The Third Kind the Rolls Royce glided through the night, its engine a silent purr against the backdrop of the ruined world. The journey up the mountain had been smooth, the winding roads once used by ancient Greek shepherds now a perfectly paved route to my true home. Below, the new world capital I had built was a distant constellation of lights, a testament to a grand deception. Above, a sprawling black mansion sat perched on the mountain's peak, its walls the color of midnight and a sinister silhouette against the purplish sky. An old, wrought-iron gate, adorned with elegant bat symbols, marked the entrance to a place that had served my family for millennia.
As the Rolls Royce approached the gate, my driver honked the horn. No one was in sight, but a mild, chilling fog began to curl around the car, bringing with it the familiar, heavy scent of the old world—the world of true power. The gate groaned open, seemingly of its own accord. We drove through the entrance and into a courtyard. I stepped out of the car, adjusting my suit jacket as a figure emerged from the shadows of the mansion's entrance.
The butler, a man who looked no older than forty, was the very picture of normalcy, a stark contrast to the mansion and the purpose for which I had come. His face was kind, his eyes clear and intelligent, but he was a loyal servant to our cause, bound by an oath far older than humanity itself.
"Welcome, Lord Light," he said, bowing low. "Your brothers have been expecting you."
"Thank you, Bartholomew," I said with a respectful nod. "Have they waited long?"
"Just arrived themselves," he replied, a faint, knowing smile on his face. "They are in the great hall. I will lead you."
I followed him into the mansion, the heavy doors closing behind us. The marble floors gleamed under the soft candlelight, and the air, unlike the city below, was thick with the scent of ancient dust and a faint, ethereal musk. Bartholomew led me through a series of cavernous halls until we arrived at a massive, ornate door carved with symbols that no human could ever hope to comprehend. Bartholomew pushed the door open, revealing a large, circular chamber.
Inside, five figures sat around a large table made of what appeared to be solid bone. I surveyed them, a smirk playing on my lips. My brothers. Lord of Flies, Lord of Greed and Money, Lord of Laziness, Lord of Fertility, and Lord of Violence. They were all there, cloaked in their true forms, their eyes glowing with a wicked, malevolent energy that was so much more honest than the human façade I wore.
I walked into the center of the room, my voice light with a casual disdain. "Where is everyone? I was under the impression this was a full house."
Lord Violence, a hulking figure with skin the color of rust and eyes like molten lava, was the first to speak. "One and two are not going to be present," he rumbled, his voice a low growl that shook the very air. "They send their regards and condolences for their lack of… enthusiasm. We all know the plan that lies ahead. Shall we begin, Lords?"
He looked at me, a gleam in his fiery eyes. I simply gave a short nod.
The lords spoke with a terrifying enthusiasm, their words a chilling prophecy. They spoke of the plagues they would spread, of the continents they would claim for their own, a horrific distribution of chaos and misery.
"Give me my legion," Lord Violence roared, slamming a massive fist onto the table. "And I will destroy them all in one sweep! No one will be left."
Lord Fertility, a beautiful but terrifying creature, her voice a seductive purr that could charm any mortal into submission, laughed, her eyes glittering with cruel delight. "Oh, my dear brother, you'd take all the fun away from us. Where would be the sport in that? We must take our time with our prey."
"There's enough for all of us," Lord of Flies buzzed, his voice a dry, rasping drone that made my skin crawl. He floated a few feet above his chair, a cloud of insects constantly swirling around him.
"Yes, there is enough for all of us," Lord of Greed chimed in, his voice a sharp, eager whisper. "That is why we are here, to get a continent for our own legion. We will all live as lords of this world."
The silence in the grand hall was thick with unspoken tension. The lords of the new world, my brothers, were eager to carve up their spoils. But Lord of Flies' question hung in the air like a bitter mist. "But for how long?"
Lord of Fertility, her seductive voice now edged with impatience, was the first to break the stillness. "What do you mean by that, brother? The human kingdoms have fallen. Our legions stand ready. We are victorious."
Lord of Flies, Number 3, did not reply directly. Instead, he simply sighed, a dry, buzzing sound that grated on my ears. The swarm of insects around his head thickened, their movements erratic. "You are all so quick to forget," he rasped, his voice a low drone. "So focused on your new playthings. You do know we still have one threat left, don't you?"
A collective low rumble of discontent rippled through the room. Lord of Greed, Number 5, fidgeted with a golden scepter. Lord of sloth, Number 6, reclined further into his chair, looking bored. Lord of Violence, Number 4, simply clenched his massive fists, his eyes burning with a cruel impatience.
They knew who he meant. They always did. they called Lucifer. The supreme ruler. The ultimate victim. My own thoughts returned to him, to the one who had so often thwarted our schemes. He had always been an anathema to our cause, a being of immense power who, for reasons we could never comprehend, felt a strange attachment to humanity.
"He's been silent," Lord of Greed whined. "A victim to his own pathetic moral code. He's a prisoner of his own making."
"A victim, indeed," Lord of Flies countered, his voice taking on a sharper edge. "But silence is not absence. His presence is a cancer upon this world, a shadow that still clings to the minds of the strongest. He is the reason we must act swiftly. He is the reason this victory is not yet assured."
I watched them, a smirk playing on my lips. They were so predictable in their fear. Their victory was incomplete because they could not bring themselves to truly extinguish the light of what their "victim" had created. They were so concerned with carving up the planet, they failed to realize that the most potent force in this war was not their legions, but the hope and resilience that my enemy, their brother, had instilled in the minds of the humans.
"What do you propose, then, my brother?" I asked, my voice calm and authoritative, bringing the meeting back to order. "You speak of a threat. Do you have a solution?"
"We would all be naive," Lord of Flies rasped, "if we don't know who the opposition truly is."
Lord of Greed, Number 5, scoffed, his face twisting into a sneer. "Who is the opposition? The mortals? The ones we so easily crushed?"
A wave of cruel laughter erupted around the table. Lord of Violence, Number 4, slammed a monstrous fist onto the polished bone, a sound like thunder, and roared with amusement. Even Lord of Fertility, Number 7, let out a delicate, mocking titter that was colder than a grave.
Their hubris was a familiar, pathetic thing. They were intoxicated by the sheer scale of their victory, blind to the quiet, resilient nature of humanity. They saw only prey, not a true adversary. Lord of sloth, Number 6, was the only one who remained silent, his true form a a sloth with a crown, his gaze unreadable. He and Lord of Flies shared a quiet, knowing understanding that the others lacked.
"I will kill any human with my arms tied behind my back," Lord of Greed boasted, his voice dripping with condescending arrogance.
Lord of Flies's laughter died, and his voice took on a sharp, biting edge. "Be careful what you sow, brother," he said, his tone low and filled with a sinister warning. "Their pathetic physical form is nothing. But their true weapon... it lies in their spirit."
The laughter in the room died. Lord of Flies, the Lord of flies, never spoke without a hidden purpose. The others, in their arrogance, knew he spoke a truth they did not want to hear. The conversation had taken a turn they were not prepared for.