CHAPTER ONE
Who am I?
I am the blood that pours from the wounds of the dying men who cry for mercy on the red-stained fields of battle.
I am the tales that are passed on throughout the generations that keep the young ones cowering under their covers during the night.
I am the dread that you feel as the lights flicker out and your hope surrenders like the flame of a candle, futilely trying to battle the unyielding winds of a bitter, winter night.
I am what I am. I am d̛͟͞a̸̷rk̡n͘҉e̷͠s̴s̀.
…
Many believe that darkness is merely the absence of light. After all, one strike of a match to an oiled lantern and the obscurity of the night is instantly replaced with light. The same light that grants vision to the blind and peace to the restless.
However, whatever insight is gained in such simple logic is countered only by the failure in noticing the smaller, more subtle things: The cracks in the walls—the folds of the curtains—the very shadows that you cast beneath your feet—the darkness that guiltlessly lingers about. The darkness that hungers for the day that the light will finally fade and anarchy will once again claim its rightful spot on the top of the world.
No, darkness is not subservient to the light. It is a living, breathing force that whittles away at its restraints, growing closer and closer to freedom every single day.
…
You men believe that you have won, that your ingenuity has claimed you the victory that will allow you to sleep soundly during the night. You foolishly believe that peace will last you as long as your weapons can be raised and your heads can be held up high. You may prepare your guardians and build your monuments to a so-called 'free world', but take heed... there will be no victory in strength.
And when that strength finally crumbles and your Grimm Fate catches up to you, remember me. Remember the darkness and remember my name, for I will savor the helpless cries of misery as my creatures of the night are set upon you and your very world is torn out from beneath your feet.
When that finally happens, you may call me by my name: A͜͠smodeus.
...
...
...
'CCCCCCCCCCRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAABOOOOOOOOOOOOM!'
The windows rattled and the building shook violently. Professor Ozpin's eyes snapped open. His breathing came out in short, heavy rasps, and cold sweat beaded his lower back, staining his ivory bed sheets. The wind outside howled maliciously, complimenting the rain that harshly battered the roof, making a metallic 'PING! PING! PING!' every time it made contact. Ozpin shut his eyes, providing himself the time he needed to steady his breathing.
He was coming, and Ozpin knew it. It was impossible to put it off any longer. The darkness was returning at an overwhelmingly fast rate, and they were running out of the time that mankind so desperately needed. As Ozpin sat up and took a sip of coffee from the mug on his bedside, he whispered quietly the one word to himself that he knew was the subject of mankind's worry.
"Asmodeus."
A/N: Originally, this was going to be part of another story of mine, but its plot clashed too much with its underlying themes. Leave a review to tell me what you think!
- DataGrowth