The Cruel Horizon

Reemerging into the night, Beelzebub's form solidifies as the mist coils around him, reshaping into his body. He's still in the tattered hospital gown, his bare feet brushing against the cold earth beneath him. He takes a deep breath, filling his lungs with the cool night air, savoring the shift. "Ah, the sweet scent of the free world," he muses, the smirk on his face growing wider as he stretches out his arms.

His eyes sweep the surroundings, momentarily surprised by what he sees. The facility, it turns out, is much closer to the wall than he had anticipated. The towering structure looms overhead, casting a shadow over the landscape, its vastness more imposing now that he's standing outside it. He raises an eyebrow and steps toward it with a casual stroll.

As Beelzebub approaches, he places his hand on the wall, feeling its warmth against his skin. For a moment, nothing happens, but then the unknown material pulses under his touch, a subtle vibration that shivers up his arm. He leans in, his fingers splayed against the surface, feeling the rhythm of it. "Well, well. This is interesting," a low chuckle escaping his lips. "A masterpiece of design, sure... but not without its flaws." He taps his fingers against the stone.

He steps back slightly, surveying the wall from a distance. "Such grandeur, isn't it?" he says. "A thing meant to protect, or perhaps to cage." He looks up at the towering structure, the dimming moonlight glinting off its surface. "But even the best of designs have their imperfections." He speaks with a kind of fondness, his fingers brushing lightly along wall. "The races were meticulous in its creation, but they make their mistakes."

A breeze stirs around him, tugging at his tattered gown, and Beelzebub glances up toward the sky. The stars twinkle above, vast and distant. He stands there for a moment, taking it all in. But the sight doesn't daunt him. "Appearances can be deceiving," he remarks, his voice quiet. "This thing," he gestures to the wall, "seems formidable, but with the right approach..." He trails off, his gaze narrowing as he studies the structure more carefully.

He focuses, gathering the power within him. The essence inside his body swirls as he begins to hum with energy. He places his hand on his chest, feeling the raw power surging through his veins. Slowly, he raises his glowing palm toward the wall, the faint white light growing in intensity. "All it takes," he says, a playful smirk tugging at his lips, "is channeling one's ki into the right part of the body."

Beelzebub holds up his glowing hand, the light now pulsing with energy. "Then, strike with all your might," he adds, his voice full of mock solemnity, "and you shall pass through."

He takes a step back, his bare feet scraping the earth beneath him. The energy inside him surges, his body coiling like a spring. Without warning, he crouches low, his muscles flexing. The ground beneath his feet trembles slightly as if the earth itself is reacting to his buildup. A grin spreads across his face.

"Here we go," he murmurs, just as the air around him shifts. The wind picks up, his hair whipping around his face as the energy in his body reaches a crescendo. With a sudden burst of force, he propels himself upward, his body a blur of motion, moving at near-subsonic speed. The ground where he stood cracks beneath the sheer power of his leap, debris scattering in all directions.

He rockets upward, parallel to the wall. The structure, ancient and unyielding, looms above him as Beelzebub races toward it. He positions himself effortlessly, his feet connecting with the cold surface of the wall. His steps are fluid, each one a powerful burst of energy, pushing him higher with each stride. The wind howls around him, his gown and hair trailing behind him like a storm, his body moving with terrifying precision.

He's not just running—he's gliding, as if the laws of physics don't apply to him. His eyes lock on the sky above, the stars twinkling down. The energy inside him intensifies, his hand glowing brighter as the accumulated power pulses with an almost violent rhythm.

With a sudden fluidity, Beelzebub flips forward in midair, his body twisting effortlessly as he adjusts his position, ready to strike. Time seems to slow around him as his glowing fist lines up with the invisible barrier, now just inches away. His focus sharpens.

Then, with the force of a comet, he slams his fist into the wall. The impact is thunderous, a shockwave rippling outward, the energy crackling through the air, lighting up the night sky. A spiderweb of fractures spreads out from the point of impact, glowing faintly with the residual energy of the strike.

The momentum of his strike carries him forward. Beelzebub sails through the broken remnants of the wall, his body cutting through the air with grace. His body arcs over the top edge of the wall, soaring into the open air.

With a final, controlled twist of his body, Beelzebub lands effortlessly on the top of the massive structure. His feet hit the surface with a soft thud.

Beelzebub turns, his eyes narrowing as he watches the crack slowly begin to fade. The glowing fractures in the air in front of him dim, the light from them weakening. The cracks shift, the stone rearranging, the pieces almost imperceptibly pulling back together.

Once the last trace of light disappears, Beelzebub crouches, leans back and sits down, his legs dangling off the side of the massive structure. He looks out at the vast expanse below him, the city stretching beneath, its streets small winding like strings. His lips twitch into a grin.

"The seeds have been sowed," he says aloud. "Revenge has been planted in the hearts of a few... and now, the world's course has been altered." His voice is casual, almost amused...

He stands up, his body fluid and relaxed, and looks at the city below once more. Beyond it, smaller human structures dot the landscape, little more than toys in the distance. He watches them for a moment before chuckling to himself. "I wonder... will they figure it out?" His tone is light. "After all, they are favored for a reason."

He laughs again, a soft chuckle, and watches as the night begins to fade. The first light of dawn creeps over the horizon, the darkness slowly giving way to the pale gold of the rising sun. The sky changes color, the world around him shifting from the cold grasp of night to the warmth of day. Beelzebub watches in silence, his eyes narrowing as the sun creeps up. "Hah... how fitting," he mutters to himself.

"A cruel metaphor indeed."

The wind picks up slightly, a faint breeze catching the edges of his gown as he stands tall, the night giving way to the new day. He turns slowly to the opposite side, his posture relaxed but purposeful, and thrusts both hands outward, a mocking gesture of triumph. "Finally," he says with an exaggerated sigh, "what an eventful era to start in... Let's see if it can be recreated."

He takes a few slow steps forward, his mind turning. "I wonder where the others are," he muses. "That group that worshipped us in the overworld... I wonder if they survived the test of time." He pauses, clicking his teeth in mild frustration. "I wish I remembered what they were called... damn." His head tilts slightly, and he taps his chin. "I suppose it doesn't matter. They were never really worth remembering, were they?"

With a final shrug, Beelzebub approaches the edge of the structure again, staring down at the world below him. The wind picks up, tugging at the tattered gown, whipping it around him as he tilts his body and takes a small step forward. Without hesitation, he falls.

The wind rushes past him, howling in his ears as the earth comes closer. His body twists mid-air, his legs glowing softly with a faint white light, veins shining beneath the skin. The glow intensifies as he nears the ground, the energy radiating from him, controlling his descent. His feet slam into the earth with a resounding thud, the ground trembling beneath him, sending a wave of wind outward, as if the earth itself was reacting to his landing.

The impact sends small tremors through the ground, a ripple of energy emanating from his feet, pushing away the dust and debris around him. Beelzebub stands tall, his feet planted firmly. He looks around, a satisfied smile tugging at the corners of his lips, and surveys the area with mild interest. The world around him feels... smaller now. More within reach.

"Now then," he mutters under his breath, the thrill of his landing fading quickly into the air. "Let's see how long it takes for them to notice what's been set in motion."

...

The faint glow of the emergency lights flickers, the red ones pulsing in an erratic rhythm, casting the hallway in an unsettling hue. The elevator dings, its metal doors sliding open with a soft hiss, and the figure steps out into the corridor. His footsteps echo sharply as the sound of dress shoes clicking against the floor breaks the silence. He walks with a steady pace, unhurried, as the flashing red lights continue their frantic dance above.

The man moves down the hallway, his face still hidden in shadow, but the light flickers again, briefly revealing his features. Black hair falls past his shoulders, slightly disheveled, with a beard that frames his sharp jawline. One eye gleams white, while the other sears a blood red hue. He glances down at the scattered debris, the lifeless bodies strewn across the floor, and without a pause, steps over them. His expression remains unchanged, a look of indifference etched across his face.

He reaches the analyst area, pausing just inside the doorway. The chaos here is palpable—papers scattered, chairs overturned, and the telltale signs of struggle littering the room. A low hum emanates from the flickering lights, their pulses now erratic, as if they too are struggling to function. The man doesn't flinch. His gaze sweeps the room, lingering briefly on the bloodstains, before he continues his walk down the adjacent hallway.

He stops at the lab room. The door is slightly ajar, and inside, the scene is grotesque. The bodies are hung by cords, their heads missing, the stumps of their necks gaping and empty. Their heads, eerily clean and placed in a neat pile in the corner of the room, stare out with vacant expressions. The air smells of iron and chemicals. The man takes it in without flinching as he turns and walks away, uninterested in the macabre display.

He enters Crowe's office. The blood on the walls tells the story of what has happened here. The corpse is slumped in the chair, its head missing, a gruesome mess of blood and bone staining the floor beneath it. The man stands there for a moment, staring at the lifeless form, before he lets out a sigh, his breath slow and deliberate.

"I don't sense them," he mutters quietly to himself. His voice is low, detached. A faint chuckle escapes his lips. "Guess I was too late." His eyes flicker around the room, scanning it with mild curiosity. "Someone came and took those kids before me."

He steps to the side, his gaze falling on the shelves stocked with bottles. His fingers brush against the glass of a decanter, and without hesitation, he pulls it down. The bottle makes a soft clink as it's set on the edge of the desk, and he pours himself a drink, the amber liquid swirling into the glass with a slow, deliberate motion. He tilts the glass, watching the liquid shift inside before raising it to his lips.

He takes a sip, savoring the burn of the alcohol as it slides down his throat. His eyes momentarily close, as though lost in the simple act, before he places the glass back down on the desk with a soft clink.

"Now for the board to prepare," he says quietly. "This may be the beginning of it all…" He trails off for a moment, staring into the darkness of the hall, before letting out a dry chuckle.

"Or the end of it."