Damien walked around the campus in a daze.

For many days he hadn't slept well, and had barely eaten. When he wasn't staring into the sky, quietly weeping, he would be curled in a ball, looking at pictures of Anna, him, Jessica and Sister Hua, and the pain would resurge, fresh and raw. Needless to say, all thoughts of training had been hushed. Damien would attempt to wander into the kitchen's at night to do his usual dish duty, desperate for any sense of normalcy but he was always turned away by the somber kitchen staff, who would give the ailing boy extra snacks and hugs. It was all they could do to try and ease his pain. Though they definitely needed the help that the boy's ability to tirelessly wash dishes brought, they all refused to let him work while he grieved. Ma LaCroix nor the other two orphanage directors, wouldn't even entertain the thought for a second.

Damien had barely noticed it, but many of the orphanage bullies had largely suspended their terrorism since the past few days. In fact, the entire orphanage seemed to also grieve for the loss of Sister Hua and now one of its most beloved students, Jessica. But nothing could compare to the level of sorrow and sympathy they felt for Damien. He had never been one to gloat his incredible powers or champion how strong he was. His strength had isolated him, and most had ridiculed him for it, reinforcing his isolation. That fact, hanging over the heads of the entire orphanage, made the depressed husk of a child he was now, all the more hurtful to watch. Many approached him offering their condolences. The younger children would also sneak him extra food to try and cheer him out of his depressive states. Other times, the younger kids would drag Damien from his isolation in his dorm, leading the zombie-like, dark skinned boy through the halls of the orphanage in hopes of getting him some kind of daily exercise. As they would wander about hopefully, dragging the sad boy, others would look on solemnly, hearts aching for him and those that he grieved for.

A couple days later, Damien was strolling silently through one foggy morning. He wore his simple tattered raincoat over his equally tattered, and not recently well washed, spring orphanage uniform. He had not bothered to button it up all the way, leaving it messy and half untucked. He could be seen with his 10 tungsten training balls trailing simply around him, but never touching him. Damien had at some point gotten it into himself to take them out again. They felt... nice. The slight strain on his aura it took now to keep the training spheres hovering, kept him grounded when his mind threatened to drown him in a deep lake of depression and despair. They reminded him of a time where he was less constantly confused, less constantly sad and depressed, less miserable, when he was happy. The boy felt nothing inside him anymore. He was sure he had cried out any feeling he had left. All there was now was a conviction he had made to both Jessica and Sister Hua. To his surrogate mother and to his girlfriend. Though, he still had no idea of how he was supposed to actually achieve any of that.

Sister Hua definitely had to be a goddess, and now Jessica had a straight shot path to becoming one herself. Damien felt a massive chasm appear in his mind between the ideas of the two women he loved the most in the world and himself. A deep gong of pain rang out in his chest and he almost stumbled along his path, almost hitting one of his levitating balls, almost. But he caught himself in time, muscles flexing with instinctual but deeply conditioned practice, aura flaring out exactly as powerful as he needed it to be to refrain from touching any of them.

'Strong,' the depressed boy repeated to himself simply, robotically, 'I will become strong.' He brushed himself off and continued trudging along, readjusting himself to not fall to emotional pain slightly better.

'It's not as if that's my only problem,' he grumbled to himself as he came upon a simple bench. The same bench he and Jessica had sat on that night, all those months ago. A single tear fell from his left eye.

'Fuck,' he thought to himself, 'guess I was wrong about crying out all the tears, but I'm pretty sure that was the last one.'

Giving a simple huff, deciding that he would never again touch that bench until the next time he sat on it with Jessica, Damien shuffled on to another bench, plopping himself upon it. The tungsten balls weighed upon his aura and mind even as he had reached such a high level of mastery with them that they barely registered to him. Nevertheless, they forced him out of spiraling into another depressive episode, and into maintaining his thoughts.

"I'm turning 13 tomorrow," he said aloud simply, tough to no one in particular, although some of the few people that were around him at the time looked away in shame.

"How the fuck do I even become strong?" He screamed aloud, "I don't even know what I am!" The courtyard hadn't been very active, but at this even the few remaining stragglers had cleared the area, the awkwardness growing too palpable to bear.

"Figures," he muttered angrily as he slumped into the misty bench, yet still his tungsten training balls, his only companions left, remained silently floating.

Some time after the boy had fallen asleep on the bench, he awoke to a strange feeling of waves of intent being beamed at him. When he opened his eyes he saw... Father George?

"Come child," the god-elf said, extending a hand to him, a warm, happy smile upon his face, "I believe a very fortuitous event is about to occur for you!"

Damien had a heavily confused look on his face, but didn't hesitate in grabbing the priest's hand; he had recognized the phrase from Jessica's rant.

'It's about goddamn time something 'fortuitous' happened for me,' the boy sarcastically thought.

Yet, a slight glimmer of hope started to flicker deep within the boy's dried out heart. He didn't want to appear too eager as he took Father George's hand, but he was sure that the god-elf noticed just how hard Damien was gripping his fingers. And yet the divine elf priest saved him the embarrassment by acting as if he didn't notice. Never acknowledging the vice grip of sweaty fingers that would've irreparably cut off all blood flow to his elvish fingers long ago. If the bodily constitution of even the lowest level deities wasn't so astronomically far above anything Damien could do at the moment, the force the boy was currently exuding would have permanently crippled the elf. Even in the elevated state of panic that was causing Damien's normally perfectly maintained aura to buck and kick and fight wildly like a wounded lion, his aura maintained its control.

Mangled, powerful, disheveled, beaten, and weakened as it may have been from all the pain the boy had taken recently, it was still unmistakably, the aura of a future, great warrior. It roared a loud cry that demanded to be heard. Father George smiled softly down at the boy. He knew he would be alright.

The god elf ruffled the boy's head and said a prayer in elvish for him before then vanishing in a shimmering flash of blue energy.

Appearing in the lobby of the administration building, Damien took off his raincoat, and chanted a brief spell to shrink the size of the floating tungsten balls, and store them in the worn, simple leather satchel the boy wore with him. Smoothing his clothes and fixing his hair as best he could, the boy looked at himself in the giant, grand ornate mirror that stood silently levitating in the lobby. Damien wasn't very tall for his age, he would say he was average height for an almost 13 year old. He looked at his milky brown skin, and slanted eyes. People that came looking for someone with his completion, usually would either have to be really nice or naive to be willing to raise a magical mutt who also happened to be a minority, or dangerously insane.

He looked at his golden-diamond blue eyes last. Damien stared deeply into the things that had mocked him all his life. Silently holding the secrets to everything he needed or wanted to know, yet happily, callously, keeping them just out of arm's reach from him. They always made him chase a treasure that was constantly just out of his reach. But he could feel it. He could feel now that this would be the last time he would look at those eyes without knowing what he was. He didn't know what awaited him behind the massive, wooden doors of the headmaster's office, but he knew he would never be the same again.

As much as the thought excited and mesmerized the boy, it scared Damien deeply. Though he deeply hated how his life had turned out, he had to admit to himself that the orphanage life was all he ever had known. Was he really ready to leave?

But the faces of Jessica and Sister Hua appeared in his mind, as if summoned on call. However, instead of their usual kind loving gazes they looked at Damien with, they both had cold judgmental faces that stared down at him. Judging him silently, waiting for the decision that they and Damien himself, knew ultimately he would make.

As the boy slowly lowered his head, resigning himself, he took a heavy, shaky, deep and slow breath. When he eventually looked up again. The apparitions were gone and he noticed he had sleep-walked from the lobby towards the headmaster's office.

'For the love of god please have at least some clue about what these eyes are,' he begged silently, 'about what I am.'

He stopped before the massive double doors that led to the headmaster's office. Touching a door with a single hand, he calmly spoke his name aloud, and the massive, enchanted doors swung open slowly, allowing him inside.

Entering the room, the doors closed behind him. Damien saw 5 ornate chairs with 4 people each occupying a chair. 3 of the adults he recognized: Ma LaCroix, Father Clyde, and Former Lance Commander, Lord Jurovi. The fourth adult was a male that looked to be in his late forties to early fifties. He was well muscled, wearing an ornate, shimmering battle robe topped with a brilliantly shining, green breastplate adorned with a coat of arms etched on the left breast. He had flowing, long dark red hair and a cropped red mustache and beard. Over his battle robes and armor, he wore a long, thick leather black battle jacket that had a layer of white fur adorning the hood. Along the man's jacket Damien could notice white and golden runes, but these were unlike those he had seen Ma LaCroix or the other orphanage staff make and employ in their spellwork throughout the years. Damien could swear on his life that he had never seen the kind of runes on the man's jacket before.

So why did it feel like he definitely had seen those exact runes before?

The longer Damien stared at them, the more he began to realize that they were... singing to him. As his eyes slowly grew with fear and recognition, the boy realized that it was the exact same chanting that was etched into his brain from the golden fire that would pour forth from Damien's body whenever he would connect to his SuperComputer. But something else arrested his attention to the point that everything else faded to darkness except him and the other male. It wasn't the massive black wings that became visible as the male rose to meet Damien, although that did give him a stumble, it was that when Damien fully studied the man's face he noticed that the man had golden-blue eyes. Eyes that looked. Exactly. Like. Damien's.

"Greetings young man," the man said, before falling into a proper bow on one knee, one hand pressed in a fist to the floor, his head prostrated, and the other arm across his back, "or should I say, greeting My Imperial Highness Crown Prince Damien D'Amorn, what an honor it is to finally meet you."

'Well that's certainly new,' was all Damien could think as the implications of what the man said, blew his already fragile mind apart.

"Um..." the boy squeaked weakly, "could you please explain what you mean sir?"

"Of course," the older man said in a hearty chuckle. "Would you care to take a seat though first Your Highness? I fear the explanation may be a bit long." He gestured to the 5th chair which stood alone, empty.

"If I move," the boy started slowly, standing as if paralyzed by the news, "I will fall."

"Oh my!" The man exclaimed, "allow me."

He clapped his hands together and Damien felt himself get instantly sucked in upon himself, vanishing from the physical world, but not from creation all together. Reforming an instant later, he fell into a slumped into the great chair. Awkwardly trying to correct how he was sitting, Damien attempted to at least make himself more comfortable while he had his entire world view blasted apart.

"Is His Highness more comfortable?" The man said, clasping his hands together solemnly.

Damien just sat there shell shocked. Slowly he began to look at each of the faces of the 3 gods he knew, and none of them were laughing. Though, Father Clyde and Lord Jurovi were both sporting looks of absolute shock, similar to Damien's current face.

'Ok...' the boy slowly perceived, 'not you two...'

He turned and looked at Ma LaCroix, who looked back at the boy levelly, trying to remain stalwart. But in front of the desperate face of the little boy she considered a son, she broke. Hanging her head in slight shame she just silently nodded, casting a thicker film of shock over Damien and the two other orphanage leaders.

'Ok,' the boy thought to himself again, 'at least this guy's not crazy.'

"Yes I am comfortable," Damien replied after a while, "but I am still very confused." The boy sat correctly in his chair, having recovered enough from his shock to move his body again. "You called me a prince," he rambled, anxiety mounting, "not just any prince, an imperial crown prince? You're telling me I'm the heir to an empire? What kind of empire? ...Wait... Does this mean I actually have parents?"

Damien had said the last part as a secret desperate plea, hoping this current drugged delusion he knew he had to be in would grace him one last time, but the man's response was something Damien could never have imagined.

"Your Highness," the man said slowly, obviously confused, "you do have parents, obviously." The man paused his bearded head slightly tilted in thought, "well... parent to be exact," he chuckled at his own joke as he scratched his head, "no one really knows who or what your father is except very few beings that have all been long sworn to secrecy via the old magic." The man clasped his hands excitedly, "your mother however, is the current reigning empress of the Kingdoms of the Earthly Host, also known as the Empire of Gera," he smiled warmly at the boy, "you are the true heir to the imperial throne that unites all the children of the Angels, the guardians of the Heavenly Host, and your mother has sent me to collect you, that is, if you choose to accept your birthright."

'Ah,' Damien thought to himself sourly, 'so that's where this not knowing what I am all started, thanks Daddy dearest.'

Then a thought slammed into him like a raging bull that nearly sent him careening off his chair.

"Wait a minute," he threw up his hands, his old panic attack redoubling with a vengeance, "mother?! father?! I have parents?! That are alive?! MY MOTHER SENT YOU?!!"

The boy couldn't breathe. He was so happy yet so conflicted that a horrible pain that felt like someone was grabbing his lungs in a vice wracked his body. As he struggled to breath through the pain, a gently green glow enveloped him, filling him with soothing thoughts and steadying his erratic heartbeat. Damien, gasped a silent thank you towards Ma LaCroix without even having to look up. After all, he had seen bits of her magic enough times that he instinctively knew who the green energy belonged to. Damien's thoughts, however, continued racing at a million miles per hour through the young boy's, no, the young imperial crown prince's, head.

Scenes from all throughout his life, that he previously never had any context for why they happened, or what they meant, started stitching themselves together at a breakneck pace. For the first time Damien could remember, his SuperComputer, which he now knew was probably some kind of manifestation of my angelic powers, was working in perfect sync with his regular ego instead of fighting for control like it usually did.

Seemingly, both egos were being driven by a similar innate, fierce passion to decode and uncover his past. The boy sat still as a stone as his dual minds read between every line of every situation he could remember. Damien was fighting a losing battle with the urge to scream and rip out his hair in happiness and rage. Sister Hua's cryptic behaviors that night... suddenly were making too much sense.

He finally knew who he was, what he was! Hidden father be damned, his deepest prayers had finally been answered!

Even Jessica was now longer an unattainable dream! At this Damien finally broke. Tears of delirious happiness streamed down his cheeks as the deities looked on silently and awkwardly. He had known since she said the word princess, that any future between the two of them would end the second she left with Amos.

Damien spat the werewolf god's name in his mind with respect and rage. He was beyond appreciative of the god for giving his super rare prodigy of a girlfriend a chance to become one of the Mortal Realm's greatest goddesses, but at the same time an equally intense rage burned inside Damien at Amos for taking her. Before today, Damien was coming to terms with never seeing Jessica again. Before today, he was a nobody trying to rub shoulders with royalty.

'The poor and the royals of any race mingle extremely rarely if ever,' Damien thought sourly. Whenever they did, it had a tendency of causing a great many deaths. But that didn't matter now, he was royalty too! He closed his eyes and tried to calm himself down. The surrounding adults remained silent, looking away from the boy in various states of uncomforted emotions. The winged man, sensing that his words were causing Damien a great deal of distress, tried to quickly backtrack.

Clapping his hands together, the tall man bowed in apology to the young boy.

"My apologies My Imperial Highness," the man said with a soft look, "I was under the impression that your mother had visited you here months ago to inform you I would be coming to bring you home?"

"My mother?" The boy asked perplexed, "but I've never met my..."

Damien's breathing slowed to a whisper.

"Wait," he asked suddenly, dreading the answer, "what month did you say she visited me?"

"January of course," the man replied simply.

'...Oh my god,' the boy realized suddenly, 'that's when Sister Hua left.'

He felt his head, threatening to burst as thick ringing assaulted his ears.

"This entire time," he muttered to himself in shock, amazement, and sadness, "she was my actual birth mother this entire time..."

The similar looks of shock and betrayal on the faces of Father Clyde and Lord Jurovi told him that there was no mistaking it, Sister Hua had lied to them. Ma LaCroix just looked away silently, unable to meet anyone's eyes.

The tall, winged man said nothing. A single arched eyebrow was all he gave as he waited for his prince and the orphanage directors to deal with the apparently upsetting news.

"Your Highness," the man said, gently extending his hand again, dropping on one knee in front of the boy, "come with me and accept your birthright, your mother is waiting for you, to see you again."

Damien wanted nothing more than to reach out and desperately take the man's hand, but he couldn't... not yet. The betrayal, it was too much. The boy gazed pitifully at the sad, compassionate eyes of Father Clyde and Lord Jurovi's deep scowl of rage. Despite himself, Damien found himself smiling sadly at the two powerful gods, cowed and reduced to such states out of worry for the young boy.

Then, steeling himself, he turned to face Ma LaCroix. The old goddess sighed and slowly turned her head, looking back coolly at the boy. Damien saw the same face he saw in Sister Hua, a dominating, all powerful calamity. That's why this time, he let his aura expand, allowing his intent to broadcast itself to her. The old goddess tried to keep a detached face, but in the face of the relentless waves of Damien's injured and hurt intent, eventually she too broke. Hanging her head slightly in shame, the old goddess gave a slight, pained nod.

Damien took a deep breath. Turning back to the man he asked one final question.

"Who is my mother?"

The man puffed his chest up with joy as if he had been waiting his entire life for this one question.

"My liege lord, Crown Prince Damien D'Amorn of the Holy Empire of the Earthly Host, The Holy Empire of Gera," the man began, as he re-assumed his fist to the floor kneeling pose. Emanating a powerful regal, rigid intent, all were silent as his next words burned themselves into the ears of those listening. "Your mother is Hoaquin D'Amorn, Empress of the Holy Empire of the Earthly Host, Commander of the Armies of Gera, and Supreme Commander of the United World Military."

Damien said nothing. The night Sister Hua, no, the night his mother left, kept playing on repeat in his brain. Her every word echoed endlessly in his head, while all he could see was the strange, commanding face she had bore.

Lord Jurovi slammed his large, powerful fist into the armrest of his chair. As he screamed out in rage.

Father Clyde was more reserved, but black veins began appearing, strained and taunt, as the vampire priest slowly curled and uncurled his fingers. He slowly opened his mouth to speak, and all could see his fangs had protruded.

"It seems," the divine priest started, his voice a dull growl, "that we are being consistently played for fools, Jurovi." The smell of blood began to slowly permeate the room. "First was Lord Amos, now... now it's Sister Hua... or, should I say Lady Hoaquin" he hissed, his eyes turning deep blood red.

"Is this the price of playing the neutral field?" Lord Jurovi asked aloud to no one in particular, voice heavy with the threat of violence. He turned his gaze slowly, to the still somber Ma LaCroix. "Angelina," the orc god said through gritted teeth, forcing himself to show deference despite his anger, "have we become such incompetent dumbasses to you that we're now a disaster daycare while your two closest attendants aren't even privy to your thoughts?! Is this how you repay the loyalty we've all shown you?!"

The ancient creole goddess rubbed her old, brown fingers together as shame was painted heavily on her face. Every face had some kind of hurt and confusion painted on it as she looked up and gazed into the faces of her two oldest friends Clyde and Jurovi, even the winged man, who looked on in mild amusement, held his tongue, awaiting her answer. However, it was the look of sheer distrust and betrayal from Damien, the boy she thought of as her own son, that shattered her.

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Ma LaCroix heaved a heavy sigh.

"The day I met Hoaquin for the first time," the goddess began, her words echoing loudly from her slightly hung head, magnified by the stark silence in the office room, "I knew by her aura that she was powerful, even more so than myself, but it wasn't for a many years before even I myself learned whom she really was."

Damien couldn't stop the feelings of shame racing through his body. He had the gall to glare at her, but she had also been left in the dark as well. He looked away, unable to meet the goddess' sad, simple gaze as she looked up and around the room. Similar looks of guilt were palpable on the faces of Lord Jurovi and Father Clyde.

"Despite that," the old goddess said, leaning back into her chair, "I've always worn my heart on my sleeve, even before joining the sacred ranks of the 12 Great Disasters." She folded her hands in her lap, giving a resigned, short sigh, "regardless of my unwillingness to pick a fight with what was possibly a wild Supreme Goddess," the goddess looked up again, this time with a flat, regal face, "she was a mother first, bearing an infant, seeking mercy and protection."

The office was silent, Clyde and Jurovi and Damien were all looking down in shame. Even the winged man, sensing the seriousness of the situation, had his own polished, regal face obscuring any humor he had previously seen.

"Not one day did I regret that decision," Ma LaCroix said in a firm, powerful voice. Looking down at Damien, love and warmth reentered the ancient goddess' eyes as her voice softened, "never once did I regret getting the honor to assist in raising you, Damien sugar, prince or no prince, you's my boy."

Damien got up from his chair, hugging the old creole goddess in a tight bear hug.

"I'm sorry mama," the boy cried into her embrace, "I just wanted to know who I am, what I am." He sobbed wretchedly as Ma LaCroix softly caressed the boy's soft, light brown afro.

"Never apologize for seeking the truth my love," the ancient goddess whispered softly to the boy, "it is the only thing that keeps us sane in this insane existence."

"Ahem," came a firm voice. The orphanage deities and Damien were ripped from their thoughts to the winged man. He had gotten up from his armchair, but what they saw was not the same man as before. Now his hair, eyebrows and eyes were a brilliant, sparkling platinum. The blue iris in his eyes, shaped like dazzling blue diamonds, commanded all attention. His jet black battle jacket now seemed onyx black and the runes on it now burned with a deep red fire, but the chanting coming from them was unmistakable to Damien. They were the same chants that came from his own rose gold flames! The tall man's majestic, black wings were fully outstretched and each feather shone with a deep red brilliance, giving a hint that there was heavenly fire imbued into each feather. Damien had a feeling it was no small amount either.

But it wasn't the wings that had completely arrested the room's attention, it was his face. Or at least, what they could see of his face. Half of it was covered in a thick, bone-like mask. It looked smooth and polished with simple ornate swirls adorning it. But the other side of his face looked like his previous face, but now it was almost too beautiful. It was perfect, beyond perfect. There wasn't a single blemish, sun spore, freckle, ingrown nor excess hair, wrinkle or sag to be found. It was plump, robust and impossibly beautiful.

The face of an angel.

However, the group noted with fear, it was completely expressionless. None could tell what emotion was passing behind that face. Neither the masked half, nor the unmoving, constantly unblinking, constantly staring angelic half gave the slightest hint. It was the most unnerving thing any of them had ever seen. It was then that they noticed the scythe that had appeared in the man's hands. It was an ornate, wooden rodded scythe. It had a massive jet black front blade, and a spear-like silver, back blade, and it captured Damien's attention with complete lock.

The blade sang of death, it's edge spoke into their minds a hissing sound, promising a journey to the afterlife.

As their attentions were all completely tethered, it was brutally broken by the sound of the man's voice. Or the voice that came from the freakish half demonic-half angelic face. It was the same hundreds of voices packed on top of the man's original voice that Damien had been told his own had turned to after he slipped too far into his SuperComputer!

"My Imperial Highness demands the truth and so he shall have it," came the thunderous army of voices, "I speak this in my angelized form so that my honesty may not be held in speculation, for upon my power I swear this be the truth in its entirety by the Holy throne of Gera and by the luminous throne of The Almighty."

Heaving his scythe in one hand, he slammed it down into the marble flooring beneath them, and a gentle, massive wave of heavenly energy erupted from him, bathed in the man's dark red hue.

"Sire, you are the Imperial Crown Prince Damien D'Amorn," the man said simply, the chorus of voices though, made it seem like the man was pronouncing a death sentence. "I am Lord of Heresta City, Lord Henry Astallon, Third son of Duke Usreto'l Astallon" the man raised his other hand, exposing to the group now, that the entire left side of the man no longer had any skin. From his hand down his wrist, and from what the rest of the group could glimpse, he was entirely skeleton on his left side. "You my Lord," he continued, his head slightly bowed, "are the only son of The Terror of Heaven, The Priestess of the Blood Red Sakura, The Supreme Commander of the United World Military, The Holy Empress Of Gera, the Empire of the Nephilim races. We are the legions of the Earthly Host, and by our heavenly blood we venerate the eternal glory of the Heavenly Host" He raised his head, staring directly into Damien's eyes. "Beside you sits a Supreme Goddess of the Mortal Realms, titled the 5th Great Disaster," he pointed his bony hand towards Ma LaCroix and Damien turned to stare at the goddess who's embrace he was still wrapped in, in newfound fear and respect. "She is the 5th most powerful deity in the entire Mortal Realms, the great Witch of Pestilence," his hand dropped and now his attention focused on Damien again.

The next words that came from the many toned face, almost broke Damien's sanity into pieces.

"Sire," the chorus of thousands of angelic voices said, "Your mother is ranked the 1st most powerful creature in the entire Mortal Realms, she and she alone holds the rank of the 1st Great Disaster."

Damien couldn't believe what his ears were hearing. It was almost all too much. As the young boy struggled to breath, held in the soft healing energies coming from Ma LaCroix's hands, his two egos weakly tried to piece together everything the man had said. He was only barely able to even notice that the man had apparently powered down into his prior state, his weapon and mask vanished along with his exalted, heavenly form.

Damien's thoughts came to him slow and painfully. He didn't want to leave, but he knew the universe was telling, no screaming at him, that he needed to start his life now. And what better time than the day before his 13th birthday? when his latent powers and magical potential would begin to truly awaken and grow far beyond his current capabilities to train himself.

And now, after seeing what the man had transformed into, Damien had an eerie suspicion that the man knew Damien had some sort of similar transformation hidden away in him.

The thought caused Damien's brow to begin dampening with cold sweat.

The form the man had assumed had been heavenly lacquered in his unique, divine energies, but for some reason Damien had been able to perfectly resonate with the man's dark red heavenly energy. For the first time in the young boy's life, through that resonance, he was able to feel something... see something... that felt like the fringes of the man's aura. Normally this would be impossible as adults whose auras he couldn't sense, were normally locked from him in a sort of instinctual survival mechanism against trying to read the aura of a being far stronger than him. But now, even though Damien couldn't tell if what he had felt briefly was indeed the man's aura, he desperately wished it wasn't.

It was beyond colossal.

If Damien was to inherit anything close to that after tomorrow, the thought of what might happen if power on that scale erupted uncontrolled for even a second almost drove him to madness. Genocide would be too merciful a term for the amount that would die, the carnage he would cause, as just collateral damage.

Damien didn't even know a creature could even have that much aura, and from what he had been able to see, it was far less than even 1% of the man's true aura.

Suddenly, Damien turned slowly to look into the concerned faces of the 3 orphanage deities.

Damien couldn't breathe.

He knew Father Clyde and Lord Jurovi were probably relatively as strong as the winged man as they seemed to not have any fear of his aura. But what truly began to break his mind, was beginning to come to terms with the fact that the true aura of the goddess who was currently holding him while stroking his hair, definitely vastly dwarfed all 3 of the gods in the room.

Slowly he peeled himself from Ma LaCroix's grasp and sat himself back down in his own chair, shaking softly while he rubbed his arms clutching himself. The concerned litany of gods looked on in concern but held their tongues until Damien had recovered his composure.

"There's no way I can be a Nephilim," the boy whined to hide his fear, shaking his head feverishly, "I don't even have wings."

Lord Henry laughed loudly, he also had resumed sitting.

"Your Highness," he began, "had I met you tomorrow instead of today, your hair would very likely have changed from brown to a similar color as the sparking platinum of the angelized state." To Damien's shocked expression Lord Henry continued with a slight chuckle. "Oh yes My Lord, it is a blessed genetic sign of the great Imperial families, they have the highest percentages of angelic being to their human halves upon birth of any within their respective Nephilim species," Lord Henry said with a slight chuckle, "in fact My Prince, it's the very reason why you yourself will manifest a set of great, majestic white wings, likely tomorrow as well at some point."

Damien was immediately shut up. Usually he prided himself on having a quip or self-deprecating joke of some sort to get himself out of sticky situations, and he was quite good at it. But now he had nothing. He struggled to ease the war of emotions inside his mind, and eventually one thought seemed to overcome the rest.

The conversation he had with Sister Hua, the woman who was actually his biological mother in disguise, rang constantly. Like a heavy set of ancient bells in his mind, silencing all other thoughts, they pounded on, unbothered by any commotion they were causing.

Now that he knew the peak, at least of the Mortal Realms, his goal became much clearer.

He had lived with the peak, dined with the peak, he even entered life from between the legs of the goddamn peak!

He slapped his forehead in frustration. He could see it now, clear as day. Between Sister Hua's words, he could see it now. The secret message she had been trying to instill in Damien that he had woefully ignored.

The boy groaned out loud as realization assaulted him relentlessly. She hadn't been sending him on a wild goose chase to placate him like he was a fool, she had been telling him, "here I am, I am your goal, study me."

Damien sighed in resignation. Affirming his resolve that had been slipping they boy thought to himself firmly.

'So what if they're all monsters, I'm at least half monster too goddamnit!' the young boy yelled at himself, 'if my mother is my goal, and the fifth strongest deity in the Mortal Realms was my first teacher, then if I don't eventually rise to the peak myself then I'm actually just a waste of space!'

The boy beat his chest hard, "I AM NOT A WASTE OF SPACE!" he yelled out to no one in particular.

"BWAHAHAHA," Lord Jurovi burst out laughing, dragged from his awkwardness. Father Clyde and Lord Henry both burst out into slight chuckles at Damien's sudden outburst and even Ma LaCroix let a slight chuckle escape her, as she covered her mouth with a hand.

"No sugar," the old goddess said warmly, a tender smile on her face, "you're no waste of space."

"I will meet my mother again," the boy said aloud.

The 4 powerful gods around the room not only could see steel forming in Damien's eyes as his conviction solidified, but the raw feeling of his intent shocked all as it came freely cascading through the boy's aura.

"I will finally have a real conversation with her," he continued to himself firmly, "and I will finally understand who I am supposed to be."

Ma LaCroix waved her hand simply, causing both Father Clyde and Former Lance Commander Jurovi to share a look, before each got up, paid their leaves to those remaining in the room.

"I pay my humble regards to Lords Clyde and Jurovi," Lord Henry said solemnly, getting up to return a friendly departing gesture that Damien didn't recognize, "on behalf of the Empire of Gera, we humbly thank you for raising our Imperial Crown Prince with diligence and care for over a decade, we will forever be in your Orphanage's debt." He waved his hand and 6 brilliant rings appeared in the air next to him, "On behalf of the 6 heavenly thrones of The Empire of Gera, we give these 6 treasure crystals, each crystal holds a collection of magical and mundane treasures and currencies totaling a net worth of 1 Billion USD per ring," he gave a sight bow, "although it is not as magnanimous as the 6 thrones would've liked originally to send, please take these megger gifts as signs of friendship with the Empire."

Blood leaked slowly from Damien's nose.

'6 billion dollars... megger gift...' he absentmindedly wiped the blood from his face, unconsciously smearing some, 'right right... Imperial Crown Prince... what the actual fuck?'

Ma LaCroix quietly waved a hand and the blood vanished from the boy's face. He sent a thankful look in the goddess' direction as the two orphanage directors accepted the 6 rings graciously.

'I think my actual mother readopting me just solved the problem of adoption for everyone at this orphanage... likely forever...' the boy thought to himself in a daze. 'Ironic...'

The two male gods nodded and exchanged pleasantries with the man. Turning to Damien, they each gave the boy encouraging smiles, warm words, warmer bear hugs, and a well placed hair tousle from Commander Jurovi. Then, the two gods disappeared in soft, twin flashes of light. After some silence had befallen the administration office, the ancient goddess looked to the standing winged man expectantly, who then bowed apologetically.

"I mean no disrespect, Lady LaCroix," Lord Henry said while keeping his head bowed slightly, "I cannot leave the Imperial Crown Prince's side, not until he reunites with her Imperial Majesty, I apologize, I assumed she already informed you."

"She did," the goddess said curtly, "just checking."

Before the man could say anything else, Ma LaCroix flicked her wrist and a massive pillar of green energy came crashing down around the ancient goddess and the young boy, enveloping them both.

Damien looked around in shock, Lord Henry had a slightly concerned look on his face, but didn't say anything, nor move from his spot.

"Ma LaCroix," the boy asked weakly, "what's going on?"

"Be steady sugar," the ancient creole goddess said, heaving a heavy sigh that escaped from her usually stout figure, "this is a simple but effective barrier, it will keep this conversation completely sound, vision, scry, and telekinesis proof from nearly any being in both the Mortal and Divine Realms."

The ancient goddess sat on the ground, having manifested herself a big, plush bean bag chair.

"Sit with me baby," the goddess half beaconed, half commanded to the boy, "I have much to explain, and not much time to do it."

***

The boy sat mystified as the goddess regaled him with a long litany of important things she felt he needed to know. Pausing to let him absorb the initial lecture, she turned his head to face hers. A finger under the young boy's chin was her tool to guide him.

"Child," she began, "I know there's nothing I can do to change your mind in seeking out your mother, and I'm not going to try."

Damien nodded in silent appreciation as she continued.

"You are at least half Nephilim, and an Imperial Crown Prince to boot," she said, chuckling softly, almost sadly, to herself. "Your mother, Lady or Empress or any of her myriad titles, Hoaquin of the Blood Red Sakura, is the great pillar of the Mortal Realms, the 1st Great Disaster. That may be the most extreme of pedigrees to aspire to, but is also one that will cause you equally extreme suffering and pain, for the rest of your life."

The wonderstruck look in the boy's eyes gradually fell as his once cheerful face grew more somber. Taking hit after hit as the goddess' words registered to him. The old goddess's stern gaze then softened, coaxed out of her shell by Damien's burst of depression.

"Or maybe I'm just being a crotchety old bat 'cause my favorite dish washer is leaving me," her voice wavered, "my boy is leaving me, and he didn't even seem to care." She sniffed while rubbing a tear from her eye, "can't blame me for being mad at being the only woman in your life you don't even talk about," she said with a half-hearted, depressed joking chuckle.

But Damien immediately sprung up and wrapped the lady in the tightest bear hug he could imagine. Tears cascading freely down his face.

"Ma," the boy said, weakly, hiccupping with tears, "I never meant to hurt you, I'm just always so confused these days, so hurt, I thought I'd never see mom or Jessica ever again but now there's at least a chance." He gave his own weak smile as he separated to look his other surrogate mother in the face, "that is if I don't find some of the endlessly bountiful ways to get myself killed first."

Ma LaCroix chuckled despite herself, then she paused for a bit, staring off wistfully. Her face was devoid of any discernible emotion, but Damien knew a war raged behind those divine, stony-brown eyes. She then silently patted the boy's head.

"What is a king, child?" she asked suddenly, softly, almost cryptically. "What does it mean to command the lives of many? For your words to be law, to be the deciding factor between generations of hatred or peace? Of prosperity or death?" she asked, looking down at the young boy.

"What is a god, child?" Ma LaCroix continued after a brief pause. Continuing in her soothing but cautioning tone. "What does it mean to command supreme power? To step beyond the flesh? To become one with the concept of magic itself? To touch the great flow of Dharma? To command authority, even over kings and emperors? Even over other deities?"

Damien was lost.

The weight of the questions caught the young boy off guard, robbing him of a response. For what felt like eons the boy pondered her words, deeply lost in the many rabbit holes of implications as his exhausted dual egos tried their hardest to decipher the riddle he wasn't seeing. His mouth gaped absentmindedly, like a broken robotic fish.

Ma LaCroix nodded sagely to herself after some time had passed as she intently studied the effects her words had had upon the young boy. Impressed with the deep seriousness that Damien had immediately taken to her questions, the old goddess allowed some of her inner fears to finally be still. She could tell the young boy was desperately wracking his brain for a solution that would benefit as many as he could, and the old creole goddess breathed a deep sigh of relief. She could be relieved that in his search for power, at least her boy would think twice before jumping headfirst into becoming a psychopath.

Smiling, she ruffled the boy's head, breaking him out of his train of thought.

"Had you answered, foolishly and quickly, thinking power would solve all your problems, thinking that the ends would justify any means, I would've forbidden you from leaving and told your mother to go suck a lemon. She may be the peak of the Mortal Realms but I am no slouch either," the goddess said simply, "I have long since attained many such titles myself child and can tell you with absolute certainty, I am no closer now to understanding the true gravity of them than I was when they were first bestowed upon me, some centuries ago."

She looked at the boy, holding both his shoulders softly. She cooed, "seek not power without also seeking to understand, sugar," she then rubbed a thumb across Damien's forehead. Her slightly long, delicately maintained nails softly drew an incredibly complex interlocking system of circles and runes of green power on the boy's head. Her eyes began to glow a deep emerald green wailing with a noise that sounded like the echoes of an endless valley of lost souls. Damien's vision was immediately clouded and replaced with a massive mental image of the monstrous version of Ma LaCroix he had seen all those years ago.

But then, in an instant, it and the circle were gone.

"What was that?" Damien asked hollowly.

"A gift," the old goddess said with a warm smile, "may it one day enlighten your path." She gave a slight laugh that eventually turned into a tired sigh. "Your mother's attendant won't be patient for much longer, and though he is nowhere near as strong as I am, the nature of his magic seems to be somewhat similar to mine. It's a type I would rather I interacted with as little as possible," she said, frowning slightly. Then it was replaced by a small, content smile as she said coyly, "I do believe I have successfully wasted enough of his time."

Looking down at the boy, she gave him one last bear hug.

"You're always welcome back here when times get rough sugar," she whispered to him, "you'll always be my son."

"Thanks Ma," Damien whispered back, choking back tears.

Breaking apart from each other, Ma LaCroix regained her composure. Flicking her wrist, the pillar of green energy dispersed in a soft cloud of light green, sparkling energy. Making the two again visible to Lord Henry, who didn't have a very amused look on his face. But nevertheless, he greeted them respectfully.

"Great Disaster, Lady LaCroix," he began, giving a slight bow at the waist, his massive battle coat rustling as his wings fluttered slightly in agitation , "I appreciate you passing your final divine and wise teachings to His Imperial Highness, but Her Imperial Majesty handed me a very firm schedule with nary little wiggle room." He straightened, looking her in the eye, "furthermore, I needn't have to remind a Supreme Goddess as well planned as yourself, that our vast oceans of shared enemies are constantly searching for this place and my being here is not doing your orphanage's protection glamours any good," he raised his golden-blue colored eyes to the sky outside one of the windows.

Indeed, they could see that the sky above the orphanage was starting to crack and fracture. If the protection glamours fell, the orphanage would lose a massive part of their many layers of incredibly complex defense systems against however many endless flavors of magical and mundane enemies that may want to do them harm for any reason.

Many of the orphanage staff that had reached the level of godhood had long since joined with each other, forming some groups of casting circles totaling 5 or 7 members at most, to stabilize and repair the orphanage's protection hexes and spell forms. Other orphanage staff and some of the older teenage orphanage kids that had decent controls over their auras, were helping keep the energies and stamina of their divine staff members up, by constantly casting fogs of healing magic over them.

The security glamours weren't the only thing breaking.

Damien stood in awe as he watched, dumbfounded, as the painfully and perfectly well crafted, incredibly powerful, ancient divine spell forms laid down by many of these incredibly capable divine mages of all backgrounds centuries before, had seemed like a perfect defense. They had stood the test of time against all manor of threats, some even divine.

Damien looked at Lord Henry with renewed interest.

'And yet,' the boy couldn't help himself from shamelessly thinking, 'just his mere presence alone is breaking this place apart. This one Nephilim, is causing these almost impenetrable security systems so much trouble they're literally breaking themselves apart.'

"Greatest apologies fair and merciful Lady La'Croix," Lord Henry began, bowing as sweat beaded on his own forehead, slight fear evident on his face after he saw the full extent of the growing damages. "It seems my going into my angelized state has sped up this disorder."

'Oh yeah,' the boy thought hollowly, 'she's still the fifth most powerful being in the entire Mortal Realms... huh... go figure...'

Ma LaCroix simply gave an unamused, "hmph" arching a single eyebrow.

"Fine go," she said, waving a hand dismissively while the other remained folded on her lap, "and take your diseased magic with you."

"My Lord?" The man said to Damien, extending a hand to the young prince, while doing his best to ignore Ma LacCroix's provocations, or incite her rage any further, "are you ready to go now?"

Damien took one last, long moment to truly give his life up until now a final, deep thought. Making his decision, he mentally willed his anxieties about all his choices to quiet, forming into a mental vision of himself, who's entire life consisted of living here at the orphanage.

All of his old memories made manifest.

Giving the orphanage version of himself one last look, he smiled sadly and thanked it dearly for everything it had helped him endure and experience. It had kept him safe thus far, despite all the pain it had both perpetuated for him and shielded for him. Giving a firm sigh, Damien willed that vision of himself to burn away, leaving him a new, fresh blank slate.

After a while there was finally quiet in Damien's mind.

Nothingness.

Then from the darkness a light came.

Damien saw... himself.

He was decked in his own, long, regal battle jacket like Lord Henry himself wore, except Damien's was pure white instead of pitch black. The fur of Damien's hood however, was deep black, contrasting the layer of snowy white fur adorning the hood of Lord Henry's. The runes on Damien's jacket were glowing with soft, yet fiery rose-golden angelic runes. They were the exact same color of his own heavenly, magical energy and of the fire that would come roaring out of him, chanting loudly, fervently, with rigid dedication endlessly. Normally they only manifested, as a wild maelstrom of fiery destruction whenever he lost control of his SuperComputer, but after seeing Lord Henry's angelization, Damien knew that this represented that this vision had a much more stable control over his own angelic powers.

'Guess it kinda tracks that the psychotic, destructive fire would be later unmasked as holy fire,' Damien thought with a grim, slight chuckle to himself. In spite of the oceans of fear and awe that ravaged through him, keeping his body feeling completely locked still and inert, he felt determined and hopeful to make the best of his new life.

His new life as royalty.

Damien saw that the vision of himself was the same age as he currently was. It wore an incredibly beautiful, yet sort of simple crown. It was in fact more of a circlet, than a proper crown. Along with many other incredibly ostentatious jewels and artifacts adorning the vision's body, that however didn't seem out of place or like it would disturb his motion if he were to suddenly jump into a fierce battle. The vision of himself sat regally on an incredibly ornate and imposing throne that was elevated slightly by solid platinum steps that shimmered with diamond trimming, and stared down at him in open disinterested disgust, with fierce, domineering... blood-red eyes?

Damien just stared at the vision seated on the throne. Confusion and fear kept him still, shaking horribly, but still in place. A feeling of intense aching crept up inside him, one of intense anger stemming from the innate knowledge that this vision of himself had everything Damien ever wanted.

It had the love and attention and safety of his mother.

It had power.

It had confidence.

It had Jessica...

Damien felt himself begin to break his bonds.

Feelings of envy, of pride, of rage, of desire, of sorrow, of happiness, of loss, of hope, burst forth from every cell of his being, raging savagely. His intent was heavily saturated with a great many more emotions the young boy couldn't even begin to understand. He slowly began to walk towards the vision upon the throne.

His slow walk turned into a rickety shamble, which then turned into a desperate mad dash at a full sprint.

Damien refused to think.

Thinking would only make him realize how incredibly afraid he was right now. He could be afraid later, right now, he needed to be strong. Panting wildly, blood rushing in his ears, power surging in his veins, the young boy raced towards the vision tirelessly. Reaching the image of himself seated on the throne, Damien thrusted both hands into the vision's chest, as it roared with rage and pain.

Instantly his eyes in the physical world snapped open.

Damien hadn't even realized that at some point he had passed out and gone into a full trance-like state, but both Lord Henry and Ma LaCroix could tell something important had just happened. Yet neither could tell what it was, nor its full gravity. But they knew, intrinsically, with iron certainty, something about Damien had just changed, forever. Something about him was different now, and would likely stay that way.

Looking the winged man in the eyes. Golden-blue eyes to golden-blue eyes, the Imperial Crown Prince of the Empire of Gera took the suddenly outstretched hand of his divine, royal, attendant and said in a friendly, calm yet commanding tone, "Lord Henry Astallon, Lord of Hesresta City, Third son of the Duke Uresto'l Astallon, please, take me where I need to go.""

I would be delighted to Your Imperial Highness," Lord Henry said with a wide smile, giving a small bow.