Well of Power - End of Vol Two

A/N: Long Chapter, Kinda

The days had skimmed by over the grey skies of Seigram, caught in a deadly blizzard. Dark and foreboding, the skies bled a deadly frost over the city below. Gentle as a lover whispers, the cold slipped through the homes of Seigram's residence, joining them in a tender embrace that would be their last.

Deep within the mansion of Earl Kest, near the western wing, roughly beside the fireplace sizzling with firewood and embers, rested a small boy with long silver hair. Gripping a longsword with an owl shape, pummel close to his chest. The soft breathing of the young boy sounded, filling the room with a strange force. That carried no particular intent or danger. The force was simply there, holding the boy in its embrace as if it were guarding him.

The logs within the fire crackled, and the fire seemed to dim, and out from the shadows, a lazy eye man stepped out from the closed room. He bore a bit of smile that hid his impatience and approached—stopping near the bed-chamber of the young lord.

He bore down, slowly catching sight of a tiny owl with emerald tips feathers snuggled near the hilt of Zariel's sword. Taken back for a while, the Devil chuckled and poked its cheek, stirring the baby owl awake.

Astra peeped its eyes open and stared at its Master. Nudging its eyes against Lord Zariels robes, the little owl leaped out, releasing a cute coo.

Mephisto chuckled, patting Astra's head with a single finger over its small head. " You have done well. Who knew he liked owls. That didn't come up in the Hells," the Fallen said, eying the bright eye Astra who saluted, nodding eagerly.

"Coo!"

Amused over the antics of Astra, Mephisto settled his gaze over Zariel Snow, then out to the blizzard smothering the life out of Seigram, then back to the young boy that had taken his interest. The Weave was not a toy, yet here was some child capable of controlling the Weave. A feat not even the strongest of Angels or Fallen was capable of. It was a power he had only seen in one other.

"You should not be here, Brother." A soft voice of temptation reached out from the shadows flickering back and forth near the fireplace. " Father has his limits. You know his wrath is not something we wish to contract."

The God of Trickery chuckled in low deep laughter. His eyes, scarlet as the deepest of flames of Hell, sizzled with a mighty evil. Pooling with a lustful flame for power equal to that of the Father. He lifted his hands near Zarels head, "Are you not interested, Lucifer? Why was this child chosen? Why is he able to use our Father's ability when we cannot? Tell me you are not interested."

"You know I am," Lucifer said, deadly sharp, " But now he is too close to my daughter. I cannot risk her death. Not when she is my new hope."

A slew of darkness slipped into Mephisto's heart. He had no interest in Lucifer's ploy, not after his fall to earth. He had his chance and failed.

"Do not disappoint me, Zariel." The Trickster said and closed his eyes, placing his index finger in the center of the boy's forehead. His eyes glowed, and a dark force emanated a sinister wave of necrotic energy.

Mephisto pushed his mind into the Young Lord, prying away his defenses without issue, much less resistance, and entered his soul. Careful not to linger longer than necessary, less he turned Zariel into a simpleton. he drove his mind deeper. Striving to find his target like he had done so many times beforehand. Mephisto saw a sea of endless ethereal silver swirling like a vast nebula, where images of memories seemed to flicker back and forth—racing in and out like twinkling stars.

"Have I reached the core?" Mephisto hesitantly asked.

The soul of everyone was broken up into three major groups: the Ego, the Will, and the core. However, everyone from the Sea of Chaos to those of Iluthath and the Exalted Wheel only had access to the Ego and Will, what they called Inner and outer soul.

Intrigued swelled within his heart, and he drove deeper in, mystified by the nebula that was changing at a visible rate. It was slow, but he could see the vague outline of an ethereal world tree.

"Amazing!" he said, "Is this what he was up to when reforming his body?"

"It is the soul that grants everyone power. It gives them freedom, dreams, and knowledge," Said Zariel. Walking out from the silver sea, he crossed his arms over this transparent appearance with a deep frown of discontent. "You are not very patient, are you."

Mephisto was poised to answer but laughed instead, "Come, young lad, shall we continue." He said, a bit reluctant about his new companion but chose not to reveal so.

A serene looked took place from Zariels frown; he crossed his arms and hid the wrath of scarlet that slowly filled his eyes. He nodded," Sure."

"Then lead the way. The memory I am looking far is past your birth, past the womb, to the formation of your soul. "

Lord Zariel thought for a moment. "I am sure you looked into my soul in the Hells. What makes this time different?"

"Permission is everything, my boy. Freedom is the highest luxury we sentient beings possess. Even if I were to make you my thrall, it doesn't mean your soul will fully accept me. I would be forcing it, bending your freedom. The soul is complex, my boy. I may be able to control your outer soul, but I am powerless to control your inner soul. That is for you, and you alone." Mephisto said, flicking his gaze to the vast sea of memories.

A memory of the first birth, Zariel thought but did not lookout. Mephisto had done just that long before now. It was not enough to simply search for the memory. There had to be more to it.

How long had he been stuck in the hells? He thought, plagued by memories seared in his flesh and soul. He clenched his eyes shut, taken by the sudden sear of pain rattling through his mind. His breath went sharp for a moment, then soft.

He closed himself to the world, and Mephisto watched with looming dark eyes that seemed enamored by the boy who suddenly reached into himself and looked for guidance through the web of The Weave.

Zariel listened. Holding back the unimaginable pain coursing through his veins like liquid fire, a soft ping, similar to a stringed instrument, caught his ear. A gentle sound dimmed the pain, leaving a warmth that sparked a glint of insight within the young lord's soul. He opened his eyes and followed the song ringing through his bones.

The images of memories within his soul had begun to fade, as did the silver soul sea spilling off in the depts the deeper they went. Zariel, however, had not noticed, as the song of the Weave kept its tone. He plunged deeper than anyone had done before, into what seemed like a labyrinth, forever changing, twisting in ways not even Mephisto could grasp, much less remember. They stood in darkness, a darkness so profound, so majestic. The Fallen dared not compare to Tenebrae, the Night Mother and creator of the darkness.

Fear had risen within his heart for the first time in a while throughout his endless eons.

"What is this," He spoke, peering out at the endless abyss, but a reply had not come. He turned, and his heart seized for a moment: Zariel was gone.

—

"Father," Said Archangel Michael on one knee as a small silver-headed child watched, with tarnished eyes tainted with sinful wrath. He stood within the depts of his soul, where no light existed, only a pooling void of nothingness and this memory.

The angels' features blurred as if Zareil himself was unworthy of even gazing upon them now and then. But, even so, a beauty beyond comparison had entered the young lord's eyes, from the snow-white marvel tile that appeared like clouds to the golden gates off in the distance standing firmly.

"This soul is defective, Father," Michael revealed from the beginning, lifting a small soul flame in his palm. "It's breaking down on its own, and none of us can find out why. This is the first time we have faced such an issue."

"Are you looking for an answer, child?" A voice, both soft yet hard, dark yet light, seemed to ask. Wrapped in a complexity that neither Zariel nor Archangel Michael could gasp.

Michael arced his head, confusion written over his golden, blue eyes. "Father?" he asked hesitantly, unsure if he was speaking to him or someone else. But looking in form outside, Zariel knew the words were directed at him. He didn't understand why nor how, but he simply knew.

"I am." he said, "Why? Why me? Why grant me this power?"

"Surely, we should leave this soul to be destroyed, right?" Michael sought out. "From what I can see, this soul flame holds some ability that we cannot contain.

"No, send it in to the cycle of the fourth heaven, my child." The Father said, "He shall continue to live with this gift."

"Michael lowered his head, "of course, but we cannot grasp what kind of power this is." He said hesitantly for a moment, then continued, "This… Soul just began to die. This was the first time this has ever happened."

"And it shall be the last,' Said The Father, more solemn than before, " I have plans for this little one. Send him off. Knowing will not make a difference, not yet anyway. Let him rise and seek his answer himself."

Holding his fist clenched shut, Zariel opened his eyes to the material world, peering up at Mephisto glaring down.

" What did you see?" were his first words.

"Nothing," Zariel said, rising from off the bed, glancing down at Astra resting silently over his lap. "Our deal is complete. I led the way. Deep into the depts, no one, not even you, has ever been. I owe you nothing else."

The Fallen smiled, and a shiver colder than the deepest Hell seemed to whip over Zariels cheeks, and in a blink of an eye. Mephisto was gone, but his lingering words seemed to echo. "Till we meet again, Zariel Snow."

"It's Blackwater,"