Across the North Atlantic Ocean, it was still day, and the sun was still high in the sky and the heat of it beat down upon the city of Washington.
Still, bright though it might be it did not hide the white light coming from the east, a great part of a globe, mostly hidden by the horizon, but still reaching up high enough into the heavens that it could be seen across the city. It had only appeared seconds ago, but already the streets were flooded with those staring towards it, wondering what it was.
At the top of a skyscraper, in an office that could only be described as decadently luxurious, a figure sat in a chair that was closer to a throne and stared out of the great glass windows that made up one of the walls. His view was unobstructed, given that his building was among the tallest in the city and was also ideally situated for a view of what was attracting the crowds. His sky-blue eyes gazed out of the window, staring at the shining white dome in the distance as though it were a far-off enemy.
“Father, that is-”
The words came from the young woman standing behind him. Shadows cast by the distant light obscured her face but did little to hide the magnificent figure that was clad in a snuggly fitting business suit or the cascade of dark blonde hair down her back. The figure in the chair did not turn to face her, instead, he simply held up a hand, cutting off her words.
“Yes, I know, I can easily feel the power, the power of the High Heavens. But do you know what else I feel?”
His words were measured, though there was an undercurrent to them, some unknown emotion that was only just suppressed.
“No, I feel only the might of the angels.”
The woman declared, her eyes gazing at the dome of energy beyond the horizon.
“That is to be expected, you have never been in Her presence, so you would not feel it. But it is there, beneath the brighter powers, like the roots of a tree hidden in the earth.”
The woman raised an arm, her palm extended towards the light as though she were trying to feel the heat that might be coming off it. There was a pause, then she took a shocked step back, as though trying to back away from the distant light.
“What?! No! No, that cannot be!”
“So, you felt it then?” The words were a question, but the seated figure intoned them as a statement. “Then you know what it means.”
“But . . . But it cannot be! The Abyss would not take mortal form!”
“We now both know that not to be true. The proof of it is before us.”
There was a brief moment of silence as they both stared at the light once more, then the seated figure raised his arm once more.
“Send out the word. This is a matter for all of us to discuss. Our actions in response to this . . .” he gestured to the distant light, “. . . will determine our future in this new era.”
There was no reply, the woman was just gone, there one instant, and in the next the seated figure was alone. He made no move or acknowledgement though, instead he just stared out of the window at the white dome that dominated the horizon.
“So, you are here, just as he said you would be,” The words were quiet, meant for just himself. “We shall see what you are, what you want, I owe him that. But I will not surrender this world to you, I will not let you take it from me. I shall see you dead first!”
As the last words passed his lips arks of blue lightning flashed about his fingers, scorching the armrest of his throne where they touched.
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He did not sit on a throne, he did not sit in an office, nor was he in a skyscraper. Instead, he sat in a field, the grass beneath him the only seat he needed. Above him, the stars were out, and the moon was bright in the sky. None of that mattered to him though, for his eyes were fixed upon the great white sphere that bloomed into the northwest sky.
His pose was meditative, his legs crossed beneath him, and his face was calm. It might have been a combination of the white light that shone down from both the distant orb and the moon itself, but his skin seemed to be tinted blue. His matted black hair was styled into a topknot, and his clothes were all but rags. Still, despite his unkempt and wild appearance, there was a deep sense of serenity about him, like the surface of some deep and calm river.
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“Now, that’s impressive.”
The feminine voice came from behind him, the tone playful, but with an undercurrent of something that skirted the edges of lust and hunger. To any mortal it would have been the source of deliciously unsettling shivers running up and down their spine, to the meditating figure it simply familiar, and his gaze remained fixed upon the distant light. The voice came from the deeper shadows of the nearby trees, shadows that kept the speaker from being easily seen.
“I didn’t know that you started a mortal bloodline. It’s pretty impressive that it’s lasted until now though. Hey, what do you think your wife will have to say about that?”
This time the voice was needling, doing its best to try to elicit a reaction from the stoic figure seated upon the grass. But again, there was no response, and a sigh escaped from the shadows.
“Yeah, I suppose she would be that understanding, after all, none of us knew how the passage between worlds worked in those early days. Copying those guys from the High Heavens wasn’t the best way we could’ve handled it.”
There was a pause as the light from above shone down.
“Did you enjoy it? Forgetting who you were, living as a mortal, having parents, growing up, loving a woman, having a family, then dying? By the time I tried it, we all knew the trick to keep most of your identity, so I never really lost myself. Do you think that was a mistake though? Should I have given it a try, living completely as a mortal, just once?”
Again, the speaker’s words provoked no reaction from the seated figure himself, but about his neck, something moved, and a low hiss could be heard.
“Yeah, yeah, I know, don’t push it,” The voice was no longer needling, rather it was simply amused. “I went to live a mortal life dozens of times, in so many places, across so many countries. The last time I went down was less than two of their decades ago, I’d probably still have been in mortal form when the Paths reopened if I hadn’t been caught in that car accident. You only went once though, didn’t you? Even your wife went three times, even if only so she could live in prayer to you.
“What does that mean to you, that your bloodline has become a part of one so tied to the High Heavens? And not just to them. Even I can feel the other powers mixed in there, and you know what that means. So, what’ll you do? How do you want to handle this?”
There was silence once more, as the seated figure continued to gaze up at the vast luminescent sphere that was only slightly concealed by the horizon.
“They’re strong. Whoever it is that has inherited your blood is very strong. Strengths going to lead to attention and adoration in some, but in others, it's just going to provoke envy and fear. They’ll look at that power and want to either own it, control it, or snuff it out, you know? So, what do you want to do? How do you want to handle this?”
Again, there was silence, but it was broken by the seated figure slowly climbing to his feet.
“We must prepare.”
His voice was quiet, yet authority hung upon each word, a weight born of power and confidence absolute. That was all he said, but those three words hung in the air like swords ready for war, even as his eyes remained fixed upon the distant light.
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The demigod stood outside of the elaborate building of stone and wood that he called his palace, his eyes uncaring of the flowing silks that decorated the ceiling, or of the beautiful statues that lined the walls. Instead, his gaze was upon the great sphere of white light that dominated the sky to the north. Behind him, there were murmurs of concern, questions from those that didn’t know what was going on and wished to be assured all was safe, but he paid them no mind. Before long one brave, or perhaps foolish, servant came up beside him and asked the question that was burning on everyone’s minds.
“Sir, your Highness? Wh-what is it? Is it an enemy? Should we be preparing for another challenge to yo-”
What further questions the Servant might have voiced were cut off as the demigod laid his hand across the servant’s face, blocking his voice. For a moment he considered striking the servant down but dismissed the thought as wasteful and unnecessarily cruel.
Instead, he called upon his own power, lifting himself into the sky to gain a better view of the massive orb that now dominated the newly dark sky.
As he rose, he could feel the light of the sphere playing across his skin, and the demigod felt his flesh itch at its touch. His eyes narrowed as he gazed up at the vast orb that took up the sky like a fallen moon. This power was known to him, it was the power of the High Heavens, or at least the bulk of what he recognized. As he focused more and more of his supernatural senses upon the distant light, he could feel other forces mixed into it, forces he could not readily identify, but which he could tell were strong in their own rights.
However, even the strange mixture of forces was not the principal reason for the disquiet that filled the demigod. It was the sheer magnitude of the power he could sense coming from the white light that clawed at his soul.
He knew what it was, knew that it was the Awakening Flare of some other demigod in a distant country, and the sheer scale of it was breathtaking. The demigod had experienced his own Awakening Flare when he had come into his power, and it had been enough to reduce the area for a mile about him into a desolate ruin. What he was seeing now was less destructive, but far more epic. And for the first time, since his divine blood had granted him power, he wondered if he truly stood at the peak of demigod power.
His eyes narrowed as he gazed up at the great sphere that had suddenly become nothing but an immense insult to him.
No, no that could not be! He’d had to earn his power! He’d had to suffer for it, sacrificed for it! It had let him rise, let him carve out his own kingdom! He refused to believe that it could be overshadowed so easily!
Those thoughts continued to echo in his mind as he descended back to the ground. More of the mewling sheep that followed him gathered about him as he landed, bleating their questions and begging for reassurance, but he paid them no mind. Instead, he was focused on thoughts of gaining more power, of reaching new heights that would dwarf those of the demigod that had created the distant globe of white light.
Had he been paying more attention; he might have noted that as his thoughts grew more covetous, the itch the white light caused him grew, as his exposed flesh began to imperceptibly swell and redden.