical equation, materializing through the young mage¡¯s aura as a powerful, yet extremely crude and simple wind spell, forcing twin, large jets of air downward from his hands to slow himself down.


    His chaotic tumble to terminal velocity slowed by a bit, but not much.


    ¡®Shit,¡¯ Damien thought, gritting his teeth, ¡®it¡¯ll have to do.¡¯


    His golden and blue Nephilim eyes began to glow, and instantly sparks of Damien¡¯s rose golden heavenly fire began exploding within the torrents of air. With an extreme effort, Damien twirled the fires around his torrents of air in a spiraling motion Lady Michelle had taught him months ago.


    Faster and faster the explosions of holy fire began to spin within the shooting air, until they exploded fiercely as one, into twin massive, roaring jets of heavenly fire.


    Damien began to grin like a madman.


    ¡®Badass!¡¯ he thought to himself, thankful beyond imagination for all the lessons in advanced physics and thermodynamics Father Clyde offered as courses at the orphanage for the kids interested in bolstering the effects of their magic by understanding how all energies in the universes interacted with each other.


    Both the Physical Energies, theMortal Energies, and even the Fundamental Energies, that some mages might be racially prevalent to or by awakening to Sage and Deity levels, could all be compounded against and with each other to create unimaginable effects. Magical energies were just as much a natural part of the universe as nuclear fusion or electro-magnitism, and thus needed to be treated as not separate from each other.


    ¡°Science was magic too at one point,¡± Damien mimed comically at a memory of Father Clyde as he laughed maniacally at the twin massive, roaring jets of rose-golden flaming cyclones exploding with tremendous force from both his hands.


    Next, memories of his almost unceasing sadistic lessons with his courtiers, basic teachers, and the two Astallon lords, came flooding back into his mind. The ability to wield various weapons they demanded he be trained in as a warrior of heaven, were drilled in Damien to a point beyond muscle memory. The hundreds of fighting forms of both magical and physical martial arts they forced Damien to spar in morning, noon and night, gave the prince the peace of mind to focus on controlling his wings now that he was falling at a more manageable pace, even though his mind was still struggling with fear and information overload.


    Most importantly, of late, since he¡¯d recently finally cracked hovering in place for at least 30 seconds, he¡¯d been starting to incorporate his wings into his form of combat.


    ¡°As a proper Nephilim should,¡± Henry had lectured.


    Damien¡¯s wide, white wings began to fan out. His large secondaries began filling with the intense upward rush of hot air the updraft he¡¯d been attempting to create, with his makeshift heavenly turbo jet engines that his mix of spells had created, slowing the rate of his fall to almost nothing. Remembering his hovering practices, his primaries next began to also spread out to their fullest range of the young prince¡¯s wingspan. Immediately, the large feather groups filled with the intensely rushing, superheated updraft of  air, mixed with the incredibly frigid air of the high altitude where Damien hovered, still relatively above some clouds. With great force, Damien forced his feathers to beat over and over, increasing in frequency, force and speed of flapping.


    Not only was he not falling anymore, he was beginning to rise.


    ¡®Now,¡¯ Damien thought, taking a huge gulp as he made the dumb mistake of taking a brief look down at the great distance he had to fall to his death if he messed up. ¡®Time for the easy part,¡¯ he sarcastically joked to himself.


    The mental strain of maintaining two spells while also attempting acute control over his wings began to weigh on Damien¡¯s mind. But he would not give up. He had to succeed.


    ¡®If for nothing else,¡¯ Damien reasoned to himself, shutting his eyes as he began to hyperventilate while pouring sweat, ¡®if I can fly, I could always try to find Jessica, somehow¡­ eventually¡­¡¯


    Eventually Damien began to realize he had more presently pressing problems.


    He couldn¡¯t keep this up forever.


    Not only was the young mage quickly bottoming out his energy pools while at the same time rapidly incurring more and more extreme aura fatigue, but the clashing battle of severe cold and severe warm air whipping around him was starting to get to his head.


    Damien, for the billionth time since coming to Manor D¡¯Amorn, thanked the pure white battle coat he¡¯d always sported everywhere he went, since the morning it had been laid out for him. Millions of years of Nephilim magical and scientific technology had gone into creating these absolute feats of mortal creation. The battle coats weren¡¯t as powerful as the armour the angels themselves wore, but the Nephilim would be damned if it couldn¡¯t be said that they didn¡¯t try their best to recreate the effects and protections of true heavenly armour.


    Aside from being able to take massive amounts of all forms of physical energy without even a scratch, the battle coats also had an activatable inbuilt, quick time spell to perfectly absorb any incoming kinetic energy. This gave the Nephilim¡¯s universe fabled battle coats the ability to cancel out large amounts of force from an enemy¡¯s attack, both magical and physical. But what Damien was currently most thankful for, was that they also included perfect temperature control for the wearer. It could be tuned and maintained by the wearer using a minuscule amount of their aura to manipulate their battle coat.


    Oh yeah, the battle coats also had a host of 7 magical artificial intelligences controlled by a master system, designed as an intense diagram of circles, angelic runes and embedded magical technologies built into the family or organization crests on the back of the jackets. The crests not only allowed every battle coat to not only be able to repair itself and grow alongside its wielder, but it could also manage, expect and attend to the needs of the wearer, and change shapes and features based on the will of the wielder. So every soldier above a particular rank was allowed to change their battle coats shape¡¯s and features as they saw fit. Damien had heard of many a Nephilim that, upon reaching sagehood or godhood, just turned their battle coats into battle tunics, that still provided all of their normal protections. Though the colors of the coats, which denoted rank or status, were forbidden to be changed unless first sanctioned  by a Nephilim Grand Tribunal.


    While Damien could¡¯t spare any hands to pull up the hood of his battle coat to protect his head from the rapidly changing temperatures, the coat perfectly protected the rest of him from being burnt and or frozen to death. Sadly, his many forms of growing fatigue, coupled with the fact that he was starting to black out from being constantly thrown between intense sweating and intense freezing, affirmed to him that he had to do something and fast.


    No matter what happened he needed to kill the jets soon or they would literally kill him.


    His Marginal Coverts, Primary Coverts, and Secondary Coverts all suddenly flared up catching mass amounts of air. Simultaneously, his aura swelled to the peak of all it had left in a bubble between his wings. Within his inner realm, Damien¡¯s 110 Yellow stars of his star path roared to life along with his 20 more powerful Blue Stars, sending massive amounts of aura and energy to the increasingly tense ball behind his wings..


    ¡°It¡¯s¡­ now or never!¡± the boy grunted, straining against all the energy he was under.


    Time slowed to a crawl.


    Sweat dripped down his head falling thousands of feet. Damien shut his eyes.


    His twin roaring jets pouring out seemingly ceaselessly from his outstretched hands, suddenly burst apart, sputtering to a halt.


    For a second, all was still as Damien¡¯s potential and kinetic energies were still canceled out.


    But inevitably, the icy, unforgiving grip of gravity began to drag the boy downwards, hoping to dash him into a puddle against the unfeeling earth.


    It was at that moment that Damien, eyes still shut, psychically burst the massive, straining bubble of aura and power, erupting with a single great flap of his tensed, outstretching wings, as an epic, thundering sonic boom, launching the boy up into the air with the speed of a bullet.


    Damien could swear he heard a sound akin to a person, or group of people whooping madly to the air he raced upwards into the stratosphere. But Damien couldn¡¯t be too sure, in fact he wasn¡¯t really sure about much anymore. Being at the epicenter of several cascading sonic booms really had that kind of effect on people. The intense winds ripping at his eyelids keeping them forced shut, weren¡¯t much of a help either. Damien didn¡¯t know what was happening anymore, or even where he was going, but he knew one thing, he would not stop flapping his wings.


    The boy didn¡¯t even know if he was still even flying until his enhanced, Nephilim sense of hearing picked up a ruffling sound appearing a few meters away on either side of him.


    ¡°YOU''RE DOING IT SHRIMP! YOU¡¯RE REALLY DOING IT!!!!¡± Lord Jorie yelled to him, seemingly appearing out of nowhere, ¡°BUT IF YOU WANT TO TRY SEEING YOUR FIRST FLIGHT, OR TALKING, I REALLY SUGGEST YOU PULL UP THE HOOD OF YOUR BATTLE COAT SIRE!!!¡±


    ¡°LORD VISCOUNT IS CORRECT, SIRE!¡± Henry yelled towards Damien after his eldest brother had finished, ¡°YOU REALLY SHOULD SEE THE VIEW, YOU  TRULY ARE BLESSED WITH A WONDERFUL EVENING FOR YOUR FIRST FLIGHT!¡±


    Damien¡¯s flapping noodle arms strained against the pressure of the winds. He couldn¡¯t see or turn his neck, but the prince was determined to at least reach his hood.


    Slowly, frustratingly, his hands made their way forward, snapping to the edges of his hood and dragging it over his head in one harsh yank.


    Immediately, the rushing air ceased. Actually, everything ceased.


    Damien could tell he was still rocketing forward through the air on account of the rushing air still filling and rushing through his wings, their erratic beats, and the simple fact that there was still no semblance of a floor anywhere near beneath him.


    Slowly, Damien began to realize though his neck was still tensed and arms were still in an X before him in a futile attempt to block some air from his eyes, it was a largely irrelevant task now. There was no more air pressure trying to break his neck or blind him, or send a mouthful of bugs into him. Fearfully, Damien began to untense. Amazed, he realized his arms weren¡¯t even constrained by the air pressure anymore either. It was as if equipping his hood had activated some even more advanced, hidden level two protection system of the battle coat. Allowing Damien to move freely even while moving or flying at high speeds. Damien shook his head, chucking shakily, even if his people largely sucked major balls, they could at least design some damn swanky tech.


    With an animalistic, loud grunt, Damien forced his head forward and snapped his golden and blue eyes open.


    And his breath was immediately stolen.


    An immediate aerial view, one like he¡¯d never before experienced in his life, stole his breath. Everything was irrelevant to the holy magnus opus painted by the beautiful horizon meeting the vast violets and navy blues of the ocean that boarded the beaches of Manor D¡¯Amorn¡¯s private island.


    ¡°Wow¡­¡± he whispered, lost in wonder and disbelief, until his attention was broken by the sounds of Henry and Lord Jorie mimicking his earlier grunt to each other and laughing out loud.


    The grumpy face he turned towards the viscount with, immediately broke. Instead it turned to one of intense confusion as Damien realized that he could see Lord Jorie¡¯s entire head perfectly even though he claimed to have his hood on. Quickly, Damien¡¯s head snapped to the left, only to confirm, to his growing confusion, that Henry also didn¡¯t seem to be wearing his hood either. Damien¡¯s face then turned back into the grumpy look. Lord Jorie and Henry noticed the boy¡¯s confusion, connected the dots, and began mocking him unabashedly while laughing even harder that their imperial crown prince didn¡¯t even understand how the hoods worked.


    ¡°My lord!¡± Henry wheezed while Lord Jorie continued to kick his legs wildly, flailing with screaming laughter as the god continued to coast through the air, ¡°our hoods perfectly obscure our faces from all forms of physical and mortal divining and scrying energies, and some divine energies, though to varying extents. Only while they are equipped. Though to any Nephilim also with their hoods up, we can obscure or reveal our faces to each other at will!¡±


    Damien¡¯s mind was blown. But continued to get more so as Henry went on.


    ¡°The hood of your battle coat also connects with your aura in various other ways!¡± Henry continued to call out, ¡°it improves your Sense of vision, smell and hearing while equipped. The effects can be increased by pouring energy into your coat through your aura. Similar for the temperature and defense controls embedded into your Family Crest on your back!¡±


    ¡®And,¡¯ Lord Jorie spoke telepathically into the heads of both Henry and Damien, ¡®we can create and maintain heavily protected voice channels we can use to privately communicate with each other even over great distances.¡¯ The viscount was coasting through the air lazily, on his back, his barn owl-like wings stretched out wide.


    ¡®Wow!¡¯ Damien yelled over the voice com, ¡®that¡¯s so fucking cool!¡¯


    ¡®Language, Sire,¡¯ Henry admonished with a tsking sound.


    ¡®Sorry,¡¯ Damien grumbled.


    ¡®Anyway shrimp,¡¯ Lord Jorie went on, ¡®you¡¯ve been flying for well over 30 minutes now, how do ya feel?¡¯


    ¡®Well,¡¯ Damien began, taking a moment to take in everything again, the beautiful scenery, along with the great distance to the ground, before answering. ¡®I forgot for a moment that I was still flying really. Even the wing flaps became largely involuntary motion after a while¡­¡¯ Damien realized slowly.


    ¡®Good Sire!¡¯ Henry cheered, ¡®Now you should¡¯ve realized that flying for a Nephilim is both a mechanical and magical process. We use our wings to channel a bubble of aura around us. By flapping they compel our auras to keep us in the air. By flaring out, they force our auras to send out counter energy to break our movement. By pushing forward, your aura expels energy pushing your body forwards. And finally, by flapping your wings in place, your aura forces your body to hover, even thousands of feet in the sky. This is a crude explanation and you¡¯ll get far better at controlling your flight with both your wings and aura as you progress, but it is good enough for you as you are now to know how to fly from point A to point B anywhere you should want to traverse without killing yourself.¡¯


    ¡®Uhhhh¡­ um¡­¡¯ Damien sputtered, ¡®thanks..?¡¯


    ¡®You¡¯re welcome, Sire,¡¯ the two brothers responded simultaneously.


    ¡®Suck up the freedom while you still can runt,¡¯ Lord Jorie laughed into the coms before he immediately banked a left, breaking away from the group as he began to descend to the vast fields below. ¡®Finally, you¡¯re somewhat a presentable Nephilim Prince. Just in time too, your real teachers show up in a week¡¯s time. And though I don¡¯t particularly respect them, I respect their power and what they do for the empire with it. There¡¯s no way I¡¯d present you to 4 of the Blessed Saints without even being able to fly.¡¯


    Damien said nothing as he watched the lord grow smaller and smaller until he eventually disappeared from view.


    ¡®No offense, of course, Your Highness,¡¯ Henry said to him, in brief, yet unyielding apology, ¡®but my brother spoke no lies. Everyone''s rate of growth is different, but there has never been a Nephilim that took longer than their 13th year to crack flight, and you are almost 14 now if a few more months. But still! Chin up Sire, you¡¯ve completed it now. And your real training starts soon!¡¯


    Henry smiled at him with two thumbs up before banking a right, falling away from Damien as he too began his descent.


    ¡°Soon!¡± the lord called out to him as he eventually became a small speck, ¡°you¡¯ll be all trained up and ready to be presented to your mother!¡±


    ***


    Damien remained flying even 2 hours later.


    His wings were beginning to ache from stress and even his large, dense feathers were beginning to feel cold. The beautiful sunset had turned to the darkness of night.


    Damien stared up at the sky as he continued flying in one massive circle around the mountain he¡¯d been thrown off of hours earlier. He stared at each and every star until he committed to memory their every place in the heavens.


    His vision fell.


    He¡¯d circled that one spot so many times, the prince had engraved every detail of the heavy twin scorch marks he¡¯d left stretching hundreds of meters down the side of the mountain. He even memorized the different colors of his courtier¡¯s holy fires, manifesting in the small tufts of flame for light each of them manifested by their heads while they patiently waited for their liege to finish his private flight. At some point, they all equipped their hoods to be able to keep visual track of their prince.


    Bringing his sight level again, Damien began to beat his wings heavily, sending massive bursts of energy pulling him further up and up into the most massive summersault he¡¯d attempted yet. At the peak, as he began to crest, flowing backwards with divine grace, Damien¡¯s aura and inner realm crashed into one another, roaring to life with an epic explosion of rose golden light. The imperial crown prince emerged from the burst in his angelized form. Though his pure black bone mask perfectly masked his face, making the angelized Nephilim seem more demonic, his now sparkling platinum, majestic bladed wings bathed him in the unceasing, chanting light of The Almighty. Exposing him, wherever he went, as a warrior of heaven. In an epic light show, he completed his massive summersault tracing light behind him in a stunning, sparkling arch.


    As Henry mentioned, his normally genetically enhanced super hearing was now  increased even further, over 6 times, by his hood. This gave him the faint ability to make out the sound of clapping coming from the group of courtiers.


    Still, Damien said nothing. His blank expression refused to change safely hidden behind his mask. Instead he just waved emptilly to the group below, reassuring them from trying to come up after him.


    Looking up again, for the 45th time that flight, and the 12 trillionth time since coming to the manor, Damien pondered just making a break for it and running away. Especially now that he could fly even while angelized and had a crude, but effective instruction manual to do so, he actually stood some chance at making a decent run before anyone knew any better.


    Only one thought restrained him from doing so. Only the image of one person in his brain kept him from mentally shattering then and there from everything he¡¯d been forced to come to terms with just that day alone. Not to mention how endlessly painful the existence of being an imperial Nephilim kept persisting as.


    The person¡¯s face wasn¡¯t of his mother, or Ma LaCroix. It wasn¡¯t Lord Clyde, Jurovi, Henry, or Jorie.


    It wasn¡¯t even any of his courtiers.


    The gigantic face of Jessica staring down him from the heavens disapprovingly, that his brain had superimposed on the sky, was the only one had kept him from making a break for it every time his thoughts almost led him to a massive panic attack.


    Of which there had been, way, too many.


    Damien¡¯s heart hurt badly seeing the visage of his extremely long distance girlfriend. Even in her angry features, he now felt intense longing. If only, just to hold her again. If only just for a moment. Just to stroke her cute, chubby cheeks one last time and twirl his fingers in her curly brown hair.


    Damien gave a sad sigh.


    ¡°As much as I hate it here sometimes,¡± he muttered to himself, ¡°it¡¯s the only way I¡¯m really ever going to see her again.¡±


    ¡°She,¡± he said, his voice now filled with a mix of awe and disgust, anger and love, hatred and admiration, ¡°mom¡­ is the only way I¡¯m going to meet Jessica again. Ruby King Amos¡¯ grandfather is a Great Disaster, Lord Iron Wolf. I should be fully able to date her now as a royal of the same level as her¡­ Since I¡¯m the son of the Rank 1 Great Disaster¡­ Lady Blood Red Hoaquin¡­¡±


    The boy sighed again, hanging his arms as he flew, beginning to curve downwards to where his courtiers stood.


    ¡°If I have to be the perfect son, the perfect soldier, for her to allow me to date Jessica,¡± he reasoned emptily, as he descended, ¡°then so be it. I will be the perfect son. I will be the perfect soldier.¡±


    ***


    The four Nephilim kneeling before Damien were massive.


    Their beautiful, sky blue battle coats had large, golden frills adorned with powerful holy runes embedded into their shoulder guards. Their coats were decorated with scores of ribbons, tassels, medals and badges signalling their vast scores of achievements required for consideration to this most esteemed few. They radiated extreme power, even though Damien could not feel a single drop of aura from any of them. The boy could swear, even their golden and blue eyes seemed just a little bit more golden and blue than the average Nephilim.


    No one needed to tell Damien that these 4 beings had clearly long since crossed the threshold of creation, stepping deep into divinity. For fuck¡¯s sake they sparkled in the damn sunlight, in a way that somehow still looked otherworldly and badass as all hell.


    ¡°Heavenly Imperial Crown Prince!¡± they all chanted in unison, taking to the ground on one knee, a fist to the floor, causing a massive boom. They stared at their prince, gazes unbroken, ¡°Prince Damien D¡¯Amorn of Asqualla! We greet you!¡±


    Damien looked with a confused eyebrow raise at Henry.


    ¡°Sire, among the titles your mother, Her Heavenly Imperial Majesty, holds within the empire, there is also Duchess of the great city of Asqualla. Some presume you were even born there, though in secret,¡± the lord explained.


    ¡°I am Blessed Saintess rank 34th, my lord,¡± the lady on the far left, bearing 4 violet wings, spoke up first. ¡°Illia, Elite rank Goddess mage of the Empire, I am Saint Urola Sinclair.¡±


    The next, an asian looking man bearing simple, black circular eyeglasses with white and grey spotted wings, chimed in with a surprisingly deep voice. Contrasting sharply with how meek and reserved the Nephilim looked.


    ¡°I am Blessed Saint rank 22nd, my lord,¡± he said simply, his deep voice sending grand reverberations through the floor, ¡°Reaper, Elite rank God mage of the Empire, I am Saint X¨«ng Hu¨¬.¡±


    ¡°I,¡± the massive man that was their apparent leader, next spoke up, ¡°am Blessed Saint rank 5th, my lord.¡±


    The massive Nephilim¡¯s voice shook with far more force than the reaper¡¯s had, though it wasn¡¯t nearly as deep. Every syllable the saint uttered shook with hints of vast, terrifying, divine angelic power.


    ¡°Guardian. Inner rank God mage of the Empire, I am Saint Duncan Dorne.¡±


    For a moment, Damien was unsure if he was supposed to bow to the massive deity, while he was currently scared for his life simply standing before a being with that much power.


    ¡®Show off,¡¯ Lord Jorie whispered into Damien¡¯s head with an unconcerned laugh, ¡®he¡¯s just trying to make a good impression.¡¯


    ¡®Ah,¡¯ Damien reasoned to himself, ¡®of course, Lord Jorie should be far stronger than him, and yet it almost never feels this uneasy simply standing before him.¡¯


    Steeling himself, Damien looked the Saint directly in his eye, choosing to simply deftly nod to the powerful deity before turning to his last partner.


    ¡°And I, am Blessed Saintess rank 10, my lord,¡± the final woman spoke up. She had light brown hair tied in a bun, a young freckled face, and wings burning with pink heavenly fire. ¡°Vreka. Inner rank Goddess mage of the Empire. I am Saint Susanne Yorr.¡±


    ¡°Well met, Blessed Saints,¡± Damien said, as formally and regal as the boy could muster, ¡°I am honored you all heeded the call of my mother, Her Heavenly Imperial Majesty, to train me. I am in your care.¡±


    Damien bowed at the waist to them, head bowed with his hands folded before him.


    ¡°The I¡¯ntwiri.¡± Saint Susanne said with a laugh, ¡°what a respectful prince! His Imperial Highness greets us with adequate respect for a student to their master, in the old way.¡±


    ¡°Asisni xscul¡¯er qu¡¯la seii kep,¡± Saint Duncan boomed, along with his fellow saints, as each saint rose to their feet alongside him, ¡°well met student, be at ease,¡±


    Lord Jorie spoke up.


    ¡°Imperial Blessed Saints!¡±


    ¡°Aye Warmaster, Lord High General!¡± the group chanted snapping to attention, immediately turning as one to face him.


    ¡°I trust you have been adequately briefed for your mission?¡±


    ¡°Aye Warmaster, Lord High General!¡± Saint Duncan Dorne boomed, answering for his group, ¡°we have extensively prepared for every possible facet of this most precious role. Training our imperial crown prince to the fullest of his potential, for the next year, is our utmost priority.¡±


    Lord Jorie nodded before he looked over to his right at his youngest brother, and to his left to Damien¡¯s Grand Courtier.


    ¡°Saint Dorne, you and your Blessed Saints are to report to these two as per my authority as Nightmare rank 1 to speak for Her Imperial Majesty,¡± Lord Jorie said out loud, ¡°have I made myself clear?¡±


    ¡°Aye Lord Nightmare!¡± the group chanted again in unison. Though Damien could tell for a single moment, a deep sense of dread seemed to pass between the 4 saints at the news of the lord¡¯s new hyper exclusive rank.


    Damien stared up at all of the Blessed Saints, but his vision always seemed to rest on Saint Dorne.


    Saint Duncan Dorne got a confused look on his face that turned into a slow, easy smirk as he bowed at the waist to the crown prince, having realized he¡¯d been being watched.


    ¡°Is there something I may be able to do for His Imperial Highness?¡±


    Damien said nothing for a moment. He just looked, head slightly tilted, into the Saint¡¯s golden and blue eyes, a mirror of Damien¡¯s own. The teen then just stewed over a thought that had been bugging him after it suddenly appeared in his mind as soon as he¡¯d heard the saint was just posturing in front of him.


    Damien pointed a finger to the saint¡¯s right cheek. His beautiful crystalline scythe immediately manifested, pointed directly at the spot on Saint Duncan¡¯s cheek.


    ¡°I¡¯m gonna leave a cut on that cheek, in one year, with my scythe.¡±


    The entire room stood stunned. Henry and the Grand Courtier¡¯s mouths hung agape. Shock was evident on every face of the Blessed Saints. Lord Jorie was the only person with a look of utter joy and pride beaming on his face at Damien¡¯s sudden, senseless provocation to the leader of the group of saints.


    Saint Duncan blinked, for a minute, before he began to slowly chuckle, soon turning into an easy belly laugh.


    ¡°Noli me tallere sine causa,¡± the Blessed Saint boomed as the rest of the deities within the room took up in unison, ¡°Noli me ponere sine honore.¡±


    ¡°My Imperial Highness,¡± Saint Dorne said, wiping a tear from his eye, ¡°if you can actually manage to strike and leave a wound upon my cheek, in just one year? I¡¯d be the happiest Nephilim alive.¡±