Eons prior

The floating kingdom of Oasis’ outer structure was similar to that of one of Oberon’s Grand mazes: the inner structure nonlinear, a plethora of entwining, branching halls of unthinkable magnitude. Beyond these were even larger walls, hundreds upon hundreds of meters high, gigantic towers sprouting at certain points, overlooking the floating Isles of Tranquillity.

These Isles curved round, immense clusters of awkwardly spaced mountain fragments, at different altitudes, floating silently in each other’s company. Waterfalls sprouted from larger fragments, seemingly from nothing, frothing about, and ending its journey in cascading crescendos in the clouds below. The Isles slivered forwards for kilometres reaching the distant mountain Region of Regis, whose clutches stretched below into the rest of the realm.

The inner stretches of Oasis contained great castles of unworldly magnificence, pearlescent radiance upon spectral planes of opulence. The largest castle sat in the middle, several floors completely separated from the structure, but floating in close orbit, hovering. The same was for the central tower, which hovered above the highest walls of the castle’s garrisons.

A mammoth’s horn sounded. Several others followed, echoing throughout.

In the upper courtyard of the castle, several stood, preoccupied in each other’s presence. The materialisation of physical bodies suited them better, and hence they took those forms. Music played: a baron-looking figure played, surrounded by smaller others, equally as promiscuous.

At the head, atop a heightened platform of grass was two figures, both draped in linen cloth, their appearances hazy: not all solidified, as if mirages. Yet the one on the left, a taller man with eyes of slurred colour spoke with an underlying vibration to his voice, dust floating off his drapes as he spoke.

“I have not congregated the Order of the High Titans in the presence of the Divinity to jest nor to discuss idle manners. Eons have passed: the oracles within the Orders of Maxim has not changed: their predictions remain absolute.”

A couple Titans stirred, their appearance shimmering even more so in a quasi-phantom way.

The Titan who had spoken, laid in his throne, right leg propped on his other, resting his head on his arm. Auburn hair, like warmed oak, framed his scalp, with pale skin and eyes of exuberant golden liquidity shone uneasily. His golden eyes matched his drapes, that folded in layers atop his body. Beside him, the woman turned to him, her cinnamon hair catching glimpses of sunlight, reflecting back vibrant effervescence. Although it was not customary, nor expected, her special attire bore beautiful silk trails that licked the floor, embedded jewels within her wide-collar’s crest.

“Thwarting the way of the Oracles is heresy,” another spoke, stepping forward out of the pillar’s shadow.

“I ask not to thwart the Oracle. I ask to abide it. War is coming.” The seated one spoke again.

“War,” the largest of the seven scoffed, his figure reminiscent of a giant Stallion. He slapped his bellowing cape behind him, revealing a chest of silver engrossed chainmail. “The last time we feuded, worlds collapsed.”

“Which is why we intend to avoid it Herestis,” the woman beside the seated one announced, dropping off from the platform, advancing to the side of the floating debris.

“Tempress Maar, I hope you remain knowledgably of where the Alatus’ loyalties remain,” a man in tightly bound linen pointed out.

“The Alatus still reside in their loyalties? I thought they were too busy lurking in their tree nests.”

The Alatus’ wings rose slightly at this. “I’d advice you to use that wisdom of yours, to quiet your voice Mirok.”

Mirok, a younger Viris, chuckled at this, baring his fangs, “Do not growl at me, wingman. Me or any half-witted Viris would rip you apart in the pit any day.”

The Alatus stepped forward, confronting a glaring Mirok, whose hands rested on the pommel of his sheathed sword, at his hip.

“Enough,” growled the auburn haired man, who now stood from his seat.

“Calm, my husband,” Maar whispered beside him.

“Have we come to spit one-sided politics, Valnaar?” A shorter, black-haired one sneered, a red-hot blade spinning in between his blackened fingers.

“I have assembled the Order,” Valnaar began, inhaling deeply, “to ask you where the leaders of the Viris reside.”

“Viris?” Black-fingers nearly spat out his wine. “We’ve already got a sludge-lickin’ Viris here, what more do you need?”

“A shadow lurking Viris is if no use to me,” Valnaar stated, half-mindedly glancing at Mirok.

“Mirok.” The Tempress had an undoubted way with words.

“…Your majesty.”

“Where is he?”

Stumbling over his words for a bit, Mirok finally spat out an answer, “I answer to many. Be specific.”

“I’d advise you to cut the foolery before I rip out your tongue and stick your head on a pike in front of the Gates of Hell.” Valnaar warned with the hushed tone of a reptile.

Mirok backed slightly, his brows arching slightly. “Honoured Damarus is afar, across the Plains of Calypsos, in the Valley: he resides in the lower town of Richon.”

“Doing what?” Valnaar spat, his patience growing thin.

“It is unknown.”

Herestis moved uncomfortably at this, glancing towards the Titan who had remained silent up until now.

Zaros’ lips rolled into a recoiled snarl. “The wicked stay close to their chains.” Two chained scythes, dark platinum chains attached to both, wrapped comfortably around his belt. They clanged softly as he stood, his eyes-a dark swirling mass, unlike the kaleidoscopic tornados of the others- staring into nothing.

Maar opened her mouth to calm him, but Insomnis, the quickest of them all, stopped her with an ambiguous smirk. His, unlike the pretentious whims of others, managed to signal an entire paragraph. Such was his lips.

Insomnis’ eyes retracted from Maar’s and turned back to Zaros and he spoke, quietly, but not politely, “Your father doesn’t take kindly to those prone to anger.”

The two stared with equally dangerous gleams.

The scuffed, mechanical-like hands of Zaros hovered atop his chained scythes with a killing intent. Insomnis remained still.

“Your father,” Valnaar exclaimed, exhaling deeply, “Tell Hilopsicron The Wise to issue a decree of alert amongst your brothers. They be best fitted making sure the Viris and the Alatus do not wage needless feuds. I already sense unease within the Origis in the lower echelons of this realm. Creating a race to inhabit the mortal realm takes time and dedication: something that should be granted.”

“My foolish brothers listen to no one except my father: only because of his wrath.”

“Then tell your father to tell them,” Herestis grunted, flicking the head of his axe.

Zaros paused, and then looked towards Mirok whose face was so pale it could’ve belonged to a Vampyre.

“Very well,” the words barely fluttered in the air before his being folded within itself, and he disappeared, leaving nothing but floating dust.

“He doesn’t like to speak much- I like him,” another one of Insomnis’ floating comments broke the following silence.

Valnaar started, but a sudden dissipation of heat burst through the wide doors of the assembly, and a transparent distortion ripped through the air, sprouting like a pulsating lightning bolt. A figure warped in, sparks of white light shimmering in the dust-ridden air, the leftovers of supersonic screeches left floating in forgotten legacies.

A draped figure, folded wings attached to its back.

“What is it, angel of Alatus?”

The figure stayed kneeling down, and looked up, urgency in his eyes, “It’s your younger sister, my liege. Alecias is with him.”

Maar’s eyes opened in caution. “Him?”

“D-Daidric, my liege. Titan Daidric.”

Silence once again occupied the halls.

*

“Adonis,” her voice called.

His mind blanked for a moment, his vision hazing.

“Adonis,” again she said, but this time stretching out the words in a slurred fashion, a smirk painted on her foxy face.

Adonis Daidric responded with a dismissal off his hands and the scuffs of his heels.

“Your fury is unparalleled as ever, Elite High Lord Daidric. Please forgive me,” she pleaded mockingly, skipping alongside him, walking down the pathways of the Lower Palace of Norm.

Still met with silence, Alecias rolled her eyes and traced her fingers along the engravings of the wall as she walked beside Daidric, her eyes tracing the outline of distant mountains.

“The nights grow longer as they grow hungry,” Daidric muttered.

“They?” Alecias responded, still looking away.

“The hordes of Hell.”

She unknotted her shoulders in a contrived fashion, her forehead creasing slightly.

“Are you afraid?” She asked, stopping to lean against the rail and gaze at the floating waterfall below that spewed in melancholy silence.

She heard his voice quieten, “I fear nothing.”

“So does the crow until he meets the cat.”

She turned at this, facing him, and Adonis looked back. Smokey, ashen hair that fell in intricate waves far below her shoulders compromised the green, pearliness of her eyes, which were always misty. A small nose and lips, which always seemed to purse in the presence of him. Light freckles painted rosy cheeks; he noticed all, the few tiny, albeit straying, hairs of eyebrows and even the small wrinkles atop the bridge of her nose. The way her face scrunched up like a child’s after eating something sour.

He felt ridiculous thinking about it.

She leant forward, her eyes meeting just under his nose. “What’s wrong?”

Adonis’ nearly stumbled back into the wall. He felt his cheeks warm up slightly: pathetic.

“You’re the King of Infernum, and you can’t even look me in the eyes,” she smiled slightly, but her voice betrayed her.

Daidric kept his contempt hidden, bit his tongue, and followed her into the adjacent room.

It was her private chambers- temporary if he remembered correctly- a sprawling room with marble enriched walls, and dark Derym oak: thick and sturdy with a darker, shined gloss that reflected the pool of light that spilled in through the massive canopy window opposite. Veering to the left, passing a small running pond (that flowed neatly under a short staircase), was a heightened platform with a huge bed of lustrous capacity. And of course, books, enough literature to please even Hilopsicron, stacked higher than Daidric himself.

Alecias passed over the pond, and onto her bedside, picking a candle of its stand on her way.

“The deal with your brother and the Viris. Has it progressed?” Daidric spoke swiftly, straight to the point, staring outside the window with his hands behind his back.

“He’s remained stubborn as expected,” she chuckled quietly, looking down. “It’s become harder for him and sister.”

“Sister?”

“His wife, Maar, my step-sister…”

A silence took it within itself to come in discourse.

“The Viris aren’t foolish: they’ve seen it fit to manipulate the Alatus into jealousy. They’re trying to coerce them into something.”

Daidric shifted, a scowl spreading on his face. “The Origis were the best suited to create sentient life. Even I recognise that.”

A small flame rippled from Alecias’ palm, onto the fibre of the candle, lighting it. “Life is easy to create, but not so easy to control. Most likely their… ‘Humans’ will harbour the same elitism their fathers do. It does not make for a compassionate creature.”

Daidric found himself silently agreeing with her.

The pale light in her face seemed to darken as her mood changed. “Despite this… He came two nights ago, with his hounds of fire by his side. He spoke of them: the preservers.”

“He came?” Daidric whispered.

“A…Adonis. He did no harm: I wouldn’t let him.” Alecias’ eyes narrowed, her fingers tightening around the candle.

“Damarus Kane is not a Titan. He does not bathe in pretentious fables: he is cunning. He is vermin.”

His scowl turned into a snarl, and slowly his knuckles turned white.

“Do not feel the need to educate me on his honour: I realise his ill intent,” she responded crossing her legs.

“And yet you entertain his perversions.”

Adonis strode silently towards the door of the room, his hands digging into his cloak’s pockets.

Alecia, silent in discourse, waved her hand and the door opened.

Daidric glanced up at the figure who blocked his pathway.

“My liege.”

He noticed Helena didn’t kneel.

“Move,” he muttered.

Helena’s coils of jet black hair bounced slightly, as she slid back; not enough to allow him past, but enough to show respect.

“The Septum generals of the Infernum ask of your obligation to assist in the relinquishment of the hordes in Hell.” Helena’s green eyes were not fazed by her Lord’s enraged demeanour.

“My obligations,” he started, through grit teeth, “reside in the wellbeing of one person. And she does not even recognise me.”

He said again, this time, his eyes starting to swirl, “Move.”

“My liege. Damarus came; the leader of the Viris; he suggested expansion into the mortal realm, he~”

The staff on her back started to shake quietly. Soon the metal frame of the painting opposite them vibrated, dust rising off and scattering into the air. Helena’s eyes widened as goblets, still filled with wine, in the room behind them started to shake uncontrollably, drink spilling out in droves. Metal coins on the desk; the necklace on Alecia’s neck, all contorted, as pain became evident on Helena’s face from the burning staff on her back.

“I do not have to take my hands out my pockets to kill you, Lead General of the Septum. Just because of our history, do not for one second, assume my mercy is bountiful.”

His general’s mouth quickly went dry, and her cloak bellowed as she stiffly moved out the way.

Adonis Daidric walked away, and as he did so the vibrations stopped, and all near metalloids had melded into the structure of the wall.

Helena glared at Alecia.

“Bitch.”