“In the day that he awakens, no more blood shall be spilt.”

Malkira watched the seer with a skeptical gaze. Moloch paced about the room, his eyes glassed over in a white glow. “No more blood?” Malkira repeated. “Such lofty claims you make!”

The seer pointed a critical finger at the Demon King’s chest. “Are you so proud as to think only that which you have seen may come to be? Just because something has not happened before does not mean it cannot happen. Furthermore, just because your history books don’t tell of it doesn’t mean it has not been before!”

Moloch’s glowing white eyes never left Malkira’s gaze. The Demon King found himself frozen to the spot, unable to move even if he wished to. With a dry tongue, Makira spoke, “What is my role to play in this apocalypse?”

The seer’s head twitched, followed by shakes throughout his body. When the tremors stopped, he said, “You will raise a brother into the pantheon of the gods, and he will bring about their downfall from within.”

“A brother?” Malkira raised an eyebrow. “I’m assuming you mean you, yourself? You are to become a god, and I’m to help you?” The Demon King chuckled. “If I am not to become a god, what do I get out of this? Will I live longer than others of my kind? Will I reign a thousand years?”

The seer shook his head. “You will die before your hair starts to gray.”

Malkira clenched his fists, and a furnace blazed within his heart. “What? You’re my seer! If you can’t keep me alive, what good are you?”

Moloch shook his head again. “I never promised I could keep you alive, my brother. You remember what I promised you that night.”

Malkira’s teeth ground in his mouth. “You promised to tell me how to bring about the Apocalypse…”

“The Third Genesis,” said Moloch.

“Yes, that one...” Malkira rolled his eyes. “You promised me that future would come to pass.”

“And it will,” Moloch said, flatly.

Malkira seized Moloch by the collar of his robe, where it connected to his hood. “Will it come to pass before I’m buried?”

Moloch shook his head.

Tears burned Malkira’s eyes and he shook the seer. “What about my children? Nadia… Ra-Gadol… will my children see the end of all wars?”

Again, Moloch shook his head. “Your children’s children’s children shall not live to see The Third Genesis.”

“Then what good is it?” Malkira shoved Moloch away and clawed at his own scalp. His knuckle brushed against his broken horn, and he winced. “You’ve wasted my time, Moloch! What good is it to trigger an Apocalypse even my great-grandchildren will never see? What good is it for me to make you a god while I remain mortal… and die before I’m old!”

Moloch’s tone and expression could freeze fire. “Your eyes will behold the aftermath of The Third Genesis, but you will die before it comes to pass. You know what good it will do. The gods who’ve made this world so miserable will be punished, and the world shall finally see peace under the perfect guiding eye.”

“Sygin’s?” Malkira asked.

“No.”

Malkira scoffed. “Yours?”

“No.”

“Then whose?” Malkira bit his lower lip hard. “And, more importantly, why should I care?”

Moloch raised both of his hands at his side, his arms outstretched. “The one for whom all of this was made. The First Man.”

The Demon King sneered. “A man? A human? Not one of my kind, but one of those mortals made by the tyrant gods?”

The seer stared at Malkira, his eyes never wavering from the Demon King’s. “The man the false gods have been trying to recreate since they found Ymir.”

“Found Ymir?” The Demon King repeated. “They did not search—”

“They did!” came Moloch’s thundering reply. Malkira shrunk away from the seer, unable to rationalize, even to himself, the terror that gripped his heart when he spoke. “They found it, and those who pull the gods’ strings sought to create the First Man. The god’s-blood was merely their justification for the venture.”

Black locks whipped back and forth as the Demon King shook his reeling head. “What the Hell are you talking about?”

“It may be hard to understand now,” said Moloch. “But I promise that one of your seed will live to see the day.”

“One of my seed?” Hope lifted Malkira’s heart. “A descendant of mine will be there that day?”

Moloch nodded.

The Demon King walked over to Moloch’s couch and slumped into it. He shook his head and chuckled. “See, my brother, this is how I know you aren’t a leasing-monger. This is how I know your prophecy is not… what did my fool son call it? Propaganda. If it was, you would have told me I would become a god, or that I would outlive the angels… instead you told me that my actions will cause a time of great peace countless generations from now… and that I will die soon…”

The glow in Moloch’s eyes faded, and his posture immediately changed from tall and confident to hunched over and fearful. “Oh… where are my paints?” he said as he searched about the room.

Malkira reached over to Moloch’s dresser and handed him his brush and palette. “I’ll find the Shrieking Shrine, my brother. Rest assured, the seer sickness will not take you.”

Red. The seer’s first color choice was red, after a long hesitation. “Thank you,” he said as he began to add to the mural on his walls.

Malkira patted the seer on the shoulder. “Paint a beautiful future for my descendants.”