"...And there met Him two demon possessed men coming out of the tombs, exceedingly fierce, so that no one could pass that way." -John 3:16

[Alexandria, Egypt]

[Current Day]

Somewhere within the historical city, in the pitch black dark, multiple sources of disturbingly muffled sobbing, crying, and screaming people can be heard, along with rattling chains.

Rats scurry along the stone floor the moment a heavy metal door creaks open, and it allows just a small amount of light inside to reveal the true scene of the horrific medieval torture room.

In the dungeon like setting, there are almost one hundred unfortunate individuals, their bodies are coveredin all white cloth, their bodies are bound with ropes, and all of them are hanging upside-down from their ankles by chains.

More than 75% of the unfortunate, struggling, disoriented captives are writhing.

There frantic movements are causing them to twist and swing from their metal tether connected to the ceiling.

The other 25% of the cloth covered individuals, they aren’t moving at all.

A few are barely swaying from being nudged by someone else freaking out next to them.

Almost each of the silent and unmoving victims, as well as a few still moving, have wet stains over where there eyes should be and vomit stains over the covering to their mouths.

A couple of the desperates also have red blood indicating they’ve bitten their tongue off to avoid the torture.

As the door completely opens,there are two individuals who slowly enter.

They leave the heavy door open while they walk inside the disturbing room.

One of the pair is L’Orient DæMon, wearing her black cloak with red and blue dwarf weeping willow trees patterns. The hood over her head.

Sticking out of the cloak’s hood, like MamMon and some the other DæMons, is a golden blonde cowlick from her bangs. Her half golden pigtails and half straight black hairstyle is tucked inside and hidden.

Entering close behind her, the other woman is a very long legged French girl with sandy blonde hair, a dyed streak of black on the right side of her head, and she has two pink eyes, no symbiote.

This new woman has a slashing scar from a previous injury starting above her upper lip underneath her left nostril, going all the way across both of her lips, finishing at to the right corner of her chin.

When she talks, he has a more of a baritone female’s voice.

However, despite her height, and grown physique, with the unique combination of that lower rugged tone, she also strangely uses the lexicon of a teenager from high school.

Woman’s Voice: "Like, OMG!

I totally can not even.

Are you sure this is even necessary, General L’Orient DæMon?

Like, this seems like, ummm idk, a little excessiiive, dontchya think?"

Once the woman’s shouts begin to echo within the stone walls, all of the still alive and even a few of the unmoving tortured, begin to go crazy.

Muffled screaming and crying, almost as if they were all begging and pleading to be released from their unrelenting Hell.

L’Orient DæMon: "Damn it, Jean!

I told you to stay quiet or you would ruin the process!

Hopefully you didn’t spoil the one I’ve been keeping an eye out for."

Jean: "Oop!

Shit.

I am like, totally sorry, General L’Orient DæMon.

God, I am soo bad at that, like, it won’t happen again."

As they make their way through the torture room, the face hidden DæMon explains her methods.

L’Orient DæMon: "You see Jean, unlike the ’floating hulks’ methods of old, I assure you, my ways to convert these holdouts is legit and besides, there is more than one reason to this."

Jean: "Ouuuu.

Dish. Dish. Dishhhhh.

Well?

Spill the tea, gurl!"

L’Orient DæMon: "Since I’ve already told you about my sisters and I, you know about my mothers.

As well as you now knowing you are a 2nd Generation DæMon, there once was an attempt to create another clan of unnaturally born life, meant to eradicate my sisters and I."

As they get to the back of the torture chamber, the spot where the light from outside the room still can’t reach, there is one single hanging individual.

Unlike all the others, his cloth surrounding his face is clean and his demeanor is calm despite the situation.

L’Orient DæMon: "After Skalmönd had successfully shot off her finale SeiõrSpell, one of it’s effects made it so none of us Dæmons could use our Nye-omnipotency to hunt down any of the remaining Völva clan.

But those dumb bitches couldn’t just take the L and concede to defeat."

From her small, child sized cloak, a hand covered in a misty purple aura pokes out from the sleeve, and the chains from the surprisingly calm prisoner get cut and it falls. The strong French woman leaps and catches the falling person, with a front flip afterwards before both her feet land perfectly on the ground.

All this done virtually in the dark.

With the catch in her arms, Jean puts the individual on the floor and steps back.

L’Orient DæMon: "Instead of just living in hiding for the rest of their weak lives, and using their magic for their own wanted existence, those hags tried again.

A few of those dumb bitches impregnated each other and created another clan that was all female, except..."

Jean: "...’Except’?"

The DæMon’s hood looks up at the pink eyes to her 2nd Generation partner and a giggle escapes. While the disturbing scene above theme continues.

L’Orient DæMon: "Except this time they allowed those females to go out and find love of their own.

Unknowingly to those new women, they too could only give life to females, even with the appropriate partnership to do so.

However this time, so rarely a male was born from the women of the secret clan."

Jean: "A guy?"

She looks down at the silent and motionless covered person at her feet.

L’Orient DæMon (nods): "Yes.

It seems my little sister MamMon has already found two males of this certain clan of her own, like the greedy brat she is, and she’s trying to utilize their capabilities without telling them."

Jean: "But like, tell me not, if they were born from a mom and dad like me, how are 2nd Generations and this other clan are like, different?"

L’Orient: "I cannot say for one hundred percent certainty but it seems unlike you 2nd Generations, these men are never immediately accepted by Seiõr, and must learn it the way others do to become accepted by our universal energy.

But when they finally gain control of that power..."

With the same misty purple Seiõr hand she used to cut the metal chains to free her hostage, L’Orient swipes at the air once and a small cut appears in the prisoner’s cover, over where their eye should be.

The two of them both lean over and from the covering an angry red eye is seen from the slit.

L’Orient DæMon: "These bad boys can cause some serious freaking damage."

[Mount Decima Military Residential District, Nephilim’s Home]

While tossing and turning in his bed, the General of all Erinyes territory is also sweating while having a nightmare about his separation from his beloved mother. The scene continues to play in his dreams even to this day.

After the fleeing mother and son pass by a group of the development’s damaged or abandoned low income residences, in the middle of the projects, the women pulling her boy along stops, hurrying towards the door to one of the shared homes.

Nephilim’s mother rings the doorbell twice and she doesn’t stop knocking until someone cracks the door open without showing their face. Before any voice comes from the other side of the door...

MaMa Nephilim: "I’m begging you, Azazel, there’s no time for me to explain!

Please, let my son in and hide him!

I’ll take the blame for his crime!"

In the background behind her, the headlights of multiple cars can be seen entering the lower class housing development.

MaMa Nephilim looks back in fear and then tries one last time to plead her case to the mysterious individual she trusts to look after Nephilim.

MaMa Nephilim: "Please Azazel, you’re the only other N-"

Before she can get her desperate request out, the chain lock from the inside is heard sliding free. Reaching out is a muscular arm, with a highly detailed tattoo of a Kraken destroying a ship.

The mother gives over her only son’s wrist, which makes the young boy’s expression quickly and finally change.

Y. Nephilim: "Mama, what-?"

Unable to finish express the curiosity to his mother’s actions, she runs away from him.

She is uncontrollably crying while out of breath from running

Her breathing getting further and further away from the teary red eyed young boy, with a real gun in his hand.

Finally processing the situation before the 10 year old boy can shout out for his mother, he is yanked out of sight and into the entrusted stranger’s home.

An alarm goes off, Nephilim’s left red eye opens and he slowly sits up, stretching himself out before stepping out of bed.