Chapter Thirty Three

I am the First

Before the Old Ones, I was. Before the Word, before the Bang, I was. At the very dawn of time I spun myself into existence and took power from the ether. I am the counter-weight, the equalizer. I am the source of all evil, and I am necessity. Without me there would be no good, just as without chaos there would be no law. I am the antidote to love, I am the Bringer of all pain, and in these my tasks I find much contentment. I have stared into the crucible of human existence and poured forth all my malice, cruelty, and hate.

And this world will be mine. As it once was, shall be again.

For I am the First.

For I was its creator, and by my power I made of it a Hell, and my demons gloried in it. For untold eons my children walked the earth, but not I. I am not god nor demon, male nor female. I am naught but power. I desired flesh of my own, more than I desired all other things. But then the gods came. They routed us, and took possession of our lands, and bound us back to the ether. But I left vestiges; magicks, demons, talismans and rude rituals, to prepare our way to return. I also left Tawarick – the last full-blooded demon, to taint and infect the world with my spawn. And he gloried in human sacrifice, and made unto me a knife, and called it p'achi. In proto-Tawarick runes etched on the blade, and with every heart that quivered beneath it, he would intone, "The blood which I spill I consecrate to the oldest evil."

And I was pleased.

The gods love their children, and they love this world, yet they do not always love each other. In their division, my chance at gaining flesh once again revealed itself. For some became Guardians, and in the wild primeval forest of Roumania, on the great plateau of the Stone Mountain, they forged a weapon, and ensorcelled it, and called it my downfall. They traveled half way around the world to use it to slay my child Tawarick, and then they hid themselves from all mankind, especially the Shadow Men.

I am the counter-weight, the great balancer. For any such power comes with a consequence, so as they spirited away this weapon, this scythe, I took from among my worshipers a wicked priest of the order of Danzalthar, and I had him slain, perverting the great white magic of the Guardians, and formed a Seal. With the right combination of events and magics the Seal would open, and I could send my armies through, and when more than half the world bowed their knee to me, I would be made flesh.

And I smiled, for I knew of it, yet they did not. For I hid the Seal, and called it my last resort, for of perverted white magic was it formed, and it would be powerful in the hands of the gods, to keep me from ever attaining flesh. Yet they knew I was necessity, and they knew that even without flesh, I was still power.

And ever shall be.

The Shadow Men were sent of other gods, who thought much of themselves and took their own counsel. What they desired they would take by force, and thus I crept my own will among them, and turned them from the paths of their gods to my own paths. They saw the spawn of Tawarick, and they took a girl, and chained her to the Earth, and forced demonic power upon her, gave her strength, adaptability, quick reflexes, fast healing, and prophetic dreams. Thus they thought to circumvent my coming. They created a Slayer, and then they Watched.

My priests did more than watch. The order of Danzalthar, they grew in immensity, and circled the globe, and brought much hardship to human civilizations. At times the gods would come down, be born into mortal bodies, try to influence mankind and fulfill ancient prophecy. Some were born to the Greeks, some were born to the Egyptians, and some were born to the Chinese. One was Viracocha, and he was born unto the Incas in the New World, and he undid much of my work.

I realized I needed a foothold in the New World, another gateway. It could not be as powerful, for I had no residue of magic to pervert. I caused my spirit to enter one of the priests, and he shepherded a thousand young fanatics up the western coastline, following the call of the hellmouth. With p'achi he slew them, and took of their power, for that is the gift of p'achi – to take power. Of their spilt blood he fashioned another Seal, weaker than the first. More easily opened, more easily shut, but locked until blood spilled with p'achi opened it anew. After that, any blood at all would open the gate. Only tears of the murderer would close it again, and I was content, for what murderous man has pure regret in his heart?

Centuries passed and I withdrew somewhat from the world, as its entertainments grew thin with monotony and repetition. The gods noticed, and sent another god to the earth, to live as a mortal, and to fulfill prophecy. I had never heeded the prophecy, for the sacrifice was too great, in my eyes. For what god would gladly accept death, and exile?

So Aranaea was born, in the jungles of the New World. Ever among the pantheon she had sported herself as a child, and much distracted the other gods with her playful wiles. Here upon the earth she grew, leaving behind her childish ways, and she took upon herself a husband, and bore a girl child. I should have watched Aranaea more vigilantly. I didn't realize any god would fulfill the ancient prophecy to drive out my spirit, to bind me beyond the ether.

And then a female Guardian, who had been with her, and called her much-beloved, wielded the scythe and clove the god in two. Aranaea was banished in exile, and astonishingly, so was I. The great balance was maintained; for my absence from the world she would also absent herself.

My priesthood was left to itself. I could no longer see my world, no longer whisper, no longer guide. I was trapped beyond the ether, waiting for the three thousand years to run out, or for the right events to present themselves. My rage knew no bounds, and I swore destruction on my ancient enemy, and on her progeny.

The right event finally occurred. A Slayer was slain and her soul sought the ether. But Osiris was beguiled by the Slayer's friends, one among them a witch of some power, and the god ripped a hole in the ether, and the Slayer lived again.

There was a hole. And the gods thought little of it, for they are weak and simple minded and much given in contemplation of their humans.

Through it I escaped my exile, and plotted the downfall of the Slayer line. My priesthood regained its former fervor, and they sought new worshipers for me by the thousands, concentrating on the area of the hellmouth and the Seal. Any man who was boiled in sin, who wore sin like a cloak and gloried in it, that man was called to me. Many of them never realized that my mark was put upon them, only their families or their friends noticed the blackening of their hearts, the worsening of their dreams.

How I enjoy the shrieking.

And now I hunted the descendants of Aranaea, of her one girl child, but in my age-long exile they had vanished from my sight. I could not exact my tumultuous revenge upon them, reave exquisite justice from their very bones. Until now.

I am power, I have not flesh. I could walk among man clothed in the illusion of the dead, but never of the living, for they could not cross the bounds of the ether. In my illusions of the dead I concocted my plan – to erase the line of the Slayer, for it was she who stood in my way. She even slew my right arm, my mighty Caleb, though all unbeknownst his spirit was trapped in the scythe until his body could be restored. They almost vanquished me, the Slayer and her friends.

I underestimated the witch. For she took of the scythe, and invoked it's power, and the goddess who had once allowed herself to be slain by it entered her, and with borrowed power the witch transformed every potential Slayer into a true Slayer.

I thought I was finished. How to kill thousands of Slayers when I could barely kill one?

My Caleb, he is crafty. He took of his chance, and entered the witch's mind, and entertained himself with torturing her. And I took thought to myself, with the second seal destroyed, all that remained was the first, the more powerful, the more dangerous. Thus we would have stayed, imprisoned forever, if not for the girl.

How strange that the girl I thought of for untold millennia, and hunted with fervor once I broke my bounds, is also the child of one of my new priests? The line of Aranaea was hidden in obscurity, in simple minded farmers. They chose never to use the gifts of their ancestry, the gifts of healing and mind control, to gain favour among men, to become rich or powerful. I sought them among the elite, and stumbled over her in the oddest place. The remnants of the Shadow Men, the Watchers, led me directly to her.

And the girl doesn't even know her divine heritage.

Now my servant, my right arm, my dearest priest Caleb, is a guest in her mind. I had thought to break open the hellmouth and rule the world, but the witch and the Slayer stopped me.

This time is even better. The portents are ripe, the time is nigh. The witch won't stop me again. I can see them even now, for mine eye is always upon them. They walk about her house, they touch each other endlessly in doing their mindless chores, they sit and they kiss. I am the antidote to their love.

The witch is powerful. She has been gifted. If I could kill her with the knife, I would not need to kill the others. She has proved hard to kill in the past, much more so now. But her love – therein is her power, and her weakness, and I will exploit it.

Once the Amulet of Thespia fails, it will all begin. Caleb will fight to possess the girls body. If he can overcome her defences, and I have much faith in my best-beloved son, he can begin his greatest and final task. My minions will bring him the knife. One by one he will hunt and kill the chief supplicants of the gods and take of their power.

I must be cautious. Caleb will be restored to his body, and then the girl must be killed. If she finds her way to the Seal she could destroy it. She is the direct descendant of Aranaea. I would be forever denied flesh, and reduced again to mere power. Yet the girl cannot be killed until Caleb is restored.

Caleb knows I intend to unlock the Seal. The Seal is thirsty, it requires blood. Even among my priesthood there are few men on earth who are evil enough to open the Seal, their treachery deep in their blood. Caleb is one. The girl's father is another. How quaint.

It all begins with the amulet.

So they go to seek a demon, do they? They think to strip healing from it? I will watch, and when the time is ripe I will infuse the demon with my power. Not to kill her, for that also would be the end.

I must break the amulet.

...

A/N: Much love and thanks to all the new readers of this story. I'm so pleased to have people reading it and sharing their thoughts. Thank you so much! Next chapter will be pretty awesome; Ch 34: Sunday Afternoon. Some much needed Tara and Willow time. Cheers!