You know what they say, life is full of uncertainties, one wrong step can collapse an entire empire built on tears, blood and sweat.
The same could be said for the white haired man. For as long as he could remember, he always wanted an easygoing life, filled with nothing but peaceful moments with his loved ones.
But fate was a cruel mistress, she didn't want seeing him happy. And would cause trouble at the first sign of seeing him... content.
For a long time he thought he was cursed. Of course he was wrong, his fate was far worse than he imagined.
He was loved by Death, but since 'she' couldn't claim him for herself, 'she' would instead destroy anything that made him happy.
He was now weary with time, despite having lived that long, at least compared to other immortal beings.
The man was overlooking the countless demolished buildings, the death and mayhem, he himself spread. His expression ever so cold and detached, yet if one looked closer they would see so much sorrow.
He had become what he always hated, a bully. He sighed, and looked behind him, towards his shadows—the Four Primordial Demons.
"Master, we wait for your command," said a demon, Vorthak. A tall, androgynous figure clad in a robe that seems to be made of unraveling starlight and black thread.
Their skin a pale gray, with shifting constellations underneath like living sky. They have no mouth, Their eyes are black holes, gently pulling at the light around them.
The white haired man nodded gently, pulling his gaze away from his first shadow, and directing it to his second—Xelara. A slender 'woman' with unnaturally long fingers and a cascade of ink-black hair that moves on its own.
'Her' eyes shift between hundreds of pupils and iris patterns, each blinking independently. Her clothes resemble a librarian's gown spun from spider silk and secrets—pages stitched into fabric. Her skin had ink veins moving beneath it.
"Xelara, I want you to whisper a lie—a betrayal. Send a message to Thalmen, tell 'him' the Undying Immortal can be killed by a dragon forged weapon. And all that's needed is the Ashes of a Phoenix, the Blood of a Cosmic God, the bones of a Primordial Titan and lastly a Soul Flame from the first Star."
"Yes, my lord," she bowed respectfully, before 'she' disappeared.
His lips curled into a mischievous smile, sending shivered down Vorthak, Dregmos and Iskhariel.
"Vorthak, I want you to erase the concept of truth."
"My liege, what about the Eternal Flamekeeper?"
His smile widened.
Vorthak immediately understood, that's all 'he' needed to know. In actuality 'he' already understood what his Master was doing. The Eternal Flamekeeper was his enemy, a counter to his domain, because of her Nature.
Aurelia The Eternal Flamekeeper, preserves all that is, was, and could be. She is the embodiment of memory as truth—etched into soul, story, and stone.
She opposes his domain—Erasure, he rewrites what has already been written so that it ceases it exist. But Aurelia can record and store the truth. So what would happen were 'he' to erase truth itself? That would be enough to give her a headache for a minute.
It was clear his master wanted to distract this powerful beings, so that he can do something that will affect them if they don't try to stop him.
Vorthak chuckled, as 'he' disappeared.
The white haired man was left with his two other shadows. He turned his back on them, and reached out for his right eye and plucking it out.
Dark blood pulled from his socket, as pain itched at the back of his mind, but he simply ignored it.
His eye floated from his palm, as he closed his left eye, and he began chanting in a foreign language—a tongue as old as the world itself.
*All seeing father of myth, the one who sees, knows and interferes in all. Show me my pasts, future and present, and be my guiding light to the truth of my fate..*
The world darkened as an eye, larger than life, pierced the world and stared down at him. He felt immense pleasure, he hadn't felt since his mortal days.
He had called upon Omniscient—The All-knowing Father. He who sees and controls the fates of all. Nothing can escape his eyes.
"How bold of you child, to call upon a being such as myself. Do you truly comprehend the price you must pay for knowing what is, what was and what will be?"
"I apologize for my impudence All-knowing Father. But I must know my fate, and if it means offending you or sacrificing myself, frankly I do not give a fuck. Show me what I want."
Dregmos and Iskhariel broke in cold sweat, hearing their master speaking to an Ancient One with such unscrupulous tone. Even for them, Ancient Ones aren't to be trifled with.
They waited in bated breath for the Ancient One to try and smite them where they all stood. But the Ancient One merely grunted.
"If that is your wish, I'll gift your my Eye Of Truth, it will accompany you from your beginning, hiding, awaiting your rebirth, it will accompany you now. And it will accompany you at your end."
"And the price?" The white haired man asked.
"It will be paid by your beginning," the Ancient One said, before disappearing.
The eye he had plucked out returned to his socket, different. And the moment it connected with his nerves, searing pain even he couldn't endure crushed into him, like a tidal wave that couldn't be stopped.
Dregmos and Iskhariel knew how prideful their master is, so they didn't dare soothe his pain and merely observed.
The white haired man, began 'seeing' everything. Every Branch of parallel timelines was in his view, the what ifs of every moment even before his birth.
What he saw couldn't hope to come close to what the All-knowing father sees, yet it was too much for his mind to comprehend everything.
The man focused on what could change his fate, ignoring both his failures and victories. He needed a pawn to change all 'their' fates. He needed himself, but untouched by Death and amidst the billions of timelines, he found a single one.
He was yet to rebirth into a veiled monster, but he headed for the same race as he was—a Vampire.
'Hehe the All-knowing father foresaw even this, huh? It's why he gifted him—me the eye. He gave my beginning the Eye of Truth, that means I can communicate with him, no, his me, he won't listen. Then, I'll show him all my failures in all the timelines, then he would've no choice but to choose wisely.'
This is how it began—ended, a beginning with no end and an end with vague beginnings.
The unanswered questions.
What was?
What is?
And what will be?
Who is this white haired man?
What are his failures?
Why does Death long for him?
What is his beginning?
What is his end?
And what will become of him once his born again, as himself while not himself. A version of him, a better him, another him, a... happier him?