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Harry Potter: Goetian Beginnings
Chapter VII: Defiers of Fate
Goetian Palace, Imp City
January 1st, 1991
Seated upon his grand throne, within the opulent confines of his vast hall, King Paimon could sense the shift in energies from afar. His sharp eyes seemed to pierce reality itself, peeling back the thin veil of appearances to perceive the underlying truths that hid behind every facade. As deep and dark as the infinite cosmos, they twinkled with a glint of satisfaction and mirth.
A low rumble began to vibrate through the chamber, rumbling like distant thunder or an enormous drum echoing far through the desert night. The sound originated from deep within Paimon's chest; it was a laughter, deep and hearty, which seemed to come from the very core of his being. The robust sound filled the air, echoing off the ancient stone walls and filling every corner of the room with its presence. Every molecule hummed with energy at the sound of Paimon's chuckle, resonating with a power that seemed to shake the very foundations of the room. His laughter, rich and booming, was a testament to his immense delight.
The deaths of Exorcists were like sweet melodies to Paimon's ears, each melody reverberating throughout his mind and body in wondrous tones that sang out a symphony he reveled in. Each demise of an Exorcist was another testament to Octavius's growing prowess, another slap in their faces as yet another obstacle on their path fell before them. Each victory by Octavius ruled over King Paimon's heart like a song of joy sung by angels themselves; he danced with each note, happy as one could be.
Imp City, City Center
January 1st, 1991
As the dust settled from the carnage, Octavius panted for breath, his chest heaving heavily with each inhalation and exhalation. A numbing stillness enveloped him, despite the chaos and destruction that ensued a few yards away. He dared to glance at his own hand, where now his feathers had taken on a dark shade of obsidian, slowly matching the ominous hue of the night sky. The chilling realisation sent shivers down his spine as he breathed one word, "I am turning into Grandfather."
In response to his words, a phantom figure materialized before him. Tall and imposing, its presence demanded reverence. Feathers darker than midnight clad the figure from head-to-toe, yet softened eyes held an understanding that transcended death itself. His face was stern but a glimmer of kindness shone through the hard lines. A power unlike any other pulsated in the air around them.
The thunderous voice of King Paimon reverberated through the air, echoing through every crevice like a declaration from the heavens.
His tone was commanding yet compassionate and filled with wisdom. His spectral form shimmered, a brilliant light emerging from the darkness, despite his formidable appearance there was still an unexpected tranquility about him.
"Octavius," Paimon spoke, his gaze unwavering, "do not fear what you are becoming; embrace it. Know that your strength lies within, for it is not a corruption but a testament of your will to protect those you care for. It is the power that will lead you through these trying times."
His presence grew more imposing as he continued, his voice like thunder in the chaotic air. "You bear the soul of a human, Octavius, but within you flows the blood of the Goetia; strong and potent. You possess the spirit of our lineage, unyielding and indomitable." With these words Paimon's form seemed to tower over Octavius, his gaze penetrating into the very depths of his soul. The young prince felt renewed hope at this revelation and swore to reclaim his right to rule by embracing all that he was.
"Unleash the full potential of your being!" Paimon's voice echoed like thunder, reverberating through the air and shaking the ground. His figure pulsed with powerful energy, glowing brighter and brighter until he seemed to be a living star that illuminated the dark night sky.
His authoritative words held a hint of comfort, as if an ancestor was bestowing his knowledge and wisdom upon the next generation. "Do not hesitate, Octavius. Strike down those who wish to harm our kin. Show them the might of the Goetias! Make our name resound throughout every realm!"
Paimon's apparition slowly started to fade away, yet before it did his gaze bore into Octavius's soul. Pride and expectation gleamed in his eyes. "You are a Goetia, Octavius," his voice lingered in the air as if he had never left. "Show them what you are capable of."
Pride Ring, Unknown Location
January 1st, 1991
Lucifer, the King of Hell, sat on his throne, his red eyes blazing with a fiery intensity. The planes shook violently as he sensed Exorcists being slaughtered one after another. With a flick of his wrist, he conjured a vision of Octavius Goetia, the demon-human hybrid that was causing all the commotion. Lucifer's contemplative expression twisted into a sinister grin as he witnessed Octavius's immense power firsthand. The demon king leaned forward in his throne, eyes fixated on the image before him.
"Remarkable," Lucifer growled, his voice resonating with an otherworldly echo. "Truly remarkable."
With a twisted grin on his face, Lucifer stood up from his throne and strides towards the door leading out of the chamber.
"Time to pay Mr. Goetia a visit," he chuckled darkly.
Imp City, City Center
January 1st, 1991
The city was in chaos, its demonic inhabitants caught in a maelstrom of fear and confusion. Exorcists, the holy warriors from the realm above, descended upon them, their sanctified weapons slashing through the air with lethal precision. Demons of all ranks and species scurried in every direction, desperate to escape the onslaught.
In the thick of the chaos, a group of terrified Imps huddled together in the shadow of a decaying structure, their eyes wide with fear as they watched an Exorcist approach, his holy weapon gleaming ominously under the crimson hue of Hell's skies. The Exorcist's face was a grim mask of righteous determination, his steps steady and unwavering. Their end, it seemed, was inevitable.
But then, a strange thing happened.
The Exorcist froze mid-stride, his head cocking to the side as if listening to a distant call. His gaze, which had been so firmly locked onto the cowering Imps, now shifted towards the distance. The change was instantaneous. He turned on his heel, his weapon lowering as he sprinted off in a new direction, abandoning his would-be victims without a second glance.
Confusion rippled through the group of Imps. They exchanged bewildered glances, their minds grappling with their sudden reprieve. They had been on the brink of death, and now they were alive, spared by a sudden shift in the Exorcist's focus. They didn't know why or how, but they knew one thing for certain: they had to seize this opportunity and run.
As the Exorcist vanished from view, the Imps were galvanized with panic. With a newfound chance at survival, they fled recklessly through the city streets, desperate not to be caught in the Exorcists' grip again.
A ghostly stillness settled over the city as the commotion faded away, and from the shadows, Demons of all kinds began to emerge. Fear pulsated off them in waves and their eyes grew wide with terror; all eyes were fixed on one thing.
In the center of the square stood a figure so imposing it seemed to darken the sky around him. Black feathers shimmering, the Goetic demon stood like an ominous shroud. His deep purple eyes pierced through the darkness, sparking with an intensity that was almost tangible as he surveyed those before him.
Cloaked in a long black robe decorated with delicate silver patterns that glistened even in the dim light, he held himself in a way that commanded reverence and respect. Beneath his cloak was visible a suit of armor that only further accentuated his intimidating presence.
In his hand, he held a saber, its blade emitting an unsettling fusion of holy and demonic energy. The aura of the blade was both menacing and awe-inspiring, a paradox that matched the figure holding it.
The Exorcist's blade, eerily radiant with both demonic and holy energy, swept out in a wide arc from left to right. There was a flash of light, a burst of energy, and then a sickening thud as the heads of four Exorcists rolled on the ground. Their bodies collapsed like marionettes with severed strings. The remaining Exorcists did not run or flinch back, but rather stood tall and unyielding, a beacon of defiance against the invading demons.
The Exorcist stood still as well. While his saber danced with blinding speed and accuracy, he had moved not an inch since the ambush began. His skin was unnaturally pale, almost glowing, while his eyes were dark shadows in his face. As if sensing their line of attack would be fruitless, the remaining group of Exorcists readied their weapons instead - harpoons gleaming menacingly in the faint light. They moved with an unnerving synchronicity rather than attack en masse, coordinating their strikes so none would come to harm.
But before they could make their move, the figure turned and spun, his cloak billowing out like a dark cloud as his head snapped back at a painful angle from which only death could follow. He turned back quickly after executing this movement and thrust his saber through one of the Exorcists' chests; another quick turn followed by another deadly aim resulted in two more bodies lying lifeless on the ground around him as blood pooled slowly beneath them.
Death filled the air, corpses littering the ground as heads rolled, their hollow eyes staring into oblivion. In the midst of this carnage, a single figure stood tall, his saber gleaming like a beacon in the twilight gloom.
His gaze was piercing and unwavering, his stance unyielding despite the waves of Exorcists that sought to break him. He moved with an almost supernatural grace, each motion calculated to perfection as he fought off the invaders with terrifying efficiency.
Dusk, Gylfie, and Noctus watched from within the shelter, their blood running cold at the sight before them. But then they saw it - a spark of hope amidst the chaos: Octavius standing tall against the
Exorcists. Without a word between them, they exchanged a quick glance and knew what must be done. Steeling themselves for battle, they rushed out of the shelter and joined their kin in combat. The sound of clashing blades filled the air as they charged forwards into battle, determined to stand strong by Octavius' side.
The shelter shook as the earth trembled with the roar of battle. They moved quickly, their feet pounding the familiar paths as they raced towards Octavius and the impending war.
A haze of smoke billowed around them, filling their lungs as they took in the carnage before them. Amidst the chaos, Octavius stood tall and proud, a fierce figure ready to lead them into battle.
They had no fear as they marched to his side. Their feet pounded the ground in unison as they formed an unbreakable line at Octavius's side. The air was alive with resolve and courage, each one willing to give their life for their home and their kin against this unearthly invading force. Facing death with unwavering courage and determination, they followed their prince to the heart of the storm.
Octavius, an impenetrable wall of determination against the Exorcists' onslaught, brandished his power like a weapon. His magic surged through him like a raging river, and with it, he cast a spell that shook the battlefield itself. In a blinding flash, debris scattered across the environment transformed into weapons of various shapes and sizes.
The Goetians stared in awe at their newfound armaments. Picking up the swords and spears, they felt as if each one had been crafted specifically for them. Fueled by a divine power, each demon bore their newfound weapons with unyielding purpose.
The next wave of Exorcists charged forward with overconfidence, thinking their holy weapons would make light work of their adversaries. Yet to their dismay, they encountered demons armed with strength and courage beyond any found in Hellfire alone. Swords clashed with spears and blades with shields - every strike met in kind, every defense resisted without hesitation. One by one, Exorcists fell to the unrelenting might of the defenders.
A force of celestial brilliance then descended upon the battlefield, seeming to eclipse even the very flames of Hell itself. Demons stopped mid-battle to witness its splendor - a source of divine power that emboldened them further in their righteous fight. With Octavius's guidance, they stood firm against their opponents until none remained standing.
Descending from the heavens with a blinding luminescence, a figure appeared, radiating an aura of pure divinity. His form was tall and striking, cloaked in celestial light that filled the battlefield. It was clear he was an Exorcist, dressed in pristine white robes trimmed with golden threads—a symbol of his holy station. In one hand he held a gleaming sword, sparkling ethereally as it caught the morning sun's rays.
As Adam touched down onto the ground, the blaze expanded, enveloping the demons in agonizing pain. They howled and writhed as they were burned by divine fire, shielding their eyes from the intensity of the heavenly radiance. But amidst this chaos stood one defiant figure—Octavius, Goetic Prince, undeterred by the searing flames around him. He remained unscathed by the divine blaze, a testament to his unique power.
Adam's gaze settled upon Octavius' dark silhouette and his defiant stance. In those eyes he saw something familiar—a soul out of place amongst this carnage. His voice rose above the clatter of swords and demons' screams- "Harry Potter." Regret and sorrow filled his words like a mourning bell ringing in the distance. Harry had been drawn into this war and his presence here was not meant to be.
Octavius' gaze hardened with resolve at the mention of his old name, his grip around his saber tightening until it shook with rage. The Goetians around him stirred, their whispers of confusion whirring in the air like a swarm of locusts. Octavius ignored them, his attention solely on Adam.
"You're a long way from the Dursleys, Harry," Adam continued, that strange gentleness still in his voice. He looked at Octavius not as an enemy but as a broken soul, one who was caught up in a struggle far beyond their understanding. "It's no wonder you're lost in this world, fighting battles that were never meant to be yours."
Those words struck something deep within Octavius and he felt a heaviness fill the air around him, suffocatingly thick and oppressive. But despite the overwhelming weight of Adam's implication, he held firm, meeting the archangel's gentle gaze with unyielding determination.
"That name..." he began, all emotions pooled into one deep voice, "is no longer mine. I am one being, this soul and this body are irrevocably intertwined. I am not Harry. I am Octavius."
His gaze locked with Adam's, the blazing flames of his determination roaring brighter than any inferno. He declared, his voice ringing with defiance, "I have found purpose here in this sea of damnation; respect for life that you could never understand in Heaven."
His words echoed around them, the defiance in his voice palpable. "I will not serve in Heaven," he declared, his gaze never leaving Adam's, "but I will rule in Hell."
Adam's expression was unreadable as Octavius finished speaking, but his eyes shone with a divine intensity that seemed to pierce through Octavius' very being. His voice was like a whisper on the wind yet cut through the air with a power unlike anything Octavius had experienced before.
"Is that so, Harry?" He began, using the name Octavius had renounced long ago. "You think you can find pleasure here? That there is meaning among the chaos?" He shook his head. "Everything I see is an abysmal wasteland, nothing more than desolation and despair."
His sad smile faltered. "The Prince of the Stars has blinded you! You are a creature of light trapped in darkness, forever doomed by the choices you have made."
Octavius's face hardened with contempt as he met Adam's hopeful gaze. His voice was harsh and unforgiving when he spoke, a chill in his words that sent shivers down Adam's spine.
"What salvation do you speak of?" He demanded, his fists clenched tightly around the hilt of his sword. "The life you promise, this so-called Heaven was nothing more than a prison for me to suffer in. The Dursleys," he said their name with a sneer, "were my wardens, tasked with punishing me for what I am."
His tone softened a bit, but the bitterness remained. "You call this place forsaken, yet it was here I found solace. The things you deem damned, they were my family when I had none. They showed me compassion and understanding that no human ever could."
The wind whistled ominously around them, carrying his words to the ears of every being present. "Your Heaven," he continued, "does not bring salvation, it brings subjugation. I refuse to be a pawn in your celestial game, discarded when my purpose has been served."
The light around Adam shone like the burning sun, illuminating his being with a divine authority. "Harry Potter's soul mustn't be lost! I shall save it and wash away the influence of the demonic force that has taken hold."
Octavius remained silent, but his gaze was powerful enough to speak volumes. He stared defiantly at Adam and declared, "What if I told you that Harry Potter and I are one and the same? We have shared every emotion together, endured all joys and pains, hope and fear side by side. Our paths have been intertwined, our mistakes indelibly etched into our souls. We can not be separated or divided; we are truly one."
"Your salvation is an illusion - nothing more than a prison with no choice or will of its own. It is not the life Harry Potter or myself desire. We seek to take different roads, make our own decisions, even if it means staying in Hell or walking in the mortal world forever."
Adam was overcome with sorrow as he looked upon Octavius. His voice was gentle when he spoke again, yet it held a solemn note. "I understand your position," he said solemnly. "But I must do what I must to protect and save this human soul from slipping away into the abyss of Hell."
"It is not yours to take." Octavius replied, preparing for the fight of his life.
Adam's glorious form shimmered with an aura of immense power, the sheer intensity of it causing the fabric of space and time to tremble. His voice resonated with a divine authority, his words piercing through the battlefield like thunder.
"I cannot forgive your defiance," Adam spoke, a solemn yet resolute tone in his voice. "This is your last chance, Octavius. Step aside or suffer the consequences."
"That doesn't sound like the angels I know, you're not forgiving." Octavius mocked the angel, ready to fight.
With that, he summoned a heavenly weapon from thin air. It glowed with a blinding light and hovered menacingly above his palm. In an instant, Adam charged forward, his speed matching that of lightning as he lunged at Octavius with a force that could rip apart the universe itself.
But Octavius refused to go down without a fight. He met Adam's attack head-on, their weapons clashing in a shower of sparks and energy. The impact sent a shockwave rippling through the battle field, shaking the very foundations beneath them.
The fight reached a fever pitch, each strike inching the combatants closer to their limits. Adam's offensive was swift and unrelenting, his weapon flashing with divine energy as he carved an intricate weaving of light through the air. He moved with an almost graceful ferocity, his every action embodying the unyielding force of justice.
Octavius stood as a bulwark against this onslaught, refusing to be swept away by the sheer intensity of it. He fought with a confidence and determination that spoke of years of practice, parrying and striking back with movements that had become second nature. His weapon whirled around him like a cloud of shadow, echoing his refusal to surrender no matter what happened in this life-or-death struggle.
As they faced off, the power between them grew ever stronger. The air itself seemed to ripple with energy, a maelstrom of light and darkness swirling around their clashing weapons. With each passing moment, the intensity escalated until it seemed that time itself had come to a standstill.
Finally, as Adam charged forward with his blade raised high, Octavius saw an opening. With a quick reflexive movement, he managed to dodge the attack and retaliate with a powerful sweep of his own weapon. The hit landed true, sending Adam skidding back several paces.
But Adam was far from defeated. His eyes burned with a newfound determination as he charged towards Octavius once more, and his weapon glowed with an even brighter intensity.
Octavius' fists clenched as he grit his teeth in rage. He could not believe what he was witnessing—every one of his strikes met with no reaction from Adam, as if they were being swallowed by an invisible force. His weapon seemed to have no effect on the heavenly figure, whose form remained untouched and untarnished despite Octavius' relentless onslaught.
With a growing sense of dread, Octavius realized that something strange was protecting Adam from harm. An unseen barrier surrounded him, shielding him from even the darkest of energies. It was clear that if Octavius wanted to have any hope of victory, he would need to find a way to break through this powerful defense.
The realization only served to make Octavius more determined than ever. His eyes blazed with fiery intensity as he changed tactics, switching from a precision-based style to an all-out assault. With grim determination, he charged forward, launching himself at Adam in a desperate attempt to penetrate his seemingly impenetrable defense.
Octavius moved with a ferocity that made the very air scream in terror. His saber whistled through the air with a wild, unbridled energy, striking at Adam with an intensity that seemed to spark lightning in its wake. Each swing was filled with an overwhelming rage, every movement fueled by a primal need for victory.
His strikes became increasingly reckless and daring, his saber weaving a blazing path of dark energy as he lunged forward with an almost inhuman strength. He refused to relent, relentless and unwavering as he fought against Adam's invulnerability. The violence of his onslaught was relentless, wave after wave of pure destruction that bore down on his opponent with the power of a storm.
Adam stood firm against Octavius's aggressive style, his face resolute and unmoved by the chaos around him. His own strikes were precise and measured, each perfectly timed parry and counterattack conveying an assurance that seemed undaunted by Octavius's fury. He drifted across the battlefield like an apparition, light on his feet despite the intensity of their duel.
The clash between them was a furious one, a feral blend of rage and precision where no quarter seemed to be given or taken. Octavius fought with a determination born out of desperation while Adam stood their ground, an immovable fortress whose strength was unflappable.
In the midst of their deadly exchange, a single moment presented itself to Octavius. As Adam moved to parry a ferocious strike, Octavius feinted, redirecting his blade in a lightning-fast motion that was almost too quick for mortal eyes to follow. His saber connected with brutal force, slicing through Adam's armor and grazing his side.
A savage thrill filled him as he watched Adam's celestial blood seep out like liquid fire from the wound. He'd managed to pierce an angel's defenses, a feat that was considered impossible by even the most skilled demons.
Adam stumbled back, disbelief etched on his face as he gripped the
wound in his side. His divine eyes were wide with shock and fury, uncomprehending of how someone could have hurt him. But Octavius had no time for mercy; he raised his saber high and charged at Adam again.
The two clashed in a fierce battle that shook the very earth beneath them. Blade met blade with deafening crashes, sparks flying wildly as they fought for ultimate supremacy. Blood soaked the ground beneath their feet, darkening the grass with red stains with both of their blood.
Despite Adam's injury, he fought on with a renewed fervor, his wings unfurling behind him in a blaze of holy light. Their movements became more fluid and graceful, each strike delivered with born-again purpose and precision.
Octavius was taken aback by the sudden shift in Adam's demeanor, but he refused to falter. The fury that had fueled him before grew even stronger, a storm of rage that threatened to consume him whole.
With one last burst of energy, Octavius lunged forward, aiming for Adam's heart. But just as his saber was about to strike its fatal blow, Adam managed to sidestep at the last second, sending Octavius's weapon clattering to the ground.
In that single moment of vulnerability, Adam seized his opportunity. With a fierce determination, he swung his own blade in a swift arc, slicing through Octavius's throat with brutal efficiency.
Octavius gurgled in shock and pain as his life's blood spurted out in thick, crimson ribbons. His eyes widened in disbelief as he looked up at Adam, who stood over him, his face a mask of cold fury.
"You should have known better," Adam spat as Octavius's body.
Adam raised his spear, ready to end the life of Octavius, but before he could strike, the Goetian glowed brilliantly, unleashing a magical force that sent Adam flying backwards. The pure energy hit him like a truck as it burned through his veins and scorched into his skin, throwing him with such ferocity that every breath was torn from his lungs.
Octavius roared with rage as he sent a wave of raw energy that tossed Adam aside like a rag doll. "You forget one thing angel," Octavius hissed through gritted teeth. "I bring the power of the stars to bear, as all sons and daughters of Goetia do!" His words and force echoed off the walls and cowed any who stood in his way.
Knowing his time was nearing its end, and that he had little strength and even less energy to survive another attack, Octavius did the only thing he could think of. He wrapped an arm around Adam's shoulders and pulled him close; before casting him into the direction of heaven itself.
Seeing their leader thrown away to the high heavens, defeated the Exorcists fell into a state of shock and despair. With no other options available, they reluctantly withdrew from battle and retreated back from whence they came.
The aftermath of the battle was devastating. The courtyard, once filled with glorious sounds of combat and chaos, was completely silent, save for a few low hums of reverence as the dust settled to reveal the destruction left in its wake. The floor lay charred and pockmarked, a dark reminder of the unfathomable power unleashed only moments before.
In the center of it all stood Octavius, his body still radiating with energy but trembling from exhaustion. His eyes were no longer ablaze with defiance, but glazed over and dulled by fatigue. He had won, but at what cost? His strength had been pushed beyond its limits, leaving him shaking on his feet until finally his knees buckled beneath him and he began to fall.
But before he could hit the ground, he was caught- not by one, but many sets of gentle hands. A swarm of Goetians Imps and Hellhounds who had watched the battle from afar rushed forward to support him in his moment of weakness. Their eyes filled with awe and admiration for their leader- the one who had risked everything against an angel-and emerged victorious. In that moment it became clear: he may have been a pawn once, but now he was more than that -he was their Prince.
In their arms, the magic that held Octavius together dissipated, returning his form into the Goetic boy he was, so young and innocent and still bearing his darkened feathers and eyes.
Just as the Goetians, Imps, and Hellhounds were helping Octavius onto a makeshift stretcher, a sudden rush of feathers and wind appeared in front of them. Stolas, the great owl demon, took his daughter into his arms without a word, her weight nothing to him. The Goetians stepped back deferentially, their trust in their great lord unquestioning. The Imps and Hellhounds watched in reverent silence as he nuzzled his children closer to himself, cradling them both against his chest.
It was a sight to behold, the great owl demon cradling his children in his arms, their bodies broken and weary from battle. His gaze was stern, but there was an undeniable softness there, a father's love for his children. Without another word, Stolas turned, a portal opening to the Goetian Palace in the center of the city.
The Goetians, Imps, and Hellhounds followed behind, their steps silent and reverent. As they walked, the streets were lined with the citizens of the city -Goetians, Imps, and Hellhounds alike -all of them watching in awe and admiration for the great prince who had faced an angel and emerged victorious. They knew that, through his strength, courage, and loyalty, he had saved them all.
Octavius was carried to the palace, where he was gently layed down to rest. As he drifted into a deep sleep, the Goetians, Imps, and Hellhounds stood around him, watching protectively until his breathing became steady and his bright eyes were no longer dulled by fatigue.
Stolas, the great owl demon, hovered above his children, watching over them with pride and love. He had been worried for their safety, but in the end, they had both come out unscathed.
That was, until the crowd was dissipated by Stella's angry squawking, leaving only the Goetic Nobility in protecting the young Prince and Princess as they slept.
As the fevered haze of battle subsided and the pain ebbed away, Octavius found himself adrift in a sea of unconsciousness. It was in this state that he dreamed, a rare occurrence for the Goetian Prince. Images swirled around him, fading in and out, their meanings obscured by a veil of uncertainty.
He was back in his human form, standing in the midst of a seemingly endless field of flowers. The vibrant colors were unlike anything he had seen in Hell, their sweet scent filling the air. A feeling of peace washed over him, a stark contrast to the turbulent emotions he had been experiencing.
In the distance, he saw a figure. It was a boy with wild, messy hair and round glasses. He recognized him immediately as his human self, Harry Potter. The boy was standing, looking out over the flowers with a peaceful expression. The sight brought an odd sense of nostalgia, a longing for a past life that was both his and not his.
Slowly, he made his way towards the boy, the flowers crunching softly under his feet. As he approached, the boy turned to face him, a warm smile spreading across his face. "You've done well, Octavius," he said, his voice echoing in the silence.
Octavius paused, his brow furrowed in confusion. "What do you mean?"
"You've protected those you care about," the boy replied, his smile unwavering. "You've proven yourself to be a true Goetian. I'm proud of you."
"But I... I failed," Octavius said, his voice filled with self-doubt. "I couldn't protect everyone."
"No one can protect everyone," the boy said gently. "But you did your best, and that's what counts. Remember, Octavius, you are not alone in this fight. You have your family, your friends. They will stand by you, no matter what."
With those words, the dream began to fade, the field of flowers gradually being replaced by the familiar darkness of unconsciousness. But even as he drifted back into the realm of sleep, Octavius clung to the boy's words.
Goetian Palace, Nursery
January 4th, 1991
The first sensation Octavius was aware of was a soothing warmth, a comfort that seeped deep into his bones. He was in a place of tranquility, a place far removed from the chaos and violence of Extermination Day. Gradually, he became aware of his surroundings. He was lying on a soft bed, the scent of healing herbs filling the air.
As he slowly blinked his eyes open, the figure standing by his bed came into focus. Tall, imposing, with a stern yet concerned expression, Lucifer stood by his side. The King of Hell himself was there, watching over Octavius as he lay in recovery.
"Awake at last, I see," Lucifer remarked, his voice resonating deep and clear. Despite his intimidating presence, there was a gentle concern in his eyes. "You've been out for quite a while, Octavius."
Octavius tried to sit up, but his body protested with a sudden wave of weakness. Lucifer gently pressed him back onto the bed, a rare gesture of paternal concern from the ruler of Hell.
"You need to rest, Octavius. You fought bravely, but your body needs time to recover," Lucifer advised, his tone firm yet kind.
Octavius nodded, understanding the importance of Lucifer's words. His gaze flickered to the side, searching for his sister. Lucifer seemed to understand his silent inquiry.
"You defied Adam," Lucifer said, his voice impassive. "Refused his offer of salvation. Stood your ground against Heaven's wrath. That is commendable."
Octavius couldn't help but feel a surge of pride at Lucifer's words. His actions during the extermination hadn't been about winning Lucifer's approval. He had acted out of defiance and the desire to protect his realm, to protect the denizens of Hell who had accepted him as one of their own. And yet, hearing Lucifer's words of approval, he couldn't deny the sense of validation he felt.
"But remember," Lucifer continued, his gaze intensifying, "our purpose is not about saving lives. It's about defying the divine order, about resisting God's will. It's about showing the souls that they have a choice. You displayed that spirit of rebellion, Octavius. You showed them that even against the might of Heaven, they can choose to defy."
With that, Lucifer turned and strode out of the chamber, leaving Octavius alone with his thoughts. The praise from the King of Hell was a rare thing, but it also served as a reminder of the path he had chosen, of the rebellion he had embraced. He was a Goetian, a Prince of Hell, and he would continue to defy Heaven, not just for himself, but for every soul in Hell who had chosen to simply live from the order that Heaven brought.
After Lucifer was gone, the heavy wooden door creaked open once again, this time revealing the figure of Stolas. The Prince of Hell stepped into the room, his eyes immediately finding Octavius propped up against the headboard. A rare smile graced his lips as he approached the bedside, his usually stern countenance softening in relief.
"You're awake," he murmured, his voice filled with a quiet joy that echoed in the silent room. "You gave us quite the scare, Octavius."
Stolas reached out, his fingers gently brushing a stray lock of hair from Octavius's forehead.
Stolas's stern countenance returned as he met Octavius's gaze. "But I must speak as your father now, Octavius. You should not have risked your life as you did against Adam." His voice was firm, a testament to his concern. "The stakes were dangerously high, and we could have lost you. That would have been a price too steep, even for the salvation of our kind."
He paused, his gaze dropping to the floor as he gathered his thoughts. A heavy silence filled the room, but it wasn't one of discomfort. It was a silence of understanding, of shared experiences that words could not express.
When Stolas finally looked back up at Octavius, his eyes held a newfound warmth. "But," he began, a small smile playing on his beak, "as your father, I also have to say... I'm incredibly proud of you, Octavius. You stood up against one of Heaven's most fearsome warriors, and you did not back down. You did not surrender. You showed them, and all of us, what it truly means to be a Goetian. What it truly means to be my son."
"I am proud of you, Octavius," Stolas's voice was gentle, carrying a weight of sincerity.
A brief silence fell over the room, before Octavius's voice cut through it, a soft note of concern lacing his words. "Father, where's Octavia?"
No sooner had the words left his mouth, the door burst open, revealing a figure that was unmistakable even in the dim light. Octavia, with her straightened feathers and bright eyes, charged into the room. She wore a grin that stretched from ear to ear as she made a beeline for Octavius's bed.
"Octavius!" she cried, flinging herself onto the bed and wrapping her arms around her brother in a big, exuberant hug. Her joy was palpable, filling the room with a warmth that could rival the fires of Hell itself.
Laughing, Octavius returned the embrace, holding his sister close. "I missed you too, Octavia," he murmured, his voice filled with relief and love. Their reunion was a bright spot amidst the darkness, a testament to their unbreakable bond as siblings. Despite the trials they had faced, they had come out on the other side, stronger and closer than ever.
Stella stood rooted to the spot, her eyes blazing as she watched the family reunion playing out before her. The usual stern lines of her face were replaced with an expression of awe and admiration, her heart swelling with a mixture of emotions. Stolas, Octavius, and Octavia embraced in a moment of pure bliss, their love for each other so powerful that it seemed to radiate through the room.
The joy on their faces was infectious, and Stella found herself smiling too. She drank in the sight of them laughing together, savouring every second of this rare moment of peace.
Suddenly, Octavius' gaze met hers and he called out to her softly, "Mother... come join us!" His voice carried through the room like a beacon of light, radiating warmth and kindness. She hesitated for only a second before nodding her head and making her way towards them.
She crossed the distance between them slowly, feeling a heat start to build deep within her chest. As she reached them, it glowed hotter still until she felt engulfed by an overwhelming warmth emanating from them. They opened their arms to welcome her into their embrace and she stepped forward willingly into their familial circle.
It was a moment that transcended Hell itself, a fleeting but beautiful moment where they were just one big happy family enjoying each other's company. It was a moment that they would cherish forever.
Goetian Palace, Dungeons
January 4th, 1991
The heavy iron door to the dungeon swung open with a loud creak, revealing the deep abyss of the stone chamber within. The darkness seemed to seep out from the walls, engulfing the room in a brooding blanket of shadows.
Octavius stepped into the chamber, his imposing figure casting a long shadow across the cold, damp floor. His footsteps echoed off the walls as he moved with an air of authority, each step conveying an undeniable power and strength. His gaze was fixed ahead, sharp and determined.
In the corner of the room, a figure was chained to the wall: Vitis, the young prisoner. He was huddled there, his body frail and scrawny from a few days of malnourishment. But despite his weakened state, his eyes still burned with defiance and hatred. They darted around the room, searching for any sign of hope or escape.
On the other side of the dungeon stood another figure, hidden in the shadows. Nocturne, the silent watcher, stood guard over Vitis, his eyes trained on him like a hawk hunting its prey. The only hint of his presence were his eerie glowing eyes that pierced through the gloom like swords.
Octavius approached Vitis with slow and deliberate steps until he stood directly before him. He looked down at him with a steely gaze that seemed to challenge him to defy him. But despite his efforts to appear brave and defiant, Vitis could not mask his fear or vulnerability.
"So, the great Octavius comes to gloat," he spat bitterly. "Tell me, do you take pleasure in seeing me in chains? Is this how you assert your power over others?" His words were sharp and vicious, dripping with disdain and loathing as he challenged Octavius to react.
Octavius stepped into the dungeon, his imposing figure filling the doorway. The cold, dank chamber reeked of fear and desperation as a faint clanking of chains in the distance echoed off the walls. His eyes glinted with authority as they settled upon Vitis, who was hunched over in the corner, chained to the wall. The boy's emaciated frame trembled as he looked up at Octavius, fear flickering in his wide brown eyes.
Nocturne remained still, watching from the shadows as his eerie yellow eyes pierced through the darkness. A heavy silence settled over the room as Octavius stared down at Vitis, both of them locked in an unspoken moment of tension.
"But I won't break," Vitis finally spoke up, finding strength in his words as a fierce fire blazed within his tired gaze. "You may have my body in chains, but you'll never control my will. I'd rather rot in this dungeon than bow to you."
Octavius watched him carefully for a few moments before slowly turning away. "Are you done?" He asked calmly, but there was no mistaking the challenge behind his words.
Octavius' harsh steps echoed in the dimly lit chamber as he stepped closer to Nocturne. His gaze met with the silent watcher's, a veiled challenge that was quickly accepted as Nocturne stepped aside for him to approach the bound prisoner.
Vitis' head snapped up at Octavius' presence, rage flaring in his eyes. He glared at Octavius with unbridled hatred, every muscle in his body tensing against his restraints.
"So you come here to gloat," Vitis snarled, a malicious smirk crossing his lips. "Do you take pleasure in seeing me chained like an animal? Does it make you feel powerful?"
His voice held a cruel contempt, heavy with provocation. But beneath the biting words was an unmistakable fear - one that he desperately tried to hide as he challenged Octavius with his burning gaze.
"But I won't give you any satisfaction," Vitis spat venomously, a new strength finding its way into his voice. "You may have my body caged, but never will you have my spirit. I'd die before I let you control me!" His face contorted with rage, his defiance so intense that it seemed nothing could extinguish the inferno of anger blazing within him. "I'd rather rot in this dungeon than bend to your will!"
Octavius stared down the defiant demon, his jaw set and his nostrils flared. He could feel the tension reverberating through the dungeon as he waited for Vitis to finish, the chains of the captives clanking against the stone floor like a death knell.
"Done?" Octavius finally asked, his voice controlled yet icy with contempt.
Vitis met his gaze, his chest heaving with barely restrained rage. But he wasn't done yet, not by a long shot.
"You think your little charade has earned you any favor?" Vitis said through gritted teeth, venom poisoning each word. "You may have fooled some others but I know who you really are: just a puppet dancing on your father's strings."
He laughed harshly, and the sound reverberated like a curse through the still air. "You're no hero, Octavius. You're just a sacrificial lamb playing a game in which you don't even understand the rules."
"And what about your beloved sister?" Vitis sneered, a cruel smirk marring his lips. "What has she achieved? Being spoiled by your father's love is not an accomplishment."
Octavius's expression remained stoic, but his fists boiled with rage at his sides. Vitis seemed to revel in this, his grin stretching wider than ever.
"Ah, I see you're angry," he jeered. "Do you honestly believe her life will be any different from yours? She's just another puppet on their strings, a figurehead dragged up from the dirt and then discarded when it pleases them most.
Vitis looked Octavius in the eye, his gaze dripping with venom. "What a masterful puppeteer your father must be. To have both of his children dance so obediently to his whims. Is that what one calls love? Or is it merely fear of the retribution one may face should they choose to disobey him?"
He leaned back against the wall of his cell, a satisfied smirk on his lips. "And let us not forget your beloved Hell. You boast of its strength, its unbreakable spirit, but what is it really? A cesspool of endless torment and agony, where those who are deemed feeble are trampled upon and only the powerful can survive."
His laughter bounced off the walls of the dungeon, reverberating throughout as if mocking Octavius personally. "What a worthless life you lead, Octavius."
Octavius watched him closely, tight-lipped with barely contained rage. "Have you finished?" he finally asked, his voice icy cold.
Vitis sneered at Octavius, eyes full of loathing. "I'm just getting started," he said with malicious delight. "You see, Octavius, all of you and your precious family; you're all cut from the same cloth. You are all fools blinded by self-importance and stupidity, believing yourselves invincible. But you are not - you are no better than any other demon."
He paused, his smirk widening until it was a triumphant sneer. "But go on, Octavius. Keep playing the hero. Keep pretending you're something you're not. It's so entertaining, watching you flail around like a puppet with its strings cut."
His words echoed in the cold stone chamber as he stepped away from the wall and crossed his arms over his chest. "So yes, I'm done... for now. But don't worry, I'll be here, waiting for the day you concede to reality and understand your insignificance."
Octavius unsheathed his sword in answer, its sharp blade gleaming in the dungeon light. His gaze never wavering, he held Vitis' stare with all the authority of a king addressing a rebellious subject.
"Tell me, Vitis," he asked in an icy voice that seemed to scrape against the walls. "Do you believe in destiny? In prophecy?" There was no mistaking the challenge that lingered in the air, filling the room with a sense of anticipation.
Vitis eyed the sword warily before laughing derisively at Octavius' question. "Destiny? Prophecy?" He spat out the words with contempt and disdain. "Those concepts are for those who lack ambition and courage; those without will of their own! I refuse to submit to any fate or foretelling." His eyes burned into Octavius as if daring him to contradict him.
Octavius held Vitis's gaze unflinchingly, his grip tightening around the hilt of his sword. The air in the room grew heavy, charged with an ominous energy that seemed to emanate from the Goetian.
"You speak of destiny and prophecy with such disdain," he began, his voice low and resolute. "As if they are chains that bind us, limit us. But you are wrong, Vitis. Destiny is not a chain, it's a challenge. It is a path laid out before us, fraught with perils and trials meant to shape us, to make us stronger. And prophecy... prophecy is not a decree set in stone, it's a beacon. A glimmer of hope, a promise of potential.
You scoff at these concepts because you believe you are in control, that you can carve out your own path. But the truth is, we are all subject to the whims of fate. Our actions, our choices, they may change the course, but the destination remains the same. You think you are free because you defy destiny, you reject prophecy, but in reality, you are more bound than any of us.
You are bound by your arrogance, by your ignorance. You believe yourself to be a master, when in truth, you are a slave. A slave to your own hubris, to your own denial of the universal truths.
So, you ask if I believe in destiny or prophecy? The answer is yes, I do. Because I understand that they are not the shackles you perceive them to be. They are the wings that allow us to soar, the wind that propels us forward. And it is because of this understanding, because of this acceptance, that I stand before you today. Not as a pawn, not as a slave, but as a harbinger of change, of hope.
And you, Vitis," Octavius concluded, his gaze hardened, "you will soon understand this. You will understand that the path you've chosen, the path of denial and disdain, leads only to ruin. You will understand... when I bring your families reign to an end."
Vitis's cold eyes turned to Octavius like daggers in the dungeon, a malicious smirk contorting his lips. His voice was sharp and biting as he began to speak.
"Oh, Octavius," he spat, "your faith in destiny and prophecy is laughable. It is merely an illusion of control for those too weak to take their lives into their own hands. But I am not weak, Octavius. I am not bound by fate or some seer's words. I have the power to define my own future, to shape my own destiny with my own two hands." He leaned forward, a cruel smile on his face, his gaze never leaving Octavius's.
"You can keep your blind faith in these intangible concepts. I have no need for them; I will forge my own path regardless of what anyone else tells me." His eyes bore into Octavius's very soul with a challenge that seemed to reverberate through the air around them. "You will understand the strength of true freedom when it's all said and done. You will regret ever crossing paths with me."
Octavius advanced towards Vitis, his booted feet pounding the cold stone ground like a thousand drums. His expression was an iron mask, his eyes burning with single-minded purpose. He held aloft the weapon in his hands: a blade forged from the dark depths of Hell and imbued with the strength of the Exorcists. It glimmered in menace against Vitis's throat, silencing any words of protest.
"Do you know what this is, Vitis?" Octavius growled, his voice filled with menace.
Vitis looked upon the blade with dread but held firm to his resolve. "A sword," he spat back, his tone dripping with scorn, "A tool of violence for those too cowardly to settle their differences."
Octavius let out a bitter chuckle, "You don't understand, this isn't just any weapon," he said, his voice low and heavy. "This is a weapon crafted from our darkest essences; it has the power to end your life and that of your family."
The air around them seemed to still as Octavius stared into Vitis's eyes, his gaze demanding acknowledgement and submission. Slowly he moved closer, until their noses nearly touched. "I can take away your life in an instant," he hissed, his voice little more than a breath. "Ending you would be all too easy... and boredom never takes me where I want to go."
Octavius yanked the blade from his opponent, sheathing it in one tight, practiced motion. He stepped back, a dark look on his face as he glared at the avian. His voice echoed throughout the dungeon like an accusing whisper.
"No, Vitis," he began, taunting the creature with his cruel words. "Death would be too kind for you. It would not be enough-not enough to show you just how weak you are." Octavius's lips twisted into a sadistic smirk as he continued. "It will be far more powerful to let you live and carry that knowledge of your failure with you wherever you go. That way I can show you just how much authority I wield over you."
His piercing gaze pinned Vitis in place while his heavy words hung between them like a noose of surrender. "I hope you remember this moment," Octavius said before turning away. "Remember my mercy today and never forget what awaits if we ever cross paths again."
Imp City, Skyline
January 4th, 1991
As Octavius and Octavia took off on the dragon backs, the air surrounding them thrashed their hair and the ground below dwindled away. Riding dragons made them both feel alive and free as if released from the prison of the Underworld.
Octavius raised his voice to be heard above the rushing wind. "Have you contemplated the Eluvians, Octavia?"
She tilted her head in thoughtfulness. "You're talking about dimensional voyaging? It's certainly captivating. They say that Eluvians move around within pocket dimensions, like stepping into a separate realm."
Her brother nodded. "Precisely. Not only are Eluvians remarkable but also Void Dragons have exceptional might, capable of tearing through reality to cross infinite space."
Octavius paused before speaking, his gaze unfocused and distant. "What if, Octavia," he asked, his voice thoughtful, "we could use the Eluvians as a bridge to construct an entirely new realm? A magical world woven together by these mysterious gates."
Octavia's pupils widened in surprise, her eyes alight with intrigue. "A network?" she echoed, her voice tinged with wonder.
"Yes," Octavius nodded, his expression serious. "We could create a domain where reality can be manipulated to follow our will and our magic."
His words lingered in the air between them. His idea was daring, pushing against what seemed possible. If it worked, it would revolutionize their lives forever.
Octavia stared at him thoughtfully, processing her brother's revelation. "An entirely new world...that would be incredible. But how could we build that kind of a network?"
Octavius' expression took on a thoughtful cast. "The first step would be to understand the Eluvians more deeply," he said slowly. "We'd need to study their properties, their limitations, and how they interact with each other. Once we have that knowledge, we can begin to plan how to link them together."
"And the Void Dragons?" Octavia asked, her eyes wide. "Could they...could they be part of this new world?"
Octavius nodded. "Absolutely. If we're creating a world of magic, then the dragons would be a natural fit, as they are the essence of magic personified. And with the vastness of space and the countless planets out there, we could potentially create a haven for them, us, and other magical beings."
Octavia's lips quirked into a small smile. "It's a beautiful dream, brother," she said softly. "It's daunting...but if anyone can make it happen, it's you."
Octavius returned her smile, a spark of determination in his eyes. "Together," he corrected gently. "If anyone can make it happen, it's us." And with that, they continued their flight, the image of their shared dream dancing in their minds. A new world, born of magic and the boundless potential of the Eluvians.
Goetian Palace, Imp City
January 4th, 1991
Flying high above the clouds, Octavius and Octavia surveyed the sprawling cityscape below them. The once bustling Imp City lay in ruins, a stark reminder of the devastation wrought by Extermination Day. Buildings had crumbled where they stood or had been torn asunder by magic, swallowed up by sinkholes or reduced to rubble and dust. Yet amid the destruction, there were signs of life and resilience. The city was slowly but surely coming back to life, the ruins giving way to the hum of reconstruction.
The once opulent palaces and towering spires were scarred, their gleaming facades marred by the ravages of battle. But among the rubble, workers could be seen, their figures small but determined. They picked through the debris with hand tools or worked desperately to reinforce crumbling structures with magical powers hastily borrowed from their demonic brethren. Amid the ruins, scaffolding clung to the sides of half-destroyed buildings, like the skeleton of a beast slowly being fleshed out. New structures were rising into being like phoenixes emerging from ashes, splashes of color springing from dull gray stone. Each new building brought forth a wave of excitement among those who had helped erect it—as though they could already feel its influence on their lives. The spirits of everyone in Hell seemed lifted by these indications of progress and prosperity
Octavia's dragon swooped lower, allowing them a closer look. They could see the workers clearly now, demons of all shapes and sizes working side by side. The sense of community was palpable, a shared determination to rebuild their city and their lives. Despite the destruction that surrounded them, there was a kind of beauty in the chaos, even on grander scale than expected: It was not just individual buildings rising again but an entire city taking shape before their eyes.
Octavius and Octavia shared a look, their expressions mirroring the pride and determination they saw in their people below. Imp City would rise again, stronger and more vibrant than ever. They would make sure of it. Their dragons soared higher into the sky, their shadows briefly cast over the city as they continued their flight.
Casting their gaze towards the grand entrance of their family palace, Octavius and Octavia caught sight of a familiar figure waiting at the doors. Paimon stood tall and composed, his eyes tracking their flight path as they descended towards him. The sight of the king gave them pause, his presence at their home a rare occurrence.
Not wasting any time, they guided their dragons in a swift, graceful descent towards the palace. As they neared, the dragons spread their massive wings wide, slowing their speed and allowing for a gentle landing. The ground beneath them quaked slightly as the dragons' claws made contact with the cobblestones, stirring a flurry of dust into the air.
Dismounting, Octavius and Octavia approached Paimon, their expressions curious. Paimon was not known to make casual visits, and his presence here suggested something of importance was afoot. They exchanged a brief glance before turning their full attention to the king, their postures alert and ready for whatever news he had to bring.
Just as Octavius and Octavia began to question Paimon, the palace doors opened once again, and out walked Stolas and Stella. Their parents bore expressions of pride and satisfaction, their eyes gleaming brightly under the Goetian sun. Stolas' azure feathers shone brilliantly, while Stella's delicate features seemed more radiant than ever.
Seeing their parents standing alongside Paimon, a sense of intrigue stirred within the siblings. Stolas and Stella rarely showed such expressions unless something grand was on the horizon. The mystery surrounding this visit thickened, the anticipation building within the hearts of the young Goetians.
Paimon, sensing their curiosity, finally broke his silence. "Follow me," he commanded, his tone brooking no argument. The King of Ars Goetia then turned on his heel and led the way back into the palace, his robes billowing behind him.
Without a word, Stolas and Stella fell into step behind Paimon, their proud expressions never wavering. Octavius and Octavia, both now filled with a burning curiosity, quickly followed suit, the large palace doors closing behind them. The grandeur of the palace's interior did nothing to quell their rising anticipation. Whatever the reason for this surprise visit, it was sure to be a moment of great importance.
As they moved through the opulent corridors of the palace, Octavia couldn't contain her curiosity any longer. "What's going on, Paimon?" she questioned, her eyes darting around the extravagant surroundings, trying to piece together any clue as to their purpose there.
Paimon, however, seemed to revel in the mystery, his lips curling into a cryptic smile as he answered. "All in good time, young Octavia. All in good time."
Before the siblings could press for more information, they stepped into the throne room. The atmosphere in the room was unlike anything they had experienced before. The room was shrouded in darkness, yet it was not empty. It pulsed with a magic that was both ancient and powerful. Starlight poured in through the large windows, casting long, shadowy patterns on the marble floor and illuminating the dust particles that floated in the air, adding to the ethereal ambiance of the room.
The throne room, usually a symbol of power and authority, now appeared as a gateway to a realm unknown, one that was steeped in the arcane.
Paimon halted his strides at the center of the throne room, pivoting to face the siblings. The starlight bouncing off his royal attire gave him an almost celestial appearance. He cleared his throat, his gaze serious as he began to speak.
"Octavius, Octavia," he started, his voice echoing in the vast room, "As the children of Prince Stolas, you have a responsibility, a duty to stand as a safeguard, an heir to your father's role."
Paimon stepped back, gesturing with his hands. With a flash of his eyes, a swirling portal opened before him. From within, he pulled out two additional Grimoires, identical to the one he had shown before.
"These," he began, holding up the two books, "are for you, Octavius and Octavia." The King of Ars Goetia then looked at each sibling in turn, his gaze penetrating as if to ensure they understood the weight of what was about to be bestowed upon them.
"To quote my own words from the past," he started, "Grimoires are not playthings. They are tools, relics of profound power and importance. They are a gateway to the infinite cosmos of magical energies, a bridge between realms and dimensions, an amplifier of mystical forces."
He presented each sibling with their own Grimoire, "By giving these to you, I am entrusting you with a piece of our collective heritage, with a weapon and a guide, a compass and a shield. They are a testament to our past and a key to our future. What you two have done in the last few days have earned the right to bear them."
As Octavius and Octavia took their respective Grimoires, Paimon took a step back, "Use them wisely, my young ones. For they hold within them, the power to shape the universe and make you the defiers of fate."
With a final nod to Octavius and Octavia, Paimon raised his hand. He muttered a few arcane words, and the swirling air around him began to thicken with magic. Roaring flames of fiery red burst forth in violent throes, until they mingled with pools of pitch black, somehow still keeping their individual essences despite clashing with each other. The fiery tendrils wound themselves around Paimon's skin, wreathing his body in a serpentine cocoon. His figure blurred, becoming nothing more than a shadow within a cyclone of magic.
In a matter of moments, he was engulfed completely, his form obscured by the twisting storm of colorful mist. Then, with a loud pop that echoed through the expansive throne room, the hellish fog dissipated into thousands of motes—each minute fleck composed of burning fire and jet-black smoke—and Paimon was gone from sight. Octavius and Octavia were left alone next to their grimoires while outside, trumpets blared in celebration of their victory over Paimon and the return of the Grimoires.
Mission Complete!
You know, this chapter was a very funny pickle to handle. To have Exorcists entering the field in ungodly (ha-ha, nice) numbers and to introduce Adam, the Archangel; I was compelled to introduce Adam as the Old Testament version of an Angel. God, I have a lot of terrifying implications on what real Heaven would look like.
Speaking of locations... yes! The Eluvians! This idea was something that I have been debating on for a while, since there are a hundred ways on how to make your own realm in the world of magic. And since WoW Dragonflight's 10.1: Embers of Neltharion expansion came out a couple weeks back (after finally completing the story quests to reach Malygos, Sindragosa, and Senegos's cutscenes), I decided to honor the Blue Dragonflight by writing in the use of Void Dragons and their magic to help in the creation of a new realm!
Regarding Octavius and Octavia gaining their own Grimoires: Both of them were responsible for doing the one thing that has not been seen in a while; direct and complete repelling of Heaven's will.
Hoped you all enjoyed this chapter and please don't be afraid to Fav or Follow this story, means a lot!
Thank you for your time,
-True