Lucivar, with his usual ambling, almost predatory grace, strolled toward the other couch beside his brother's.
Each step was unhurried yet deliberate, as if the floor itself bowed to receive his tread. As he moved, clothing began to materialize over his bare form… not sewn, but conjured, as though spun from invisible threads of nanoscopic magic.
Fabric shimmered into existence in layers, wrapping his body in a sharp, devilish ensemble, the very act of dressing so fluid and instantaneous it startled Elivar, who watched like a fascinated spectator at a forbidden ritual.
By the time Lucivar sank into the seat, he was already fully arrayed. First came a hifu; a black under-robe traditionally worn beneath a kimono, here rendered in a deep, abyssal shade of onyx, soft as dusk, flowing to his ankles with a sheen like wet obsidian.
Over this manifested a crimson kimono of regal cut: its silk heavy and lustrous, patterned faintly with serpents whose scales glimmered dark gold in the firelight. The wide sleeves fell like banners, the inner lining a deeper scarlet, as though the garment itself had been dipped in blood at its hem.
"So, brother…" Lucivar murmured, turning toward him just as a glass of red liquor appeared in his hand. The goblet was a slim, high-stemmed tulip of black crystal, its surface etched with swirling sigils that caught and fractured the firelight.
Inside, the liquor swirled thick and slow, an imperial vermillion, darker than wine, the color of garnets dissolved in flame. Even the scent seemed to rise like a whisper of some forbidden orchard.
"Cheers," he added, raising the glass toward Elivar.
Elivar had been about to scoff that he had no drink, when he glanced down and realized, to his surprise, that his own hand now held a matching goblet; identical black crystal, identical crimson liquor, the same sigils glowing faintly like embers. He gave a tiny shrug, half in mockery, and lifted his glass to Lucivar's.
Clink.
Lucivar leaned back against the couch's deep, velvety embrace, crossing one long leg over the other. The seat sighed beneath him, its upholstery so soft it might have been woven from night-clouds. He sipped from his glass with languid ease.
"Let's talk, indeed."
"Mmm," Elivar mumbled, the sound caught between annoyance and amusement.
"I also want a cigare… "
He didn't finish. A thick brown cigarette, already lit, appeared between his lips, sliding into place as neatly as a conjured joke. Smoke curled upward in a mischievous spiral. For a heartbeat Elivar blinked at it, cross-eyed, before puffing out a laugh.
The effect was absurd enough that even Lucivar's lip twitched.
Elivar exhaled slowly, his nerves tightening like bowstrings. He needed calm before his next words could strike true. He drew on the cigarette, the ember glowing like a tiny eye, then sipped his liquor in a strangely delicate way, as though tasting a potion.
"So this is your way of apologizing for pissing me off?" he asked at last, letting out a dense coil of smoke that wavered and curled before dispersing.
Lucivar fixed him with a look that said plainly: 'Are you serious right now?'
"Hell, no," he replied, the words rolling out slowly, tasting of iron. "Father pampered you enough. I'm not here to add to that."
Elivar's gaze darkened. If his eyes had been mini-guns, Lucivar would have been riddled with holes.
"You know, I planned on having mercy…" Elivar began, shaking his head as he drew again on his cigarette. "But the way I'm angry now, I doubt I'll ever do that." He released the smoke, its blue mist flowing across the room like a spectral tide before dissolving.
"Mercy… on who?" Lucivar asked, lowering his glass mid-sip. The question thudded into the silence like a dropped stone.
Elivar didn't answer directly. He took a long swallow of liquor, licked his lips, and smacked them once, twice, like a drumbeat. "I've studied him—a little, just a little, but it seems I already know a lot about him."
Lucivar grew tired of the dance, of the way he beat about the bush.
"C'mon, brother, dive into the bush already," he said aloud, voicing his thoughts.
Elivar drew again from his cigar. This time the smoke spread outward like a slow explosion of clouds, and then, like a high-definition screen, it sharpened, rippling into a vivid image. The firelight flickered against it, making it seem almost real. The mist itself became a theatre.
Inside the smoke sat Dax in a grand hall, a silver table stretching before him heavy with food, Darling seated beside him, the two of them enjoying the feast. Servants flitted like shadows in the blurred periphery.
"You know," Elivar began as the image fragmented and drifted away,
"he's a smart kid. A nerd. And… wait… oh yes, a pathetic weirdo." His tone was calm, almost playful.
Lucivar sipped from his glass, feigning disinterest.
"So we're stalking our incarnates now, huh?" His eyes stayed on the fireplace.
"Oh, brother, I'm not a stalker of guys. What do you take me for… a gay?"
"There you go. Precisely, yes," Lucivar answered dryly.
Elivar laughed, and with his laughter came another coil of smoke, which blossomed into yet another image. In this one, Darling was saying,
"Quit behaving like these Beyonder-shitty people and act like a pure guy," just before Dax rose and left with Naya.
Lucivar shook his head.
"So this is what you do with your free time?"
Elivar ignored him outwardly, though the reply pricked at his temper. Today, however, he played the devil. "Oh yes, brother," he murmured, sipping his liquor.
"This lame incarnate of yours… what's his name again? Oh, Daxxy. He's an interesting person." He glanced at Lucivar to gauge his reaction before continuing.
"Blimey, he's got a thing with people, with ladies. Darling wasn't even talking to him and he gets all pissed because she called the Beyonders 'shitty.' Poor boy have already started to trust her, then he realizes she's not what he thought she was. And off he goes."
Lucivar raised an eyebrow.
"Where's this silly theory of yours leading?" he asked, already bored of the ramble.
Elivar waved his hand. The smoke shifted again, another picture replacing the last.
"There," he said, pointing.
Lucivar sat up, the calm draining from his demeanor as he saw the image.
"What is this?" For the first time his voice cracked with anger in Elivar's presence.
Elivar only chuckled and zoomed the image closer. There lay Dax on his bed. To an onlooker he might appear to be sleeping off a feast, after too much food. but Lucivar knew better.
Around Dax's eyes crawled the Nightmare Bloom Mark… thick, red, jammed veins radiating outward like sinister roots, pulsing faintly as if alive.
"You see, brother," Elivar continued, "Like I said already, I would have had mercy. But now?" He spread his hands.
"Now the anger in me is too much."
Lucivar sprang from his chair, his voice thickening into its true devil form.
"You're telling me this… this thing you've already done… is tied to the anger you're feeling now? You're a bad liar for a 'good' god."
Elivar rose too, drinking in his brother's fury with contempt.
"Yeah, maybe I'm lying. Maybe not. I don't care. I said I planned to show him mercy. Not until you pissed me off. Now mercy time is over."
He sipped from his cigar and stepped close, exhaling smoke directly into Lucivar's face.
"I made that nightmare myself. Trust me, "I made that nightmare myself. If he fails the test, the trauma he'll feel after he wakes will delay his ranking up. And there I win."
Lucivar's teeth ground together. The urge to strike his brother burned through him.
"We had a pact, brother. This was never part of it!"
'HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA'
Elivar's laugh rose, high and grating, suddenly stripped of its godly veneer and dripping with something darker.
"Pact or no pact, all I care about is proving I'm better than you… better than your swagger, your aura, your power, all of it."
He began to circle Lucivar with slow, slithering steps, wine and cigar still in hand.
"Brother, whoever eats with the devil… no matter how delicious the food is … should arm himself with a long golden spoon." He spread his arms in a dramatic flourish, then tapped his chest with the drink.
"Here is me, eating with a very long golden spoon. Because I know you, brother." He pointed at him after completing the circling walk.
"Oh, I know you always have a trick up your sleeve. Did you think me dumb? Oh no. When you proposed that pact I knew you had a brilliant plan, so yes, I had to up my games as well."
Lucivar stood rigid, jaw clenched, and fury etched into every line of his face. He wondered how his brother's anger had fermented into such hatred.
"Whatever nightmare you put him in, brother, he will pass. You know why?" he asked.
"Why?" Elivar retorted with a smirk and a shrug.
Lucivar forced a smile.
"Because he is Dax. And he is my incarnate."
Elivar's laughter cracked the air, startling Lucivar as the fake smile vanished faster than light.
"Look at you, brother… oh, how courageous." He resumed circling, his aura growing colder with every step.
"He is no longer Dax. As you see in that image, I shed his soul from his body. All I needed was Darling to tip his drink with the perfect poison."
"No, no, no…" Lucivar's voice shook with fury.
"You pathetic, pampered god. You're playing dirty. You've gone too far."
"Have I?" Elivar replied without a shred of regret.
"This 'pampered god,' as you call it, prefers the term smart. And oh, brother, you can't even access his nightmare. I made sure of that."
Lucivar wasn't frightened for himself. What scared him was that he didn't know the tone, the opacity, the level of the nightmare his brother had forged. Dax was still new to everything. He doubted the boy could cope. And since he couldn't reach him inside that nightmare, his helplessness fed his rage.
"I shed his soul from his body," Elivar went on. "And I believe you know what that implies."
Lucivar's expression confirmed he knew all too well. "Yes," he whispered.
"Don't worry, brother. I'll make sure he's well broken, and that his soul doesn't go to the Parallax after he dies in there."
With that, Elivar stepped back thrice and drained the last of his drink.
"He has until dawn to pass my test." He smirked.
"How do they say it again? Oh… cheerio." And with a wave, he vanished, the little trail of smoke from his cigar lingering like a ghost in the room.
Lucivar hurled the rest of his drink into the fireplace. The liquid hissed into the flames, which roared up in an exploding boom for a single, furious moment.
"FUCK!"