Just sat down last night and typed. Didn't come out too bad.


The Children of Chaos

He sat on a ridge that looked over the underground pool. It was perfectly round, with a perfectly spherical bottom that reached no more than a few feet deep right now. When he had first seen a pool like this, it had confused him, as had the simple but seemingly random cave features, such as the ridge on which he sat, which curved out from the wall for only a few feet, just enough to give him something to sit on. Stalagmites and stalactites numbered no more than a dozen, scattered about.
He understood now though. The pool, roughly thirty feet in diameter and the cavern a couple of dozen feet larger, was perfect. He could see the ratio of the radius of the arc forming the bottom, it's relationship to the diameter of the pool, and why each and every bit of the silvery-white rock was where it was. And despite the fact that the glowing water illuminated the bottom, he could see passed it to the infinite void it hid. Infinity beckoned. Not too much longer now.
His wife sat a good distance away on the only other ridge they could sit on, leaning back on her hands. The anthro mare was beautiful, a match for the rugged looks of the mixed morph she had married. Combining mostly dragon and horse, the Lord of Chaos watched as his progeny slowly filed in, some sober, some a bit light hearted, but all nervous about being called like this to one of the most sacred places on the planet, if not the galaxy. Rarely allowed in and frequently punished severely for trying to sneak in, the cavern held a seal, which in time long forgotten by almost all had saved the universe. Only three of the fourteen noticed the barrier he had erected at the entrance, where the gray granite that made up the surrounding foothills gave way to the mystical white rock they stood on.
They had had two “sets” of kids, one soon after marrying, and one many decades later. While all had been adult for some time now, the maturity of the older set was obvious, and one of the younger set was missing. He had anticipated this, and made previous arrangements.
“Are you going to explain this Father?” His eldest, a horse morph asked. There had been surprise when the children had proved to be a mix of races, but it was to be expected from a shape-shifter father. With even a limited attachment to this preferred form, the enigma of the man had proven his title long ago—The Lord of Chaos, an incarnation of an element more fundamental than the materials of the world, which permeated beyond the void they bordered in the cavern.
“When all of you are here.” He stated, shifting slightly. The great sword in his hands rattled in its scabbard quietly, seemingly impatient to get out. It was the other thing that made them nervous—the powerful magics in the blade were usually sealed away in vaults deep and strong.

The bar had a much less reverent air. It usually did when Micah was around. Not the youngest nor the oldest of the second “set,” he was quite a black sheep who did not even pretend to pay much respect to his parents, despite the power flowing in his veins being the thing that required him to drink so much just to get drunk. He enjoyed it however, and the somewhat shallow life he led. Far older than anyone there, he partied much harder. A fly in the back of his mind buzzed about something important this afternoon, but it was hard to hear through the alcohol.
The legionnaire sent to get him was a horse like Micah, and his eldest brother, needed since the child of his lord was a foot again taller than he was. It would have taken half a dozen wolves to do the job. Raucous laughter shared the thick air with natural and artificial pheromones and the stink of drinks and piss. Despite thousands of years of advancing technology, some bars were still filthy in mind and body.
The Child was surrounded by “friends” who were only there because Micah's father was picking up the tab. Several of the various morphs and humans—mostly of the female persuasion—showed intentions and invitations with various states of undress, including a mare and a human female with Micah, wearing little and caring less about hands going under what was left. The legionnaire worked his way forward, a minder for the stallion wasn't unheard of, but the difference in this mission was enough to discourage making a scene too soon.
Chanting faded as the horse finished chugging a bottle of spirits, enough to put anyone else in the room—even other horses—in the hospital. He was well into his buzz, and well into the privates of the two girls he was with. He slammed the bottle onto the table, splintering wood as the glass shattered. “More!” he shouted, waving at a barmaid. He'd pursue her personally until she served him herself, so she braced herself for another grope until the legionnaire shooed her away. Great he thought seeing the armored stallion. He was in full armor, the alloys well suited to the high energy combat of an intergalactic civilization, matching the beam rifle securely strapped to his back. The dress outfit was carefully enameled to gleam a shiny red color, like metallic blood—deliberately intended to reflect the color of his father's Blood Sword, one of the things that separated him from the rest of the people on the planet, and most in the universe. The black partially clenched hand that made up the emblem in several obvious places was also clear—Legion of the Red Hand, dad's personal guard. As more people noticed that it wasn't the usual blue armor, they backed off, leaving space for the horse to move easier. No one messed with one of the almost legendary group willingly, and Micah knew this was more serious than usual. He waved at the horse and gestured at the barmaid again. “Good day sergeant, care to have a drink with us?”
The legionnaire's ears flattened as he approached, remaining aloof from the atmosphere around him. “No thank you master Micah.” He waved off the maid again, closing quickly to the table. “Sir,” he said, struggling to stay respectful, “Your father demands your presence immediately. Please come with me.”
“My father will wait until later. I'm with my friends.” He wasn't drunk enough to keep him from reaching out with magic to grab the bottle on the maid's tray and pull it to his hand. Since he was ogling her breasts, it took him a minute to realize that the soldier had caught it before it got to him. He shifted his focus over, to find the horse uncomfortably close. He set the bottle down out of reach of the drunkard. Micah reached for it. The soldier grabbed him painfully by the mane and pulled his back into his seat. Anger flared, and he took a swing at the armored figure. The legionnaire didn’t even bother dodging the drunken swing but grabbed his arm and pulled him forward out of the chair.
“I wish I could enjoy this more sir, but your father awaits.” His other hand landed in the horse’s stomach, and he doubled over, retching. The soldier expertly stayed out of the way as he waited for the fit to stop, then pulled the horse over a bit and put another blow at the base of his skull, landing the horse next to the puddle of vomit. He knew something big was happening, and knew despite how the look would suit his lord's prodigal son, coming covered in vomit and such would be a poor showing.
Nobody had ever hit one of the Lord's children, and the instant of controlled violence had quieted the bar. Without another thought the legionnaire picked the other stallion up and slung him over his shoulder like a bundle of straw, and walked out, stunned citizens parting to allow them space.

The cavern was silent as the last member of the group was brought in. He'd had the piss in his pants and a few other stains removed via a high pressure cold water hose, which had roused him well enough to attack the group of legionnaires working with him, and they had promptly knocked him out again. Bonded magically to their Lord, the Legion of the Red Hand was the equal of his children, though only a few of them had taken advantage of the opportunities to improve themselves. Busy building and running an empire, he'd regretfully managed much less than he had hoped for their education. The same soldier who had knocked him out in the bar now unceremoniously dumped him on the ground, feeling the empathy of his Lord. He took out a case which produced a humble water balloon—a very efficient choice for a single dose of awakening water, delivered bluntly to the morph's face. The legionnaire turned, saluted his master and walked out, Micah spluttering behind him.
The stallion joined his siblings on his feet, looking around the cavern reasonably sober and his mind doing its best to finish the process despite his intoxication. “Father, why did you—“
“SILENCE!” He rapped the tip of the sheath on the floor for emphasis, the boom echoing with his voice. “You of all here should be wary!” The morph stood, towering above his children and automatically slinging his sword on his back to free his hands. They gesticulated wildly as he spoke. “Too many of you take yourselves for granted. You think that because you are my children, you can do whatever. And here, now, there is no one who can tell you otherwise. I have no enemies here to fear, and even my Red Hand respects me too much to discipline you properly. So, I have found the time has come.” Pacing had been added to gesturing, but it all calmed down as he neared the edge of the pool and peered into the water. The glow was simple Cherenkov radiation, though its source was more unusual. A good example of where science met magic, at the edge of the void. Below the water, emptiness beckoned.
“You will learn as I did, by the Long Journey. You will go out to worlds unknown to any, and learn as only the ignorant child can learn—by doing and being done too.” He raised a hand, hearing one of his sons cursing at him for wasting time and heading out, and winced as the human was thrown back with a scream of pain. “As the birds throw their children from the nest, leaving them no choice, so will you be cast away, to return again as adults.” He made a fist, the claws on his fingers digging into the calluses on his palms. Those calluses had been formed by that gesture many times before, and were another sign that the end was near. Every time he had to dig deeper for the blood. Soon this imperfect body would not allow him to access his powers that easily. The pain had long passed to merely another sensation and he relaxed his grip, letting the blood flow into his palm.
“You will wander as I did, looking for the door. The key is in your blood, but it will take time to find the lock. When you do, you will be worthy of the reward on the other side.” He gestured, and the pool of blood in his hand flicked out over the pool of water. Those who had studied better than others slowly realized the shock of what was happening—blood was a physical symbol of the soul and its energies, and they were seeing him use more than he had in hundreds of years.
The red slowly stirred in the water, falling clouds of power. Then they stretched out to one side as a current took them. The glow dimmed as the water picked up speed in its spin, parting in the middle as the rock below also fell away, white glimmers in the black maw. The Lord of Chaos watched as the whirlpool stretched to the edge of the pool, water and rock fading into blackness below. Power also surged through the chamber. Magic was in their blood, but not all understood the raw energy that flowed now, lighting up ancient runes on the walls, written in the blood of Chaos millennia ago. They gleamed red, as if they had just been painted, and the scene stabilized with voices calming down after the opening of the gate.
His eldest, a pure black stallion, was the first to fully recover. All had heard of how their father had wandered from world to world—not just planet to planet, but between the universes themselves, a prodigal student cast into a fiery forge the likes of which few of even the gods knew. He walked to the edge, staring into the abyss. “We just jump in?” He asked. Barely more than a whisper, it echoed over the soft rush of the water.
“Or you wait until I lose my patience and throw you in.” Came the response. To one side, the white mare glowed in the magic, hands clasped to her chest with worry. She had spent weeks fluttering about the family, doting on children one last time, driving them crazy with her obsession and mystery. Once in the cavern, she had started it up again, hugging them and talking of things to remember and think of. The white drew the look of her eldest, who walked around the pool to give her one last hug. With a deep breath, he took the leap.
Less than half went willingly. His first born of his second set, the eighth, hugged a backpack tightly. While not the most humble, he tried to be prepared, and being summoned to the cavern deep below the palace, he had stopped to grab the bag of hopefully useful stuff. He went second, and they could hear his scream start part way and fade into silence. Devon was a moron, and tried to run, attempting to break the barrier at the entrance. His father merely gestured contemptuously, a web of light wrapping him up and flinging him screaming into the void.
Two of the older sons made him smile proudly—despite their other issues, they faced duty to family, taking two of his younger daughters, still quite naive, and hugged them tightly as they escorted them into the future. They all gave their mother a hug, and a few their father too. Micah was the first of the reluctant, flung into the void wordlessly. He had to pull three off his wife physically, but at last he made a sweeping gesture with his hand and the world returned to normal, silvery-white rock closing the void and the whirlpool sliding to a halt, the cavern illuminated with the blue glow again. He walked over, smiling fondly as he hugged the softly crying mother, cuddling lightly as she pondered fate. Sniffling, she stroked her head along his jaw then pulled back a bit, pulling out the bloody hand to check on the main love of her life. The calluses were already healing. Her eyes went up the arm to scars of other spells. She fingered the palm.
“They'll not be coming home again will they?”
“They will come home. To a home that will be much more a home than this.” He pulled her into a hug again, letting her arch her neck into his as they inhaled, taking deep breaths of each other's scents.
“I suppose it was time, but I will miss them.”
He responded by pulling her tighter, stroking his hands down to the small of her back, low enough to tease, but not enough to grope. “Well, if you're going to be that lonely, I suppose we could start another batch.” He smiled at her snort and laughter.
“I think we've had enough. Time to go clean up the last messes.” She pulled away reluctantly, and he admired her beauty as she walked out. No more children, but the swish of her tail suggested she wouldn't mind other comforts later.
He looked around the now empty cavern. Ghosts whispered of the battle so long ago that had bought him a world, signed in blood on the walls. The void below whispered of long journeys. Time blurred. Sometimes, eternity was already as a day, and those he had sent to their fates were already back with them.
The last thing was to dismantle the spells that had been set up to safely open the World-Gate, and check the ancient seal. Then he headed back up to the rest of his mortal life.