Sinful Treason (Act I): Rise of the Destined Warmongers

Chapter II: Fertilization

(Azazel)
(578 BC)

As I watched the ten year old struggle to lift Narkarmos for the first time, let alone swing it, I had a vision. In my eyes, he would become a god by adulthood, conquering every challenge with no weakness to be preyed upon.. But that vision was faltering; this failure can't even raise a blade to fight! Only once did he lift the damned thing, but dropped in five seconds after. Boiling Anger overflowing, I shot a bolt at his chest from my palm to ensure he wouldn't mar this vision of mine again.. In fact, that's what I've been doing every time. With every error, he was punished with pain. For each day, this was the process of his development. Unless I had to teach him of my old tactics, feed him, or study his growth, I sent him back to his cage. I never wanted to be a father ..but this creature is needed for our cause. To defy God and His decision to unjustly exile us.

Prīus stood up once more, failing to keep the sentient blade up in his hands after lifting it three times. Annoyed again, I smacked him across the face... The further I pondered, the further my Anger boiled and heightened like a volcano soon to burst. Why Lucifer, would you have ME babysit this little hornless bastard?! You could've asked Lilith, or one of YOUR slaves to tend to this wretched seed of a whore!! BUT WHY ME?! WHY PUT ME UNDER THE ROOF OF FATHERHOOD?! HAD THIS BEEN A NATURAL CONCEPTION, I'D PROBABLY KILL THIS USELESS TOOL!!! 

"[You are trying my patience, Prīus Nazaeroth... We will come back to your promised arms, but until then, you will later study my arts. Do not fail me again,]" I ordered prior to a calming breath. Raising Narkarmos with the Abyss, I kept one hand behind me to continue controlling its movements, making him think it was put away. With his guard down, I chained him to the ground and cut twice into his back, leaving slits for his wings to slide out from his shoulderblades. As Prīus was tossed back into containment, left curling in a fetal position, I went inside to do a little research, conducting a small theory about the boy and his genetics. The blood sample was intriguing to say the least ..but still, he was not old enough to determine anything. If the strength of Amadeus is dormant, he should soon awaken traits unknown to us, and if he remains loyal, I can further analyze them, turn God's abomination against Him. Two hours of theorizing gone by, I checked in on the newborn who was stretching and flapping his bloodied wings, with a bright red aura and black smoke puffing from the mouth. No horns or tail, just talons, hybridized feet, hair straightened to the back, blood-red eyes, and pointed teeth. He looked at me in his Anger. It gladdened me. "[Good.. Let's see how your Sin affects you.]"

It was hard to take away his focus, alas. The boy smelled my aura and snarled, like an animal. So I summoned a Shetaimură out of the Abyss to avert his Wrath unto something else, and watch as Prīus unleashed his rage. The armored warden missed his slam, fists going over the boy's body as it tackled the warden to the ground. Prīus eventually clawed through the armor, the sparks of fire keeping the warden still as the child scratched away, arms caught prior to being head-butted. The Shetaimură drew his sword and swung, its blade meeting flesh. Unfazed by the cut on his upper chest, and the tear in his wing used to parry the blade, Prīus gouged out the Shetaimură's eyes while scratching at the breastplate with his feet, the hooks on his hooves searching for a spot to stay latched on. Realizing he couldn't keep his feet from sliding off the metal, the creature flapped his wings and circled to the right, then quickly switched to the left while bringing himself to the backside, and repeated each twist of the head as he could. The Shetaimură, both blind and confused, eventually got his neck snapped with enough stress. Summoning the Abyss around his wrists and ankles, I walked over to incapacitate him with a smack, but that only made the tool thrash more in ire. And so, I hit him harder before he could figure out how to free himself.. A fitting analogy at last came to me: he's much like a dog. The boy must be trained even more and whipped into my obedience. He will kill in the image I desire, not according to those null folktales.