And now for this damned demon-in-a-box. Mephisto regarded the cube with a certain solemnity. The spell was his own, he knew it well, but something had warped ever so slightly to the left, and he felt—looking at it—rather like one might if a thief stole through one's house in the night and shifted all of the furniture exactly one half inch from its usual place. Something was not right, but nothing appeared to be wrong upon inspection. Mephisto for all his days could not put any of his endless fingers upon the problem.
"Azazel was right to be worried about you, hm?" he said to the cube, to the empty room.
He stood alone in Akiyama's laboratory on the top floor, moonlight flooding the windows, making the scene like something from the haunted house episode of a shojo anime. A smile cracked across Mephisto's mouth. Yes, he could work with that.
The cube, of course, made no reply. Neither did the spirit contained inside. He could sense her pulsation, however, the great power she held and could not contain. It was a power she had destroyed countless concourses of demons to obtain. The bloodshed in Gehenna had been astonishing. And for what? What did she want?
Mephisto circled the cube, heels clacking on the bathroom tile, the sound echoing through space. He studied the compressed reflection of the room and himself in its surface, the way the images bent and shifted as he moved.
"Everybody wants something," he said.
Again, silence was the only response.
Akiyama had been poking and prodding and measuring for weeks. She had yet to uncover any useful information. Much as Mephisto would have liked to scold her, he had turned up little information himself. It was not above him to reprimand others for the same faults he himself possessed, but not in this case. This case was beyond even him.
That was a rare occurrence.
Being King of Time gave him a peculiar…foresight. It was easy to stay several steps ahead of everyone else when one could quite literally step into the future. Time lately had become—he hummed aloud—hazy. Indistinct and uncertain like he had seen only a handful of times in his existence. The possibilities into which this event would unfold were too vast for even him to comprehend.
Part of him wished Spirit had not already slaughtered those bloody fools who had pulled her from her prison. He would very much like to tear their throats out himself.
Setting his umbrella aside, Mephisto removed his gloves. First—a seal. He snapped his fingers and a shimmering pink bubble surrounded himself, the cube, and the metal sheet on which it sat. He expanded the seal, then created another within, and another, and another. It wouldn't do to make ripples. Not now. Not with the very future at stake.
He was several hundred layers deep by the time he decided he could proceed. Delicate, with a touch that would break the first—but only the first—layer of human skin, Mephisto pressed a single fingernail against the cubic compression of space-time.
At once, he found himself face to face with a beautiful, vaporous woman. The two of them stood in an endless swath of grey-brown—extending into infinity and folded into a single atom at the same time. Spirit regarded him with a mixture of apprehension and contempt.
"Samael."
Mephisto's eyes flicked briefly to his forehead where the shadows of horns and the crown of pink flames that floated between them had made an appearance.
"Spirit," he replied.
They had never formally been introduced, though all of Gehenna now knew her name. This form of hers was new to him, as his undoubtedly was to her. Mephisto offered a sweeping bow.
"You have imprisoned me," Spirit said.
When he straightened, Mephisto was surprised to find a genuine expression of sorrow on her nearly-transparent face.
"Why have you done this?" she asked.
"My dear, it is what we do, those of us in power, to any who threaten upheaval."
Spirit did not seem to comprehend. She stiffened, but her expression remained constant.
"You have killed an immeasurable number of your brothers and sisters," he continued. "Did you expect the Kings would sit back and allow you to continue?"
"They are no kin or Kings of mine."
He might have expected to hear venom in her voice, but there was none. She regarded him with perfect solemnity, perfect detachment. The sentiment was only fair, he supposed. This creature had spent her entire existence thus far in isolation. She had had no contact with other demons, and knew nothing of their society. She owed them nothing but their own reckoning. Payment for the injustice done to her.
That was the danger with locking someone away. Sooner or later, they were bound to get out. And when they got out, one could be certain they would be angry.
"Perhaps not kin of yours, but kin of mine." He smiled, but there was little emotion behind it. "Kin to whom I have a duty of rule."
"I do not understand."
"No, I suspected you would not." Drawing in a breath, Mephisto locked eyes with her. "Their lives, Spirit, are my responsibility."
"Why?"
"Because I am more powerful than they are. Every race of intelligent beings requires leadership—in one form or another."
She smirked. "Then by your own rule, your life is my responsibility."
"I am master here."
"Here is nowhere. Here is nothing. Here is meaningless." Her voice shifted into something deeper, something resonant, something that caused the very fabric of the vastness to tremble. "You have not denied my superior power. And we will not always be here."
"What is it you seek, Spirit?"
"When we leave here, I will claim rightful control of your life."
"What do you want?!"
Under ordinary circumstances, Mephisto was not one to be intimidated. But these were not ordinary circumstances. He was deeply troubled. Between the raw potency this being possessed and the impending birth of two additional beings in the sire line of Satan, the pieces in play were as plentiful as they were unpredictable. If he could gain a handle on but one of them, that would set his mind at ease.
"What do you want?" he repeated, wearing a false mask of calmness.
Spirit was silent for a great length of time. Or perhaps no time at all. It did not truly matter.
"To be connected," she said. "That is all I have ever wanted."
A flash, and Mephisto's link to the compression ended. He was returned to the locker room and his layers of seals. Several of them had shattered. Others displayed elaborate spiderwebs of cracks. He waited to dismiss the others until he was certain no part of him remained aligned with the compression. By the time he emerged, cold morning sunlight was creeping through the windows.
He clicked his tongue.
That had taken longer than he'd hoped.
Author's Note: Hello, loves. Thanks ever so much for your patience. I haven't been feeling particularly happy when it comes to this story, and every time I sat down to write it, I just couldn't produce anything good. I didn't want to churn out chapters that weren't worth your time, or mine, just for the sake of keeping to a weekly update, so I held off. Scions has only gathered about a fifth of the response as Light Exorcist did (and still does), so I've been feeling a little discouraged about it if I'm honest. To you wonderful, lovely loyal readers a big THANK YOU and literally ALL of my appreciation! I'm so glad there are a handful of you out there who still keep up with this. Even when I disappear for a month. Thank you, thank you!