Bay Window

*******************************

Lennon 'Bladeless Monster' Hull

The letter, held within my formless, Dominion-manifested hand, weighs heavily as we search for Wyatt and Aniwye. The shores of the Cardinal, owned by the abyssal waters that lend shivers into even my spine, are struck repeatedly by an impossible liquid. Marion and Otto are within the shack, while Bonfire and Virgil are searching all over. I watch them stride down the bank, the glass cutting into their boots.

Birdie waves at them as Virgil asks for some help due to Bonfire's bitching, and transparent barriers coalesce around their soles. Then, they walk away, searching for their friends.

This leaves Birdie with Silas and I. My eyes remain on the waters of the Cardinal while the woman speaks, awed by this... place.

"Incredible. The Cardinal. I never thought I'd actually get to see a Wonder. Weirwind. Bridge Of The Gods. Ecantmas. Purgatory. Boulevard Of Shadows. Even the Gate of Death is runored to be one. There are so few of them, and they are so... legendary. How do you think they were made, Lennon?"

The Undead pivots a question to me as I ponder it momentarily. Only a few Wonder's locations are actually known. Purgatory is within Hell, River Cardinal, its proper name, is within the Underworld, obviously, and the last known one is the Boulevard Of Shadows, owned by the Grayking way down south.

The Boulevard allows a minor race such as the Grayskins to contend with demons despite their meager size and ancient technology. The Wonders are like entirely different branches of power beyond Sigils. They can offer wildly divergent and obtuse abilities.

Such things would hint that they are formed by something unrelated to Sigils, but I don't believe that is the case.

"I think... I think these Wonders are something above even Divinities, the so-called artifacts from the Gods. It just makes sense. They are untamed yet disastrously powerful. Even the Grayskins don't wholly control the Boulevard. They simply send each adolescent down it, praying they survive and awaken its powers."

I provide some extra detail, assuming both Birdie and Silas have forgotten their memories regarding such things. My assumption is proved correct as they both nod profoundly, taking in my words to deliberate on.

Mie, however, is the first to reply to my thoughts. She is skeptical and wants knowledge, more desperate than any human I've ever met. She's breaking quite fast. I wish I could help, but that's not who I am. I'd only make things worse.

"You didn't explain how. How were they made? Does anyone know? Could someone... make one?"

I shrug, not having an answer for her. There is much I don't know in this world, and the mysteries of Ether are a massive gap of knowledge for me. I am a soldier, not a scholar.

"Dunno. Though, the Wastes kind of reminds me of one? The ambiance? I don't know."

Silas' head snaps up as his partner shouts aloud, apparently allowed to use his mouth. However, from the way Silas acts afterward, I think it was an overstep.

"Yes! They are quite similar, aren't they! You can't feel the Ether moving around in the Cardinal, nor the Wastes! But... what does that mean?"

A sudden voice, alongside a brief collapse of my Dominion, shocks me to my core. I twist, drawing a Slash as there is nothing there.

"It means much, young mind. Come to my voice. There is much to discuss, but I cannot come to you. This alone is a risk, taken only because the Demon Of Hearts insists."

Aniwye? I lower my guard only slightly before stepping in the direction of the sound. It's in the opposite direction of the glassy beach. Birdie follows me, and I expect Silas and his partner to do the same. Yet, they do not. Instead, they rush forward, the Arca likely clamoring for it.

Sighing, I shake my head.

"She's going to get them both killed with how she's acting."

Birdie purses her lips but doesn't say anything as we continue to walk. In only a few seconds, though, Silas utterly disappears, vanishing from even senses.

I pivot on one foot, my Dominion compressing as Monster roars to life. My body crouches slightly, and I settle myself to be keen for a fight. Where did she go? How did she disa—a tap on my shoulder from Birdie breaks my focus for a second.

"She is ahead. The voice spoke to me again, saying that your Dominion is making it hard to contact you. And... give them time, Lennon. Not everyone wants to be as lonely as you."

I pause as Birdie strides ahead. She is cautious but not overly so. I move to follow her, but her words linger in my mind.

Am I lonely? I...

A hand pulls me forward, and I come face to face with the bead, engorged eye of an Ogre, one of the most inherently dangerous kinds of demons. Though, I don't strike as I know this one.

"Aniwye? What's that for?"

My blades are primed, ready to strike if I am to be betrayed, but nothing of the sort happens. Instead, I glance around, discovering a golden sphere blocking us from the rest of reality. What the?

Even more bizarre is the floating golden hand of sand, with particles falling from gravity only to fall right back up into the hand. It seems like... I don't even know what is happening anymore.

Nevertheless, we've found Wyatt and Aniwye, the former frozen and standing while staring motionlessly at some sort of cube. Weirdo.

Mie, without Silas' mouth, asks the hand a dozen rapid-fire questions, but it raises a finger to slow her. I don't even track all that she asks; I'm more intrigued by this sphere around us.

"Slow, child of Ether, slow. All things will come with time. While I do not know their exact origins, the Wonders, or Solitary Fathoms as I heard a God once call them, seem to come from the gathering of Ether, Sigils, and emotional force over many, many years until they are self-sufficient. Purgatory formed due to a particular being locking away scores of Gods, while Weirwind originated over dozens of millennia. This Wastes you speak of... it might have the potential to become one if its creator continues to supplement it. Otherwise, it will gradually fade."

I stare at the hand, unamused by its repertoire of words. Instead, I consolidate my focus, endeavoring to discern its strength and what it is. Mie, Birdie, and even Silas ask it a dozen questions each about Ether or some other thing, but I remain hush.

Something... some part of my mind is itching. It's telling me that there is a missing part to all of this. The hand, Remington as Aniwye calls it, is far too kind. It isn't human. It might have once been, but not anymore. It's... something other.

I bear a step around the edge of the sphere, watching the hand and glancing back at Wyatt. What is he doing? Can I break him out of it? My muscles are taut, compressed across my whole form as Monster gradually returns.

Before the Ether reaches a pinnacle, an object slams into the back of my neck. I reflexively twirl, landing on a formless hand in a crouched position. My neck trembles with pain, but it could be way worse. Whatever just hit me could have killed me easily. It's playing with—

He? A man? What?

"Quite perceptive, Lennon Hull. None of your senses could point to me, but something in that skull of yours still felt me, huh? Impressive. Your skills have not been overstated."

The hand of gold whirls to face me as if amazed by the compliment, but I don't have even a singular modicum of attention to place upon him. Instead, my whole form shudders under what I see.

My Dominion reveals the being's soul to me. And it is anything but mortal. This... thing's presence is overwhelming, radiating power and authority that reverberates through every fiber of my being. As I gaze upon this Godly entity, I am struck by the magnitude of its existence.

I am struck so heavily that the muscles in my body refuse to act. They refuse to acknowledge my orders. A swirling vortex of conflicting energies takes precedence in my senses, overwhelming everything I am, a symphony of chaos and harmony that transcends mortal comprehension.

Staring ahead, unable to abort my gaze, I witness his Dominion or whatever the Divine equivalent is. It is a scene so lifelike it could almost be touched, yet it is only born of the soul, only visible to others who can flex theirs.

Before me unfolds a tableau of war and peace, a delicate equilibrium hanging in the balance. Creatures of all shapes and sizes clash in a relentless struggle, their lives weighing upon the scales of fate. It is an endless battle, with mountains of blood spilled every second. With each and every death, the balance tilts, teetering precariously between chaos and order.

I am paralyzed by the sheer magnitude of what I behold. My senses are overwhelmed, and I find myself unable to move, to breathe, to even stand in the presence of such Godly majesty. Trembling, I am consumed by a profound sense of awe and powerlessness for the unfathomable power before me.

"Can you handle it, Hull? The weight? The pressure of your past? Of your sins? If you cannot, you shall go no further."

The God's identity reveals itself to me as I grit my teeth. This is ten times worse than the Gourd Of Suffering. It is worse than anything I've ever felt, the direct pressure of a God.

I grasp for anything to help, my Ether, my Dominion, or my Power, but none come to my help. Instead, amidst the endless war, I find an old man smiling toward me. Behind him are thousands of young soldiers, freshly trained.

Ah. Yes. I remember what he told us all on our very first day of war. He repeated it to every fresh new class upon their first bloody cruise.

"There is no shame in backing out now. It is okay. That simply means you are not my student. And why is that, Laura?"

Laura didn't answer him, her teeth chattering despite her training from when she was young. She was always the least comfortable with killing.

"It is because my students do not shrink before any cruelty. They do not falter or yield before any fate. If you shall embrace Death, then that is what you will meet. Only, you will all do it with bloodied grins."

Dozens of us grew silent, none of us knowing what to say or how to answer. Not even Edward knew. A moment passed, more gunfire was released into the air, and more blood was spilled. Nevertheless, the Bloodhound's focus never left his trainees.

"If you cannot do that, then you are not my student. Walk away. Do it now, or you will regret it."

Back then, my eyes met Edward's, and the bastard smiled back at me, blood already on his teeth. That was his answer. Laura shambled after Edmund while he strode ahead, leaving us to choose. As for me... I unsheathed my blade.

If there is one thing I will never do in this life of mine, no matter the path I take, it is betraying that old man. No matter the cliff. No matter the trial. No matter the foe. No matter the God that demands it of me. To me, Edmund is a God.

He is a God of compassion, knowledge, care, violence, and everything in between. I give my God a silent prayer, knowing that he cannot offer me anything other than long-told wisdom. Nevertheless, I give it, for he gave me everything and more.

My eyes rise to meet the Devil's, the two oppositely tipped balances mocking my resistance to his aura. I grin as blood laces my teeth, something internally rupturing. Then, I slowly stand, Monster emerging with inadvertent focus. Every aspect within me vibrates with energy and force as I bring Slashes against the Devil.

He simply smiles, the old, wrinkled face fearless of my most substantial might. And for good reason. As the concentrated Cleave lands upon his neck, the force evaporates, only to reappear a mile away, Cleaving off the top of a mountain.

"Good. I see a God in you yet."

The pressure vanishes as I collapse to the ground, utterly drained of energy. I didn't even realize I forced Monster into a single second, multiplying the force of everything. Rolling onto my back, I watch the Red Judge kneel beside me.

A cane props his weight up as a weathered hand lands upon my chest.

"An internalized God is not a flawed way to ascend. It is simply another way. Keep at it. All pain has a reward if you persist long enough."

Darkness consumes me as I fish out the note with trembling hands, sliding it to the God. I don't even manage to say who it's for before the lights go out.

*****************************

Isaac 'Eye Of Demonaire' Erno

A raging flame alerts my senses before I leave the confines of Depravity. Many Angels were able to escape, but that is fine. I cannot kill them all by myself. I do not have enough helpers.

That means I should get moving. Fast. There is much to do and so little time. Yet I cannot. Something within that pyre calls for me. It is... a cry. The cry of a baby.

But how?

I am unsure. For a moment, I want to lift my eyepatch, but I do not. That is only saved for the worst of times, no matter how much I may wish for its cursed knowledge and gifts. It has been... centuries since I last saw a genuine baby.

Some demons and monstrosities share the form of a fetus or newborn, but this? None of my alarms are ringing, and none of my many always-active skills are warning me. And so, I stride toward the pyre of a once-talented woman whose life was cut short.

The flame is still raging somehow, days later. Yet, the body is undamaged by the black flame. My eye squints as I hear another cry. It's coming from the body.

What?

I creep forward, and the heat rises. The flame is absurdly hot, enough to effortlessly melt steel, if not sublimate it. To subjugate the fire, I wave my hand, tossing out a weave of Ether. Alongside the Ether, I clamp down on the flame with Oceans, the Dominion I've held for centuries, suffocating the flame instantly.

With the heat gone, I discover the body unmarred. Kwakiteh was her name, huh?

Another cry has me kneeling beside the body. I press my ear to her stomach, sensing movement. Incredible. With a flex of my Oceans, I slice open her stomach, in awe of what I see.

It is a young baby girl, nestled inside the womb of a days-old corpse, bathed in endless flame. I hold the child carefully, with such a gentleness I haven't possessed since I was alive. Her eyes open, but they are featureless orbs with nothing inside of them.

My heart sinks as I realize she's just died. The head of life must still linger, though. I bring the baby to my chest but pause as Detector flashes. For a second, I sense the presence of a Power within her, but then it vanishes.

I stare at the baby girl again, awed to find a light in her eyes. No. More than a light. Her pupils are shaped like two divergent flames. My hands nestle her against my chest as I count her heartbeat and reassure her.

"You're safe. Everything will be alright, little one."

An ember flies her way from the surrounding ground, my Oceans surprisingly not enough to stamp it all out. I panic and reach to crush it but stop, not wanting to hurt her. In a slight instant, I search for a less forceful skill, and the ember lands upon her arm.

Yet, the ember doesn't burn her. Instead, it simply trickles off, the heat and flame mattering none. I stare at this babe in awe as a gentle giggle rings out, the tune of her joy. The open, flaming pupils radiate nothing but the delight of life.

With one hand, I grasp her carefully. This little life, in the most inhospitable of all places... Accidentally, my grip tightens as my eye wets despite the lack of a pupil. Memories well up, things that have long been forgotten by my many deaths. Before I became an Angel down here, I died no less than forty-eight times—far more than what most others believe. I would be lying if I said I wasn't special, but I refuse to believe that is what has kept me going despite the shattering of my mind and psyche. It is a simple memory, one quite akin to this.

A tiny hand holds my lone index finger with all its might, trusting me wholly and utterly. I don't remember the name of my child. There is simply no way for me to ever learn it or find my child. Hell, my last name is made up. So is my first. I simply chose the things that sounded good. But it is that memory that kept me going, even after the centuries. This purity of life, this utter... innocence, is so holy. It is more unique than any God or phenomenon in reality. Children are... they are what make us better. Their laughs, their cries, their joys, and their struggles.

A delicate smile grows as I imagine this one developing to the point where she struggles to walk before learning how to run. The shamble, the amble, then the leap, it all spreads jubilation through my old bones. She is just what the Underworld needs. We need a light, a joy. There has never been a baby nor a child in the Underworld past the upheaval way back when.

I will cherish this child more than my own life. But whatever shall we call you, little one?

Ah, I know. Marigold. That sounds right—the meeting between death and life.