The Storm King

Leon entered his soul realm like a conquering hero, his mood soaring higher than the Thunderbird herself.

Tenth-tier. He stood on the threshold of virtual divinity; how could he not feel the excitement?

When he entered, a smile splitting his face in half, the Thunderbird was in the sky, screeching her delight so loudly that he almost felt like those out in the physical world could hear her. Xaphan, on the other hand, sat in his pavilion, staring at him with far more muted joy in his demeanor—not that Leon could tell all that much without using the connection they shared through their contract. The demon was happy about his accomplishment, he could feel that much, but it was curiosity that was dominating the fire demon’s mind, not vicarious joy.

“What’s wrong, Xaphan?” Leon called out, intending to follow up with some sarcastic statement about finally surpassing the fire demon in power, but he held his tongue. There was something altogether more serious about his demonic partner’s silence than simple jealousy, so Leon let his statement hang, treating it far more seriously in the moments following it than he did when uttering it.

Xaphan gave him a crackling chuckle before the Thunderbird came crashing back to the ground, assuming human form on the way. As she’d done before, she rushed at Leon, practically tackling him as she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and spun him around.

“Well done, well done!” she repeated as she spun around. As she slowed and finally set Leon back down, she said, “I haven’t felt such pride in anyone’s accomplishments since my own grandchildren! Leon, I’m so proud of you!”

With Xaphan’s muted reaction still weighing on his mind, instead of reveling in the Thunderbird’s words, Leon felt far more self-conscious. He smiled back at his Ancestor and replied, “Thank you. That means more than I can say.”

“No words are necessary, my boy,” she proudly replied. She then turned toward Xaphan and called out, “Look at this, little ember! My boy’s reached tenth-tier already! What’s your excuse?”

“I’m not snacking on those little fruits!” Xaphan shot back. “Easy to gain power when you’re stuffing power down your gluttonous throat!”

“As if sucking down the Mists of Chaos is any better?” the Thunderbird shot back.

“There’s something that’s kind of bothering me,” Leon interrupted, drawing both of his soul realm’s passengers’ attention before they could descend into bickering too deeply.

“What is it?” the Thunderbird asked as she took his arm and began pulling him toward some nearby seats. “Whatever concerns you have, just tell me, I’ll make them all better!”

“Hmm. Thanks.”

As they took their seats, Leon sat in silence for a long moment, trying to put what he felt into words. It wasn’t just to bask in the adulation of his Ancestor or rub it in his demonic partner’s face that he was now so much stronger that he’d come to his soul realm. His present concerns were, in large part, due to the strange feeling of anticipation he felt coming from his soul realm.

“I… kind of feel like there’s… something, I don’t know…” he hesitantly began, still not quite sure what it was he was feeling, or if he was even feeling anything at all. It was almost like a feeling of anticlimax but dialed up off any arbitrary scale.

“More?” the Thunderbird guessed.

A moment passed as Leon turned the word over in his head, comparing it to how he felt. Then, he nodded.

“It’s not the perfect word, but… it’s probably about as perfect as any word could be…”

“I understand,” the Thunderbird soothingly replied. “It’s like you’ve brushed up against something, touched upon something out there in the Mists, right?”

Again, Leon nodded, his eyes turning toward the Mists of Chaos, now so far away. Ten thousand miles of mountains, rivers, and forests stood between him and the nearest current of mist, but he could still see the endless cloud that surrounded his soul realm like it were right up in his face.

“You’ve been told how to achieve Apotheosis,” the Thunderbird said. “You must condense all of the magic contained within your soul realm as much as you can. Magic power is the runoff of origin power, the power contained and created within Origin Sparks, the largest of which lies at the center of the Nexus—the center of the universe. To condense your own Origin Spark, you must revert magic to its primal state, and that’s only done by condensing enough of it for it to ‘ignite’, so to speak. Once an Origin Spark is condensed, it becomes self-sustaining, producing not only enough origin power to continue its own existence but also enough for you to make use of it.”

“But I need a ‘kick’,” Leon added as the Thunderbird paused expectantly. Her bronze face lit up with happiness as he repeated what she’d told him not so long ago. “I need to add some of the Mists of Chaos to this condensed ‘spark’ for it to ignite.”

“Yes,” the Thunderbird proudly confirmed. “And that feeling you have right now is an unconscious yearning born of that very need. The Mists of Chaos… are still mostly a mystery to me, despite how long I’ve flown through them. They are simultaneously what connects and what separates the soul realms of different people. If anyone else in my Clan yet lived, I would be able to fly straight to their soul realm from here. However, the distance between any two given soul realms is both incredibly far and quite close. Space and time break down within the mist.

“Add onto that the fact that everything in one’s soul realm is made of the stuff, and you have a mystery that even the Primal Gods, Devils, and Divine Beasts couldn’t solve. The nature of the Mists of Chaos has eluded the greatest scholars and mages for as long as scholars and mages have existed. What the Mists of Chaos are and what the extent of their powers may be are also a mystery.

“What matters more, though, is that the Mists of Chaos want to aid you in the condensation of an Origin Spark, Leon. They press in on the borders of your soul realm, promising you the power that you so desire. That feeling you’re getting is how the mist makes its intention known.”

“Don’t phrase it like that!” Xaphan shouted. “You’ll give the wrong impression!”

The Thunderbird clicked her tongue in displeasure, but she turned her head toward Xaphan and loudly asked, “Have you something to add?”

Xaphan climbed out of his pavilion and joined Leon and the Thunderbird, though he refrained from trying to sit on any of Leon’s furniture—not that Leon would’ve cared that much, but he supposed he appreciated the conscientiousness.

“Do not ascribe traits to the Mists of Chaos that don’t exist,” Xaphan insisted.

“What do you know of the Mists of Chaos, demon?” the Thunderbird testily demanded, glaring at Xaphan with some slight traces of killing intent worming through her aura. “I have flown through them longer than you’ve been alive!”

“And it seems that time has addled your bird brains,” Xaphan sniped back. “Do not get blinded to the truth just because you’ve been forced to squat in the mist for countless years, unable to fully die without losing all who bear your power, too!”

“Speak your truth, then! Speak, and enlighten us! Speak, and share what wisdom you, demon, have!”

The fires covering Xaphan’s body flickered in anger and burned a little hotter, turning yellow rather than orange for just a second before returning to normal. With clenched teeth, he growled, “The Mists of Chaos are not sentient. By the Primal Devils’ wrinkled shitholes, I’d be willing to ascribe more sentience to the Universe Fragments than I would the Mists of fucking Chaos! But dressing up what they do in flowery language will only confuse Leon and prevent him from continuing to gain power!”

“The Mists of Chaos have a will of their own—” the Thunderbird began before Xaphan cut her off a second time.

“No, no they don’t. Not even close. They have no will, no guiding authority, no sentience, no sapience, no ability to think! The Mists of Chaos are just great clouds of power that float around in whatever place houses our soul realms! They separate us and yet serve to bind this space together. Like glue, actually. You wouldn’t consider ‘glue’ to be sentient, would you?”

“Glue doesn’t yearn to ignite an Origin Spark,” the Thunderbird drily stated.

“One also doesn’t fly through glue for who-knows-how-many millions of years! But if someone did do that, I suppose I could understand why they might feel like glue is more mysterious and mystical than it really is!”

With a growing scowl, the Thunderbird practically spat, “Then how about you enlighten us as to what you believe the Mists of Chaos are, rather than spending so much time on what they are not. And while you’re at it, perhaps you might also allow us a glimpse of the wisdom you possess by sharing how you’ve come by this information.”

Xaphan glared at the Thunderbird, his yellow-hot eyes burning with more than just fire as far as Leon could see. However, it was with an even and carefully measured tone that Xaphan answered.

“Seven Elemental Kings rule in the Nexus, one over each of the seven magical elements—that’s how it’s supposed to work, anyway. The strongest mage with a given element will rule that element. I’ve said it before but I’ll repeat it for those of us who might be just a little slower…” His eyes seemed trying to burn holes in the Thunderbird as he trailed off for a moment.

Xaphan continued, “You can think of this, ‘Khosrow’s Law’ as I believe it’s known, in this sense: power will lead to position. The strongest will—theoretically, anyway—become the ruler.

“At the edges of the universe, far past the planes of mankind, you’ll find the seven Elemental Planes, each one ruled by one of seven Demon Princes, who each have as their direct subordinates seven Demon Lords. I hope you’re keeping up with this enough to see some similarities here?”

“Yes,” Leon said before the Thunderbird could interject with any cutting remark. “You’ve told me before that demons can ‘raise’ up another of their kind to the rank of Lord, and no matter what power that demon had before, they’ll gain the power of a Lord.”

“Look at that,” Xaphan said in mocking wonder, “you were actually paying attention! I’m glad I didn’t bet on that, I would’ve lost!”

“I was paying attention,” Leon confirmed with a mix of smug satisfaction and mild annoyance. “I also remember you describing the Lordships as the opposite of the Elemental Kings. The Kings attain their titles through power, whereas the title of ‘Demon Lord’ or ‘Prince’ confers power, in effect attaining power through the title.”

“It doesn’t quite work that cleanly,” Xaphan said, “but you’re not wrong. The lowliest of demon, if given the rank of Lord by a Prince, will be immediately bestowed all the power of a Demon Lord, becoming one of the most powerful demons in existence.”

“How does this relate to the Mists of Chaos and your supposed expertise on the matter?” the Thunderbird demanded impatiently.

“I was getting to that,” Xaphan growled. Turning back to Leon, he said, “I explained this state of affairs before. Have you never wondered just how that power is conferred? How a Demon Lord gains that power when selected by a Prince?”

“Does it involve the Mists of Chaos?” Leon asked.

Xaphan nodded. “Naturally, a demon with sufficient power won’t need the boost, and most Lords are selected from already prominent and powerful demons. But sometimes, a Prince will want to spite those around them, or might find those demons of power and merit to be lacking in some way, and so will bestow the title of Lord upon someone undeserving.”

“I’m guessing that was how you were given power?” the Thunderbird sharply asked.

Xaphan paused a moment before saying, “Yes, though not much was needed given the power I already possessed. I won a contest of strength against many opponents.”

“One of whom was Amon, as I recall,” Leon said.

Xaphan paused again before nodding in confirmation. He didn’t verbally acknowledge Leon’s statement, though. “After I won the contest, I was brought to a massive enchantment array where my Prince and the other six Lords of Flame awaited me. Once there, I was placed in the center, and as soon as I was pronounced a Lord by my Prince, magic within me activated, which in turn activated the enchantment array. Power flooded into me, the Mists of Chaos flooded into me, and my entire being was refined and strengthened. When it was over, I was as true a Lord of Flame as any other.”

Leon quietly nodded, though his brow furrowed in thought. The Thunderbird, meanwhile, stared incredulously at Xaphan.

“Out in the physical world?” she said with skepticism practically dripping from her tone. “It’s impossible for the Mists of Chaos to exist anywhere outside of this space!”

“It isn’t,” Xaphan insisted. “I am proof.”

“That’s why you’ve been using the Mists of Chaos to heal yourself?” Leon asked as his eyes drifted back to Xaphan’s pavilion and the enchantment placed within.

“… Yes,” Xaphan hesitantly responded.

“Foolish, foolish thing to do,” the Thunderbird insisted.

“And yet, it works,” Xaphan, in turn, insisted. “You need only look at me to know that the Mists of Chaos work as I say they do.”

The Thunderbird clicked her tongue again, but Leon saw her staring quite curiously at Xaphan’s pavilion. He had a feeling she was going to be studying the thing at great length in the near future.

“That leaves me with a question, demon,” Leon said. “You said it was the title itself that conferred power, but it just sounds like you were pumped full of the Mists of Chaos and that gave you power. That doesn’t sound like the title did anything.”

“I won’t get into the specifics of the demonic body,” Xaphan replied, “but I will say that it won’t work without the title, either bestowed or… taken.” Xaphan’s aura fluttered for a moment as he averted his gaze, seemingly staring out at something impossibly distant before returning his attention to the conversation at hand.

“So you don’t have the title anymore?” Leon asked despite knowing the demon’s claims. To his surprise, Xaphan didn’t immediately jump to correct him or to affirm his status. Instead, Xaphan seemed to crumble in on himself a little bit.

“… No,” he eventually croaked. “My title… it is truly lost. By long-standing tradition, a Demon Lord must have been missing for more than one hundred thousand years before a Prince is free to bestow the title upon anyone else, but it hasn’t been that long since your Clan summoned and imprisoned me, and Amon has already taken my place. Apparently.” The demon’s eyes once again flashed in the Thunderbird’s direction, who had been the one to inform Xaphan of his change in status thanks to what one of Leon’s very distant kinsmen learned thousands of years ago.

“Is that why you’re taking so long to ‘heal’?” Leon asked. His tone became more pointed as he added, “Is it even really ‘healing’? Or have you already recovered all the power that you had before your bestowment?”

“I had achieved Apotheosis myself, you little shit,” Xaphan vehemently spat as his fires roared for a moment. He took a moment to control himself before continuing, though the vitriol returned a scant few seconds later. “This is taking a long time because I don’t have the damn title. There, I fucking said it! I am not a Lord of Flame! That title was fucking stolen from me by a demon who should be nothing more than ash swirling in the currents of the Elemental Plane of Fire! The Mists of Chaos should be working better than they are, but I DON’T HAVE THAT FUCKING TITLE!”

Xaphan’s eyes seemed to momentarily burn white-hot as the fires covering his body once again burned yellow, but once again, he went silent as he forced himself back under control.

“That… is how I know so much about the Mists of Chaos. That is why I know more than you do.”

Without another word, Xaphan returned to his pavilion before sitting down in the central pit and returning to his ‘healing’ trance, while thin streams of mist were drawn in by the enchantments in the pavilion and flowed directly into his body.

Leon and the Thunderbird sat in silence for a long moment before the Thunderbird quietly conceded, “Perhaps… perhaps he’s right. Perhaps I have been looking at this just a little too romantically.”

Leon sighed. “Just give it to me straight, then, and leave all else to the side. The Mists of Chaos are needed to condense an Origin Spark. That’s why I’m feeling… whatever it is I’m feeling?”

“Yes,” the Thunderbird said after a quick look sent Xaphan’s way. “Whatever the reason… the mist is drawn inward. It’s drawn toward magic power. And at the tenth-tier, you now have more than enough power for the Mists to start pressing in. If you start trying to condense an Origin Spark, you’d better prepare for the mist to start exerting quite a bit more pressure on your soul realm. It’ll try to push in, and you’ll have to let it in, but still try and control it. If you fail in that, your soul realm might shrink, large portions might be crushed and absorbed back into the mist, and your soul realm in its entirety might even collapse.”

Leon paled slightly. “I think… I won’t be trying to condense an Origin Spark right this second, then…”

“Yes, don’t do that. You certainly don’t have nearly enough magic in here to try. You’ll have to wait until you actually have enough magic in here to condense; otherwise, you’ll just be crushing your magic together for no reason.”

“Any idea how long I’ll have to wait?”

“Months. Not years. And then you can make your first attempt.”

“First, huh? Expecting more from your ‘genius’ descendant?” Leon gave her a cheeky smile; he wasn’t being serious.

“Oh, you’ll need multiple attempts, don’t think you won’t. If your head starts getting too swollen, I’ll be sure to deflate you, if need be.”

“Thanks for that,” Leon said as he stood up. “Is there anything else?”

“No. Go to your people. Revel in this, for you’ve earned it. Secure your position. Lay with your women and make children. Expand the Clan. Do your duty.”

Leon chuckled softly as he made his way back to his throne. He took one last look at the Thunderbird before he sat down, noticing that she now leaned against the armrest of the chair, her eyes turned to the distance, watching the Mists of Chaos far away.

And then he sat down and returned to the physical world, and the party that the entire island seemed to be throwing in his honor.

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