DAEMONS (or Demons)
For every human emotion, there comes the negatives and the positive energies they give off with whatever concept its associated with. These energies form together within the inky-realm of Chaos known as the Abyss and spring forth a Daemon.
Daemons can be whatever concept can be reacted to by humans. They also harness this power—Chaos Magic—to create phenomena and magic that the human mind would struggle to comprehend.
In example, A Daemon of grilling could generate smoke or hot charcoal to burn their enemies. A Daemon of reefs could protect themselves in coral-like body armor, one of Effete could make a laser beam so finely tuned it doesn't even hurt anyone anymore.
With their newfound existence, Daemons go on to do whatever their instincts tell them to do, which is usually to cause havoc. There are cases where a Daemon's instinct isn't to hurt or harm. Not at all! Sometimes, it's to protect and help. Even when tied to the most unlikely of concepts…
In the Past…
Devil and Daemon clash in the air. The impact from their magics colliding sends a ripple of thunder throughout the forest.
The Pale one swings her scythe, but her slash misses the Devil, who twists away from her opponent as she descends down onto the forest ground.
Rias dives down, closer to the treetops than she would prefer, surveying for her opponent. It takes but a moment to notice the shimmer, then the flash of the sharpened end of a bone soaring right at her. There is barely enough time to maneuver out of the path of the weapon, and now even less so to notice the oncoming barrage of more and more bones.
She flies through the flurry of bones, destroying several with a blast of crimson-black magic. In a brief couple of second for respite, Rias glances down and takes notice at the ground. She veers down into the forest clearing, dodging past trees and branches to catch the perpetrator.
The wild energy indicative of the Power of Destruction tunneled through any tree and towards Mors. Right before impact, the Daemon creates several pieces of skeletal armor coated her chest and arms. The wave of energy wraps around her in an instant, before detonating like a bomb. The armor had done its job very well, all but not in protecting her eyes, however.
She's blinded. While she could afford a lost limb, these organs weren't something she could afford to lose. Clutching her scythe in one hand, a sword of bone forms into her hand as she swings wildly around the forest. In the meanwhile, she had directed all of her energy into healing her eyes, but in this frenzied state, the flow was not consistent, and it was taking longer than what should be expected.
Moments pass, and vision returns to her again. It's hazy and dull, not helped by how much energy she had now spent. Blinking a few more times, clarity is all there is as she leaps onto the top of a tree within a single bound. That's when she glances overhead and gets a look at the quickly ascending devil, back facing her.
Like a rocket, the Pale One races through the sky, propelled off a now shattered tree. She tears the Crimson Princess out of the sky, held by a massive skeleton hand as they tumble closer and closer to the ground.
Rias charges up another blast, releasing a shockwave that sends both in the opposite directions. The Crimson Princess breaks her fall with another blast of destruction, softening the ground enough so that the impact would be all but a minor of inconveniences.
Mors, on the other hand, simply coated herself completely in armor as she slammed straight down onto the ground. The kick of dust was so immense is flew over the tree tops. Not even after the dust settles, another wave of destructive energy slams into her. An explosion sets off in the forest, clouding a small chunk of the area in dust.
Rias looks through the dusty visage, trying to locate her opponent. The blast wasn't enough to full on kill, not at least with the amount she's taken. But if her timing was right, she should have been hit right as her armor faded away. At the least, she'd be much weaker and unable to keep fighting, at best, being knocked out with a blown off limb. She waited and waited—only to be met with a punch to her side.
Her figure curves into the punch, being sent a fair distance away, bouncing off of a rock. While that goes on, Mors leaps into the air and comes right down, summoning a giant skeleton arm to punch her down. She falls right after the descending Devil, striking again at the moment of impact, ricocheting her right into the air. Feet touch ground and Mors extends the skeletal limb to slam wrap around her leg and toss her into a tree, just to be countered as Rias blasts the Limb into pieces.
She goes flying past some trees for a bit before catching herself mid-air. Descending back down into the soothing feeling a stream she'd fell into, clearly exhausted from the fight. A crash soon follows as the Daemon cuts through the some to confront her.
Or atleast what was left of it. While it shared in Rias' injuries, bruises and cuts all over, The Pale One carried not only a limp from her weakening of her bones, but her arm was also shredded and shriveled, missing the sword she had created.
Rias wiped whatever grime was on her face, wading through the cold water. Mors limps through the gravel, facing off on the other side.
"You're looking banged up." She taunted.
"Last chance. Turn back now, and let us do our duty." Rias wasn't joking around anymore. Her tone is stern and violent, clearly not willing to budge on any compromise short of Mors leaving with her life.
"Sorry, but I took the job already and I have yet to score my payday. And not like the job market is open right now." Smugly, Mors cracks her neck and beats on her leg to get it back in working order.
Rias sighs, before powering up with her raw intensity moving the water beneath her. Whatever leftover power she'd has would be used in the final round. All to determine what was superior.
Death. Or Destruction.
As the words "Wake up, Morty!" echoed in her ears, Mors slowly emerged from the depths of sleep, her senses jolted by the almost aggressive insistence in her younger brother's voice. Blinking the sleep from her eyes, she turned her gaze towards the source of the disturbance—her red-haired brother, Bell, perched on the edge of her bed with his legs crossed.
"Bell, qué chingados..." she muttered groggily, her voice thick with exhaustion and a touch of annoyance. It was her default response, a reflexive habit picked up from her years of conversing in Spanish. However, her surprise was palpable as Bell, a few years her junior, scolded her with a wagging finger.
"Hey! No swearing," he admonished, his expression a mix of disappointment and playful reproach. In that moment, Mors realized that Bell understood her words, comprehending the Spanish language that she often used to vent her frustrations. A brief flash of embarrassment crossed her face, recognizing the frequency with which she must have unleashed a string of profanities in his presence.
Resigned to the fact that her brother wouldn't budge until she rose from her slumber, Mors summoned her remaining energy and pushed herself up from the comfort of her bed. Stretching her limbs and shaking off the remnants of sleep, she cast a weary gaze at Bell, his mischievous smile hinting at the adventure he had in mind for the day.
After stumbling her way to the bathroom and groggily brushing her teeth, Mors hastily descended the stairs to join her father for breakfast. As she reached the bottom, she was taken aback to find Azrael, the Angel of Death and Carrier of God, donning a pink apron. The sight was an amusing contrast to his overall appearance—pale-skinned, with dark, short hair and a neatly trimmed beard. He possessed a tall yet slender frame, his eyes so dark that their depths swallowed any trace of his pupils.
"Mornin', papa," Mors mumbled, still fighting off the remnants of sleep. On the other hand, Bell gracefully slid down the stairs with a practiced ease, finishing the descent with a not-so-graceful roll before offering their own greeting to their father.
Azrael's voice resonated through the room, a perfect embodiment of someone you'd expect to be the angel of Death—deep, cold, yet strangely soothing. It commanded attention without being forceful.
"Hey, guys. Nice to see you up to witness the sunrise. How was your sleep?" Azrael's question elicited a peculiar look from Mors, as if she found it amusing. She couldn't resist replying with a touch of sarcasm, "Oh, just perfect, flawless sleep!" The response earned her a bemused expression from Azrael, while Bell couldn't help but feel slightly perplexed by Mors' exaggerated answer.
"Mors," Azrael chuckled, "If you had a bad night's sleep, just say so. No need to try and imitate Bell, alright? We already have one of him, and that's plenty." His words prompted Mors to let out a resigned sigh, realizing her attempt at humor hadn't quite landed. She quickly inquired about breakfast.
Azrael passes the eldest sibling, Mors, a steaming cup of coffee, the aroma wafting up into her nostrils. She eagerly grasps the cup, feeling the warmth radiate through her hands, and takes a deep sip as if it were the elixir of life itself. Her eyes sparkle with a mixture of delight and caffeine-induced anticipation.
Amused by Mors' enthusiasm, Azrael chuckles, a deep rumble emanating from his chest. "Yeah, you're welcome," he says, his voice filled with paternal affection and a touch of amusement. He watches as Mors continues to savor the dark liquid, clearly relishing the revitalizing effect it has on her.
Mors briefly breaks her intense gaze on the cup to exchange a glance with her father, a silent moment of connection that speaks volumes. There is an unspoken understanding between them, a bond forged by shared experiences and the love of a parent and child.
Returning her attention to the coffee, Mors savors the last few sips before finally emptying the cup, her thirst quenched for the time being. She sets the now-empty vessel aside with a satisfied sigh, feeling the caffeine course through her veins, energizing her for the day ahead.
Meanwhile, Azrael turns his attention to Bell, the younger sibling. With a warm smile, he places a plate filled with toast, eggs, and crispy bacon in front of him. It's a typical breakfast, the kind that brings comfort and familiarity to the start of the day.
Bell's eyes light up with hunger as he gazes at the delicious spread before him. "Mhmm," he murmurs appreciatively, his stomach rumbling in response. "Thanks, Dad!" he exclaims, his gratitude evident in his voice as he eagerly picks up his utensils and dives into the meal, savoring each mouthful.
As his children enjoy their breakfast, Azrael moves back to the stove, his actions a testament to his love and care for his family. The sizzle of the cooking food fills the kitchen, a symphony of flavors and aromas that create a warm and inviting atmosphere
"Now, Kids. I needed to tell you something." Mors leaned in closely, while Bell continued chomping away at his meal, seemingly unfazed by the impending news. Azrael ignored Bell's eating habits and proceeded to explain. Leaning in, Mors followed closely, as did the black-haired angel.
"Our benefactor called me earlier this morning. He's off to Tokyo for a business trip, and he wanted you two to join him." Mors couldn't believe what she was hearing, and Bell stopped devouring his breakfast upon hearing the name.
"Mr. W called? How's he doing?!" Bell exclaimed with excitement, using a nickname that Mors found far from clever, but she couldn't help but chuckle at his enthusiasm. Azrael confirmed that Wyatt wanted them to accompany him to a business expo in Tokyo.
"So, we're going on a road trip!" Bell jumped up in the air, but Mors quickly restrained him with a large skeletal arm.
"Calm down, bro," Mors said, releasing her hold on Bell and bringing him back to the ground. Azrael clarified that they would indeed be going to Tokyo, but it would be three days from that moment. In the meantime, Mors needed to inform Bell's teachers about his upcoming absence, and they both had to finish any pending work in Kuoh.
Bell and Mors were excited about the prospect of the trip, but Bell couldn't help but wonder if Azrael would join them. Azrael shook his head, explaining that the journey was for the three of them, and he had other responsibilities to attend to. He realized he was running late and advised them to start getting ready. Mors grabbed her car keys, and Bell, while still dragging his breakfast, followed her out.
As Azrael stood there alone, a mysterious presence seemed to loom over his mind. It questioned his decision to send the two young ones on this journey.
"Are you truly sure they are ready for this?" the voice asked.
Azrael looked down, contemplating the question. "Mors is… but Bell…"
The voice suggested letting others handle the situation, but Azrael's resolve was strong. "No! Those two are the joys of my life, and I've raised them for days like this. As a father, it's my duty to watch the fruits of my labor grow."
The enigmatic presence warned that time would tell, and Azrael responded, "Yes, unfortunately, it will. But faith carries the responsibility I have given them."