Death's Demaise

A woman with scarlet red hair, wearing nothing but a towel, walked into an extravagant room. Its walls were an ashy gray while its floor was made only of a deep, coffee-brown wood. Large decorations were strewn about the room, and the quiet chime of a music box could be heard in its eloquent glory.

The woman pranced to a closet door, dropping her towel and showing her slightly damp limestone skin. Her hair stuck to her ornate curvature. She brushed a small strand of hair from her berry blue eyes.

The woman plucked a light pink dress off a hanger as condensation dripped down her body. A light hum could be heard as she lightly danced to the tune of the music box. The room vibrated with a vibrant yellow color as she danced, her curves shown to the world.

Dancing for what could only be eons to anyone watching, the woman twirled. Her hair flung into the air, showing her perfect body to anyone who'd watch.

With her hair floating down, covering everything, the woman laid her dress on a white king-sized bed. She continued dancing to the music that filled her soul with feral yet dignified passion. Twirling to a dresser, her hair flew again, showing a view that could only be described as alluring, like a siren calling to all those who'd listen.

Opening the drawer with a grace that many couldn't wish to attain, the woman grasped a few undergarments. She spun again, twisting in the air. Her face mimicked that of a goddess, her body's heavenly allure only building upon her beauty.

The woman, slowly yet grand, pulled the undergarments past her supple body. The aura in the room almost turned a light, passionate red as she proceeded to slip on her pink, elegant dress. Her lightly damp hair glided down her back, making her charm ravishing to any who would look upon her holy smile.

As she danced across the room, humming; however, a knock berated the door, canceling out the fiery atmosphere. "Mom! I heard you were calling for me. Do you need something?"

The scarlet-haired woman swaggered to the door, swinging her hips in a hypnotic motion. "Yes, Bran. I wanted to talk to you about your awakening. I know you only recently decided to carry through with it, but I wanted to speak with you about it. I never gave up hope you would change your mind and carry through with it!"

The door opened as Bran's eyes took in his mother's heavenly vestige. She was a goddess descending from the heavens, basking in holy light. "Well, there's nothing much to talk about, really. I thought we'd do the awakening and be done with it."

The woman's face fell a bit as she basked in a small beam of light that shone from a window, illuminating her in a celestial glamor. "There's no, "get it over with". If you're going through with your awakening, I want it to be the best it can be."

Bran sighed as he stepped past his mother, entering the warm room. "I don't want anything big, though. I don't think Dad would like it either."

Bran's mother spun, facing further into the room. She began walking, her hips slightly waving. "I didn't think I'd have to tell you this, but when I told your father about your decision, he was happy. No one in this manor hates you, not even your father."

Bran's feet slightly thunked against the floorboards as he flopped on the bed. "Everyone keeps saying that, yet I can tell Dad doesn't like me."

The woman sashayed to a desk. The mystical light beamed in thin strings, showing the dust particles that floated in the air. "I've never told you about my side of the family, have I?"

Bran's eyebrow raised as he sat up. "You and grandma never talk about your ancestry. What brings this on?"

The woman bent over, her round curvature protruding from her dress. She sifted through a small briefcase as she hummed a slight toon. "When I first had you, I promised myself I wouldn't tell you about them until I thought you were ready. Up until now, I've never felt you mature enough to find out about any of what I'm about to tell you."

Bran's face fell and his eyes bore holes into the ground. His eyes were a dejected sorrow that spoke levels about his regret and resentment. "I know. I never was the best child. There's a lot that I wish I hadn't done, and I still feel inadequate. I want to tell you, I'm sorry."

The mother straightened as she brought out a hellish book that exuded a sickly purple aura. "There's no need for you to apologize to me about anything. I'm your mother; no matter what, I'll love you unconditionally."

Bran's eyes filled with mellowness as he beamed up at his mother. "Thanks, mom. It means a lot."

The woman spun over to a music box that held an ornate, intricate design. Its casing was a deep mahogany that had no end. It was a black hole sucking in everything in its path. "Your grandfather gave me both of these items. He told me that they were his last gift before I was to be married off to Duke Onratarei, your father."

Bran scowled at the mention of his father. "Grandfather, how was he?"

The woman opened the music box, starting a melancholic, desolate piano, filled with a desperate ache of a deep longing for purpose or love. The piano darkened, building in its sorrow. "Your grandfather loved this song. He said it reminded him of home."

Bran gazed into the two figures, a man and woman, dancing in the small box. "Why? Was his home this…"

With unfocused eyes, the woman stared out a window into the distance. "He said his home was ravaged by a powerful, evil force. They left nothing but death and destruction in their wake. He told me, by the end of the being's rampage, out of the legions of people, only 72 were left to rule over the desolate land."

Bran's smile filled with desolation. "Did he say why the being did this?"

A light shined off the woman's rose-red lips. "There wasn't a reason. The being was a twisted, evil thing, only finding pleasure in destroying the lives of others."

Bran sat while letting the aching, agonizing cords of the piano fill his soul. He sat there, taking in the song that was filled with ups and downs yet never having a happy moment. As the song crept closer to the end, the strings darkened, showing how meaningless life was. Never was there a peaceful, happy moment, there was only a sea of regret filled with anguish toward the world.

The woman closed her eyes as the final cord played. A tear streamed down her holy face, glistening in the sun. "It's saddening how reflective of life this is. Constant regret and hate with a few bits of bitter, melancholic sorrow sprinkled throughout."

Bran stared into the abyssal shadows that plagued the room. Light tried to battle the all-consuming dark, fighting for dominance, yet almost as if it was inevitable, the darkness consumed the few remnants of light that managed to break through its barrier.

Bran's mother turned with deep sorrow overflowing from her heavenly body, and with a deep breath, she opened the devilish tome. "This life is filled with things that we can't comprehend. You and everyone else know of Gods, demons and devils, and elementals, but you haven't even begun to dig into the history of this cruel world."

Bran gulped. He could feel his heart speed like a freight train. His eyes dilated, and a clenching chill squished his chest. "What do you mean by all this? Are you saying there is something worse than a demon?"

The woman chuckled with a foreboding helplessness. "I'm not saying something is worse; I'm saying there are a multitude of things that crawl at the cracks of reality and consume those they view as worthy. The primordial being that killed my father's society is one of them."

Bran's eyes scrunched as a dark murmur left his mouth. Everything he knew came crashing down as countless thoughts bounced in his head. "But, I thought the Demon King was the only thing threatening the world!?"

The woman strutted across the room as she set the book on the bed. "Bran, I'm telling you this because I think you're ready to carry on my family's legacy. The Gods we pray to, have no interest in humanity. They actively wish to destroy it. They wish to tear down the foundations of our world and bring about something known as "The Great Calamity". What you do with this information is up to you, but if you hold even a minuscule of the maturity I've recently seen in you, you'll take this book and stop everything as we know it from reducing to rubble: You'll stop Ragnarok."

Bran scowed. "Wait, Ragnarok? The Great Calamity? What are you talking about? I don't understand!"

Bran's mother grabbed a glass of red wine. The liquid slid down her throat, coating her lips in a crimson red that added to her physical appeal. "I bet you're wondering why I made you choose Ragnarok as the name of your first pet. I have no doubt a constant stream of thoughts is crashing through your head as we speak. I wish I could give you more answers, but the time is not right. All I can say is, if you truly wish to learn more about this rock we call Apocrypha, then you will take that book and delve into the mysteries that mortals have no right to know, mysteries that will leave the soundest of minds in shambles, mysteries that will haunt you till the ends of time."

A bead of sweat dripped down Bran's face. "And if I choose to put this behind me and act like we've never had this conversation?"

The woman chuckled as she swirled her wine, gazing expressionlessly out the window. "If that is your decision, then you will go back to the life of a blissful ignorant child while the world comes crashing down around you. If that is your decision, you will once again be handing over your responsibilities to your sister. If that is your decision, you and everyone you care about will die in painful agony while the Gods laugh from their thrones. It's time to make your decision, Bran: Do you wish to become the savior of Apocrypha, or will you walk out that door and let everyone you know die?"

Bran sat there for minutes, letting the weight of the situation settle. His brain pulsed as the light assaulted his eyes. It was as if the Gods had sent down a cascading beam of holiness in a vain attempt to stop him from choosing the only answer that left him without regret.

Throwing caution to the wind, Bran stood from the bed, nearly falling over from his bleeding headache. Everything seemed to clear in his mind like he gained a new sense of understanding. He saw the world in a different light. Sure, everything looked the same, but there was an underlying complexity that almost ripped through his brain as he gazed into the abyss.

Grasping hold of the book, Bran glanced at the first page. 'When the "First Seat of Antibris is filled, the world shall fall. Everything as man knows it will warp, becoming a deep ocean of hell that will consume all within its grasp."

Bran's eyes spread through the page with a dark zeel. His head pounded harder as he read word after word. The world broke into lines that, if he dared touch, threatened to consume his being, eating away at his sanity until there would be nothing left.

[#!@#'s P#@#!#y Lvl. 1]

Bran fell to the ground head first as his mind became mush. "W-what is t-this?"

Bran's mother watched as his head collided with the wooden boards. A dark, demoniac glee spread through her being, replacing the sorrow she once felt. "You have no clue what the world has in store for you my child. You are just beginning to unravel the mysteries that have plagued our families for over a hundred years, and when you finish unraveling the ball that is reality, nothing will stand in our way."

The woman's body oozed a dark, vile, viscous aura, tainting all that it touched. Her once limestone skin darkened to a black void, and horns protruded out of her head. "When we rise to the rightful place of our people, you will be our King, you will be our Bael."

The woman threw her head back, breaking out into mad giggles. Her dark, tainted skin began to rot away as she grabbed hold of the book, closing it. On the front cover, spelled with blood, stood the name: Lemegeton Clavicula Salomonis.

The woman, book in hand, pranced over to a bookshelf, grabbing another book. Again, the book was spelled with a red, dripping liquid, however, instead of a demonic, maddening cover, human skin, stitched together with hair, was plastered on the tome. The name, Clavicula Salomonis, covered one-third of the cover.

With both books in hand, the demoniac woman began to chant a foreign, immoral language. "In nomine Bael, daemonem potentem invocamus. In nocte tenebris, tibi offerimus sacrificium anime. Bael, accipe supplicium nostrum, aeternum consocians nos cum tenebris!"

With a shout of euphoria, the two books went up in flame, a dark spirit rising from the fire, screaming in the same ancient tongue. It screeched with an ear-piercing, vile shriek. Wafting through the air, the dark spirit drifted down, resting in Bran's chest, leaving the boy, bleeding from his open orifices.

With a flick of her wrist, the woman materialized an intricate, demonic circle that hovered atop her hand. Its demonic aura further tainted her rotted skin as she pushed the dastardly circle into Bran's forehead, leaving a "Mark of Vilestia".

The woman, done with her satanic ritual, curled into a ball. Her dress disintegrating, she sat there, nude. The dark vile mass that covered her body seemed to drain as she floated Bran into her arms, cradling him like a baby.

In a raspy, hushed voice, the woman muttered sweet apologies. "I'm sorry, my son, but I can not let the future come to pass. I'm sure you'll understand when you stand on the precious of man. I'm sure you'll understand when you transcend Ectelum and Bael. If you don't, then I shall live with the consequences of saving our family, with saving you."

As she continued her crazed mutterings, the sludge was no longer, washing away her horns with it.

As she descended into hysterical mutterings, the woman drifted into a state of unconsciousness, waiting for her son to cleanse her soul. Without a second thought, she kissed her son and closed her eyes for one of the last times.

The woman's soul cracked as she muttered into her son's ears. "I don't have long, my boy. You must prepare yourself, fast, for when I leave this world, there shall be no one to protect you from the God's wrath. There will be no one to prepare you for your journey ahead."

Translations-

Latin chant:

In nomine Bael,

Daemonem potentem invocamus.

In nocte tenebris,

Tibi offerimus sacrificium animae.

Bael, accipe supplicium nostrum,

Aeternum consocians nos cum tenebris.

Translation:

In the name of Bael,

We invoke the powerful demon.

In the darkness of night,

To you, we offer the sacrifice of the soul.

Bael, accept our supplication,

Forever uniting us with darkness.

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Latin: Lemegeton Clavicula Salomonis

Translation: The Lesser Key of Solomon

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Latin: Clavicula Salomonis

Translation: Greater Key of Solomon