The Heir of the Fallen

Chapter 20

Prince Beelzebub

Beelzebub tried earnestly to quiet his thoughts. This was not the time to think about it. Now was the time to focus on Aamon and take him out. He could not allow someone to wipe out his realm by sending them all to a true death. What kind of ruler would he be if he let this continue?

And for the first time, Beelzebub started to feel a little bit of fear too. Could the true death work on him? Questions just kept pouring into his head, leaving Beelzebub's head spinning. Looking forward, the atmosphere was as calm over here as it could be in this realm. The sky was gray, but bright, like there was a sun trying to poke through that would never come. There were buildings scattered around, some residences that people chose. Famine's world was always moving slowly, and most did not reside over here unless they had been in the afterlife a while, and were getting close to their end like Famine had. Ares always jokingly called it the retirement home of the afterlife.

But now, none lasted around Beelzebub. It was as if it was deserted over here. And ahead, he saw a lone figure, standing over what appeared to be a body. Teleporting himself faster, with less flair than normal, he appeared directly behind Aamon. On the ground was an older woman, who was nearly transparent herself, but still had the look of fear plastered over her face.

"What do you think you're doing there, Aamon?" Beelzebub asked, not taking a step forward but holding his ground. He could see Aamon's shoulders tense the minute he started speaking.

"Nice of you to finally join us. Well, me," he paused, his voice raspy. "This one won't be around for the monologue, I'm afraid." Aamon reached down to touch her.

Beelzebub dove forward to stop him. It was too late. He thought if he got there fast enough, he could save the old woman. But by the time Beelzebub's hand grasped Aamon's wrist, the woman was gone. Her face was etched in Beelzebub's memory, the look of horror at what was next. "Ah, that's better," Aamon said, standing up, pulling his wrist roughly from Beelzebub. "What makes you think you are allowed to touch me?" he said, his voice catching a little. His fear of Beelzebub was still eminent, even as he leaned forward and spat at Beelzebub's face.

Beelzebub blinked slowly, trying to comprehend what just occurred. Did Aamon spit on him? The Prince reached up, slowly wiping off his face with his hand, then wiping his palm off on his pants. "You've really got some balls, Aamon, doing what you just did."

Aamon threw his head back and laughed. After a few moments he was done laughing, and as he snapped his head forward, his eyes were wild. "Yeah right. I bet you won't come a step closer, knowing what I can do to you."

Beelzebub rolled his eyes, a mask of indifference covering his face. Aamon was right, Beelzebub was afraid. But not of a true death. He was afraid of what that would mean for everyone else left in his realm if he let Aamon win here, right now. All his friends, his companions would probably cease to exist if he was no more, and Aamon was left to cause terror amongst the realm. Hell, who knows how many would survive? If he couldn't take him out here and now, he knew Letum, Ares, Joan and Adelaide would not have a chance. Adelaide, he thought sorrowfully. She would want him to try and get Aamon to see the light, to not regret what he was doing before any more damage happened. "Aamon, just think about what you are doing - what you have been doing." Beelzebub's hands were up now, almost in a surrender motion, trying to reason with Aamon. "There is no coming back from this." Taking a step forward, he said, "but it's not too late."

Aamon's jaw clenched, and he gritted out through his teeth, "you think there's no coming back from this, old man? How about that whole time I was locked up and you would not stop torturing me!" With each word, his volume increased until he was basically screaming at Beelzebub. If the others hadn't heard them before, they were bound to hear the confrontation now. Aamon swallowed hard. He was panting now. All his fury from Beelzebub's torture was building up now. It was a relentless month of punishment. The amount of times he was stabbed, sliced open, shot, gutted... It was literally the thing of nightmares. Nightmares he suffered every time he closed his eyes, even briefly.