Chapter 92: 987 Years Ago (2)
Positioned at either side of Malphas's rear, Marbas and Morax followed her through the compound's twists and turns as they headed towards their Mother's designated venue. Based on the chemistry between them, it was hard to believe they were siblings, the overall impression was more akin to that of two servants dutifully walking a step behind their master's lead. Even if only one of the two 'servants' would ever find it in them to accept such a notion.
Malphas's path led them north of the compound's residential area into the brush of a broad, far-reaching forest filled with all sorts of Underworld-native foliage, populated by varying hoards and communities of demonic wildlife, many of which were led by alphas fully capable of tearing Marbas and Morax from limb to limb if they so pleased. Of course, they'd never dare to try as long as they were under the Marchioness's command.
And especially not when Malphas was a part of the entourage, under orders or not, going after her was just plain suicide with extra steps.
"Would it kill ya' to smile a little more?" Marbas skipped forwards, having just mended his fractured jaw and spine, he returned to his usual whimsical self without hesitation—as if he had completely forgotten what the pain of being subjected to Malphas's punishment was like. "This is your big day! You're finally going to awaken your Clan Trait! What power do you think the tree's gonna give you? Oh! I know! It'll be a cuteness charming abili—!"
Wordlessly, Malphas snapped her fingers, conjuring a bubble of water out of thin air that encased her brother's head like a helm—effectively mitigating his non-stop chatting to a series of gurgles and pained noises of suffocation. It wouldn't shut him up forever, but it'd buy Malphas some much-desired silence. Death was the only permanent solution to her brother's attitude, which she deemed to be peerlessly bothersome.
"You're truly never going to learn, are you?" Morax lamented under her breath. Perhaps if her brother had awakened an ability that didn't allow him to pop right back up each time Malphas punished him, he'd understand the sheer degree of disregard and contempt that existed within that girl's brain.
Everyone else could see it, why couldn't he?
"Nwope!" Marbas answered through a gurgle as bubbles trailed upwards from his mouth, prouder than he had any right to be.
In the epicenter of the wide-spanning forest, a medium-sized clearing resided, a place none of the creatures in the area dared to tread on, even if they found themselves in a situation where its refuge was their only shot at survival.
It wasn't just because the Marchioness had told them not to.
It was because the area was sacred.
"I see you're tardy as ever, Malphas." A deep, authoritarian voice addressed the girl the instant she crossed the clearing's border. The only one in the compound that the girl would take even half seriously. "And here I hoped you'd realize that today, of all days, warranted an exception."
Malphas rolled her eyes, unresponsive. She didn't think there was any need to offer a response.
A chair composed entirely of tree-like roots was positioned in the middle of the clearing, and atop that chair sat a woman. A breathtakingly beautiful woman, even by the Underworld's standards. The leafy green locks of the Sallos cascaded over her shoulders like waterfalls of moss, the pores spanning across her pale skin glistened and shimmered with exceptional natural beauty, the kind you could only find in creations that were simply meant to be, not ones that were made to fit another's design.
Her verdant irises gleamed with a brightness only her youngest daughter's seemed to match, and each speck of light within them hummed with over a millennium's worth of experience, wisdom, and knowledge. The same knowledge that allowed her to mold her family's prestige into what it is today.
She wore an elaborate, floor-length gown woven from the silk of a Queen Thornsman Spider, found right here in the compound's territory. Its fur linings were white in color, and the rest of it a dark, viridescent green, embroidered with the pattern of thorny vines and roses all over its surface. The sheer detail of which would require an unbelievable level of delicacy.
She was none other than the Marchioness, Mariques Sallos, in the flesh. The Mother of Morax, Marbas, and of course, Malphas.
"Come," Mariques motioned for her youngest to approach, whilst the other two continued to watch from afar, their facial expressions a mix of anticipation and concern.
For any clansman or clanswoman of the Sallos, the day they turned thirteen was a momentous one. For it was the day they'd undergo their ceremony, an awakening ritual that'd draw their dormant Clan Trait out of them, and grant them a power that somehow varied from one person to the next, but remained a part of the same Clan Trait all the same. Granted, they weren't unfortunate enough to fail the ceremony and end up a dullard.
"Does it look different to you?" Mariques asked, she didn't need to point or direct her vision. The subject of her question was more than obvious.
A tree. Centered smack-dab in the middle of the clearing. Its trunk was an odd, ashen-gray color, bearing a complexion similar to oak, and was tall enough to eclipse the highest-reaching keep within the Sallos compound twofold. A true mark of grandeur and scale. Its branches spread out far and wide, covered entirely in a bed of ominous blood-red leaves, as if they had been soaked in the remnants of fallen devils. Anyone, no matter their race, could feel the faint hum of ancient desperation that emanated from the tree. One that possibly belonged to the curator of the naturalistic marvel.
"It does," Malphas answered. "It's enticing me."
Mariques hummed her approval. "That's confirmation you are ready to awaken upon the consummation of its offering," her clear, reflective eyes trailed up the tree's length. "Remind me of its history."
Malphas exhaled in boredom, every inch of her face practically screamed the words "here we go again".
"Lilith's Tree," she began. "She created it for our Clan while she and Lucifer were creating the 72 Pillars. Our family was her last-ditch effort to create a bloodline capable of inheriting her power of Creation. As a result, our bloodline developed differently from the other Pillars."
Mariques nodded. "Continue."
"We do not awaken one, uniform Clan Trait that's passed down from devil to devil. At thirteen years of age, each member of our clan comes here to drink the sap from Lilith's Tree. Upon doing so, we awaken a supposedly 'random' Clan Trait. Which Lilith hoped, one day, would end up being her power of Creation. Though the foundation for this belief remains uncertain."
"And why are our Clan Traits supposedly random?" She pressed her daughter further.
"Because they fall under the theme of being 'naturalistic', each embodied varying aspects of life." Malphas turned, facing her older brother and sister. "The power of healing, the power to blend earth and water into wood, and," she looked back at her Mother. "The power to perceive lifeforce on a greater plane."
Her Mother was a once-in-a-lifetime Senjutsu Practitioner, an occurrence no one believed would ever come to fruition from the Underworld of all places, yet it did. It wasn't just talent, her Clan Trait, Lifeforce Bond, allowed her to mold and connect with Ki on a level that others physically could not do, no matter how hard they trained, no matter how talented they were.
She was mechanically superior, unless one also possessed an innate factor that could produce the same result, they had no chance of matching her. Not unless they were an existence that had already ascended to Buddhahood or something greater.
"And now it's your turn to receive your aspect," Mariques stood up and approached Lilith's Tree with graceful steps, motioning for Malphas to come along. "When you consume the sap, you will fall into a state of unconsciousness and experience a continuous drain on your demonic power. If you find your aspect before you're out, you'll succeed, if you don't, you'll fail."
The quantity of demonic power one possessed was irrelevant, the rate of the drain would always scale to match the same timeframe.
One week.
Every Sallos had one chance, and one chance only to awaken. There were no tips they could take into consideration when it came to 'finding' their aspect, either, everything was attuned to the person. A similar process to that of the Buné Clan's ceremonial process, which took place when one turned eighteen instead of thirteen.
If they tried to drink the sap post-failure, the viscous liquid would melt them from the inside out and make for a very—very agonizing death that'd leave them as naught more than a puddle of melted flesh, organs, and bone.
"Cup your hands together," Mariques ordered.
Malphas obliged, positioning her hands palm-to-palm like a bowl and holding them outwards.
Without delay, Mariques channeled her Ki and created a carve through Wind Nature Transformation to slice at the bark, forming a surgical, small wound in the tree's exterior, which revealed a slow, viscous trickle of dark-crimson sap that dripped downwards into Malphas's hands.
"Drink," Mariques gestured.
Calmly, Malphas drew the sap up to her lips and angled it so it would pour into her mouth. Despite its color and texture, its taste wasn't akin to blood, nor sap for that matter. It was a spicier flavor, as if the embers of a Phoenix had been seasoned into the substance, it didn't evoke much reaction from a devil like Malphas, but if a mortal were to try their hand at tasting its texture, their organs would've been set alight by a blazing inferno until they eventually charred from the inside out.
Not the most pleasant exit one could make, to say the least.
In a rare display of genuine alarm, Malphas's eyes widened. She could feel her heartbeat spike the instant the sap reached her intestine. She fully expected herself to experience the agonizing sensation of burning from within, but instead, she was hit by an abrupt, fierce sense of exhaustion, her eyelids slamming shut as she began to fall backwards, completely unconscious.
Of course, her Mother was there to catch her before her back could hit the soil.
Gently, she lowered her daughter's sleeping figure against the earth to leave her to her own devices for what could be a whole week.
The ceremony had begun.
"How long do you think she'll take?" Morax asked her Mother. There were no traces of excitement in the Heiress's voice or facial expression, only fear for what was to come.
She wasn't afraid that Malphas would take her position as Heiress, she knew it was only a matter of time before that came to pass, and was perfectly content with such a future. To begin with, she never had any interest in inheriting her Mother's crown. All the responsibilities and duties that came with the territory weren't worth the trouble to her, they'd just eat up the time she could spend improving the art of battle.
She was afraid of Malphas herself, the child was already incapable of inflicting such pain at her age and clearly had the appetite for doing so. If she were to get any stronger, that personality trait would only intensify. That was how power worked: good becomes great, bad becomes worse.
"You're asking a moot question, my dear," Mariques answered plainly. How long it took you to finish the ceremony wasn't a mark of talent, all that mattered was whether you pulled it off or not. Fortunately for Mariques, none of her direct children had ended up as failures.
Marbas chuckled, upbeat as ever. "She's our little genius, she'll probably be done in the time it takes us to walk back home!"
"Whether she's a genius or not makes no difference," Mariques intervened with her wisdom. "There are records of predecessors just as talented as her who ended up failures. The ceremony is a question of the soul, not the body. Even if one could conjure up more firepower than a Phenex, a weak heart will still render them useless in the ceremony."
Of course, for each unique soul, a unique question befitting it must be asked. For this ritual, there was no one-size-fits-all.
Promptly, Mariques had her children follow her out of the clearing. It was best to leave Malphas undisturbed for the duration of her ceremony.
---
Malphas, for the life of her, could not remember why or how she was here.
Wherever 'here' was supposed to be.
She circled her vision in all directions, unable to see anything but the same, constant scenery, regardless of where she pointed her optics, an endless array of one of Mother Nature's most captivating and appealing flowers: the Red Spider Lily. Their curved, narrow petals were the same shade as the leaves of Lilith's Tree, the length, width, and shape of their stamens resembled those of an arachnid's legs.
Malphas herself did not understand why, but when she looked at them, she felt a deep, pulling desire to confess everything that went on in the deepest recesses of her mind. Feelings she didn't believe anyone was worthy of listening to. Emotions, she believed, would only be taken advantage of if they were let loose into the wild, no matter how trustworthy the recipient was.
The corners of her lips dipped into a stark scowl, she detested the influence the flowers were having on her. There wasn't a single soul to be found around her, but even so, she still felt like it'd be an insult to herself if she were to allow anything to leave her mouth.
In an almost childish show of rejection, Malphas broke contact and looked upwards at the expansive, purple-stained sky above her.
Whatever it was these flowers wanted to get out of her, she wasn't interested.
However, the sky too had a question for her. It didn't pull at her mind to force something out, instead, it asked an actual, verbal question.
"Why?"
"Why what?" Malphas wasn't a stranger to cryptic speaking, but even that had its limits before it became straight-up gibberish.
"Why are you here?"
"How should I know?" Malphas scoffed.
For a few seconds, silence followed until yet another question hit her from up above.
"Why is she here?"
"She?"
Malphas paused to listen. In the distance, she could hear a faint, very faint sound of what appeared to be a static crackling noise.
Cautiously, Malphas broke eye contact with the sky and started to step towards the origin of the sound, which landed her upon a small clearing amidst the endless flowerbed.
And in the clearing, Malphas sat. A four-year-old version of herself, to be precise.
Her face contained no emotion, and her eyes were nothing but lusterless as she focused on the phenomenon that was being produced in between her spaced-out palms: a fleeting, continuous charge of lightning her younger self was clearly trying to strengthen.
"You're doing it wrong," Malphas remarked, questioning nothing else except the shabby display of elemental manipulation the girl was attempting. It was as if the presence of another her didn't even remotely seem peculiar to her. "Blindly increasing the static charge won't change anything, you have to manage the balance between the two statics to achieve higher, more efficient output."
"Why does it matter if it's wrong?" Her younger self queried, not even sparing Malphas a passing glance.
"Because it's a technique, and there's a right way and wrong way to use it." Malphas loathed that the little girl dared to refute her instead of graciously accepting her sound advice, a privilege she had yet to hand out to a single soul, her siblings included.
"Even if it's wrong, it's still the same technique."
Malphas's brow creased, her frustration deepening. This was the second time the girl dared to rebut her with nonsense.
"It isn't the same, what you have is an inferior, pathetic imitation of how the real thing's supposed to be. You're being complacent with your own weakness."
As if she expected that response, the girl smiled to herself. "What's so bad about weakness? Other people are weak too."
Malphas froze. To her, the reply was so baffling that the indignation on her face was quickly wiped clean, replaced with sheer, unadulterated perplexity. "You can't seriously be asking me that."
"But I am serious," she affirmed. "Aren't you meant to be smart? You should be able to tell when I'm being serious or not, since you're so smart and all."
"You mentioned my smarts twice."
"No, I didn't."
"You did."
"Nuh-uh."
Malphas's eye twitched. If it wasn't obvious already, the girl was clearly trying to get on her nerves. And in all honesty, her efforts weren't half-bad in terms of the effectiveness they were having on Malphas, despite how childish her methods were.
"You still haven't answered my question: What's wrong with weakness?"
Malphas blew a deep exhale through her nostrils. She couldn't explain it, but she felt partially obligated to go along with the girl's shenanigans. "If you're weak, you'll be trampled on. You'll be spat on. You'll be ignored. Your voice will carry no substance. Your actions will carry no meaning. You'll be disregarded by everyone else. Whether or not you obtain the things you desire will be decided by your superiors, not by you. You'll lose all agency over your own life."
The girl's smile widened. "Is that what you're afraid of?"
Malphas blinked, wondering if she had misheard. "Pardon?"
"Of being tramped on, spat on, ignored. Of having a voice void of substance. Of having weightless actions. Of being disregarded. Of being unable to obtain what you want without someone else's say-so. Of losing agency over yourself." Though her words were merely a repetition of what Malphas had said, they managed to carve a deep, critical wound in Malphas's chest. "Is that what terrifies you?"
"It should terrify everyone," she answered, failing to suppress a telling tremble that spread through her appendages.
"But you're not 'everyone', you're you." In a blink, the Malphas's younger form shifted into a replica of her current self, standing upright and looking her dead in the eyes, a knowing, confident smile stretched across her face. "A sacred, paranoid little girl who thinks everyone's out to get her. Even your own family. No matter what they do, no matter what they say, you'll always suspect they're holding daggers behind their backs. Just itching for a moment where they can get the jump on you."
Malphas's trembling worsened. It was in her nature to always put up a bold front regardless of whether or not she felt rattled, but no matter how she tried to cover up her inner feelings, she got the impression that her replica could see right through her all the same.
"People change when opportunities are presented before them. They may seem amiable at first, and may even be amiable to begin with. But that can all change in a heartbeat if they spot an opening, even the slightest one, to capitalize and profit from your weakness. It's the universal nature of all creatures. The weak step on the weaker to become slightly less weaker themselves."
"And you? Are you the same? Would you trample on someone if they gave you the chance to?" Replica-Malphas's eyebrows lifted with curiosity.
"Of course," she answered without hesitation. "Not simply for the sake of it, but if the opportunity to gain from another's failure to guard themselves is there, there'd be no reason for me to abstain."
A predatory glint gleamed through her replica's eyes. "Even if it was your own family?"
"Even if it was them," again, no hesitation.
It was strange, the more Malphas spoke to her replica, the more 'at ease' she began to feel. It was as if all the impurities, frustrations, and misgivings in her brain were gradually being flushed out of her as their dialogue continued. A complete detox of grievances.
"I see," the replica nodded. "What about strength? Why do you wish to be strong?"
Malphas smoldered. "I already answered—"
"No, you only told me why you don't wish to be weak. Not being weak and being strong aren't the same thing, you of all people should know this." She paused momentarily. "So tell me, why do you wish to be strong? What purpose would that strength serve? To what end?"
Malphas's expression relaxed, that question was a lot easier to tackle than the last. "I cannot stand the idea of another being existing atop me. I belong at the top. That's all there is to it."
"'The top' is such a broad term, isn't it? Do you mean the top of the Underworld? Would being as strong as the Satans be enough for you?"
"No, there are those stronger than them."
"Mm. Then what about the Slothful Prince, Rizevim Livan Lucifer, would being as strong as him be enough for you?"
"No, there are existences above even him."
"Then what about the God of Death that lies beneath, Hades—"
"No matter who or what you bring up, my answer will not change. When I say 'the top', I mean it in the most literal sense possible. If I look up, and there's someone or something there, I will not be satisfied. I should be able to look down on everything there is, was, and could be. That is the only future in which I will find solace."
Replica-Malphas folded her hands behind her back. "You're obsessed."
"I am."
"Have you ever questioned why you are the way you are?"
"No, I've never been ashamed of it nor felt any desire to change, it would be naught but a waste of breath." She answered with absolute confidence. "It's simply in my nature to reject superiority that does not stem from myself. I've always been this way, from the moment I was conceived."
Nature over nurture.
"How profligately self-assured you are."
Replica-Malphas's appearance changed again, this time turning into an older, fully-grown version of the girl who radiated the same, or perhaps even greater amount of beauty as her Mother did. If anyone other than her younger self was standing before her, they'd find themselves met with the jarring, abrupt experience of a fierce chill shooting down their spine. As if they were face-to-face with one of the alpha demonic creatures within the Sallos Forest.
"Do you even understand what it is you're setting yourself up for?"
Malphas's eyes narrowed with sarcasm. "Enlighten me."
"A lifetime of endless repetition. A lifetime of unrequited satisfaction. You will march, and march, enduring the drastically increasing difficulty of each step you attempt to take in hopes of attaining more power. There will never be any guarantee that your efforts will get you to where you want to be, in fact, there are a billion reasons for you to fail hopelessly, and less than one for you to succeed."
As her Mother had said to her siblings, the ceremony was a question of the soul.
This was Malphas's question.
"You will become an oroboros, helpless to do anything but chase your own tail with the word 'strength' scribbled onto its length. Growth. Dissatisfaction. Repeat. Growth. Dissatisfaction. Repeat. Growth. Dissatisfaction. Repeat. Growth. Dissatisfaction. Repeat."
Gradually, a mountainous weight started to press down on Malphas's shoulders. The intensity in her older self's eyes was asking her if she really, truly, wholeheartedly understood what it was she was choosing to accept about herself.
"Slowly but surely, the fruits of all the other aspects of life will be lost on you. You will grow hollow. You will grow cold. You will turn apathetic to all else." She reached out with both hands, cupping the sides of Malphas's face, and drawing her face closer to hers. "So I'll ask you again, do you understand what you're setting yourself up for? And can you accept it as your future?"
Malphas's fixed gaze sharpened, matching her older self's intensity.
"I can."
The question was asked—
And Malphas had answered.
…
"Good," with bizarre abruptness, the replica's expression and posture relaxed as if it were never tense in the first place. "You have accepted your own soul, you are qualified to awaken your bloodline."
The replica crouched down, picking up one of the countless Spider Lilies which rapidly began to wither and decay in her clasp as an ominous, bone-chilling miasma circled the flower.
"This is yours."
She extended it towards Malphas.
This was her own, unique power that no other member of her bloodline would awaken.
Her Clan Trait.
---
Based on the last two chapters and how I've introduced her family, I reckon a good chunk of you can already guess what her Clan Trait is. Hehe.
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