The Reign Of Eternal Madness

4. Reverence

The air grew heavy, thick with an unspoken tension, as Damon's voice sliced through the silence like a blade. "You sense my presence, my sanity, and yet you dare not show yourself to me?" His words reverberated through the ancient forest, each syllable carrying the weight of centuries of unspoken pain. The trees seemed to shudder in response, their leaves rustling as a sudden, violent gust of wind tore through the clearing. Damon's hair whipped wildly around his face, his golden eyes blazing with a tempest of emotions—rage, sorrow, and a flicker of something softer, something almost like longing.

"My soul is angered by such disrespect!" His voice boomed, raw and thunderous, each word dripping with venom. The forest seemed to hold its breath, the very earth trembling beneath his feet. And then, as if summoned by his wrath, a small figure materialized before him. A little girl with hair as white as freshly fallen snow and eyes like crimson pools knelt in a deep bow, her trembling form radiating fear. Her presence carried an ancient, otherworldly essence, yet her demeanor was one of utter submission.

"My lord, I am deeply sorry!" she whispered, her voice barely audible over the howling wind. Her small hands clutched at the hem of her tattered dress, her head bowed so low that her forehead nearly touched the ground. She dared not look up, for she could feel the weight of Damon's glare pressing down on her like a mountain.

Damon's expression softened for a fleeting moment, but the disappointment in his eyes was unmistakable. He stepped closer, his movements deliberate, and reached out to touch her face. His fingers brushed against her cheek, gentle yet firm, as if trying to reconcile the anger in his heart with the affection he still held for her. "From the moment I was reborn, you haven't shown your face to me," he said, his voice quieter now, laced with a sadness that cut deeper than any rage.

The little girl flinched at his touch, her red eyes widening with guilt. "My lord, I—" she began, but Damon interrupted her, his tone softening further.

"My dear willow tree of imagination... I have missed you." His words were tender, almost a whisper, and they carried a weight that made her heart ache. He reached down and gently helped her to her feet, his hands steadying her as she rose. She stared at him, confusion flickering across her delicate features. This was not the master she remembered—the one whose wrath could shake the heavens. This Damon was different, his touch gentle, his eyes filled with a quiet sorrow.

"Master," she began, her voice trembling, "after your death, I used my entire essence to protect your soul. It left me weakened... I couldn't bear to face you in such a state." Her words were laced with shame, her gaze dropping to the ground. She had spent centuries guarding his soul, sacrificing everything for him, and yet she felt unworthy to stand before him now.

Damon's expression remained calm, but the sadness in his eyes deepened. He reached out and tilted her chin up, forcing her to meet his gaze. "You've done more than enough for me," he said, his voice steady but filled with gratitude. "You truly deserve to be honored."

The little girl's eyes widened in surprise as Damon bit into his finger, drawing blood. The crimson liquid glistened in the dim light as he raised his hand, his voice resonating with a power that seemed to shake the very fabric of the universe. "Rejoice! Today, you shall be bestowed with a name." The air around them seemed to hum with energy, the stars above flickering as if responding to his words.

"You shall be called Vivi, the willow goddess of nature," Damon declared, his voice carrying the weight of a divine decree. He placed his bleeding hand on her head, and in that instant, a surge of energy coursed through her. Her body began to glow, a radiant light that illuminated the forest and sent ripples through the air. The transformation was overwhelming, her very essence being reshaped and elevated to something beyond her wildest dreams.

As the light intensified, Damon's golden eyes flickered with a mix of pride and exhaustion. He could feel his sanity slipping, the fragile hold he had on his mind beginning to fray. But he pushed the thought aside, focusing on the task at hand. Vivi's eyes were locked on him, filled with awe and adoration. His flawless features, his hair dancing in the wind, his enchanting gaze—it all made her heart race in a way she had never experienced before.

But just as the transformation reached its peak, Damon's senses sharpened. He could feel a presence approaching, swift and powerful. His time was running out. With a swift, practiced motion, he waved his hand, and Vivi's glowing form dissolved into a stream of light. She flowed into his chest, merging with his very being, her essence now a part of him.

The forest fell silent once more, the light fading as quickly as it had appeared. Damon stood alone, his golden eyes scanning the horizon. He could feel the weight of Vivi's presence within him, a comforting warmth that steadied his fraying mind. But he knew he couldn't stay. The approaching presence was drawing nearer, and he wasn't ready to face it—not yet.

---

Meanwhile, high above the forest, Gerald soared through the skies, his heart pounding with a mixture of fear and urgency. The sudden burst of light had startled him, and for a moment, he feared the worst—that enemies had attacked on what was supposed to be a day of celebration, the day his daughter Emily was born. His mind raced with possibilities, each one darker than the last.

He burst forward with renewed speed, his energy radiating outward as he searched for the source of the light. But all he could sense was a familiar aura, one that belonged to his son, Damon. Relief and confusion warred within him as he swiftly descended to the forest below.

When Gerald arrived, the scene before him was both unsettling and perplexing. Damon stood alone, his body covered in blood, his golden eyes calm but distant. The ground around him was littered with the half-eaten remains of wild beasts, their flesh torn and scattered. A pang of worry shot through Gerald's heart as he approached his son, his footsteps cautious but deliberate.

"Are you okay? I hope you're not hurt," Gerald said, his voice filled with concern. He reached out, his hand hovering just above Damon's shoulder, but Damon didn't respond. Instead, he burst into a mad, haunting laughter that sent a chill down Gerald's spine.

"I wore his mask, a masquerade's guise,

A son who blessed, yet paid the price.

Through smoke and shadow, I found my way,

To heal the wounds of yesterday."

Damon's voice was eerie, his words cryptic and laden with meaning. He spoke in riddles, his gaze distant, as if he were seeing something far beyond the forest, far beyond Gerald. Ignoring his father, Damon began to walk away, his steps slow but deliberate.

Gerald reached out to grab his son's arm, but his hand passed through as if Damon were nothing more than a ghost. A cold dread settled in Gerald's chest as he watched Damon blend into the shadows, his form dissolving into the darkness of the forest.

For a moment, Gerald stood frozen, his heart heavy with a mixture of fear, confusion, and sorrow. He had always known Damon was different, but this—this was something beyond his understanding. As the forest grew silent once more, Gerald could only watch as his son disappeared into the shadows, leaving behind a trail of unanswered questions and a father's unspoken grief.