Prologue:
Once upon a time, long ago, there lived a budding civilization of humans. Having taken millions of years to evolve into functioning and thinking creatures, this species still had a long way to go before they were able to reach the thriving and audacious beings they have become today. They were still fragile, still ignorant, still terrified.
However, there were a certain few, a gifted few, who existed apart from humanity's first bumbling mass of insecurity. These few, though alike in human appearance, were so intrinsically different.
Born from the very Earth itself, and mothered by nature, they developed a natural affinity with what the humans grew to call the magical arts. These gifted beings were able to harness the power and the energies of the planet and bend them to their will. They knew all the secrets of life and the mysteries of death. They could communicate with the spirits of past and future at leisure. So long did stretch their lives and youth, and as vast was their age, so was their benevolence. While these beings lived nursed and coddled by the opulent nature the humans would fear, they began to sympathize with the pitiful creatures.
Leaving the safety of their haven, the ethereal beings revealed their immaculate selves to the humans, offering many gifts. They taught the humans ways to thrive in their environment, knowledges of medicine and science, wisdom of life and the exoneration of death. They were teachers, mediators, and bridges between the mortal world and realms of the next. They spoke with angels and soothed the creatures who crept in the night. Witnessing their awe-inspiring powers, the humans bestowed the beings with the title Wikkōn, beings of sacred and obscure origin. The Wikkōn were so loved, so worshipped, and while they lived among the humans, they were happy, humanity was happy… for the moment.
It was not long before the Wikkōn grasped the frightful speed at which humans learned, and not a few hundred years later, they realized humanity was no longer the feeble lambs they had first encountered. Flourishing with the knowledge given to them, the human population grew exponentially, traversing further across the planet, expanding their territories. Yet, even as their capabilities grew, the human consciousness was still so small. Miniscule disagreements grew to larger arguments. Ideals and emotions clashed. Soon after, violence and discontent wrought forth the impending spread of war.
The Wikkōn tried to intervene, they tried to reason, but they were shunned at every turn. This was a human matter, the mortals said, the beings had no right to interfere. And so they obeyed. Recognizing that their roles as leaders were over, they quietly retreated back to their secluded domain, keeping their influences from the human affairs. Nonetheless, there were still humans who relied on and believed in the wisdom of the Wikkōn. For the willing few that readily sought help, they were glad to give it. As the years rolled on, the willing seekers came less and less, until the existence of the beings were but a rumor through the grapevines.
Then, Lucifer smiled. Having watched the humans with festering envy as they prospered under the protection of the Wikkōn, he finally saw his chance to sow the seeds of calamity. Adopting the shape of a Wiseman, he once again revealed the existence of the Wikkōn to the masses. He told the humans of their incredible powers, of how they could destroy all that humans have built in an instant should they desire, and that while the Wikkōn lived pampered by their intellect and wealth, there were so many humans who lived in poverty and disease. And the humans listened, so easily were their beliefs swayed. Riled with greed, envy, and contempt, they raised arms to invade the homes of the Wikkōn.
As beings of peace, violence and cruelty were not familiar subjects for the Wikkōn. But oh, did they learn. Wrenched from their homes, the Wikkōn pleaded and begged. They wished no harm on the humans, and they would be glad to share all that they knew with them. But these words would fall on deaf ears for the human hearts were already so twisted with dark desires. Overtime, the Wikkōn title was abandoned and lost. To the humans, they were now Witches, creatures of morbid and perverse abilities. They were burned, tortured, massacred. In order to escape a similar fate, the Wikkōn who still retained their clarity fled to the realm of Fata, the world of faeries. One by one they escaped until a sole Wikkōn stayed: a young immortal by the name of Lyss, who continued her efforts to placate humanity.
So the hunt for the Witches continued, and the age of humanity took a dark turn. After years of sadistic brutality, a stirring darkness grew within the hearts of certain Wikkōn, changing them, tainting them. Pained and ravaged by humanity's betrayal, they decided to welcome the new title. If morbid depravity was what the humans expected, then so shall they receive. Swallowed in malevolence, the dark Wikkōn unleashed their vengeance on the masses, decimating their population. Disease, drought, famine, and death. The humans writhed in fear and torment. It was the end, they believed, for they have provoked an enemy far beyond their might.
Lucifer sat back and watched with reverie at his handiwork. The humans were in disarray and the Wikkōn had lost their trust in humanity. Without their protection, ending the feeble species would only be a matter of time. Or so the devil had thought.
Horrified by what the Wikkōn have become, Lyss interceded. Vowing to protect her world and all that lived in it, she beseeched her brethren to return to her aid. Together with the few Wikkōn who gathered, they climbed to the very first mountain of fire and swore their oaths. Using the blade forged by Heaven's fire, each of the Wikkōn carved a symbol of their fealty into their soul, taking up the mantel of being Earth's protectors. Resolute in their task, these new guardians flew into battle, obstructing the tainted beings from their chaotic path. The battle of Immortals lasted a full turn of the moon, and after much heartbreak and toil, the Wikkōn were able to vanquish their darker half. But, despite all their efforts, the damage was done. Humans had coveted and learned the anguished powers of the dark Wikkōn, and set to use them for their own purposes.
The brothers of Lucifer, the archangels, had discovered his plan and watched as he wreaked havoc on Earth. No longer able to sit idly by as he destroyed their Father's beloved creations, they set forth to put an end to Lucifer's misdeeds. With the acquiescence of their Father, the archangel Michael descended from Heaven to engage his younger brother in combat. The angels called upon young Lyss, to lend her powers when the clash would commence.
Mindful of his brother's intent, Lucifer breathed life to a creation of his own as a means of insurance. Lilith, he called her, his first child. Imbuing the creature of darkness with her first mission, he set off to meet Michael. As the two angels stood against one another at the precipice of what was once Eden's Valley, Lyss raised the planet's forces from its soil and erected a barrier around the valley. When the combat between Michael and Lucifer broke out, it took all of what she and the other angels had just to keep the hailstorm of their powers contained. Earth and its inhabitants have suffered enough. After a fortnight, Lucifer was finally struck down. The angels lowered their barrier, and the young protector prepared the final incantation. With her gifts, she opened a void to a realm of nothing, positing the abyss as what will be the devil's prison. With a final blast, Lucifer was hurled into his cage. At the moment of his passage, he sent Lyss a parting gift. In the oversight of lowered defenses, Lucifer hurled a corrosive attack with malignant vivacity. The assault landed, and immortal as Lyss may have been, the attack from Lucifer was cursed, and it began to erode her physical body. Knowing her soul was bound to Earth through her vows, she requested the angels prepare and protect her coming incarnation. She would send her soul into the empty body of a growing human fetus until she became strong enough to shoulder the burden of being a protector once more. But this plan would never come to fruition.
On a starry night, when the moon was full, a young mother was humming softly to her growing belly. She was the one, the angels had decided, who would bring Lyss back into the mortal world. Yet, on that same night, humanity would experience its very first demonic possession, an experience so vile and unfathomable even the angels had no way of preventing what was to come. In the hours of twilight, Lilith forced her way into the body of a recent grieving mother. In her sorrow, her heart was ripe with openings and was easily swayed by Lilith's dark whispers. With a firm grip over the human body, the demoness stole into the house of the soon to be mother. Standing over the bed of the sleeping woman, Lilith could feel the budding Wikkōn growing within her. Raising her dagger up high, she plunged the savage blade into the belly. As the woman screamed in her tortuous wake, Lilith reached into her womb and wrenched out the still forming child. With an elated cry of dark satisfaction, the demoness wrung the life from its fragile form and uttered a final curse towards the Heavens. When the angels finally broke through the celestial warding, they struck Lilith with petrifying retribution, rendering the body to ashes. But the slippery demoness had already fled. The angels looked on at the scene before them, weighed down by their failure and the loss of an innocent. The chosen mother had already breathed her last, her life spilling out of her center and painting the sheets of her bed with crimson. Lying not far away from her was the writhing grotesque figure of what would be a human child. The pitiful creature wheezed out its looming end in small startling gasps. Lyss soul, however feeble, latched onto life. And with one final burst of power, she casted a spell of her own, sending the wave of energy to the closest angel.
Then, all was silent. Lyss was gone, no trace of her soul could be found. The angels searched and searched. The other Wikkōn searched and searched. None could find her.
And the young Wikkōn, her soul cursed and bound, was lost among the sea of mortals. With no memories of what she was or what she had to do, she was born again and again, living and dying as a human.
Until six thousand years later, the lost soul settled into the body of a fatally sick infant.
…
With no choices left, a drug abusing young girl of 17 carried a crying bundle in her arms. She paced through the streets at night in the midst of winter. Reaching the closest nursery, she laid her dying child on the doorstep. As she knocked on the door, she bent down to kiss her forlorn baby one last time. When the lights within the nursery turned on, she quickly tightened the wrapping on her baby's blanket, the blanket sewed with the name Alice, and disappeared back into the streets.
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