Damian's Oracle

The middle-aged man with bright green eyes standing in his study looked harmless. His frame was slight, his hair silvered, his smile fatherly. Damian knew better than to trust the deceptive appearance of this type of creature. They were some of the most ancient beings in the universe, those whose first war drove immortals out of their world and created the mortal world.

Their second war almost destroyed the mortal world and ended in the Schism, the divorcing of the divine world from the physical one. They stranded the White and Black Gods on earth, preordained to be at each other's throats for all eternity. The Watchers then relegated themselves to the role of a benevolent audience in the bloody basketball game that was Damian's war.

"Forgive me, ikir," the Watcher said with a bow of his head.

"You're here to fuck up my life, aren't you?" Damian challenged. He crossed his arms to display roped forearms and sat on the edge of his desk.

"I've always enjoyed this era of the White God," the Watcher said and smiled, genuine mirth in his unblinking gaze. "You have a spark your forefathers didn't."

"I'm glad I entertain you," Damian said flatly.

"No disrespect meant, ikir." The Watcher's eyes went around his study, as if this was his first visit in a great while. Damian didn't trust the beings that saw all, knew all, and yet spoke in riddles-if they chose to speak at all.

"You here just to visit?" he prodded at the Watcher's silence.

"No, ikir. I will be in your territory for some time."

The words were the first sign of something very, very wrong. Damian's unease grew.

"There is a disturbance in the uh, basketball game, as you call it," the Watcher said. "One of the teams is cheating."

"Czerno. How bad is it?"

"Bad enough to change the final score."

Damian mulled his words, waiting for more.

"There are Watchers who have left the crowd for Czerno's team. They're coaching him," the Watcher said softly.

"Damn," Damian breathed. "The last time y'all fought, you nearly destroyed the universe."

"Our war has again spread to yours," the Watcher acknowledged. "I am bound by the oath of non-interference I took at the Schism. I, too, can only … coach, though I will choose when and where."

"So I shouldn't be surprised to see you in my territory, and I shouldn't expect shit from you," Damian surmised.

"Yes, ikir."

"How long will you be coaching in my territory?"

"It may be awhile by earth standards. Those coaching Czerno are shifting the future daily."

Damian hadn't expected his day to be so eventful. If the Watchers were once again bringing their battle to earth, it meant the Original Beings imprisoned by the Schism were stirring up old divisions again. He was too young to know much about those beings or much about the Watchers. Jule, the regional commander for the eastern hemisphere and the oldest of the three of them by far, had come from the same world as the Watchers but refused to talk about it.