Child of Daemons

His path shall be a journey itself,

The quest of the gods, a new way ahead.

With every step, his true essence shall unfold,

Like petals of a rose, his true power to behold.

The boy shall die, and yet, reborn shall he be,

A creature born from the ashes of a dream.

—+—+—+—

Selvius woke up with a start.

"Where am I?"

Right then, he remembered. The attack, the strike. A bull like creature, with the torso of a human. A Minotaur, he remembered.

However it was strange. He did not feel sick, or delirious. Or hurt, for that matter. The gashes on his chest were tightly bound, so there wasn't anyway to check them.

'Maybe the nectar did its job.'

Shaking his head, he stood up. Or at least attempted to. Before he could even, he fell face first.

'What?'

It wasn't his imagination. He seemed…stronger. Looking down, in the faint light of the yet to rise chariot of Apollo, he could see his muscles flex, threatening to rip open his shirt, now too small.

"What in the name of Hades happened?"

Slowly standing up, he gazed down at himself. His clothes were too small to fit him, and he seemed to have become taller.

A mirror he needed a mirror.

Immediately, a silver mirror appeared in his hands. No, it materialised.

'Right, my powers.' In the surprise of the new awakening, he had forgotten about them. Not like it had been that long since he awoke them. Charon had mused that his powers were that of Hypnos, the god of sleep. Sleep did always come easy to him.

In it, he saw his reflection. The same dark hair. The same green eyes. But they seemed…different. His eyes seemed to glow in the dusk. His face had become sharper, more angular. Streaks of grey ran along his hair, right at the temples.

His nails seemed sharper. More than what was natural. It seemed closer to a beast. All his body was covered with muscles. Packed, and neatly arranged for maximum strength.

"Have you realised it, nephew. The power you hold?"

I turned back, to look at a man. His body was covered in darkness, that seemed alive. Some times they were clothes, sometimes simply a shroud. Other times, they would become bat like wings, wrapped around his body.

His face was a sight to look at. With eyes just as black as the darkness around him, it constantly morphed. Sometimes it showed him the face of a Minotaur. Other times, the face of his mother, twisted in a cruel visage.

"Do you not recognise me, child? Have we been away for so long? You wound me, nephew."

"No. No I know you."

'Think, Sel, think! Where have you seen him?'

A faint memory came to him. Three figures, bending down over him, inside a cot. 'I was a child then,' he remembered.

"So you do remember me."

Selvius nodded. He was still too confused.

"But who are you?"

The man smirked. A smile that was naturally cruel, seemingly evil. But for him, it was an old welcome.

"I am your uncle, boy. I am Phoebetor, the lord of Nightmares."