The Reaper King

Chapter 8: Son of the Terror pt.2

Damien turned to look one last time at the collection of Nephilim that had gathered to attend the momentous occasion.

Sweat slowly dripped from his brow.

The encouraging faces of Lord Jorie, Lord Henry and Lady Michelle, were the solemn few places in which the imperial crown prince found any solace. The rest of the faces however, the flat, focused features of every soldier and worker in attendance spanning various ranks, and the almost zealous visage of his Grand Courtier, scared the 13 year old so badly he wanted to run for the hills. Even the hidden faces of his 6 veiled courtiers unnerved him now. It didn't help that he had absolute certainty that every single Nephilim left working at the manor were currently scrying in to secretly witness the very first angelization of their next emperor.

Damien's wings still weren't able to even properly carry his body weight yet, and yet, there he was, about to attempt the greatest ritual of all Nephilim tradition and in doing so, finally carry the weight of his family's long standing dynasty. It would be his first time igniting the golden ichor that ran through his veins. His first time hearing the song of creation from his heavenly fire.

At least, it technically was supposed to be.

The Nephilim that had been brought to conduct the ceremony was a short, non-imposing man. An Archbishop of sorts. Though he looked more like someone's grandfather than a deity priest, the glorious robes he donned decked with a litany of war medals, priceless jewels and thick gold bands, spoke otherwise. The Archbishop continued to drone on the hundreds of verses, psalms and spells necessary to set up the ritual. As his deep rumbling voice recited the words, melding with the man's intent gentle waves of power reverberated from the ecclesiarch's short figure. Tendrils of brown, chanting, exalted fire, birthed from the Archbishop's fundamental energy, emanated from the man, drawing around him the most complex series of interlocking magic circles Damien had yet seen.

Caging him in.

For what was probably the 14th time that morning, Damien wished he'd just kept his big mouth shut. But like with everything else he learned about his powers, he would learn his lesson after the fact. And in the most PTSD inducing way imaginable.

The ringing of the 3 massive bells floating above the altar within the small, opulent temple lulled Damien into a deep day dream, mercifully letting him escape from his fears if only for a few more moments.

As his thoughts slowly took over, the circular, tall walls of the temple, the many, tall stained glass windows enchanted with moving scenery, and the epic congregation of over 20 gods and goddesses of the Nephilim species, faded to black.

In its place, a scene from a week ago took hold.

                                                                                                 ***

"I'm sorry," Henry said, his morning coffee totally forgotten mere centimeters from his lips, "c-can you repeat that sire?"

Lord Jorie sat there, trying to dab up the coffee that had ejected from his nose. Though it had stained the viscount's burgundy, designer, button down and his impossibly expensive rug, he never once broke eye contact with Damien.

"U- um, uh" Damien stammered, losing his cool.

It was the day after he'd been released from the infirmary, a sunday no less. It was the only day of the week the Nephilim empire forbade any forced labor from being done, essentially giving the entire empire, except of course their armed forces and essential services, a complete day off. Any laborer still in service on a Sunday, did so out of personal loyalty to the empire, not out of necessity. But regardless, on that very Sunday, without any scheduled training, or classes to distract his normally turbulent thoughts, Damien's mind wandered. Eventually, the memory of Lord Jorie saying that his real tutors had nearly arrived resurged, almost sending Damien into comatic shock. The viscount had been promptly booted from the prince's infirmary ward by the angriest trio of winged doctors Damien had ever seen after he'd delivered his news, but not before the thought could plant a deep and firm seed of worry into Damien's still recovering mind.