POV Omega

Omega struggled to hold on to her fleeting consciousness, flying through her memories like a comet skirting the planet’s atmosphere. Vivid memories of bygone years. A cacophony of context, intentions, and coincidences, all leading to critical moments destined to occur in every cycle.

A twilight of congregating souls sparkled at the heart of the town fated for ruin. Among the frantic twinkles rested the slow pulse of a brilliant soul, the crowning gem, a Vessel, a powerful soul that might carry on her message, who might pass on the warning of otherworldly devastation.

In the vastness of Omega’s consciousness, there were better moments to choose from, perhaps further back in her lived experiences. She had an ideal candidate, whose movements were as ephemeral and unpredictable as her own. However, she couldn’t risk losing anymore of her knowledge or her memories. If she couldn’t find a suitable anchor, she’d have to sacrifice one or the other soon. If she failed, both.

She held onto the key events, shedding fragments of her identity with every passing moment. She held onto her purpose with everything she had. By god, if she had nothing else to offer the world, she would at least vow to ensure that someone would imbue her sense of duty to protect the Earth. Time may be an illusion, but at this very second, she felt the passing of time like a death sentence.

It was perhaps unwise to change trajectory towards Clearwater and the Vessel within it. Omega had experienced the Clearwater incident on several occasions. There were never survivors. But if she could get the Vessel to survive even for a handful of days, just long enough to speak her warning, that should be enough to reach the right ears. Plans would be made, actions taken.

In the crimson light of dusk, Omega rocketed her consciousness toward the network of frightened souls.

The staccato rhythm of the artillery units marked the beginning of the end for the people of Clearwater. State-of-the-art machines fired their automatic weapons through her at a target that shifted within shadows. The machine response systems did not detect the demonic shadows, forcing the humans to manage power well beyond their capabilities.

The military shot up the building behind her, missing the demonic horde they were aiming for. Their aim was not true, guided by fear instead of purpose. Depending on machines to do the work of a soul.

The demonic essence, as Omega saw it, mocked the arrogance of man as it manifested into reality, crushing another unit of highly trained professional military men. Not a single Demon Hunter among them.

The demonic willpower melted out of existence, scattering like living shadows. The shadows were many, but from Omega’s vantage, they appeared as one fluid will, linked to the foreboding forest beyond, like a giant hand reaching from the depths of hell.

The demon beneath Clearwater railed against its prison, desperate for release. It would fail, and humanity would suffer a temporary respite. The demon was not Omega’s concern. She propelled herself into the sealed evacuation center.

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Gunfire echoed in the darkness. Fading souls transformed into parents and children huddling in terrified silence. The red emergency lights flickered in the open space, not designed to provide adequate visibility, hiding the hopeless in pockets of darkness. A blast reverberated through the secure hold; one less defense unit. A chorus of cries erupted from those too young to know better as powdered debris fell from the steel girders above.

The citizens of Clearwater dared not voice their rage with the enemy on their doorstep. Baleful glares were cast to the parents of the unruly young. ‘Quiet them before they call the monsters to us,’ their muted terror screamed.

Silence was pointless. Only young demons relied on their physical senses to seek their prey. Older demons would latch onto their prey's fears, nurture their sin, and consume them one petty action at a time. Fear was a catalyst, a means to justify the cruelty of the surviving few.

Sin. Omega cast her ephemeral gaze over the collection of souls, searching for her gem. How sin manifested was often predictable; humans were hardly complicated animals after all, catering to their base urges. Humans… had their uses; as long as she didn’t rely on them to do the right thing in a critical moment. She could shepherd them in the right general direction, prolonging existence itself by days, or in some cycles, a couple hundred years.

She considered the sorry souls in her presence. Survival at the expense of the weak.

Mothers and fathers pulled their young in their embrace, dampening their offspring’s cries into whimpers. Parents smothered their children in love and lullabies. Singing their goodbyes in terrified sobs.

The gentle infanticide reminded her of the ancient World Wars. Governments used propaganda to rally national pride, which had the side effect of making small communities suffer in quiet despair. When invading forces inevitably came, murders, mercy killings, and suicides rose, decimating communities. The perfect blood sacrifice is when the lamb slaughters itself.

She didn’t care what desperate actions these animals chose. These people were never meant to survive. She had seen Clearwater’s end time and time again. If they had been keen on living, they would have kept the seal to the demon maintained as their ancient ancestors had. It wasn’t her fault that invaders came and raped the land of its protective resources, and eradicated the culture that held the warnings. It was humanity’s fault for engineering its own destruction.

An explosion rocked the emergency shelter with a deafening blast. With hands clutched over their ears and eyes squeezed tight, the refugees muttered half remembered prayers to a God they didn’t believe in.

Omega’s essence drifted through what remained of the citizens of Clearwater, dismissing dimming souls from her desperate search. A beacon of hope should not be so difficult to find in such a hopeless situation.

Unless…

Omega turned around. A child stared at her. Not even the most powerful of psychics had communed with Omega, not for lack of trying on their part. Had she acknowledged their superficial incantations, madness would soon follow.

The child was a six-year-old female, whose trusty teddy bear hung limp in her hand. The bear’s beaded eyes gazed up at Omega, waiting to be thrown into action.

Everything about the child suggested a will of its own. Her mess of long ebony hair clung to the green ribbons that once held unruly pigtails in place. Her father had sat patiently with her, combing out her hair for today’s parade, centering the unicorn ornaments on top of each tail. Both unicorns were still in her hair, biting down on their cluster of strands with everything they had.

A human mind would deny what they were seeing, then unsee it. One of the damned unicorns shuffled a little higher, certain that no one would notice.

The ruined white frilly dress had been carefully chosen by the child’s father. It had no bears on it, so the child didn’t understand why the dress was special. All she knew was that her father insisted she kept it clean. She had failed in that task and remained unrepentant.