God Ash: Remnants of the fallen.

The wind is arrogant.

Just like the darkness in the night sky.

Just like the loftiness of the daylight.

If continues it's course regardless of human intervention.

It does what it wants, it blows without a care in the world.

It cuts down ferociously, bending and breaking the branches of trees, beating against the rocks of the mountainside.

With it, it carried leaves and spores. The essence of life.

And with it, the sweet scent of death and blood also.

It is prideful. It is arrogant.

But it is unfettered.

It was free.

***

Devils were powerful creatures.

But they are beings of behavior and habit.

In a way, they are slaves to their own impulses, fettered by the wanton desire to destroy and pillage. But could they really be blamed?

Just as how the wind isn't blamed for its terrible and furious storms, and Suns aren't blamed for their scourging radiance, the creatures, such as they were, couldn't be blamed for their own nature.

When he had been born to this dreadful world, Abaloth had quickly torn through the litter, absorbing the bodies of those that had been born alongside him quickly.

Then he had begun to collect the vital pieces of his soul before attaining complete consciousness, just like every other Devil.

But the base of his soul was ancient.

Almost as ancient as the Primordial Devils.

Most Devils had souls eons old, but most didn't date as far back as his. If left alone to gather resources and grow, he would quickly reach the height of a cosmic horror, attaining his former glory.

But he had been killed.

And then he had returned to the Othershore. Then he completed the cycle and passed through the Levont.

And then his soul was thrust into this body.

Within his soul were fragmented bits of knowledge that couldn't be washed away by the mystic properties of the Othershore.

So he was burdened with them for all of eternity.

Those memories were terrifying, even for Devil standards.

Creatures so twisted they might as well could have been the dark personification of concepts.

Strange entities that were the source of nightmares for nightmares and cosmic-lecel horrors such as what he had once been.

And then finally, they were was the other ones.

Those with skin of verdant lustre and gold.

So-called "Divine" beings that has usurped their glory all because they were deemed as 'beautiful' by the very same Creator that had forged them, the 'Horrible' ones.

They had been called a scourge, while the other were called gods and worshiped as deities.

They were victims of their own circumstances.

A self-fulfilling prophecy.

All because they had been created that way.

They were created with minds, but they had been corrupted to become savages.

Abaloth could heard it.

The souls of ever Devil in existence was connected, after all.

A strange, intergalactic hive mind.

However, try as they might, the only thing that traveled through the hive mind, was profane curses and madness.

None of the organized wisdom and knowledge one would expect.

It has been like that for thousands of years.

And it would only get worse.

Unless...

Abaloth's gaze traveled.

Down below, his kin slaughtered and were slaughtered.

However, they did not know fear.

Or rather, they had forgotten what it was.

Or perhaps even that, an emotion such as fear, had become twisted and corrupted, no longer what it had once been.

Their black blood drenched the soil of this world, far away from the graveyards of the Devil Mountain.

Here, they had no graves, and their bodies would rot and fester to become even more feed for the Mothers to create new offspring.

But Devils never truly died.

So this torment was everlasting.

How could one not expect madness in such an existence?

So why exactly did they fight?

It was the same reason the wind blew and the storms raged.

Except, Devils were not wind or storms.

They were living agents of damnation with blood flowing through their veins. The Creator's very own idea of a virus unraveling all of his own creation.

"There is no reason. There is no purpose."

An existence based upon tearing everything apart.

His gaze narrowed in on the Human-Demon hybrid.

The Old Devil soul didn't want to admit it, but this strange creature was an anomaly.

Sadly...

"He isn't the one I am looking for. He is not the creature of blackened gold."

Such a creature was meant to evoke the fear he had forgotten. It was meant to boil the fetid blood in his veins.

The greatest test to the principle of devilish corruption.

Not a force of light, not an arbiter of evil.

But rather fate's response to the natural laws of creation and destruction.

It filled Abaloth with relief, but it also annoyed him.

Perhaps that thing he had seen and heard had been his own mind playing tricks on him.

And so, he wanted this human to suffer.

That would be the poor soul's only recompense. Then he would take the strange soul after the body of the hybrid was torn to pieces. And he would mould it into the most vile of abominations to keep.

The Devil's soul was drunk of malevolyas he stretched its clawed hand forward and began chanting again.

The sky seemed to shatter into a billion pieces.

Countless blades of torn space shot down at the human, revolving like a whirlpool as they all cut and tore at the humans flesh.

With the wave of a finger, the spatial blades surged, their momentum and ferocity increasing exponentially.

Abaloth could see the blades Nick at the human's defenses over and over again.

The spatial blades were thin, but extremely sharp, so unless he willed it, they would go flesh deep, but wouldn't harm any vital organs.

This type of slow torture would break even the strongest of devilish warriors, not to mention a frail huma, even if that human was gifted.

The pools of darkness in the depths of the Devil's head swirled once again...