Children of Terra

-Omen-

~5 February 1000~ ~Capitol Dis, Pater Inferus~ ~Quarters of the Princes~ ~Vassago, young prince 7th~ To see into the future is like going on a hike -- if time were like rolling vistas all around you. As you stand in place, there are any number of directions you could go; and the better your oracular vision, the farther you can see. But once you summon the will to commit in a direction, you can never retrace already taken steps.       Vassago was young -- only Seir was younger among the Princes -- yet the 7th could see better and farther than any of them. He could see a storm on the horizon of his vision. In the direction Seir and he went only once; and he tried so hard to convince his family to let the eldest go. It would've worked; Belphegor the Slothful agreed wholeheartedly, and the word of an Arch Demon outweighed much. Then Asmodeus the Lusted came along and became enraptured with fantasy.       Vassago bit his thumb as he peered into the skein. Any direction they could have gone, and the stubborn family chose the one with the most disruptions and least visibility. Damn! Something was wrong in that direction. Unlike what he had seen peering anywhere else.       You see, time to an oracle is a strange concept. Because the moment you gain the awareness of the spectrum, future events lose meaning -- as they become both past events that are indistinguishable from memory, and the ones that come to pass look the same as the ones passing you by.       Take a moment 5 minutes from now. To an oracle having walked in that direction; all one would see are the infinite branches of the future-now-past from a rapidly-familiarizing perspective. It becomes then crucial -- the ability to remain grounded in the crucible of now. What does such a word mean to an oracle?       The more powerful an oracle, the father one can see. The farther one can see, the more repetition becomes inevitable. The past flowing by becomes indistinct from the future already seen, and one can drown in the deja vu. It is precisely this why Vassago spends most of his time simply sitting, as any motion or disturbance at all causes rippling to waft his vision.       Why does the future have to depend so damn much on the present? If he were to sit here and people forget about him, only then would his vision settle to a point he almost feels normal. Sometimes he plays with the strings of a particular branch, like what would happen if he trips here, or runs away like that, or compulsively declares love to . . . Pointless.       Vassago turned once more to the horizon. He was coming. It hurt the 7th prince to wander so far down the oracular path, but when his stamina permitted, Vassago would venture to watch the eldest Duke. Something always felt wrong going there. It was like a tightrope on a taut frame; coiling and bending under heavy winds. All it would take to snap everything up is one push.       In other words, if it really came down to it, then attempting the life of the Duke wasn't good enough. Too much would be tossed in the chaos. If what must be, must be; then a trap must be absolute.       Why by the Rings and Sins then must the family be so damned divided?! ~2 March 1000~ ~Shores of Phlegethon~ ~Below cliffs of Dis~ ~Vassago, eminence of sight~ The minotaur Asterion sat alongside the small prince-ling, a damned soul beneath his hoof. The pale shade struggled as the minotaur ripped a leg off and chewed thoughtfully on what the young prince just said. "As much as your words hold meaning, young prince; I cannot fathom their depth. How could one demon be so . . . influential?"       "Because Aster -- okay." The shade's screams and pleading made Vassago's temple pulse. "Asterion . . . " The prince gestured belatedly at the man underhoof.       The minotaur looked idly down at the prince, before the bovine pupils widened in realization. He picked up the shade about the neck and tore the head off in his jaws with a slick motion -- crunching through the skull after being recommended such by that kind fellow Grendel. Ufff, so delectable.       Vassago sighed as he listened to the grim squelching. "Like I was saying, the eldest prince has a path unlike many of us. Take Sytry, for example. He will always be some manner of unrepentant, womanizing demon. No matter how far I look into his path, that is what I see. Eh, keep in mind the branches become hard to navigate as crucial events resolve.       "The eldest, the eldest has madly wild variance in where he can go. Many routes end with his death. It saddens me, but the threads resolve. My points are the threads where the duke lives. The turbulence in these routes becomes so fierce -- I can't see past them."       Asterion crammed his hand down the throat cavity of the soul and ripped up the heart in slick fibres and connective tissue. Vassago could visibly see the minotaur think as the beast sucked the heart in like a particularly flavorful cut of steak. "Reminds me of my days on Gaia. Many heroes walked then that could defy fate. You mean to say the Duke . . . ?"       Vassago knew he could find some council outside Dis. The demons had gone insane -- so convoluted in the miasma their thoughts jumbled. "Precisely, Asterion. The Duke has a particular seedling that allows him the most potent of all gifts: a choice. I'm growing scared, not at the idea of killing him, but if we fail to. Something's wrong; and I can't see why."       The minotaur drew in a great breath in massive chest before replying. "Like all mythos I have witnessed; it comes to will. Determination. It takes a . . . strong conviction to blaze against the odds. Do you doubt your brothers?"       The young prince sighed as he kicked his little feet in the black sand on the Phlegethon shore. "Almost all the threads I see end with the Duke's death. So many of them. But in all the ones where he lives; it's the same: my brothers' self-aggrandizement is key." Vassago stood and looked to the ancient maze warden. "We don't have forever. Can you speak some manner of word to them? Anything."       "Like in all things, young prince, I can try."       Both of them looked up as Ipes called from atop the cliff of Dis. "Vassago! We have need of you!"       Vassago shook the sand from his shorts as he made for Dis. He turned to Asterion before he unfurled his wings. "Thank you, Asterion." Unlike many around the prince, the minotaur was simple. Only minor impulses stirred the warden. To Vassago, being in the presence of serenity meant the visions were equally calm.       Going back to Dis was going back to chaos. ~13 March 1000~ ~Halls of highborn Hell~ ~Capitol Dis~ ~Vassago, sleepless~ He hadn't left his room in days. The herald of his vision showed a critical moment was arriving soon. The storm inside his mind was matched by Orobas barging in. Despite the visible frustration on the 5th's body, Vassago sat in stillness.       "What are you doing?! Any number of ways for you to help your brothers, and you're sitting uselessly alone! Why?!"       Vassago waited as he watched the myriad conversational points resolve until just before violence. "What is the point of a heedless oracle, dear Orobas? You only listen to what you want to hear, only to what supports your plans. Has Ipes really never told you about the rest of the threads?" Young Vassago turned his head and stared into the equally confused and enraged face of his brother. "Or is your own vision just that weak to begin with?"       Orobas snarled as he stepped to the 7th prince. "You! You little fuck! How dare you take that tone with me! I have half a mind to beat your ass, arrogant little prick!"       Vassago smiled as the future became narrow. "What's the matter, 'bas? Scared of hurting Beelzebub's favored son? Or could it be the fact you still have no holding beyond a useless faction of deadbeats?"       Orobas roared picked up the little prince by the scruff. He slammed the boy into the wall -- Vassago wincing. "You're worse than him! You think your prophecies can stop my fucking hands, huh?!" Orobas reared his hand back to beat Vassago, before a powerful hand clamped about his wrist; compressing with force enough to strain the radius and ulna.       A deep thrumming voice called in dangerous low behind the 5th prince. "My son. You seem to have mistaken a servant boy with your brother." The grip tightened, Orobas letting go of Vassago reflexively. Beelzebub twisted the arm overhead and around, making Orobas skitter along the floor and kneel out of pain.       The King of Gluttony looked down at his 5th born with the many-eyes upon his head. "You are naive, boy. You think your gift of voice is more use to me than the wonderful sight of your brother." Beelzebub leaned down, levering the arm at an awkward angle behind Orobas, compressing him further against the floor. "I think you need reminding of your place." He kept the lever going, Orobas beginning to plead; until the decisive snap of broken shoulder and limp jiggle of the arm made Beelzebub let go.       Through the whines of Orobas on the ground, Beelzebub continued. "If I catch such flagrant disregard for my wishes again; Orobas, I will send you to meet Pruflas and share of his fate. Speak!"       Panting with exertion, Orobas responded: "Y-yes father. I understand fully."       "Good." Beelzebub turned to the calm Vassago. "My son, you foresee his return soon?"       Vassago bowed. "Yes, father. The eldest is nearing."       "Perhaps I should hold a reception. My eldest returns." A wicked grin played Gluttony's face as he turned back and walked from Vassago's room.       Vassago let out a small child's sigh as he resumed his vigil on the floor. He watched in his mind as the image of Orobas bitterly left, clutching his arm, before returning his attention to watching the storm. ~Ides of March, 1000~ ~Grand Hall of Dis~ ~Capitol of the Rings~ ~Vassago, heavy eyed~ The grand hall was arrayed in a mockery of celebration. The old Pseudomonarchy were called upon to dress and present themselves in anticipation. Many of the Arch Demons couldn't be bothered with such trivialities, as only Beelzebub had any substantial connection to the old ways.       None of the princes cared much about Vassago's pleas, still insufferably assured of killing the Duke whenever they pleased -- having grown stronger in the time since crushing Limbo. The fools, didn't they understand what it signified when a simple mage could rend a portal open himself? Especially one that wasn't gifted like Seir in the travels between realms? So many easy ways out now closed due to this. It became precarious to snip this bud while there were still feasible ways to do so.       A glass of wine on Beelzebub's cap pedestal began to wave along the unmistakable and uncharacteristic still of the aether upon Dis. His many eyes flicked between the glass and the center of the room, where an arcane glyph was drawn in a mocking call to beyond. He was curious to see if the Duke had truly grown enough to warrant the fear emanating from his dear Vassago. The other sons certainly didn't think so, but Beelzebub himself was no longer one to simply cull a potential boon.       Silence filled the hall as the aether-sensitive demons began to all perceive the unnaturalness. Despite their bravado, the lesser demons still had some measure of what we call instinct. Neck hair straightened at the thought of potentials. The classic what if? It had been a long time since the Duke walked among them last; perhaps he did pick up some new tricks in the world they heard of.       A mirror undulation began to roll the aether, a blueshift of approach rather than a redshift of retreat. It gathered speed before the fibres gave out, splitting open and depositing a foreign miasma into the hall. Demons impulsively coughed and sputtered as the mist wafted down.       Then came the familiar hands of him. Wrenching into the room over the return-sigil the hands appeared, forcing the jaws wide; before the firstborn Duke flipped down. His drop made the miasma and aether shudder from the disturbance. Beelzebub's many eyes locked to the form in the mist. He had grown stronger! Not impressively so, but interesting nonetheless.       A gust of wind dispelled the mist immediately; many of the Pseudomonarchy were stepped back from it. Pruflas held the dagger of Metile in his left hand as he scanned the room for familiar faces. Gaap smirked as they locked eyes. Across the hall Pruflas could see the scar running along Gaap's forearm where she had cut him -- despite having a suit on, the duke could see the aether wound as clear as regular sight. ~The first duel~ Pruflas held the dagger toward Gaap. "Step forward and meet your death with some semblance of grace. You cannot stop me."       Gaap smirked as he walked forward, clearly expecting something else to happen when Beelzebub's voice rang out. "No one interfere. I command it." Gaap stopped in the midst of his walk, smirk vanishing fast.       He barely had time to register what the hell father just said when the blast of air in Pruflas' direction signaled the start. The Duke launched himself recklessly through the air toward Gaap, who drew his own blades with a snarl.       Gaap blink-teleported behind Pruflas, already swinging to catch him in the back -- instead what he found was a wave of fire magic unlike any he had seen the Duke use before. It almost caught him as he blinked backward in reaction, before realizing the molten scour melted his left blade.       Pruflas stamped his foot on the ground, augmented with magia, causing a flurry of broken tile to fly up before launching them to Gaap -- who dove aside before processing that. Bits of tile flung into the bystanders, instantly killing some of them and maiming others from the sheer force. Gaap's eyes widened at the sight before the Duke began the next attack.       Sparks of electricity began to fall from the Duke's fingers as Gaap scrambled to his feet in a snarl. So, the eldest had grown a bit. Troubling. Gaap no longer smirked as he clenched his jaw in concentration, locking eyes with Pruflas. The air on his forearms rose, and Gaap knew to teleport on reaction. Wicked bolts flew out from the Duke's hand still at his side, arcing toward the next targets: bystander demons whose skeletons flashed out before crisping to death.       This act and the one before made them antsy as many began to scramble away in chaos. Beelzebub smiled at the sight. He leaned down to watch closer.       Gaap teleported around as Pruflas fired bolt after bolt. The repetition and fierce nature of the magic was far beyond what Gaap had seen last time they met; knowing getting caught by this was a bad damn time. Shouts rang out as many of the Pseudomonarchy were fried to death, hall filling in dispersing magia. Frustrated, Gaap began to blink forward under swells of arcing bolts, his stamina running low. Fuck, where did this prick get such deep reserves?       Gaap's eyes flashed as he blinked to just under Pruflas, sword angled to plunge straight through the heart, when a POP rang out. Naturalis teleport! His sword plunged into a fried body of some no name noble when he felt it. Pruflas had switched places with one of the corpses behind him and fired a ready bolt of electricity into his back.       His body was seized and he cried out from the pain. Gaap's vision blanked out and his body went numb, falling backward stiffly. Another POP as Pruflas switched back to over Gaap's paralyzed body. Those slit demon's eyes. So devoid of the Duke they made fun of, so devoid of frustration or annoyance. He could only manage a weak utterance of air as the Duke plunged the dagger downward, no mercy for words.       "Enough." A great blast of magia from the throne blew Pruflas off his feet. Beelzebub rose, clapping his hands. "Hahaha! What a show!" He stepped over dead bodies as he descended onto the center floor. "I'm willing to overlook your past transgressions if you kneel now."       "Fuck you." Pruflas fired another bolt, which was redirected back a hair from Beelzebub's frame. The duke had to pirouette backward to avoid the arc. Switching to hellfire, Pruflas flung a gout at the Arch Demon, who in response raised a finger and guided it back again. Am I still not strong enough?, Pruflas thought as he rolled aside the fire.       The duke spun around as he roundelay toward Beelzebub, spiraling with air burst to speed up. The dagger sung as it parted air around, aimed for the neck of the Gluttonous King. With a casual sidestep, Beelzebub slipped under the Duke's frame and drove his palm into the eldest son. The duke was blasted into the wall with crunching force -- accompanied by a gasp of blood.       Beelzebub reached down with a large hand to grab at the duke when another POP rang out. Vassago immediately shouted out 'NO!' at the development. Beelzebub looked at the fried corpse before tossing it aside to watch the hobbling eldest run out of the hall. "What?" He turned toward Vassago.       The child stamped a little foot. "He just got away! Father! It'll become so much harder to kill him now! We have to get him before he escapes! Please!"       "Vassago, he's not strong enough to oppose us. Why - "       "It's not just him now! We have to catch Pruflas before - "       Beelzebub was interested now. "Why didn't you say anything about this earlier?"       Vassago ran to look at Gaap before answering. "Too many branches, father. I can't see them all when there is a focal point. With enough time to sort, maybe. But now that we failed to kill Pruflas here, so many possibilities collapsed. Come on! We have to get him before he escapes back outside!"       Beelzebub walked and knelt before Vassago, placing a hand on the shoulder. "Why?"       "I can't see why."       The King breathed in a calming pattern. "How about this, Vassago? Why does it matter?"       "As long as Gaap lives, the eldest will not stop. But with how things played out just now, the Duke will escape and plan for the long game. He won't come back for a long, long time."       "Yes?"       "Father, I've walked down that path as far as I can, I swear it. If he gets out of the Rings, another set of branches close. If we can't kill him on Terra, branches collapse one by one. If he makes it to a grand city, on the shore of a greater ocean than the one we know; we are doomed."       "What, on the Mediterranean or -- doomed, you say? Vassago . . . "       "What I mean is that I cannot see beyond that point. The Duke just vanishes. Not dies, but becomes hidden by something. Or someone."       "So he meets an oracle. You cannot see other oracles. Why is that a concern?"       "I can't see anything beyond that point."       Beelzebub stood. His eyes flicked around the hall, bodies strewn about. Nothing suggested Pruflas could manage much more than that, but he had grown to value the young Vassago. He called to Aguares -- his right hand administrator.       "Send the fastest scouts you can. Cover all the known exits of the Rings. Kill the Duke. Do not let him escape."       Aguares bowed before leaving. Beelzebub wrung his hands as he thought of bothering Lucifer with this. No, not yet. The Lord of Pride is the last one to anger with such disruptions. He turned back to Vassago. "You say Gaap is a central figure? Why don't we just kill him ourselves?"       "That would only displace his rage to a new target. Gaap is our greatest chip right now. The Duke won't fall for simple traps anymore. That only worked the one time. The next easiest thing is to catch him before he escapes."       "Then where is he going?"       "I'm sorry, father. One scenario is as likely as the next. The Duke is a quick thinker; he'll switch on the fly at the slightest deviation of a plan. I . . . I can't see a way to catch him without total force."       Beelzebub slammed his foot on the tile floor. Vassago fell backward, paled. "You're saying he can exploit our weaknesses better than we can to him?"       "Y-yes."       "I should have killed him a long time ago."       "I agree at this point."       "Vassago. Be quiet."       Beelzebub walked back to his throne, temples pulsing. His hand flexed and relaxed in cycles, before clamping down on the armrest, cracking it. He hated how like himself the firstborn had become.       He really should have thrown that one from the cliffs when he first looked into those eyes. The otherness in them was all the sign he needed.       Beelzebub grunted, clearing his mind. He would just kill the Duke next time they meet.