Monarch of Darkness, Arsene

I gazed at my palm, not as a clone of fire and Hell but as flesh and blood, and stared at the black blaze absorbing light.

The flames of Hellfire.

I had gotten this flame long ago. So long ago, the memory was both faint and seared into my mind. A soft breath of air left me, and my gaze shifted to Lilith within our tent, prepared by some of the disciples of the Holy Sword. I listened to the soft echoes of her sublimed breathing, calming my mind, and my eyes shifted back to the brimming flames within the shade.

Focus

I pushed the thought of her along with the pulse of my child's aura away. And I allowed the blessing of the Hells to slither through my veins, cooling my thoughts. I willed the flames to be the only thing in my mind, and my thoughts skimmed through everything I had ever done.

There had only been one constant thing that I had been doing throughout my entire life since I became attuned to Tenebrae.

The Tarnishing

All of my elemental abilities throughout my life: my fire, lightning, and even the illusions I formed were hidden under the veil of Night.

They were all tainted by my grasp of the laws of darkness. I never had to think, never had to try. It was a single fact that accrued, almost akin to breathing.

Everything I touched became tarnished, defiled, like how the Hells would corrupt a soul. In the Nines, it didn't matter what race someone was. Be they an Elf, Trent, Goblin, or even a fairy, any one of them could be a devil or Demon. To be touched or blessed by the Hells allowed variety. It provided each race the opportunity to be themselves while offering more.

The weakest of all creatures, a Goblin could still retain its heritage, or if it wanted to change, the Goblin could relinquish itself entirely to the Hells, and its very soul would be wiped away of what it once was; This was what it meant to be tarnished.

And was I not doing the same? Was I not doing what one of the great powers was doing? Maybe it was due to my adaptive body helping me out. I don't know, but I have been affecting various elements all my life. Even the flames of hellfire were affected, if only by a little. Were they not once white?

I opened my left hand, and a normal Shadow flame appeared over the base of my fingers, warming the tent—Black as the deepest night, the Shadow Flame coiled like a serpent licking my flesh.

Are those born from me, from my blood, not the same, possessing the ability to tarnish creation?

Within me, in my very blood, I possess the ability of my mother, Yuki Snow, to reject even the power of the hells, to separate it from me.

An accomplishment that could rival the art of peering into the Weave. With this forsaken ability, I could, in theory, dissect just about anything. So why not the Flames of Hellfire?

"Arsene?" Lilith suddenly called to me, opening her amethyst eyes cloudy with weariness. "Attunement," she told me, slipping back into unconsciousness.

Heart pounding like a hammer against the forge, my eyes glimmered at her hint. She was right. All of this bullshit that had been happening since I entered the abyss. Had it not made me more attuned with Lilith's actual body?

The Abyss.

My gaze lingered over the shadow flame before I closed my eyes and began to chant the Path of Abyssal Night.

To tarnish something as powerful as the Flames of Hellfire, something I had been told was but an imitation before, I needed something tangible. Something that could alter the state of being of the flames of Hellfire and make it real.

My mind flashed back to my first meeting with Zantar, of his mocking words of me not being a chosen of God, and a smile slipped over my lips. And my gaze turned towards Lilith.

"If I cannot be his chosen, why can't I be the Abyss's?"

Shutting back my eyes to the world of darkness, the Path of Abyssal Night rooted so deeply into my core hummed. Coursing through my veins, a sensation of harmony rippled over my flesh. And a particular set of eyes fell upon me once again. Chilling my insides, the path of Abyssal Night crept over my soul, warning me of something.

"Who?" I asked, peering through the tent to where I somehow just knew where Iliah lay. The coldness grew, and images coursed through my mind in a single moment. Visions of blood, screams, and torment whipped across my soul, paling my cheeks more so than the blessing of the Demon Mother.

A pain I had never felt before seemed to crackle like a whip against my flesh, peeling apart bits of my soul. A cry I could not stop left my lips as the pain coursed through my icy veins.

"Zariel…You didn't." I muttered, rising to my feet.

"So he calls to you." The voice of the Silver Devil said, his tone so icy that I could feel the torment in his voice, the brimming hate that seemed too dark that, in comparison, The Demon Mother's coldness was a loosed dream. "Ignore it and Ignore him. The Order will not assist him, and neither will you."

My expression fell to the pit of my stomach that churned in disgust. "You would—"

"We." Zariel corrected. " I did not do so by myself. All of the Orders helped while you lay dead. You will accept it and leave it alone. Damn the consequences! I will descend in person myself if you interfere." He barked, startling me where I stood. "You cannot even remember his name, so forget everything and move on. " Zariels voice grew soft." We all did. Focus on your child, on yourself."

Pain pinched my heart as I felt a bit confused. I couldn't remember his face or his name, but I could feel the trust and respect I held for this man.

My jaw clenched shut, and a sigh left me. "You went too far."

"Say that to the man that kills your child or wife," Zariel said, his words hollow, but they had cut deep with meaning.