Lord_Damocles

The Old Gods are gone. Lost and Forgotten, their honor shattered and their kingdoms broken by treachery. 

The Peace of the Myriad Heavens has been severed. And from the ashes of war and chaos, the Twin Towers of Babel have been created as a beacon of hope. 

Can Altair, a child born of the Old Gods whose name has long since been forgotten, survive, or will he be cast into the Nine Hells?

***
"So..." Arsene continued, enjoying his child's flush expression. "I've got a few things to teach you. What I'm about to give you is some peak wisdom. Think of it as my Ten Commandments: One, never trust a bitch with red hair. Trust me on this. Two, the pull-out game is not a real thing. She will get pregnant. Three—"

"F-Father…"

" —Never get yourself more than one wife. It sounds fun. It is fun. But it's truly a nightmare. You better be writing this stuff down. This is some grade-A wisdom right here. Four.

"...Please stop talking…" The Prince pleaded. 

"Shhhhh. Just let this happen. Four…Bro's before hoes isn't a thing. The hoes come first. Remember, Booty is more important than Wa— "

"STOP!!!!!"

Shadow of the Abyss

It was noon when the ashen-haired boy opened his blood-red eyes, drifting about as he lay in a refinement tank. On his bare shoulder, the emblem of the crimson spear shimmered a dimly lit glow.

He smiled, glancing over at Syris in the chamber next to his, fully nude. And fully woman.

"Calm, Poised, and Patient," the young master muttered. His eyes broke away as he pulled himself out of the tank, allowing the strange odorless fluid to fall from his broad shoulders and hair. He managed a mirthless smile, his fingers finding the brand on his shoulder that sought to brand him a slave.

'Roxas, Azura, and now Cain.' he said, the words carrying with them a fury so deep, he felt his Three Circle heat up.

Nine Years, he walked the Lake of Rot. For nine years, he ate of the foulest creatures, felt their smiley flesh against his tongue, drunk of their rotting blood, festering pestilence without reaction.

The Throne of Stygian