Lo-Nine

Genius Loci

So that was Lucifer.

His mind instantly updated from the forked quantum memory realm. Ruth was such a wildcard, he was reminded once again with every interaction why his choice that she was the one that the future of demonhood was planted upon was the correct one.

But this Lucifer…

It was a pinnacle lifeform. Not many stood against the full weight of his presence and still stood; much less unflinching when attacking and defending at the same time. That was the leader of the Fallen angels. While her angelic followers left much to be desired, she was a true terror. To fashion such a Soulblade on the willpower of her spirit alone, when most couldn't even create a candle flame…

He needed more. He needed her material. Just a drop of blood and he could make one that surpassed his daughters; his own creations. Progress demanded as much. The latest breakthroughs stood atop the bodies of the older experiments. Would Ruth, Maw, and the Proturan race be cast aside for more godly beings and the sake of progress?

There would be no doubt.

“No doubt at all!” he mumbled, his mouth full of fresh human.

The man shrieked as he chewed down upon him, feeding the unfortunate soul into his gullet as slowly as possible. He almost forgot the gunfire tearing through his body. It was easy to get distracted by greater thoughts when accosted by ants.

“Ray of Jade.”

A sweeping beam ran across the ground, catching the lone marksman as he let out a final cry before turning to superheated ash. His golden soul mote gently touched along the ground.

He found, after much experimentation, that the black stone was as immutable as ever. Whoever these Watchers were, he needed to dissect just one fortunate soul to understand them. For all he knew, they were superior to Angels, because he defeated Angels in the past, but not a Watcher. To be fair, he never met a Watcher, much less fought one before, so he had little to go on. But for The Watchers to avoid him for so long was a sign in and of itself of a competent race. But then he was in a situation where Lucifer and The Watchers were possibly in the same place. Based on the portended vision, the leader of The Fallen may be here in this strange land. He gave it a twenty-nine-percent chance.

He crushed down on a Chosen’s leg, snapping it like a dry twig. He gripped the struggling man’s torso and pulled, relieving him of his now worthless thing. He absently began plucking the limbs of the Chosen, deep in thought.

“What would it take to get both this Angel’s viscera and a Watcher sample? What if I got my cake and ate the hell out of it, too? Who is more important? The pinnacle of angelic evolution or the completely unknown gamble? Oh… I can’t stand not taking a gamble… The feeling of regret; knowing that you threw away a superior choice for an unknown is just too much! Too tempting… If I had to choose… What am I saying!? I choose both! What do you think, Mr. Human?”

He addressed the man in his hands. It said nothing as it was now a chunk of ruined meat, slowly fading away as the victim gave up and compressed to that most delicious mote.

One yes and one abstained. It was unanimous.

He breathed in, gathering up the souls of the fallen into his gullet. He could never tire of the sorrow, the bloodshed, and the agony. Not to mention the heartbreak, the hopelessness, and entropy of crushing the life of such people.

It was a curious thing; humans.

They were primed for slaughter; a prey species whose purpose was to feed demonkind. An inferior being in all respects. And yet, they were true immortals. From the weakest man to the horrifying power of infants, each and everyone could never be killed; could never experience true death. They would rest in that soul mote for a time and then return, albeit with no memories of their previous life.

Memory was a sort of health meter for humans, Faithful Ones and Glorified Ones; which could be burned to sustain themselves from fatal injuries. The longer the human lived, the stronger they got, in essence. And even then, a soul ‘devoured’ by a demon wasn’t actually devoured, per say, but more or less borrowed, giving the demon a temporary boost of power until they could stabilize on their own. Once the soul decided it was time to return, not even a god could hold onto a mote once it began to revive. And during that time made humans the most dangerous opponents. In those brief moments, they could grow and mutate at incredible rates, matching even a god for power. It was a bizarre safety mechanism, one he and the others had to plan around, dumping reviving souls onto barren wastelands but never in deep space. Having a human, in despair and loneliness, through suffering and sudden revelation, evolve faster than light travel would be most unfortunate for all of demonkind. That was how the ninth Cardinal of the Church of the Third Advent came to be, if he remembered correctly.

In that regard, humans were a superior species to demons. Demons were effectively immortal. They lived forever until they were slain and their demonstone destroyed. They were a being still cursed by true death; true oblivion. They had no heaven, they had no hell. Death was a return to nothingness. The true fear of all demonkind. In that regard, they as a race suffered from an inferiority complex and jealousy in this one domain.

“But I was one of the few to ascend past death! It can kiss my ass, because I can't die!”

He shrieked a hideous laugh. He could sense the nearby souls of all living things shudder and retreat from him.

It was decided.

Take a sample from both Lucifer and a Watcher, creating the perfect lifeform; the perfect host for his children. To populate the universe with a new race of chosen gods, all loyal to no one, not even himself. The rule of power and evolution was absolute. The weak would fear and feed the strong. He himself would bow to the mightier opponent; if they existed. The other question was:

Which would he get first? Watcher or Lucifer? What would the exacta be?

He already had an idea. And he never made mistakes with the information at hand. But that was the thing. He wasn't omniscient. He made perfect breakthroughs, but only with the limited knowledge that he had uncovered through tortuous trial and error. Well, not torturous to him, but that was beside the point.

He sauntered through the black lands of the Watchers, carefree and excited for future prospects. The perfect lifeform was out there. Or at least the building blocks were.

He halted as his foot squished down upon rended flesh. He was so absent minded at times. Others would accuse him of being self absorbed; but if you were as perfect as he, wouldn't you be, too?

Green robes, bloody viscera, crying goblins, hopelessness and despair.

That must be his henchmen. Looks like they didn't do so good. Pulse guns were a stitch to fight against when knives were the weapons of choice. And all of them failed to sufficiently trigger a beneficial evolution, such as kinetic immunity.

He tapped into his Ego, willing it to surface and manifest. An emerald goblet appeared, dropping into his hands. It was crusted with gold trim, and emeralds gems. Fog billowed from the chalice, pouring onto the ground. The blood and bodies of the wounded, the soul motes and material were all pulled under the carpet layer of thick fog. Bones snapped, cries of dismay rang out, and his 'employees' vanished down under.

He shook the goblet, willing the fog back inside the vessel, leaving not an iota of blood or soul. He sipped deeply from the cup, smacking his lips.

"Ah, a healthy Fae blend."

He would be nourished by the blood of his minions before recycling them. It was mutualistic. They fell for him in hideous manners and he drank them up before reviving them; only for them to fall again. And with every sip of their soul, his power increased double or triple what the soul mote actually gave, so he could afford to bring them back. But that came with its own complex clauses he was in no way going to waste time revealing.

With the Faekind, recycling was much easier than humans. He had been lucky to get them from the Underrealm. They were usually a difficult and wily race to find, but now had been its most loyal and expendable followers.

A shot resounded in the distance. Someone who hadn't completely shied away from his presence. One of impressive bravery. The round ripped through his arm, sheering it off. He caught his own arm and shoved the two stumps together in a single motion. Tendrils of flesh from both ends entangled and reattached his limb, healing the damaged flesh in a second. He spotted the marksman taking aim again.

This wouldn't do at all.

He looked and focused a sliver of power. The man's scope and head suddenly flew off the bodies of both the rifle and torso. The body slumped over to the ground. He took a single step, appearing just in front of the twitching body. He bent over, gripping the head and discarding the ruined helmet, revealing the confused and shocked face within.

"You made me use some of my power. I'm impressed, actually. You Lucifarian flunkies certainly spike in power! Hey! Join me; we have good dental! Blink once for yes."

The head blinked twice.

"Well, you're no fun! Loyalty is boring! Ah, well then, I'll show my respect by granting you a quick end."

He proceeded to spend several minutes de-fleshing the skull up until the spirit of the man gave up and his soul was added to his collection.

"Whoops. I lied. I'm such a wild card!"

He absently licked his fingers as he reached out with his senses, feeling all other beings in his peripheral had retreated from him.

He was alone.

If they wanted to live, they shouldn’t have been so weak!

He chuckled to himself, striding across the black stone of this dark world. He felt in his instincts a call; a guide of sorts. He knew he was heading towards the center of this anomalous structure. But not before butchering anything in his way. Such was the way of life.

The weak would feed the strong.

He felt at the furthest edges of his peripherals signs of game. It was two familiar beings; an angel and a demon god. But there were others with them, too faint to tell. He bent down on all fours, his limbs snapping and cracking into position. He skittered along, humming a sickly tune to himself. He needed to see what Slate was up to with her little ‘friend’. Since she was entombed in her Ego, her powers were restricted and annulled by the contradicting power. Slate was at this moment a mortal being, weaker than a greater demon by a factor of ten, she would be unable to truly protect this Angelic parasite. And he could easily side-step their immunity to demons. Just shapeshift into something else and go to town! But Slate wouldn’t like to know her ‘friend’ was slain. So just eat the Angel and duplicate her. Problem solved. Although it was tricky getting the angelic signature just exact.

“Another Angel dead, replaced in her stead, by a copy; perfect A-through-Zed! Da-da-dadadada; hm-mm-mmhmhmhm!”

He bobbed his head to his own demented ditty.

He prowled closer, masking his presence as he stalked his prey. It wasn’t until moments later he realized his child was there, wandering this dangerous land. Others were with her. Some of her assigned caretakers. Many newcomers. He paused his own murderous intent towards the pathetic Angel. Murder would have to wait; if only for a brief minute.

He crept the outer edges, watching intently what unfolded.

And he would wait for the perfect moment to cause the chaos he so lived by.