Children of Terra

~A reminisce of times past~ ~In the Mojave Desert~ ~Night City on the horizon~ ~Pruflas, culture shocked~ The world had gone entirely mad in just a short damned time. Pruflas felt the full force of future-shock as he camped in the outer ruins of Morro Bay. What happened for so many things to go all bad like dominoes one after another? First, the world bled dry to defeat the occultist Nazis, empowered by the arcane; and even then just barely. What was it, like 50 million Russians alone? East Germany rebelled later anyway. Pruflas spent those war years back in the old world, mainly to hunt Gaap. Then the younger brother had fled back to Inferno, like a fucking pussy. So, Pruflas spent his remaining time mired in overturning the horrors the demons had wrought. Lucifer, in his own madness, was trying to rend the very veils between worlds and bring all of Terra -- Earth -- into madness and ruin. And this, in all, was just the first step.       Still salvageable, if we're loose with the term. Next, in sheer defiance of sensibility, the day the world snapped seared itself into the Duke's mind. November 4, 1952. A presidential election day standard like any other. Until that night came and the winner was announced. McCarthy?!He wasn't even on the fucking ballot! The nukes that followed were the hammers upon the world. Bombs of mutational poison, land destroyed for lifetimes, and Pruflas having to watch as the insanity never ceased. Decades of war that made even the Second One feel like child's play.       First the occult, then the nukes; then the viruses. New Plague and its blue boils. Harran Virus and its enraging rabid results. With much of the world cast into a wasteland, now people had to contend with being infected with near-existential threats. Survivors retreated into enclaves, built walls around cities.       Old governments fell, and mega-corporations filled the vacuum. In the crucible of all these things, technology advanced in a direction that likely would never have happened before. Medical implants, cyborg uplifting, a rejection of the humanity that cast the world down in the first place. Viruses mutated, and the visage of the world was stained forevermore. The final victory of Lucifer.       And all within a single century.       He failed the old world. He failed the new world. And after a thousand years, he failed his dear Metile and the child unnamed. What would you have named the kid, Mettie? Pruflas felt abandoned by everything in this new era. He stared into the campfire in a concrete shell of a building, left hand holding Metile's dagger. Should he just plunge this into his neck and fucking end it all?His right hand was empty save an idea. If he could only kill just one demon in his pathetic life, it had to be Gaap. No one else. Pruflas held the dagger firm in his grip. "Metile, my love . . . "       Self-hatred coursed in his veins only held back by the hatred of his tormentors. He always had the choice to end his life, but he wouldn't fucking stand to let that monster live at minimum. The more, the better; but he just didn't have what it took. It was the most depressing thing he learned in the thousand years wasting his life in dishonor of Metile.       He looked at the holo-ads filtering in the sky of Night City, dominating the crimson view with garish images and clips. Air transport could on occasion be seen breaking through the sky-banners. In that rotting vestige of humanity were his brothers. His family. At least one or two that he could torture for more information. Was it finally time to give up the charade, and fall into being a monster the worst among them all? Just kill every fucking thing in his path between him and vengeance?       The fire didn't say. They never tend to. Pruflas had to answer that himself. He had to be prepared to die in Night City. No more games. All that mattered now was Gaap. He kicked the fire out once the sun dipped below horizon.       Just him, his magic, Metile's dagger, and not a care in the world.       He set out for the city of dreams, a bastion cradled between desolation and the ocean of tranquility. A monument to human glory and shame all in one. ~5 November 2039~ ~Anniversary of the gunpowder treason~ ~And to party like it's 2023~ ~Pruflas, out of the shadows~ No more games. He didn't waste magia in a disguise, nor would he hold back anymore. He was set. At least two would die this day. He marched right up to the city barriers, heedless of the klaxons and spotlights bidding him to stop before he was shot. Security personnel streamed out, riot gear full and ready for the madman. "Halt! Immediately! Lay fucking down!" The same message was repeated in multiple languages until the duke held his hand up.       Cameras over-watching the scene noised out and the security team began writhing as their blood vessels animated inside them, ripping their brains apart in sinus-destroying gore. Pruflas fired a spiral aether-bullet, blowing through the concrete barrier walls one after another. Chatter could be heard on radios of the dead bodies. "Cyber-psycho incident! East Mojave Gate! Scramble Max-Tac divisions 8 through 15! Now! Now!"       None of these people were doing anything wrong by attacking him. His heart felt dead as he carved through the border zone, massacring people by the dozens. He had become no better in the end. As he slaughtered men, women, and innocent bystanders caught in area magic, he could only feel a deep hatred. If he had any balls, he would have killed the demons back in Limbo. At least the brothers, the weak ones. Now he forced people entirely adjacent of it all pay a price they never agreed to.       He had devastated a path from the outer suburbs of the city, charging through buildings as increasingly powerful munitions were called out to stop the highest level threat Max-Tac had ever been called out for. Gunships and APC's riddled single-houses with bullets, ripping families apart. Kids. All because of himself.       Pruflas was on the verge of breaking. He had to walk through bodies, firing through panel walls to blow apart armored vehicles in mindless fucking slaughter. He had mastered the concept of compressed magia. Combined with all his eons of experience, he had become a demon. A true demon.       He reached out with a hand to tug on the soul-strings of Max-Tac troops, naturalis teleporting between them in hopping leaps, slaughtering the ancillaries in vicious death. Looking back to the border wall, Pruflas felt sick at the fires, the smoke, rubble, and thick, thick fucking stench of burning death in his wake.       He had finally reached the next district. Out of suburbs into industrial. Larger buildings to hide in as he carved to the dark heart of Night City. More and more borgs were sent after him, drones with tasers and turrets, but all easily dispatched with waves of his magic. They thought he was some kind of foreign netrunner. He would have laughed if he wasn't nauseous. Every blink he saw little eyes fading after taking .50 BMG. He had crossed the Rubicon. Gaap had to die at this point. Otherwise . . . ~Into the commercial heart~ ~Skyscrapers in lock-down~ ~Max-Tac and mercs on scene~ ~Gaap, Chief Security Officer of Militech - N.C. Division~ It was another day in paradise. Gaap had been simultaneously firing an entire unit and getting some of the best head he ever had when video feeds interrupted. "What the fuck?!" The assistant backed off his dick, when he forced her around again with a gargle, back up to the hilt. "Keep sucking!" Extreme cyber-psycho incident? Why the hell would that matter? Then he saw the estimated death toll. 1000+? In one fucking night? Most of the early video feeds were scrambled, but bearing was direct for the heart of Night City. Ah, just another psycho angry at the world. Fucking anarchists. Then live ground feed overlay the preliminaries. Gaap never went so soft so fast in his life.       He knew enough to get to ground floor rather than take a heli-vac or air transport. Sytry still bitched to this day about that. Pruflas would be able to destroy a flyer like a clay pigeon. Gaap needed to get to ground floor and away, right fucking now. He had never seen such a look on that mad-fuck's face. If even the duke had shed all his morals, Gaap knew he had no chance in any of the Rings. He needed to draw the duke into a clearing where he could be surrounded. The city outskirts would've been nice, but that was the direction the duke's approaching from. Fuck. That left the beaches, surprisingly still intact in some areas.       Guards had been insisting he be escorted.       "Fuck the decorum! Out of the way!" Gaap didn't bother with the fucking masquerade, pulling up his pants. Pruflas certainly didn't, and gunshots peppered the night sky just blocks away. Thrums of grenades and field rockets sounded with an intensity that promised the duke's vengeance. Gaap began teleporting with fervid fear. Let these assholes think what they want. Surely the madman would take precedent.       Case in point, he watched air support begin spiraling as the rappel straps held already-dead bodies. It crashed into an adjacent skyscraper, pluming a fireball out with reflecting glass raining all around. This was it. Gaap had only felt this scared once before. He raced and teleported, scrambling to get to the outer hub and into the beach areas, where he would have support advantage. As Gaap slid down the embankment of a freeway, an APC flew overhead, careening and embroiled in hellfire. Holy shit. It tore the asphalt up, bashing cars across the lanes like a bowling ball. When it hit the opposing sound barrier, the vehicle exploded in a shrapnel-embedding boom. Sirens and screams were ringing as Gaap raced across the mega-laner. He was flashing up the shoulder of the road when magic bullets began peppering around him. "Fuck! Fuck!"       In the middle of rolling over the lip and back on a frontage road, a palm tree next to him exploded. A magic bullet had hit the mark, blasting like a grenade next to Gaap. He was thrown to the side, rolling and crying as he felt his left arm bones shatter. Adrenaline got him up as he ran to the pier where an old marina used to be, back before Night City. He beat with his back through the window of the dilapidated shop, glass muted against adrenaline. He's gonna fucking kill me. Gaap held his broken arm with the other, scrambling to hide in the reinforced freezer-storage. He shut the door, collapse-sliding against it. "S-someone save me. Father, Sytry, Seir . . . Anyone."       Bullets began peppering from the outside. He was in, then. Gaap closed his wet eyes, heart thrumming at probably 180 beats per minute. He was panting. Every beat shook his arm as nerves lit in pain. Then, the metal storage door went cold. What the fuck? Gaap had barely turned from the floor when the metal shattered into a million pieces. He was flung against the far wall, ribs cracking like potato chips. Coughing and hacking, Gaap groaned as he watched the eldest approach, step after step.       "You fucking toad. You die here." Pruflas kicked him over, Gaap fully crying now. Iron-blood ran from his mouth as he watched the duke bear the dagger of that whore at him. Pruflas grabbed him by the neck, picking him up like a dog, and thrust the dagger at his chest.       In that moment, a shimmer formed. A subtle weave in a millisecond. Out came Seir in a dive, grabbing Gaap around the waist. Pruflas fangs' snarled as he willed more force into his arm to end this once and for all. But all in vain. Seir and Gaap disappeared before the dagger could plant true. ~Behind safe lines~ ~Overlooking the pier and shop~ ~The spirited-away, broken~ ~Gaap, brother to Pruflas~ Gaap was too adrenaline-hazed to remember much. His hippocampus had taken second seat to the massive amounts of cortisol and adrenaline coursing in his veins. He simply watched in a daze as Seir and Vassago signaled for the trap to spring. Shots from APC's, gunships, machine-gun nests, and small arms began thundering the building from a semicircle arc. He could register faint words from the youngest brothers. "This is it. The nightmare is so close to over." Gaap could faintly see the outline of Vassago collapse. They were so mean to the two, weren't they?       Gaap didn't watch the fireworks. Never in his life had he been so close to death before. His mind was full of the flashes of the past. The duke was his brother, once. The eldest of them all. That thing in the pier was not his brother. A seed bore in his mind in the moment, surrounded by the gunshots and rockets tearing the pier apart:       Did he do that to his own family?       He held his battered arm, breathing through shattered ribs at the eulogy of Pruflas, face swelling from bruises. He spoke in broken tongue, barely enough for either Vassago or Seir to hear. " . . . Brother." Vassago's eyes widened for just a perceptible moment, turning to Seir.       Meanwhile, the entire angle of the pier where gunfire overlapped was torn up in sand and smoke, preventing all save the demons from seeing the result of the night through the flashes and whizzes of tracer rounds, frangible rounds. Eventually, they could discern a figure standing on the end of the pier. Strange shape. Did the duke discover polymorphism?       Seir was the next most magically-adept of the three brothers present. He was first to see the wisps of magia around the shrouded figure. The energy was oddly,ancient? Like a mimic of times long past and yet, different. "That's . . . not the duke."       Vassago stood, eyes wide. None of his visions showed this moment. No, none of his visions show this man, at all. His lower lip trembled, and he opened comms. "Countermand all previous orders. Fire everything at the new target. Everything." ~In a time unknown~ ~And an unknown place, outside~ ~Taking his first breath in regained life~ ~Vykan, champion of Stygia~ He had a heck of a dream floating out of Telkhine. He dreamed he was floating surrounded by tardigrades through a cerulean ocean. They were cute, fluffy; all things considered. He was laughing in his dream as he pet the things, playing with their puppy-like energy. What fun! Eventually, he felt in his chest a thrum and call. He instinctively looked ahead, feeling a subtle quake in his invisible feet from some indiscernible movement ahead. The puppy-tardigrades left him. Then he realized his eyes were closed.       It is time to wake, dreamer.       What the hell? Why is it so smoky? Vykan recognized the smell of gunpowder filling his nostrils. He looked down at his feet. He was standing on, a pier? It was night, and he couldn't see much of shit from ass. He looked to his left. The rock formation struck his mind immediately. He recognized that sphere. Been there as a child. The words formed on his lips before his brain could register the shock. "Morro . . . rock?"       He reached up with a hand, feeling the sand cloud on his skin whether this was real or not. The answer came a half second later, when an APIT .50 cal punched through his helmet and shattered on his skull. His trained reflexes allowed him three tumbles before he righted himself. "Now who shoots on sight? That was very mean."       The next shot hit his readied shield, exploding in fiery smoke and pushing him off the pier into the beach below. He rolled in reverse, breaking his inertia. These guys were kinda assholes, weren't they? Already shots were beating on his fresh tailored armor, warping it. He sighed. One minute. One damn minute of peace and he was being shot at. He pulled his ornamented xiphos from its scabbard, grinning to himself as he charged up the beach incline.       Most of the small arms glanced off his armor and blessed skin. Every now and then when an APIT round hit, his vision flashed from the spark and he was pushed back. They didn't bring enough APITs. He was within the first firing line -- a machine gun nest -- within two minutes of setting up the beach head.       The strange man wore an advanced suit Vykan was unfamiliar with, head adorned with implants he only guessed were now real from theory. Time passed, huh? Then man fired his m249 into Vykan's chest, shouting out. "Second cyber-psycho confirmed! Advanced RealSkinn implant! Need recoil-less support, now!" Vykan stared for a moment more. The man followed up, still ignoring him as he cleared a jam in his belt-fed. "God damn, what is this? Cyber-psycho day?"       Vykan raised his sword, raising his eyebrow in tune. "You bet it is." He plunged the blade between the eyes.       The line was broken due to a main reason. Friendly fire. Vykan knew that basic principle in squad fighting. If they shot now, half would probably die in their own misfires. Not a problem for a man with half a brain. Vykan leapt toward an APC, shield absorbing the rifle fire. He let the lanyard pull the shield against his back while he pulled with his left hand the gunner out of his seat. Right hand reverse plunged the xiphos down, but the guy fought back. Vykan was Stygian blessed, however. His strength was slowly but surely overpowering the augmented human. It helped he didn't abide by lactic acid limitations, either.       Sliding the blade in chest, Vykan yanked the dead man up and around. A rocket pounded his right, hurling him off the APC; and the APC itself to its side. Aw.       He was kneeling in the midst of getting up when he saw the sheer amount of armored vehicles surrounding the area and sky. No, dammit. I can't handle all this. Why the hell were they all here anyway?Vykan looked back at the decimated pier for a sign. A grenade tinked by his feet. He looked down at it. Hm.       The blast blew him backward through the air. He used korybant pirouettes to land on his feet. "Of course. I get a welcome ceremony." He sheathed his xiphos. Unfortunately, it wouldn't be up to par for a full on gun battle. He slid to the dead guy by the APC, taking the . . . Armalite-platform. Good. He was used to that one, even if it was a bit front-heavy.       He didn't need to brace or hide, standing up and beginning to lay down fire, running back to the pier. 'Second' cyber-psycho that guy said. APITs punched his back making him hop and stagger as he ran. He had to roll and pad around as he lost balance, rounds peppering his hide like some exotic game beast. This kinda sucks.       When Vykan leapt back into the ruined building, he looked for the other psycho. Oh, there he is. Vykan ran over, leaning down to the . . . Daimon?! Shaking his head, he grabbed the guy by the shoulder. Dazed, god dammit. "Hey! Buddy! I got a glimpse of the shit you pulled before I got here! Any more of that?" The daimon didn't respond. Vykan sighed.       The walls were beginning to crumble as APITs punched through. The area around the daimon was fine, for some reason, though. "Dude! I kinda need your help here!"       The daimon looked up at him, with the eyes of someone beyond hope. "What's the point?"       That won't do. Vykan slapped him. The guy didn't react at first. At first. Vykan slapped him again as another grenade clattered off the destroyed counter to his right. He grabbed it and tossed it over the pier. Then he slapped this guy a third time. Mr. Slapped spoke up after that. "The fuck's your problem?! Are you insane, or just an asshole?!"       Vykan grinned. First step done. "How bout I help you out? But we kinda need to get out of here for that." He sucked his teeth as though the whole situation was just an inconvenience.       A helicopter overhead popped salvos. Oh, shit. Vykan coiled his gut, before the missiles all began careening in the air. He looked to the daimon, clapping him on the shoulder. "Good job, guy. You and me could do a lotta damn stuff . . . "       The daimon looked back, before some small glimmer of registration hit him. "You . . . "       "Me?" Vykan looked amused while the chaos outside was only ramping up. What pussies. Why don't they charge?       "You're Stygian blessed, aren't you?"       "Yeah, what about it?"       The daimon began laughing, hands running through his hair as he lay against the crumbled wall. Heh. Handsome bastard. Then the daimon spoke. "How many are we talking?"       "Finally." Vykan peeped over the wall. Then he took an APIT to the forehead, being blasted back and prone. From against the ruined counter, Vykan replied. "A lot."       The daimon focused. "Okay. Okay. I'm gonna need to come inside you."       Vykan sputtered. The daimon realized how he phrased that. "Not like that! I-I mean a contract! It's my first time doing this . . . "       "I decline. I mean, if that's okay."       "Dammit, no! Let me explain. I offer to form a contract with you, to get you out of this if you help me with my problems."       "No bullshit?" Vykan was always rather straightforward.       The daimon chuckled in a reflexive stimulus response. "You, don't care about being possessed by a literal demon?"       "No. As long as you don't pull some horseshit. Hmmm?"       There was no doubt in the demon's mind. This guy was certified fucking crazy. "No cow dung. I just need your help for a little familial revenge, is all. You're . . . sturdy. I need that at this moment."       "Alright. I agree to help you if you help me. Simple enough."       "O-kay." The demon wasn't lying. He never had formed a contract before. How the hell do you do that?       Vykan was on one knee, flinching as wood and rivet shattered on his armor. "Well? Do we start with names or something?"       "No, that's stupid."       Vykan ignored that. "Well, my name's Vykan. I think."       "You think? What?"       Vykan held his hand out, smiling under the battered Grecian helmet.       The demon looked at the hand. "I-uh. Pruflas." Then he took the hand and shook. He vanished in the next moment.       Hmm. Vykan looked down at the empty spot, cast in spotlight white as attack choppers flew overhead. I don't remember agreeing to that. Maybe I am going crazy . . .       He then heard a voice in his head. Shut up. You got a lot of shit to sort through, but I think it worked.       Vykan took a calming breath, still kneeling. The voice offered a solution after a while of being shot at intermittently. Must be running out of ammo or something, Vykan thought.       I agree for the most part. You're mundane save the Stygian blessing. I say we jump.       "What, into the Pacific?"       You're public enemy number one at the moment. We need to break sight first of all, then run as fast as we can.       He's right when he's right. Vykan had put power in his thigh when the wood of the pier finally gave out, caving from underneath him. A cloud of wood splinters, dust, and sand clouded the area.       Run. Into the ocean. Now.       Vykan powered his legs, sprinting into the ocean, diving to the bottom. Armor did most of the work for that. He just helped.       Wha? What the hell are you doing?       Me being Stygian blessed is half of it. I'm already dead, mister Pruflas. Vykan looked up as he walked on the floor of the ocean, as spotlights and air vehicles could still clearly see him. Why was he holding his breath? Vykan deliberately let the air out of his lungs, sucking in the -- eugh, disgusting -- water.       . . .       He kept walking along the silt until nothing could be seen at all. And more again. Eventually, the passenger demon spoke. Turn way left. You're going in a big arc.       You can see in this murk?       Yes. We need to travel for at least a day in roughly this direction. It will take them time to sortie a search; time you can use far more efficiently.       Like walking through nothing?       You get the point. I have to retreat for now, so here's a little aid for you. A mote in the dark appeared to Vykan. He watched as it danced in the dark waters, before tugging along ahead of his vision.       Well, if he had to walk . . . Vykan began spinning in the water like a dolphin-freak. With the mote there, he could do what he wanted and still maintain bearing. He began imagining he was on a covert mission, crawling through the silt for a time again.       He was bored already.       Dammit. What a shit way to come back. Just like the other time.