It watched as Ojero slept, standing next to his bedside.
Orpham was in a sleep that he would not awake from until he was released.
Deciding it was time to intervene, a kaleidoscope of colors appeared around Ojero, and a form slowly took shape.
Vaguely humanoid, it seemed to be tall and short, large and thin, human and not. Wings grew from its back and turned to dust, horns stuck out of its forehead before vanishing, and claws extended and retracted thousands of times in rapid succession.
It owed no fealty to the understandings of mankind.
It was a chosen of Chaos, after all.
Choosing a form to assume, the it became a he.
Asmodeus was born once more.
He looked down on the sleeping form, his head bending in an unnatural length.
His thoughts were unclear, forged together in a cacophony of trillions of possibilities.
Knowledge that could cause countries to fall and men to rise went through his mind without any focus or clear distinction, all of it being many parts of one whole.
One thought rose to the top, the most important one of the age.
The Archons.
He had already chosen twelve, the number of order and stability.
Just recently he had witnessed one of them fall further into the dark, an unneeded complication.
Corax was supposed to represent balance for the twelve, a figure to enforce the others.
Asmodeus should have known there would be no enforcer if the scales were balanced. Order was too strong. When there existed an even split, there would be no one to enforce growth.
Every action would be met with an equal reaction, and nothing could progress.
Every vote needed a tiebreaker.
The boy resting below him was to be his emissary of Chaos, the tiebreaker that his plans required.
Someone to make sure the others could not stagnate, split along equal lines.
His attention was drawn to a stone tablet on the bedside table, and the possibilities imbued within jumped out at him.
Reaching out, a single finger brushed the object.
Instantly, it burst into a thousand colors, causing the room to glow like the sun, before vanishing in a tide of black and purple.
It had been changed and refitted to fit the goals of Asmodeus.
Although his form did not allow him to smile, the emotion was there.
Turning back to his main prize, he slowly lowered his head to stare into the eyelids of his unwilling choice.
His mind willed itself to silence, and his mana roared.
With an amount of effort that did not seem possible for a creature such as himself, he spoke a sentence that held enough power to stir the gods in their slumber.
"Ojero Guestino, see the Fate laid within. Recognize my Ambitions, and come to me. Become my Archon."
Having completed his goal, Asmodeus staggered back, his form losing substance.
His powers were drained, and he could feel his aura radiate out, bringing far too much attention to his location.
That would not end well.
Grunting with the effort, his form bent through space and appeared North of the estate, just outside the walls of the city of Riverlane.
With a thought, his aura exploded again, bringing the focus to a different region.
Sensing the beings that responded, Asmodeus laughed into the night sky.
***
Ojero appeared to sleep peacefully, but the reality could not be further from the truth.
In his dreams, he found himself dragging his broken body down a jagged tunnel of stone, his legs bleeding profusely. His head was pounding and his ribs were broken, but he unerringly pushed onwards, the promise of limitless strength not far off.
In a flash, he found himself thrusting a thin blade into the chest of something that seemed to be a dark replica of himself. Blood dribbled down the reflection's lips before it died.
He didn't know why but he felt a power that could destroy kingdoms rest in the dying creature's body.
The dream vanished but returned quickly.
He found himself wreathed in lightning, the energy bursting off of his form. An axe fell in front of him, and he found himself reaching forward to press his palm against it.
Instead of lightning, ice coated the steel, causing the weapon to shatter.
Turning around, he felt himself explode with fire, enveloping the nearby area.
His vision faded, and when it returned he was looking at a large expanse of jungle, a leather bag slung over his back. Mountains rose in the far distance, piercing the clouds. Snow covered their tops, and he felt himself steel his resolve.
As he took the first step forward, his vision faded again.
He returned as he was dancing in a glade, his moves fast and precise, but would rapidly change to wild and savage. His moves held no single motive, constantly changing and shifting to suit whatever needs he had.
His eyes glowed a deep black, and space seemed to distort itself around him, allowing him to reach areas that he should not have been able to. A spin would leave him on a different side of the glade before he would appear in the air and fall to the ground in a dive.
His dancing turned more fierce, and suddenly he was maneuvering between multiple figures garbed in cloaks.
They swung metal blades toward his body, but dark and twisted roots would spring up and wrap around their bodies, causing them to scream in pain.
Ojero reached out and lightly touched one of them, and his moves changed. He suddenly became more fluid with his moves, and dark blades appeared in his hands as he easily parried their attacks.
Before long, their bodies fell to the ground, blood dripping from their wounds.
At some point, a dark robe with a black and purple phoenix stitched into it had wrapped around Ojero's figure.
It looked almost identical in shape to the ones the dying warriors wore but seemed wrong. Twisted. Corrupted to match his powers.
He felt anger before his sight turned blurry.
It did not take long for another dream to appear.
This time, the vision felt more firm.
A knight covered in white and gold plate armor swung a longsword that glowed brightly toward himself, and he felt rage inside him explode.
Two black blades met the white longsword and destiny itself felt like it shattered in the engagement.
He pushed the offensive on the radiant warrior, his attacks blindingly quick. His swords swept right and were parried, only to lead him to spin and slash his blades out, sending tangible blades of darkness sweeping toward his enemy.
The knight raised his own sword in an arc, sending a similar white wave out to collide in the air.
The field between them exploded in a mix of black and white, light and dark, order and chaos.
When the light cleared, he was somewhere else, stumbling towards a distant cave, a large wound carved into his side. His body was failing him, and he felt himself collapse just outside the entrance, the thought of betrayal echoing in his mind.
When his sight returned, he was in an underground chamber, sitting at a table lined with strange men.
At its head sat a king with a crown full of rare gemstones, and peculiar horns sprouting from his head.
He smiled with a mouth full of serrated teeth, and Ojero somehow returned the smile, black teeth as sharp as knives appearing in his mouth.
The next scene had him talking to twelve other men and women, each of them feeling more powerful and deadly than the last, and all of them seemed strangely focused on him.
Their gazes varied from hostility to friendliness, but Ojero did not know how much of it was genuine.
The dream seemed to shake and shatter, leaving Ojero standing in a field of the dead and dying.
Fires raged in the distance, covering what seemed to have once been a forest.
Large banners of a purple and black phoenix dotted the landscape, rising high into the night sky.
Ojero felt pride when he saw them for some inexplicable reason. He felt they gave him purpose, a well-deserved meaning.
Their tortured bodies crawled towards him, their eyes lifeless and lost.
They reached out at him with their bleeding hands, a single phrase echoing in their souls.
"Use my power as your own, Outcast!"
With those words in his head, the dreams all faded, leaving him kneeling in pain on a ground that both existed and did not.
Finally looking up, he saw himself standing above him wearing purple and black, with a phoenix that seemed to be an embodiment of destruction itself spreading its wings in the distance.
A black longsword was thrust into the ground between himself and his clone, a shattered gemstone adorning the cursed blade's pommel.
His replica had tears streaming down his face, but only hard resolve shone in his eyes.
With a power that seemed to shake the continents, his reflection opened its mouth and spoke.
"My name is The Outcast, Archon of Chaos."