Avarice Unfortunate Sons CH 20

Unweaving Yesterday

Xonereth had returned to the palace from his sojourn among the gods, feeling all but helpless with the little he had learned. Other than the smallest tidbits of information, he still possessed no clear path towards the Oracle's approval, nor an answer to his problem.

He sat alone with his head in his hands, his long raven hair spilling over his face and shoulders in an attitude of defeated stillness. He was now standing at the precipice of tumultuous events that were about to unfurl, and he would once again relive the steps that had thrust him into catastrophic violence, ending with his brother's exile and a kingdom divided.

His path to the throne had been paved in blood. Demon blood, blood of immortals. The civil war that he knew was to follow tore at his sensibilities. He rubbed at his alabaster face hard, pressing his palms against his lean cheekbones. His form wavered.

To the casual onlooker, they may have detected the faintest shift in his beauteous contour. Scales of jet momentarily appeared on his alabaster flesh. A set of twisted horns emerged from his shining hair. He growled and balled his fists. He was one of the most powerful beings in existence, and all he could procure were subtle hints and jibes from the creators. They didn't care. Yet he did, and passionately. Was it because his blood now ran crimson in his veins, or was it something else? He hated this feeling, and the way this sense of urgency to do something tore at him. He was by the day, growing in admiration for the frail humans, knowing that this feeling was for the most part the sum of their existence.

He exhaled, still staring at the floor, attempting to wrest his malignant fury under control. He could not yet return to the Oracle's chamber. He didn't have all his answers.

He was about to rise when he felt it, a strong tug at his ethereal being.

"Nooo!" he growled sharply. "I am not ready."

His black lips were drawn in a grimace, pointed teeth biting cruelly at his bottom lip. He fought the grip mounting on his soul until it had passed. To return now would mean certain destruction for everything.

The Demon King let out a sharp breath and closed his eyes. His usually unblemished brow deeply furrowed by his immense troubles. So many thoughts were simultaneously tumbling through his head. The written word was evil. The Prophecies were wrong, sent to beguile and confuse. Leading them in an endless cycle of regret and hatred. Yet he had seen them unfold. His own blood now ran red.

He gouged cruelly at his arm with his pointed black nails. They were unnaturally hard, made as weapons, sharp as steel. He needed the proof and the pain in that moment. He watched as the red runnels appeared on his unblemished ivory skin. Beads of an otherworldly crimson pooled in their wake.

He rubbed them away, hiding the wounds beneath the voluminous sleeve of his princely robe.

Agitated and lost, he was still unsure whether he should move to resolve or alter the events he knew were about to unfold. Time, though, was running out.

*****

Sheharizade had rarely left her sleeping King's side. She had kept vigil over the kingdom and her love resolutely. His familiar form lay motionless before her in the ritual chamber. The zilant blood runes etched by patient hands on his skin had smudged and somewhat faded. It was plain that the Demon King's handsome body was slowly wasting away. His ribs and hip bones were prominent now, as were the deep hollows in his cheeks. Though in demon time it had been but a few days since his sleeping; in the world of the humans the greater part of the year had already passed.

The devoted demoness was suddenly startled as Xonereth's eyelashes fluttered, and he exhaled a singular deep breath.

"My love." She cried out, thinking he was waking. Her voice echoed in the ritual chamber. Her bony hands, crisscrossed with raised dark veins and age marks, were immediately on him.

"I am here, my love." She reassured him, gently stroking his gaunt face. She felt the sharp tension pull taut his muscles beneath her comforting touch, and she was sure for a moment he would wake. Then just as suddenly... Xonereth's body went limp.

Sheharizade held her breath; no, it could not be! Death was not for demons! She knew how dangerous it was to journey to the Oracle even for the most powerful of beings. For protracted moments of panic, she felt no sign of Xonereth's breathing as she hovered above him. Then relief; there it came, shallow but even.

She planted a soft kiss on his cool brow. "Stay with me, my love. The kingdom needs you, more than you know."

*****

The kingdom had fared poorly during Xonereth's absence. Sheharizade, Selene, and Geryon fought to hold it together. Though with each passing week it became more challenging to do so. Demons were creatures brimming with pride and avarice. They had always been notoriously difficult to rule, even for the mightiest of rulers.

Some called for their ruler to return immediately, not understanding that such an undertaking was not possible. Others thought that they could rule in Xonereth's stead. Chaos would ensue if their King did not return soon bearing concrete guidance.