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

If she was honest with herself, Syris might have admitted she was worried. Even if Altair had unnatural control over his mana, all it took was a single mistake, a lapse in judgment, or a single distraction that could lead to his death.

The Ninth Grade Shard in his hand was breaking apart, falling into small colorless shards that shattered into small fragments at the slightest touch.

Syris watched it all, watched the sweat seep from out his pour. She felt the hammering of his heartbeat through the vibration of the ground and felt the harsh storm of mana coiling around him, diving into his meridians like a wild storm.

His hair was flailing, flitting back and forth with the flow of the mana. It wasn't until half an hour had passed that Altair opened his eyes. The shard in his palm collapsing into small fragmented dust.

"Arise, Vaiga Darkfire. Arise Anew."

The Primal Sword