Tournament of Kings

Epilogue: True Faces

The dimension of the Unborn God was in the midst of a particularly brutal eternal war today. The souls of dead satyrs tore one another to pieces, ripping off limbs and gouging eyes. Weapons were formed from nothing and were destroyed. Charred bodies rose from death to fight again, restored to a mockery of health. Not a word was spoken, only howls.

And all the while, fires burned eternally and without a source.

Lucius reflected that his illegitimate children ought to become a bit more reflective. Even destructive impulses could be channeled through meditation. And nightmarish hellscapes could be overdone. Though their enthusiasm was to be appreciated. Yes, satyrs were not what civilized folk could call pleasant, but there was a lot of heart there.

Far more than can be said for those insufferable elves. Their most recent stunt in Antion was a testament to it. He'd had to channel many satyrs to that location to disrupt things enough to salvage events. Even so, they'd managed to gain ground, though at least their corruption was revealed.

Eventually, he found the best of them, where he usually did.

Melchious looked out over the pools of boiling blood, a satisfied expression on his face. He had taken his human form at the moment, but it was twisted to hurt the eyes of any mortal who looked upon it. He'd always preferred being human once he'd reascended after his reincarnation. Very beautiful and fair with an edge of danger.

Personally, Lucius had always thought this dreadfully tacky. Indeed, the bared and chiseled abs were overdone.

For his part, Lucius had spent ages as a cloaked figure with a void under his hood. It was both unsettling and convenient. And it lacked nausea that came with the form of a living corpse. But Melchious was young and liked appearing very fine.

Who was he trying to impress? He did have a tendency to work with beautiful female demonesses. But Melchious had never been one for romance. His passions were wholly confined to his work.

Even in mortal form, he'd been almost a religious zealot.

Lucius waited to be recognized, and Melchious knew he was there. Finally, Melchous turned to him. The young demon lord looked up at him, throwing his crimson cloak to one side. "Ah, Lucius. I was wondering when you would appear."

"You wonder in vain," said Lucius. "I appear when I wish, and none to date have been able to change that." He paused. "You seem to have set things in motion, haven't you, Melchious?"

Melchious smiled, turning to him, his golden hair glinting in the light like metal. "I have. That is what I do."

"Are you sure this one will play their part?" asked Lucius, more out of curiosity than a desire to know. Of course, Melchious wasn't sure, but he would pretend he was.

"They may, or they may not," said Melchious. "They'll do so in their own way, and I will adapt my plans accordingly." Interesting? Had he learned something from that fiasco with the Mirror of Laevian? Perhaps he was more than hopeless.

"And what of your errant anchor in the mortal world," said Lucius.

"On the surface, his actions are bad," said Melchious. "But with proper application, good can be made out of it. Unfortunately, the elves have been overstepping themselves of late. And House Gabriel has many enemies.

"What of you, Lucius? Still scheming and plotting the ruination of entire worlds?"

"Hardly," scoffed Lucius. "I merely intend to separate the chaff from the wheat."

"What a fine way to justify genocide," said Melchious with a smile.

Lucius laughed at the audacity. "You would presume to lecture me on morality?" It was a meaningless concept, but you had to believe in it to lecture on it.