Rebirth of the Nephilim

 Failure.

There was nothing but failure. Nothing had gone right. Nothing had gone the way she had wanted. Not one goal. Not one dream. Not one desire. Her only desire. She had failed.

Her plans.

Failure.

Her body.

Failure.

Desire herself.

Failure. Failure. Failure.

Desire lay inside of the cave, submerged in the cold water that flowed in from the sea, once with the sun, and once again with the moon. It was the time of the moon, nighttime, when there was little light to see by. Even less light with the water filling the cavern. There was only a faint paleness, a shimmer that barely touched her. Not enough light to see by. She didn’t need light to see what a failure she was.

The Urge reminded her well enough.

Desire clutched one arm against her chest. The arm was not hers. The arm belonged to the Strong One. The arm belonged to Jadis.

Jadis.

A terrible feeling rose up inside of Desire. It was failure, but it was also more. Shame. Frustration. Rage. Longing. Desire. Suffering.

Despair.

Desire lashed out at the stone prison she had chosen for herself. Her arms broke against the surface. Flesh tore. Bone shattered. Black blood darkened the water that stung her wounds. Pointless. Meaningless. But she did it again.

And again.

She wanted Jadis. She would be complete if she had Jadis. She knew that she would be complete. Whole. One.

But she could not have Jadis. She was not strong enough. Desire knew that. She had learned. She grown. She had fought Jadis and she had failed. If she fought Jadis again, the result would be the same. Desire would lose that fight, just as she had lost the last. Even if she became stronger, even if she grew to her greatest size, she would never be strong enough. Never. Jadis would not stop growing either. Desire was not stupid. She understood. The next time she met Jadis, there would be one result.

She would die.

Death.

The Urge purred inside her at the thought. The Urge reminded her. There was only one end. The End of All. The Urge was waiting. The Urge wrapped its tentacles around her, embracing her, pulling her towards the inevitable end that Desire knew was her one and only fate…

“No…!”

Desire screamed. She screamed her denial. Her rage. Her hatred and shame and longing and despair. She screamed as she thrashed around inside of her cave, tearing stone from the walls, staining the water with her blood, breaking her body over and over again.

“No…!No…!No…!”

Desire did not want to die. She did not want to end. She wasn’t finished. She wasn’t complete. She would never be complete, not without Jadis. But she wanted to be complete. She wanted to be One. She could not go on living without being complete, but the thought of dying while being incomplete was so terrible that it made her insides twist and burn. Desire could not end so soon. She could not end when she was incomplete.

That was the Urge’s desire, not hers.

Desire clutched the arm against her chest. It had rotted. The flesh had bloated, then fallen away. The pale skin remained, stretched over bone and sinew. There was not much left at all. Desire could still take it within her, even as decayed as it was. The desire to do so was there. But she did not. Even as she held the slowly deteriorating prize close to her, she did not absorb it as she would any other limb. It was not hers to take.

It had been taken by the Demon Lord.

Demon Lord.

“Demon Lord…”

Desire felt her face change as she spoke the words out loud. Snarl. That was the word. The knowledge that she had taken from the Clever One when she had absorbed him and become a Prince told her much. So many words. So many ideas. So much. And yet, there was no explanation from that which she had claimed. No explanation from the rest of her kind. No explanation from the Seeing One. No explanation from the Urge. The explanation did not exist. But the truth did not care. There had not been one Demon Lord. There had been two.

Two Demon Lords.

And they both wanted her dead.

Demon Lord Ruin had been strong. So strong. Desire had only known of Ruin by the taste carried on the thoughts of other Demons. She had known how strong he was by their feelings for him. She had thought that she had understood. She had been wrong. Desire had failed to comprehend the power of Ruin. The taste. The touch. The overwhelming aura that bore down on her like the weight of a hundred mountains.

And that had only been a piece of Ruin.

A piece. Just a piece. Fragment. Shard. Splinter. Nothing of consequence. Nothing of true value. And yet Demon Lord Ruin had overwhelmed all. Even Demon Lord Alex.

Demon Lord Alex.

Demon Lord Alex…

Desire howled again, her voice echoing in the cavern. She continued to howl, because she did not know what else to do. The noise did not make her feel better. It was pointless. But it was no less pointless than thrashing her already healed limbs against the walls, and she had exhausted all of her stamina already anyway.

Alex was the Demon Lord.

No. Not the Demon Lord. A Demon Lord.

That should not have been possible. Every Demon knew that there was only one. It was taught to them while they were still in their eggs. Before they were formed. While their minds were still mush and their tentacles nothing but string. There was one Demon Lord. Only one.

And yet, there was no denying what Desire had experienced with her own senses. Alex had been a Demon Lord. She was a Demon Lord, somehow. Her taste. Her aura. Her existence. She could not be denied. Desire had tried.

She had failed.

And so, in failure, she had fled.

Desire had fled from Alex, she had fled and thought herself clever in losing her, deceiving her, and finding her way back to where Jadis was. She had thought that she could take Jadis for herself and become whole. Then she would have been complete. Then no Demon Lord, Alex or Ruin, would have been able to touch her.

Foolish.

Stupid.

Wrong.

How could Desire have ever hoped to take Jadis for herself when a Demon Lord was subservient to her?

Desire held the piece of Jadis she had stolen up to her face. Her tongue lashed along its length. She tasted the rot, the loss, the decay, but even spoiled by time she could still taste the strength of Jadis contained within the corrupted flesh. She wanted it so, so much.

To be whole…

Yet it had not been by her hand that Jadis had lost this piece of herself.

Ruin.

Ruin had done what Desire could not do. Ruin had torn the flesh and bone from Jadis. Ruin had hurt her. Broken her. But had not beaten her. He had failed, too.

Just as Ruin had taken this piece of Jadis, Jadis had killed that piece of Ruin, and the point was driven even deeper into Desire’s soul just how great the distance was between them.

She was nothing. She was not even a rot that might grow on Jadis. She was not even a shadow that might touch her feet. She was a failure. Weak. Worthless. Pathetic.

Desire, without achievement.

Perhaps it would be better to end. The Urge had warned her not to consume the Clever One. The Urge had been right. Becoming one with the Clever One had been a mistake. She had gained knowledge and power and a greater form, but she had also gained confusion and dissonance. Desire was not better for her choice. If she had listened to the Urge, then maybe she would have claimed Jadis as hers long ago…

No.

The Clever One had been a fool. He had failed. He had failed time and time again, achieving nothing but frustration and rage. He would not have beaten Jadis.

The Urge had not wanted her to consume the Clever One, and maybe it had been right. Maybe the End of All had only been guiding her to a better outcome. She should have listened. If Desire had obeyed—

No.

No.

And no again.

“I will not… Listen… To you…”

Desire’s fists tightened around the piece of Jadis she carried with her. She spoke her thoughts aloud, to be certain that they were her own and did not belong to the Urge. The Urge wanted her to die. The End of All wanted Desire to end. She would not. She would not. She was not done. She was incomplete.

She had been Strangling Crawler, once. One of many, sharing a name and a taste with countless sisters. She had grown beyond them, above her lesser kin, become Twisted Desire. She had come that much closer to perfection, to having all that she might desire. She had grown further still, become Demon Prince Desire, become so strong that countless Demons had listened to her, followed her, obeyed her. And yet, despite all the power she had gained, she was still not complete. She was still not whole.

She was still not finished.

“I am not… Finished… I am not… Finished… I am not…”

Movement.

Desire went still. She sensed the movement. Heard it. Felt it. A scrape and a thump. The regular pattern of things sneaking in the dark. She could not taste them, not with so much of her own blood clouding the water, but she could still feel the vibrations of the intruders above her.

They were close.

With a thought, illusions shrouded Desire’s form. She was a rock in the water, a dark shape that would hold no interest to anyone. If they were the mortals who patrolled the shores, they would not see her. If they were Avatars… they might, if they were strong. If they were Jadis…

The intruders were not Jadis.

Desire saw them as they crawled inside the cave, their forms barely visible in the light of Metethys. There were five. They were Demons. Scythe wights.

They had come to kill her.

Stupid.

Desire did not blame them. What was the point in blaming the knife when it was the hand that moved it? The Clever One had known this truth. Desire had learned it. She did her best to remember. The knife did not matter. The scythe wights did not matter. The hand that moved them mattered.

Demon Lord Ruin had commanded her death. Desire was a failure. She was not wanted. She would not carry Ruin’s seed and she would not breed for him. She would not follow his command because she would not follow the End of All’s command, and so she was apostate to both. There was no place for a Demon who would not obey. She had become apart. She had become…

Deserter.

Heretic.

Traitor.

The Demon Lord commanded. The Urge reinforced. The scythe wight’s obeyed. It did not matter to them that they were too weak to defeat her. She was a traitor. They were loyal. They were only doing as they were told. They had to obey. What choice did they have?

What choice did they have?

What choice did Desire have?

The five crawled along the wall of the sea cave, their claws keeping them above the rippling surface of the water. They could not see her, but they knew that Desire was there because of her taste. They knew she was close. They were right.

Desire rose above the water’s surface, her illusions hiding all sight and all sound. She could not hide her taste from them, but she did not need to. Her blood was everywhere, dripping off the stone from where she had struck the walls in her fruitless wrath. Before any of the five could understand the danger they were in, Desire struck.

They were too small to struggle against her grasp. Too weak. A few of her arms was all she needed for each of them. She could have torn them into pieces in seconds, little time, less effort. But she did not. Instead, Desire retrained herself. She restrained each of them. She held the knives that had been moved against her life.

And she gave them a choice.

Serve me.

Her command was without room for question. Each one had a choice. They each knew what the result would be if they refused.

No.

Desire tore the one who had rejected her into pieces, ending her life without malice, but without pity as well. If she would not serve her, then she was against her, and she could not be allowed to live.

Serve me.

No.

Desire’s command was again met with refusal, and again she answered in the only way that she could.

Serve me.

No.

Desire’s frustration grew with the third wight’s death. But she did not give up. She would not give up. She was not finished.

She turned her eyes upon the fourth scythe wight and made her will known.

Serve me.

Why?

Why?

Desire smiled. This was not acceptance. But it was not rejection, either. It was consideration. It was thought.

It was potential.

Desire examined the fourth. She tasted her. Touched her. Saw her for what she was.

She was a scythe wight, no different than the others. Wasn’t she? Wrong. She was different. She was a little bigger. Her scythes were longer, and sharper, and there were serrations on the blades that the others did not have. The eye that floated inside the colorless flesh was the same purple as the others, but this one was bigger, and it floated in the head instead of the chest.

This was a scythe wight who had learned. Learned from mortals. Learned from Greater Demons. This was one who was not far from their own growth. From becoming more. Greater.

Serve me, and I will help you grow stronger.

Desire did not lie. She spoke truth, as the Clever One would never have spoken truth to her.

You may die. But I will guide you. I will lead you. And so long as you live, you will become stronger.

Desire could taste the interest on the scythe wight. But there was also fear. Confusion. Distrust.

The Urge.

The Urge does not care if you grow strong. The Urge sent you here, against me, to die. You will not grow strong following the Urge. You will not grow strong following Demon Lord Ruin. You will die. Weak. Pathetic. Alone. Nothing.

Desire could feel the indecision. She could taste it. The choice was not hers to make. But she wanted the outcome so, so much. She needed it. She desired it. And when the answer came, she felt an emotion well up within her body that she had never felt before. So strong. So strange. So wonderous.

She almost didn’t notice when the tears began to pour out of her eyes.

Yes.

Yes.

Desire set Scythe Wight down, letting her follower rest on top of her body. She did not fear her blades. Scythe Wight would not turn them against her. She had made her choice. She was apostate now. She was a traitor.

But they were traitors, together.

Turning her attention onto the fifth, Desire let a grin spread across her face.

Serve me.

No.

Ah. Another rejection. Disappointing. But it was acceptable. One out of five was a good result. It could have been none.

Desire did not kill the fifth. Instead, keeping the scythe wight restrained in her grasp, she held the fool up within easy reach of Scythe Wight, who stood motionless on her back.

Kill this one.

Scythe Wight obeyed, cutting down her sister with a single stroke that bisected the eye floating within the translucent chest. No hesitation. She understood. Any Demon who would not follow Desire was their enemy now, as they would seek their death just as Demon Lord Ruin sought their death. Just as Demon Lord Alex sought her death.

Just as Jadis sought her death.

Desire held the rotten piece of the Strong One up to her face again. Tears poured down her face. But they were not the same as the ones that had come before. They were wrong. They felt awful. Terribly, painfully, awful. Scythe Wight watched her, the confusion strong in her taste. Desire did not explain. She could not explain. Not to another, not when she could barely understand herself.

“I am… Not finished…”

Desire lowered the stolen arm to the water’s surface as she spoke. With effort, she forced her fingers to let the corrupted piece of Jadis go. She watched as the pale nothing floated away into the darkness, where even her eyes could not see it anymore.

“But I will be…”