Paul (Age 10)
The fire subsided as quick as it came. Paul raised his head from where he cowered beside Lumière to see their island of green grass amid the surrounding sea of scorched soil. “Take the children and run. I cannot defeat this enemy,” Persephone said. The remaining fifth of the Demon’s face grinned.
You should have seen me coming.
They were not words. There would at least be a chime from the Rosetta Stone if they were. No, they were a feeling. In a Voice no one else could hear, the Demon spoke directly to Paul’s heart.
Finding the safest path is your responsibility.
Paul’s legs spread around the thorax of a giant cicada appearing beneath him. Its wings roared as the insect lifted Paul high.
Where are you going?
“Ziege, take Daniel,” Cale called to her. Paul didn’t have time to watch everyone else; he held onto his bug mount for dear life. Not until he sensed the rush of air and heard the explosion did he look to see the black hand towering above them, an obscene monument of corruption.
Aren’t you worried about your family?
The timing was perfect. As Paul’s eye landed on his uncle, a stream of demon flesh tore Lumière in half. Paul cried in agony as Lumière clutched his staff for balance, and the wax dripping from his upper torso formed new legs.
He is far wiser than you will ever be, and yet see how he fails.
He shut his eyes to block everything, but the sounds of battle and bleeding penetrated the darkness… and the Demon was always there in his mind.
You are a pathetic little boy, aren’t you? Open your eyes!
Cracking his eyes open, Paul saw great pillar candles rise into the sky. Their bright flames burned the lesser demons that fell on them into ugly grease stains on the wax.
He’s using everything to protect you, trying everything he can,
Paul looked above for the source of the demon rain and saw the falling fingers of Moloch’s severed hand. White bodies emerged from oozing black surfaces, each with their own face and form—all with oil-slick eyes. Many of these lesser demons jumped to dive-bomb the kids on their cicada mounts.
And you’re not even using your powers to find safety.
Before he could try, Paul was knocked off his mount and plummeted to the ground. The fall didn’t hurt, though it took a while to reform himself from splattered wax. As he rose to his knees, a tremendous flash of light and the deafening crack of thunder broke his concentration, and a rush of wind threw him down.
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You could have saved her.
“Ziege!” Paul plugged his ears against the noise of Wendi screaming as he struggled to stand.
If you’d been paying attention, you might have told Persephone where I was aiming.
“RETREAT! Take who you can and run!”
This is your fault.
After he clambered to his feet, Paul lifted his gaze and startled. His mirror image stood there, but the other Paul’s eyes were inkblots crying rivers of oil. The demon Paul smiled wide and stepped forward.
“We can beat this!” Gaja shouted with two voices from one throat.
You are nothing.
“Shut up!” Paul said. He made as if to scoop water from the air and fling it. Instead, wax pooled at his side and solidified into the growing column of a burning candle the width of his spread fingers. The candle slammed into the demon Paul’s chest, knocking it flat.
Another demonic version of himself advanced from the right, and Paul grew two more candles to tackle the newcomer.
You will never understand your power.
“Shut up!” he shouted again, but his aim was off this time. Both candles missed to the left or right of the lesser demon as it neared. The candles’ weight made them crack in the middle, and they smashed to pieces on the ground.
“Shut up,” Paul said as he conjured his candlestaff, twirling the iron shaft as he charged. In the way of the Pathfinders, Paul attacked the demon with overhead strikes, angled swings, thrusts, and trips. He slammed hard metal onto the demon’s head, withdrew, and lunged to stab the candle in its chest and ignite it in a bloom of flame. Then he stepped in to smack its face with the upper half of the staff and trip its legs with the bottom half.
You are weak.
The demonic Paul fell, and another came at him from the left. He leaped forward and swung the iron staff with all his strength—but this third lesser demon caught the shaft in one hand.
You are weak.
“Shut up.” Paul pulled and pulled in this tug of war, but the demon smiled and held its grip.
You are weak.
“Shut up.” The lesser demon yanked the candlestaff from Paul’s hands.
You are a coward.
Paul retreated from the demon and its eerie smile as it threw the staff away. Not looking where he was going, Paul hit something and stumbled. The first lesser demon, identifiable by scorch marks, grabbed his wrist.
You are weak.
“They’re counterfeits!” Lumière shouted, “The real kids are alive! I know where they are!” A demon whip promptly split him in half, but he reformed from the wax—unharmed. “I will not let you have them! Demon, you can’t kill me that easily, nor can you take my soul!”
“Don’t need to,” the Demon said in a hundred languages, from a hundred mouths in unison, “I don’t need you.” A tentacle wrapped around Lumière’s torso, swung him around, then flung him miles away from the battlefield. “I am Moloch. This battle was over the moment it began.”
You will never understand your power.
You are weak.
Paul fell to his knees, and the third demon grabbed his other wrist, holding him up. The first demonic Paul had been watching. It approached him.
You failed all your uncle’s tests. You wasted every opportunity. You are a weakling, a coward, and a fool. You will never understand your magic. You can’t save yourself or anyone. This power is wasted on you. Give it to me.
They thrust him forward until its face was inches from his own. “I’ll be a better Paul than you ever could.”
The demon shoved its fingers into his mouth and vanished.
Everything vanished in a puff of dust. The ground fell away, and so did Paul. The last thing he saw was a great and beautiful angel holding a scythe over something dark and oily as it disintegrated, but Paul felt something wriggle in his stomach.