Father and Sons

“Heyyyyyyy old man...” “Boy. Still acting drunk are you.” "Heh... Never could fool you father." "Neither I you." admitted Grao as he took the seat furthest from the entrance. His son fully dropped the façade and finished scrubbing the glasses with speed. Once done, he took a seat opposite to his old man and began ticking on the counter with his left hand, the one who had survived. “What are you up to exactly... Standing in the way of the Council, keeping tabs on the Great batch, it's like you have a plan or something.” commenced Ath as he took a sip of a clear liquid that definitely would not burn if lit. "The True Project is back on track." Upon hearing this, Ath almost spat out all over his father's face. Then, he coughed, wheezed, raised his hand to indicate he was fine, then responded: "I thought you ." "Akoth found a way to manage the memories. We've kept a close lid on it but... His work, son. It's like we've finally begun to understand what the Senders do." "Fuck... For real..." Ath couldn't know what to focus on. His eyes trodded left and right, up and down, clockwise and counter. Grao let his son get his bearing. "Bah it doesn't matter anyway..." "What? How can you... oh... right..." This time, what he poured in his drink was more colourful and odorous. The depressed Vel Ath reprised: “Even if they grow up into perfect Demon Lords, what's the point? The monsters'll just get stronger, or suddenly everyone in Orbido'll get a power boost. The status quo'll stay quo, ya know?" A huge gulp absorbed the content of his drink. "That's the way things are. If you couldn't change it in your prime, you can't change them now.” “That saying again? Have you forgotten my lessons ? Power isn't how hard you can hit people, it's...” Began Vel Grao with a smile. “... how many people you can move without touching them. I know." finished the barkeep as he peered into the bottle he had emptied. About half of its contents remained. "Yeah. So... what? You became King of Midway or something ?” “Power, my boy, depends on perspective. The power to rain fire on a thousand foe, be it from a monster or a Hero or a Demon, is meaningless when the enemy is behind your back. The power of wealth is meaningless before an enraged crowd. Humans understand that, and they have turned demon-kind into a failing forces. On this, the Senders have no control. Perhaps that is what they are looking for in the first place?”
“And that's your plan, then ? Teaching the Great Batch philosophy? Crap-sac to that..." "The truth is that after all those years of loyal service, you finally have the guts to destroy the Empire. Am I right or am I right?” “If it saves the demons, why not? We'll protect them from themselves, and from this world that forces us to play an unending game.” “What would Mother think ?”
“Don't you dare bring her into this. I made my choice long ago.” “Cool your fires old man, I got enough scars as is...” You know what, she was your mother, but he was my love! She was my love damnit!" To this, Ath replied with a look. An accusation that didn't take long to penetrate his father. The "Truthfinder" understood, and felt the guilt of his speech pooring down on him. Too late sadly. "Son..." “Should have done like me old man. You can't say it's the alcohol talking now, hehe...” interrupted his fallen heir. This time, he put his mouth on the bottle's neck and finished it at last. Once done, he gasped delightly and said. “What did they say in the Old World again... Pride is what age leaves to a regretful life. You played and lost. Admit it and move on. Observe” With that final word, the former General walked away, disappearing behind the door he slammed behind him. Alone in the run-down bar, with lamplights for only companions, the old Demon Lord whispered: “I am still playing the game son, but I'm also choosing what comes next.”