Iwaku: Dark Reign

[Kitti]

The words fell like droplets of blood from the lips of Zypher and Kitti imagined them staining once pale skin red with their taint, the tint of such a secret kept quiet for so long. She could not move at first, the words broke her and they drained her, they destroyed and they rebuilt feelings faster than she could categorize them. She was in shock and her battered frame felt suddenly very distant from the thoughts that were racing through her head. She tried to piece it all together, that Fluffy was still alive in some form, in this form, in the form of this monster incarnate that had destroyed so many. It could not possibly be.

Still, there was the nagging suspicion that perhaps he spoke the truth. Rory had forsaken Kitti, forsaken everyone, and gone into hiding. Working for the system that oppressed, no less, and for what reason? What method was there to this madness? For all madness had a core, a pearl at the center whose presence was concealed and wholly different from the outside and what purpose had that been? Rory had simply betrayed them all, it had seemed, and for what? Could this be the truth? Was he preserving that which would keep Fluffy alive in any form? Did he know now, what she had become? Certainly, he had seen what Kitti had become, and Kitti wondered briefly if she held the same shame for him. Was she too a monster, twisted by the cycle? But such selfish thoughts could not abide. She could not focus on her own anger and insecurity when there was so much afoot.

A painful cough wracked Kitti's body and brought her sharply, painfully, back to the reality. She twisted in place, searching with her hands through the wreck for Zypher. She would pull her travel companion from the vehicle with her before pursuing those things which must be done. Her hands, however, found only a smooth plane of stony features, frozen and unyielding. Kitti swore loudly, though there was no one to hear her, and she pressed against the crushed hunk of metal, trying to find any weakened spots of gaps through which she could crawl. Her sides were throbbing dully with pain and her breathing labored, but she could only find irony in the possibility of this being the wound which ended her life. The haunted creature who had tried so hard before struck down in a moment of true determination, when she was searching still for her purpose.

Such irony was not meant to be, however, and she managed to find the gap between the now shattered windshield of the car and the ground, obscured as it might be by the crumpled hood of the car. Steeling herself for the pain to follow, she pulled herself, crawling, through the space. Bits of broken glass still clinging to the frame raked across her skin and left slender cuts across her arms and the exposed skin on her back. She clenched her teeth and continued moving. The blood slithered over her skin and left trails until they ran to her clothing, her wings, or dripped onto the ground. Finally, after a few seconds that seemed like hours, she drug herself fully from the car's mutilated frame. The parched grass and dirt beneath her felt welcoming and she sprawled over it, allowing herself a moment's rest. The scratches left by the glass were mercifully not deep and she could feel them mending slowly as the blood across them dried. She felt her ribs gingerly. They felt bruised, but not broken. Still, broken or not, they would take much longer to heal and there was no time for that.

Pushing off from the ground to regain her feet, Kitti took a moment to assess Zypher's words. Lead her to the tower. The tower? Why would the goddess need to be at the tower? And could she truly trust the words of a half-dead soul claimed by the Medusa? And how was she to lead Medusa anywhere? Baiting? She didn't even know how to find her. So many variables, so many unanswered questions, so much left unsaid. She wanted to shake Zypher, to shake Rory, ask them why no one had told her. And what of this goddess? If it was truly Fluffy... no, that much she did not believe. The gentle, determined soul who had sacrificed herself to bring peace could not remain still, to take the lives of those whom she deemed a wasted cause.

Struggling with these thoughts, Kitti swayed in place, her gaze skyward. The whole thing seemed to be a beautiful tapestry unraveling at both ends, unable to keep its tangled strings from intertwining with one another any longer. If she was to lead to the tower, she decided finally, she would need to be there and it was the only step she could think to take now. The tower was the center of it all, for reasons Kitti did not know. A place full of secrets and veiled truths, to be sure.

Glancing back regretfully at the destroyed vehicle one last time, Kitti turned away and began to clamber as fast as she could manage back to the road where the turmoil seemed a world away from this almost peaceful scene of ending. Zypher was entombed now, in the mangled remains of her car. It was not a poetic death, not the death that might have been chosen, but it was entirely his own. She would leave him to it.

The others seemed to have taken no notice of the disappearance of the front flanking car, assuming them both dead, she supposed. She could not blame them, they had a mission in mind and a purpose of their own. Kitti would have to take the long way to the tower, unless she could find another car to rig the same way she'd watched Ryker's men do it. Couldn't be that hard, really, if only she could find a car to assume possession of. There wasn't much time left, now, at the ending of all things. Whatever happened, after this day, things would inevitably be changed, and she needed to be there and influence that change.

Every fiber of her being seared with pain as Kitti set off down the road, trying to sprint and only half-managing it, leading to a strangely uneven gait. She would make it to the tower, though, before the others had the chance to destroy everything. Even if she didn't know what to believe, there was no salvation in hiding away to think while others acted. She set her gaze on the tower looming in the distance and put every ounce of her energy into surging towards it. The razbots seemed to have dissipated for the most part, a happy circumstance given her current state, though she was likely to find more resistance the closer she got. It did not matter, though. The tower was in her sights.
​

 

[Captain Nic]

"Sir, we've nearly lost access to our ammunition stores. 95% of our reserves are now... petrified, and we only have twenty guns still active and trained on the Scorpion."

Nic spat upon hearing of the report. The city had blared with the sound of Teknikan helicopters and guns not too long ago, and whatever else was raising hell upon the city may have already taken notice of the Corporation. With a supply of 'distractions' running dry for the Teknikans, Nic awaited the end with what was left of his people, his Empire. The newly fused Scorpion has broken the Corporation's efforts; now it need only break Nic.

Nic raised his hat and left it to the mercy of the wind. He asked his comms officer, "20 guns is being fucking generous, and I already know how we're all going to die. What's the good news?"

"Uh... the Bread Cult has summoned... a demon, which is now on the loose. Unfortunately, sir, whatever's trying to stop it is not on our side."

Nic sighed. "Always doing things on our own." He turned, rushed back into the HQ complex and yelled, "Hold the line for me, I'll bring out the thing that might just shift things in our favor!" The comms officer stared at Nic without a response, fearing for the Captain's eventual fate.

Whatever what was in store for the old Captain, it would surely shock him....

 

[Asmodeus]

"3v3n1n', m1ss 0ChA. L0V3ly n19H7 PH0R A AP0caLYpz3!"

"Who is this? How did you get this number?"

"73h NaM3 15 rav3N. 4nd 4LL Pr150N3r2 4r3 4Ll0w3d 0N3 ph0n3 C4LL. 1 7h0U9h7 J00 C0uLD u23 mY H3LP."

"I've got all the help I need."

"N07 h3lp L1k3 7h12. 7h3R3'2 4 m4n c4ll3d Ryk3R, 4nd 1 w4N73D J00 70 KN0W... h3'2 480u7 70 7HR0w J00 4 v3RY 81G 80n3."​

At the city's edge, where the great abyss yawned, the rift storms were fed with smoke. The ISAF had enacted their Final Solution to the Noobish Question. From the chimneys of the crematoria foul and raven ashes flew skyward, like blackest angels who could stand this realm no longer. The Ego-Zombies lined the fences, gas-mask gazes empty, while behind them buildings churned like meat grinders.

They had started with shootings - the Hijackers first to break the others' spirits - and forced the Trolls to fill in the burial pits. But ammunition had run low. With Teknikkan aid they had converted the gas chambers for use with Grammelite, a poison similar to the Ego and Mur Zombie viruses. But with Grammelite there was no symbiosis, no parasitism - only total system failure. The subjects would die in less than a minute, then be offloaded to the crematoria, where Flamers were coerced into burning them. So it was that the Noobs were made to cooperate in their own genocide.

New arrivals would be told that this was a transit camp - a temporary stop before they would be taken to their new housing settlement. Within a hour, at most, they would be dead. Only a few were spared for the sadistic delights Unanun, Road Rage and Doctor Zalinar. The rest... were taken, three thousand at a time, to the gas chambers.

Feral was a creature on fire. The delousing powder burned her eyes. Her shaved head, tail and pubis were scratched raw. The branded mark on her back still blistered. It was a face-shape with two large bug-eyed circles, a popular caricature that the elitists liked to make of Noobs. Naked and shivering, the Neko shuffled along with the others, down a pitchblack corridor. It was lit only by the lights of other rooms whose doors had been left open on either side.

Feral whimpered as she saw a room where soldiers were laying out severed Pimprat heads, freshly discoloured by the gassing. Military surgeons were using hammers to smash out the gold teeth, bridges and crowns. Molars and incisors littered the floor and crunched underfoot as they worked.

She was mostly with other Spammers, Flamers and Deviants. The Hijackers had been executed separately, in case they incited riots, and the Trolls and Pimprats were used as the primary disposal crew. Whatever Confluence field was being generated over these camps, it had regulated the powers the Noobs had. Their magic had been taken, leaving them as shivering, starved and mutilated wretches. They had been ordered to remove their clothes before entering the tunnel, and behind them a squad of Zombies were sorting through the pile, looking for any children which their mothers had tried to hide there.

There was also a group of Noobs who had been taken to one side, sobbing and screaming. They had guessed what was about to happen, and were now confessing the identities and locations of other Noobs still hiding in the city. They hoped it would buy their freedom. It would only buy a swifter death.

Feral had no one to sell out - nothing to beg. She was the last of the Negative Legion, had no idea where the Medusa Terrorists were, and, most of all, had seen all this before in the Mature Tower, in the previous chapter of her suffering. There was no way out. In another room, off to the right, a reservoir of drained body fat was being bottled for the Bread Temples. And beyond this bags of Noob hair, shaved off at the train stations, was being shipped off. Feral remembered that the smell of burning hair was particularly unpleasant. The ISAF wouldn't want this in the crematoria.

"You will now all take a shower!" bellowed the ISAF officer at the end of the tunnel, as two soldiers unlocked the doors of the gas chamber. "Quickly! Quickly! Your new clothes and a hot meal will be given to you after the shower."

"Lying cunts,", Feral whispered, as tears streamed down her face.

Ten seconds later, she was entering the room. The three thousand were broken into four groups and each one herded into a space 50 by 20 feet. Screams and sobs were amplified by the sterile walls and soon there was nothing but the naked bodies of women, men and children pressed against one another. Feral looked up at the showerheads hanging from the ceiling. And as if to mock her, with frail and pitiful foreshadowing, a steady trail of urine began to flow down her legs.

The apartment was quiet... like all of them now. Jake placed his dog tags on the counter then removed his combat jacket. He knew where they would be. Running a hand through his red hair, the lanky soldier crossed the living room, casting an eye over the mantelpiece where photographs told his story. Pictures from his days in the ISAF, the bar in Scrap Metal City, an ultrasound of his first child, his wedding day, playing poker with the grease monkeys. There was even a framed Tarot Card which his drill sergeant had given him. The Wheel of Fortune, of course.

Opening the bedroom door softly, he looked in. The TV was on mute and casting intermittent light across the bed. Not the news reports, as countless others would be watching now, but cartoons. Gribble the Rabbit was carrying an armful of bananas and being chased by a Rug Monster. The kids loved that show.

"Hi."

There was an unmistakeable grinding of stone as his wife looked up, lifting her head from where it had nuzzled against the children. Jake's son and daughter were lying on their bed, eyes slightly glazing as they watched the cartoon without expression. His wife reached out to him and Jake took her hand, lying on the bed and snuggling up with his family. The four embraced each other, knowing that the end was coming.

His wife's hand stroked his cheek. "What about Marvin?"

Jake felt his joints seizing up. He got comfortable, with both arms encompassing his children and the fingertips lost amongst his wife's hair. He held her gaze as the hand of Medusa took them. "He could never do anything quietly... not even dying..."

"YEAAAAAARGH!" Marvin screamed as the humvee smashed through a roadblock, obliterating the steel barriers and the petrified husks of Teknikkans. He kept the wheel steady and skidded the vehicle onto the approach road. Beside him, Ryker smoked his last cigar and grinned at the sights around him. Through the windows of every office they passed, the personnel of Teknikkan Industries were frozen at their desks. In every cubicle, around every water cooler, in every guard room, parking lot and canteen - the office workers were statues.

"Ah hav'n seen 'is many frozen pen-pushers since'a time I leh one rip a' th' Pentagon."

"Funny you should say that, Sir," Marvin cried in a frenzy of excitement, terror and bloodlust, "Cos I'm about to shit myself right fucking now!"

Behind them, Sergeant Spears was manning the 50 cal., his shirt removed to show the Wheel of Fortune tattoo that covered his chest. He opened up on the Teknikkan helicopters patrolling the streets, tracer rounds flying like hell-fairies to explode along their hulls. The gunships dropped and smashing into surrounding buildings. There was little here that had not been decimated by the Scorpion or Medusa's grasp, but what was left now fell to the humvee's assault. Cars and Teknikkans were slammed aside as the humvee tore into the service road for Teknikkan Corps HQ.

"'Ere we go," Ryker spat his cigar out the window. "Les ring th' doorbell."

"It's been an honour serving with you, Sir."

Ryker twisted. "Yew ready, Spears?"

The drill sergeant behind him detached the 50 cal. from its mount. "Let's paint them crimson!"

Marvin yanked the wheel to the left, screaming at the top of his lungs, "THIS ONE'S FOR YOU, JAKE, YOU LANKY MOTHERFUCKEEEEEEER!"

The humvee exploded over the grass verge, obliterating flower beds and corporate signs, crashing down the steps and slamming through the lobby of Teknikkan Industries. An avalanche of glass and furniture swept the reception staff away and the humvee sliced through walls and pillars on its suicidal charge.

Spears leapt clear and followed the vehicle in, trailing belt ammunition for the 50. cal. The machine gun opened up as Teknikkan Troopers came rushing, a tide of high-velocity rounds tearing them apart. He moved left, into the corridors, a force of death and thunder. And on the other side, Ryker had torn himself from the humvee and was galloping on all fours, his Lycanthrope muscles propelling him. He crashed through the office rooms and checkpoints, rending and flinging Troopers aside. Marvin, meanwhile, kept his foot on the gas and sent the humvee crashing deeper and deeper into the inner labs.

A few floors up, Captain Nic froze on the stairs. He had exited the Command Centre and was set to take a private car to Nerf Castle. The sound of screams and gunfire had flooded the lower levels. Unslinging his Halberd Rifle, he exited the stairwell and plunged into a world of smoke and ruin. Troopers were strewn everywhere, the wounded fast becoming petrified, weapons and equipment littering the corridor. Most had been killed by gunfire through the walls, floors and ceilings. He listened as the sound of a heavy machine cut out, followed the sharper barks of pistol fire and screams. He moved quickly, following the trail of destruction till he reached the next checkpoint, where his men were being slaughtered. Sergeant Spears, now with knife and pistol, was among them like an animal, shooting and stabbing. Arterial blood had painted the walls. Nic brought his rifle to bear, closing with each footstep. Spears's pistol ran dry. He hooked a Trooper's neck with his leg and cracked it with one squeeze, then broke the nose of a second, slit the throat of a third, spun, closed his arms around a fourth's head, snapped his neck, reversed the knife, slashed another two to pieces, then leapt for the captain.

Nic dropped to one knee, swinging the rifle forwards. It's halberd bayonet thudded into Spears's stomach... and there was silence. He heard the knife clatter to the floor then felt the weight of the drill sergeant give way. He turned and twisted the blade, cutting up through the man's cavity and chest tattoo. Then Nic slumped against the opposite wall, looking down at his enemy. Spears held his gaze, eyes half-closed, as if almost asleep, then widening as he gave a bloody smile.

Further up, in the command centre, General Rosoft struggled to follow the action on the surveillance screens. Straining from his life-support chair, the zombie master spat bile and necrotic fluid as his rage swelled. Spears had cut a swathe through the lower levels and the humvee had demolished the primary labs. Integrity was compromised, but the building's power still held. They still had power to generate the Confluence Field for the Concentration Camps, as well as work the defense batteries. The General cursed himself for letting his guard down. With all eyes focussed on the Scorpion, he had not thought to reinforce the guards around the corporate sector.

The other TV screens showed the upper levels, and one by one they were turning to carnage. Bodies were being thrown, desks upturned, windows and walls shattered. Some of the screens went black and then, from below, came a deafening howl. The doors of the command centre imploded and through them came a slavering, eight foot beast, gore-soaked and ravenous. The Werewolf rampaged, ripping out throats and tearing off limbs. Whole banks of computer terminals were shattered and power cables severed. The lights went out. The power shorted. The Teknikkan operators screamed. Rosoft's bloated finger keyed a command on his chair arm and a pistol mechanism opened above his shoulder. He swivelled his wheelchair. Another key stroke selected the ammunition. With a gurgle he fired as the Werewolf turned on him.

The silver bullet struck home.

The beast fell against the chair, its head on the General's lap. And as the silver poison ripped though veins the beast transformed back. Ryker clutched Rosoft's chair and looked up at him, spitting blood.

"Too slow, Julius." the general wheezed with laughter as he beheld his old superior dying at his feet.

Ryker came onto his knees, his chest gushing blood. His gazed fixed on the zombie lord - on the face of his corrupted ISAF - on everything that he had created and lost. And he returned the smile. "Call me... Big Boss." His trembling hand gripped the arm of Rosoft's chair. "An' when... a' yew ever known me... tae fight alone?"

As Ryker spoke these words, and as Sergeant Spears closed his eyes on the floor below, the Teknikkan Troopers had just reached the crash site of the humvee. Director Kim led a squad across the rubble of the inner labs and around the smoking husk of the army vehicle now embedded in a support column. His pistol was at the ready as he opened the battered door of the humvee. Director Kim levelled his gun at the man inside, before going suddenly pale. His jaw and pistol dropped in unison.

A mangled Marvin smiled back at the Teknikkans... one hand adjusting the rim of his combat helmet... the other resting on the detonator. "At ease, gentlemen."

The explosives packed in the back of the humvee tore through the central columns and melted the lower levels, causing all above it to implode. In one swoop, Teknikkan Industries was erased from the skyline of the city.

Feral flinched.

But the great shuddering groan she heard was not the showers switching on. It came from somewhere else. Beyond the walls of the gas chamber they heard a scream, then gunshots, then a crash of metal. There was even an owl screech, though she might have imagined that. For a moment the sounds of utter pandaemonium echoed down the corridors and through the side-rooms. Then there was silence.

One of the bodies pressed against Feral muttered, "r357 1N p34c3, mr ryK3r."

"Eh?"

"d4t b1tch cut 1t cL0s3!!"

As Feral turned to look at the mysteriously calm Noob beside him, the tannoy crackled and the silence was broken. A voice spoke, from a guard room somewhere, and initially it sounded like a man's... before a more determined feminine tone crept through. Feral's eyes widened as he recognised it. It was the lady from before...

It was Tegan...

"Rise and shine, boys and girls. Emphasis on the rise part. That tingling sensation you're feeling is your powers coming back to you. The Confluence Field is down. Today you take back the city - not for me, not for the elitists or the terrorists, and not for anyone else. But for yourselves. Today... you are free."

There was a ripple of shock and relief. Heads turned, smiles formed, mothers embraced children, old men wept... and then... from one of the corners, the first of the Deviants broke into laughter. The air seemed to stretch and thin, the walls warping. The Spammers started up their chatter. The door buckled and was folded in half.

And then... as one... the fists of the Flamers punched the air and broke into bright, anarchic flame.

 

[Pirogeth]

The world passed by like a movie. The ringing in Piroko's ears and head had given her a sense of surrealism. As time slowly passed on the pitch got higher and higher until finally the voices of the terrified and the gunshots of the brave combined into one. The madness churned for a second until she looked over to her side to see Orion just getting out of the same situation. "Hey you alright? Surfer…dude?" She asked hoping common lingo would return him to reality just as the common sounds of destruction had done for her many times before. She could feel her power waning myself as well. My consciousness had shifted in that moment when the fool took on Medusa alone. "I can feel him yet. Pirogeth is out there." I know, and we must find him. She stumbled a bit getting up from the wreckage. With the large scale near war going on nobody seemed to pay attention to a seemingly lost girl on the battlefield. She had made it to Archy's wreck with Orion behind her. Upon arriving Porg seems to be analyzing the situation, Orion had begun to formulate some kind of plan with him, but Piroko had rested her eyes on Archy. Her form had just started to move. I know what I see, I know what she sees, this girl is the solution. Piroko drops down next to her and gets close in. "Take me to him. I must get to Pirogeth at the remains of the Inquisition building." For a moment there was confusion, but she nodded her head in agreement. This was not the first time Piroko had to be teleported.

"And what of the repercussions? Certainly someone will know." A moment of silence had passed by, there was to be no likable answer to his inquiry.
"Doctor Kim, the importance of this research is far greater than the safety of any single universe. Understand that under no circumstance will I succumb to bureaucratic nonsense that believes in some sort of affinity with the Cycle." The air grew cold as Doctor Kim looked out through the window. Through the darkness of the void they were approaching an area trapped by storms.
"And you're sure she will try to embody someone in this realm?"
"Of course Kim, after all it is her birthplace."

For a second the area seemed to fade but there was a familiarity among the rubble here. Across the street the remains of the Council building stood almost ready to be taken over by moss if it had not shriveled away. Looking around she could feel a feint sense of her former soul linked body. "Where are you Pirogeth?" She muttered under her breath looking through the rubble that had fallen out to the streets. Her fingers brushed over the jagged brick that lay about the place. It was almost as if she were scanning every inch of the place for him. He had to be around here somewhere. I have to know what happened.

"We're encountering extreme turbulence from the storms. We have to back off before we are torn to shreds." The ship rumbled back and forth as what looked like lightning struck the hull of the ship.
"Keep your course. We must put an end to it once and for all." The rattling got louder as it seemed the storms began to focus upon the ship passing through it. It felt like ages but finally they broke through. The darkness gave way to an eternal one. The city below had started turning on the lights of the streets, the buildings lit up with the hum of florescent bulbs. They had been granted access to the City but not without a cost. In a flash the last bolt came from the Rift Storms and penetrated the hull. This lightning coursed through my veins and ripped the power I had taken apart. The ship was in free fall, one part of me fell out before we crashed, Kim had also taken that fate several seconds later. Finally, upon the outskirts of this city I partially awoke. Pirogeth made his way into the city carrying all the knowledge he needed.

Yet, through this link I still cannot fully find him, we cannot find him. "Where are you Pirogeth? We must be one again."

 

[Kitti]

White material from Kitti's badly torn clothing fluttered almost peacefully in the breeze as Kitti continued on her way toward Nerf Castle. The cloth reminded her of a softly billowing sign of surrender, though that was the furthest from the truth. Even the connotation of peace and serenity for the pure white would not hold true - she would not fool herself into thinking that this battle would be won without bloodshed. The smatters of drying blood over the fabric seemed to mirror this sentiment at least, marred the snowy beauty with reminders of the cost of this war. She was no pure being, no soul of brightness, no beacon of light.

She was as stained as the clothing, if not more so, and in times like this, she wondered what a more whole, untainted being would do. Someone like Sakura. And then, Kitti remembered her brief span of time spent with the Convent, knew instantly the punishment of purity. Sakura was no longer among the living, instead bottled and used by others. The unsullied were always the first casualties.

Still moving as quickly as possible, Kitti grimaced at the thought. This city had claimed too many, friends and foes alike, using their stories to fuel the ever-burning furnace of destruction and despair. A raindrop splattered in front of her and she nearly laughed, ridiculous as it was. She had forgotten about the rain that never seemed to truly stop. Some furnace, she thought darkly. Perhaps that's why it devoured so many to sustain its blaze.

Kitti had noticed her movements become less painful as she made her way along the highway and now she was finally able to move with some speed, though the mending was draining her and making her fatigued, nearly negating the positive effects of the healing. Still, she was able to push through the remaining pain and the weariness of her body. She was now able to see things aside from the nearly abandoned stretch of road she'd been traversing, though it was shameful to look back and realize how little distance she'd truly covered. She would need to pick up the pace or risk not making it to the tower in time.

A looming shadow whose presence she couldn't have explained if she tried was causing its fair share of chaos closer to the tower and the odd Razbot zooming about only added to the confusing scene. A few robed cultists could be seen, fleeing from this shadow and shrieking about Skhone. They seemed too panicked, however, to halt her progress of question her. She doubted highly that any of them even took notice of her, as frantic as they appeared to be. Their behavior was highly irregular and at the least, Kitti found herself grateful for whatever it was that had sent them into such a frenzy, as she ordinarily would have needed to make it past them in order to reach her destination.

Her luck, however, seemed as though it was not destined to hold. A small cluster of individuals stood huddled around a car in the street just ahead of her, blocking her path. She did not need to wonder if they were hostile or friendly, she doubted highly that her transgression against them would be considered a gesture of friendship and they'd not been gentle or pleasant about apprehending her last time. They were clothed, head to toe save for the eyes, in white and what little of their faces one could see seemed eerily like that of a doll, hardly human. This was a group of soulmates and judging by their stance, they were protecting the one at the center of their formation.

Freezing in place, Kitti's mind tumbled over itself trying to come up with plans of action that didn't involve catching the attention of the group. Her hope that they had yet to see her was short-lived however when the leader pointed in her direction. All eyes flashed toward her at once and she was unnerved. Their eyes were violet, powder blue, and one that even seemed pale pink but they were all glassy looking and seemed to see through her instead of looking at her. All of them, that was, except the silver of the leader, whose washed-out irises honed in on Kitti as if targeting her with a sniper's precision. A sickening turn of Kitti's stomach told her that she was fairly certain she remembered those eyes. With Aimi now in the company of Grant, that would make this woman Mother Superior Forgotten Angl.

Like a force of nature, moving so threatening slow that it must have been deliberate, the group of women were walking toward Kitti. Each footstep fell at the same time and their eyes continued to gaze sightlessly forward. The five of them formed a wall of crisp white that made her own attire seem all the more dirty. She looked like one of them, though, she realized painfully. A fallen soulmate. She had more important things to do, though, than be captured by the soulmates once again. She had a battle to witness the end of and, perhaps, a new hero to slay for his sins.

"Don't hide behind these blank slates, false priestess. Or do you need sycophants to halt my progression?" Kitti was posturing now, standing taller, trying to appear less wan. Her words were sharp but she hoped more that she would not need to waste time fighting all of the guards. The new Mother Superior, however, was not an easily mislead opponent and Kitti imagined that she was smirking beneath her veil as she spoke. She seemed to not have heard Kitti or was instead simply disregarding her words.

"You could have been important, you know. If you had followed the path of the Soulmate, you could have realized the power for which you strive. You might have engineered change. Had you remained with the Convent, you could have averted all of this. All of this sadness and this destruction could have been prevented if you and your fellow rebels had simply fulfilled their roles. As a soulmate, you might have changed the course of history, and your mentor would still be alive. You could have been a beautiful muse to capture the hearts of men, not just watching as those closest to you found love elsewhere. Instead, the man who raised your eyes to the stars is dead, the angel who gives you meaning has abandoned you, and you will be forgotten with the passage of time. Your decision was brash and foolish and there will only be suffering as a result. You cannot tell me that you fail to see the lives you cost in trying to defy the cycle."

These words were spoken still too far away for Kitti to touch any of the guard but she heard them as clearly as if they had been whispered in her ear. Her eyes flicked up, searching without meaning to do so until their gazes met, gunmetal meeting faded argentate. Every word seemed to creep insidiously into her heart, wrapping it with tendrils of doubt, exploiting her fears. She swallowed the breath that seemed stuck in her throat and brought her hand to her throat, inadvertently brushing her fingertips over the scars. This reminder of previous weakness, of watching the city crumble, bolstered her though and she clung to the painful mementos of her choices and of her convictions, of being forsaken long before now.

"You are the one who will not be remembered. You may be the mother superior, but you are simply the new heir of a dead faith. I will change history, I will rewrite history if I must. This story is flawed and broken and if it must be done, we will revise it with blood. Those whose lives were forfeit to the cycle will live on as the ink with which we right its wrongs, or the medium we use to write a new future."

In motion now, as fluid as though already in motion, she advanced to the foremost guard on her left side. Before they could react to the sudden surge of movement, the guard was struck with a punch dagger summoned from its hiding places within the white robes. The weapon quivered as the woman fell, embedded in her throat. It had been a matter of hoping to strike the right place for Kitti, it was difficult to aim where to strike on the near shapeless canvas. From the strangled choking sounds and the blossom of red on white, however, she had to assume her weapon had found its mark.

She didn't have long to consider the death of the soulmate, however, as there were still four left. She curled herself from her leap and rolled across the pavement gracelessly. Her sword was still at her hip and made the roll far less fluid than the jump had been. Getting unsteadily to her feet, Kitti unsheathed the blade and raised it to block as she turned. The soulmate guards were certainly armed and the raised sword was all that stood between her and a dagger that glanced off of it barely, wielded by the now converged huddle of women. Angl stood back from the others by a small measure, ever poised and reluctant to sully her hands.

It was fortunate that this upset had left so many of the best fighters dead and the confusion had only given Angl four guards. They were not even the best trained or the most agile, since those had been lost in joining with the breadcult and slain by Skhone. Inhaling a painful breath, Kitti made another strike, swooping low to swipe the blade against the backs of the knees of one of the women, causing her to tumble to the ground. However, the woman did not go down easily and Kitti found herself drug down as well. The hands of the woman grasped at Kitti as she tried to roll away, causing Kitti to shove her elbow down into the throat of the woman on the ground. The fingers released their hold and Kitti scrambled to move away but her evasion wasn't fast enough to avoid being grazed along her left shoulder by one of the daggers.

Breathing was getting more difficult and her ribs still ached, which made the rapidly moving fight seem to be taking much longer for Kitti. She edged a few steps backward now as the remaining two women advanced. Before they could strike at her, she stooped slightly and retrieved the punch dagger from the fallen bodyguard. Not wasting a moment, she flung it at the face of the guard at her right side. Her accuracy left some to be desired, as she had been hoping for the throat, but the scream of the woman as she fell to her knees clutching her eye was enough to assure Kitti that she was not dead but likely not a threat at the current point in time.

The remaining guard was clearly inexperienced, her head swiveling to look at her fellow on the ground, and she hardly posed a challenge to Kitti. She was only unfocused for a split second but it was long enough to be unable to block the sword that pierced her midsection. While turning to find where Angl had gotten to, Kitti realized that counting the new mother superior out of the fight had been a decision made in folly. Cool steel slid across her arm and was only saved from being embedded in her back by virtue of the half-completed spin. Weaponless with her sword in the guard behind her, Kitti made an ungainly jump to the side.

Their eyes met again and Kitti made a gamble, leaving her body almost defenseless as she initiated the Reality Marble. She had not expected it to be easy to drag the mind of Forgotten Angl to the plane, but the ensuing struggle only emphasized her exhausted Kitti was in mind and body. Still, there was no going back now and she would win this fight at all costs. Her conviction served as the final tug that laid Angl's mind bare on the scape. For all of her resistance, her actual defenses were eroded with disuse and more vulnerable than Kitti could have hoped. Her sanity was tenuous at best and a fell blow to her essence, to all that she was, was enough to break her.

To any observing, it would seem as though the woman facing Kitti had simply buckled without being touched, cradling her head with both hands. The fight might have even looked effortless on Kitti's part, though she knew the truth to be entirely different. She swayed and fought the urge to fall over herself, her breathing still labored. She hoped fervently that this would be the last obstacle in her path as she turned her face once more to Nerf Tower.
​

 

[Cosmic Orion]

Wind rushes past my ears as the crash flings me through the wind shield and for a brief moment I felt as though I had escaped this wretched city as time slowed down. For a few brief moments anyway. Broken shards of glass float in the air, looking for all the world like light shimmers dancing across the ocean that left sparkles in it's wake. Just a glance downward reveals the ground growing closer to my face by the millisecond. Buzz now killed, I thrust the surfboard beneath me to shield against my imminent landing. Rough asphalt scrapes against my board before momentum gives out to leave me sprawled out along the ground. Near wipeouts are always better than an actual one. . . though pain still pulses through my body from the force of impact and all the wounds those Razbots left me as a parting gift. Right now I'd wager I look like a total schooly.

But how I look is the least of my worries right now.

Piercing my brain with all the precision of a needle I feel some of the worst vibes ever hit me from a place not all that far away. Somewhere that strange mummy-dude has just gotten axed hard by a familiar set of vibes. Ones that belonged to that dudette who got me stoned days ago. Energy that still belongs to me and is still very much a part of me. . . I can feel it getting twisted around to serve that brutal beach bunny. Now what I helped create to aid us will more than likely come to destroy us if we cannot stop it.

It'll have to get in line behind the oversized demon dude though.

Porg catches my attention now, pulling my thoughts away from the Warmster who gave his life for us facing down the inquisition practically all on his own. As a guardian he is everything I could hope to be, Strue bob. Boss warrior that was nothing less than the antithesis of brand X and packing more in the stone zone than anyone I have ever met. Sacrificing himself to help save the rest of us from ridiculous odds. Look at me, my thoughts are drifting toward the big brave guy again. Once more Porg has to stop my thoughts from drifting with the tide. He wants to plan. Something I never did much of honestly. I just ride out the waves. Leaves me unpredictable even to the most omnipotent enemy. And tonight I just might need that.

Nodding to Piroko that I'm alright, I send her off with Archy to go find the boss dude that got me into this crazy mess in the first place.

Did I mention that the demon dude not only has a ridiculous rolling pin but a massive egg beater as well?

Slabs of of concrete are ground into sand-like powder as the demonically enchanted egg beater chases me across the open space. How do I know it is enchanted or possessed or whatever? Well given the fact it is turning on it's own while the bloodthirsty beast holds a rolling pin in the other hand rather than the crank. . . I'd say there is certainly something going on. Every so often the bodies of fallen inquisitors get caught up in it with a repulsive ripping sound. Fair warning to anyone with deathwish enough to leap into the twirling metal.

Both of us dash circles around the demon dude as the red headed brah and I run through our options of how to fight something I have never fought before. Just listing off our powers to one another in a rapid fire list to the point it almost sounds like a chant to grant us power. All while avoiding the demon dude that came from hell knows where. Rallying one another with hyped up vibes to get us psyched for what could be a tougher than usual battle on what feels nothing short of the last night in the Dark Reign.

Right off the bat Porg starts to pepper the monster with dual fireballs wherever he can get a clean shot.

"Dude you are throwin' some serious heat!"

Charging right at it to serve as a moving target, I slide right between the legs before jumping straight up to smack it right in the bum. Just as it turns in furious rage I land in a crouch before rolling to the side and avoid a ridiculously large rolling pin. More fireballs scorch our foe in the time it takes the demon to stand up straight again. Each one aimed for the joints which I give a follow up blow. None of it seems to damage it though. . . only elliciting sinister laughter. A rogue fireball manages to head straight for me, so I reflect it toward our intended target's nads right off the bat.

That time it roars in anger.

"Well dude . . . we pissed it off at least!"

"We're going to have to do more than that!"

"Dude I need you to buy me some time! Got an idea brah!"

"I'll do my best!!!"

Most men would cower at the thought of getting left alone with a thirty foot demon with baking themed weaponry, but not Porg. In his voice I can hear the adrenaline rush this opportunity to prove himself grants while seeing the courage in his eyes. His courage only bolsters my own courage as I run for cover, seeking a safe place to attune my soul to resonate with his own. From that vantage point as I focus, I see Porg make a mad dash for the cardoor laying on the ground and lift it up with one arm just in time to block a blow from the rolling pin. Deflected away by his superhuman strength, the demon staggered back a few steps, just enough time for this dude to do a spinning hook kick that sends the cardoor into the giant eggbeater and jam it up.

Almost as if on cue, I feel my own cosmic power tapping into the boundless and unpredictable power of Porg's soul arts. Power from pure emotion amplified by our own resolve. Without a moment to lose I rip across the pavement in a bee line for my brah while the demon roars in anger and tosses the egg beater right at him. Tension hardly even gets a chance to start as he back-flips over it like a total boss. And it only get better as I arrive in time for him to stick the sickest feet first landing on the broad side of my board before putting the power that flows through my soul to use, boosting him some major air with all my might over thirty feet straight up.

"SURF'S UP BIG KAHUNA!!!"

From where it has been resting on the ground, the rolling pin starts to rise once more to swat down my red-haired brah but finds nothing but the weeps as I bring down my board on the totally not weapons grade weapon. Our foe has just gone total whimpski now and doesn't even realize what is going on anymore. Shattered into two large hunks of obsidian stone, one piece of the ex-rolling pin rolls away mere seconds before Porg comes down in a skull-shattering stomp on the demon dude's head. Hardly a second goes by while the beast is stunned before Porg leaps to one of the horns as I tap into the power of our combined souls once more and charge straight at our foe. Swinging on the horn one-handed, Porg lands an inertia-aided killer jaw-breaker kick dead on just as I jump into the air with my surfboard's tip aimed right at the chest in an all-star blitzkrieg.

A move that taught me what all the insides of these demon dudes looks like close up. . . before I burst out on the other side with blood spraying everywhere as it fell down dead.

 

[Neko Archy]

[DASH=Blue]So now I'm a chauffer, apparently.

Piroko and I head inside the Inquisition building, via the hole in the wall. Someone must have had a very rough time with that, getting thrown through two walls.

I'm not really sure what the guy she's looking for is like, so as we wander through the silent building, I just sort of...enjoy the view. Quiet hallways, stone plants in pots every now and then, statues of people who weren't statues just a day or so ago...

...Okay, the view is not very enjoyable. At all. It's downright creepy.

We start checking the building, room by room. About the third office I get bored and pick up a stack of papers lying around, titled "Summary of Operation #1056079-FINAL SOLUTION". It's about 100 pages thick...pretty glad they didn't have the unabridged version lying around.

Anyways, I flip through it idly as we keep searching. It's full of the amazingly dull bureaucratic language that the ISAF loves so much; "High-capacity transport systems" (armored trucks and a train) "Identification and sorting system proposal #25" (Tattoos) "High capacity gas chambers" (...what)

I flip through a few more pages to confirm the feeling I'm getting. Yep, no joke, they decided to go full ethnic cleansing on the Noob population. And I don't like the guys, to be sure, but...shit.

I give Piroko a quick crash course in what's going on, wrapping up with "I'm fine if you don't come along, but I need to go deal with this right now."

After that, it's out the nearest window to the courtyard. No time for doors.

I can only pray that Porg and Orion will help me with this.

[/DASH]

 

[Asmodeus]

My god...

My breath is stolen as I watch Teknikkan Industries implode on the horizon. The high-rise falls and the book in my chest makes beautiful emulation, inking out the shapes of fire and smoke. It is written as epilogue, with Ryker's face in the backdrop, and by this I know who to thank for this crippling blow to the Mad King's defences.

Heaven speed you to fairer fields, Commandant.

If General Rosoft was in that building then the hive mind is done for. Without acolyte control Prolific X will run cancerous and rob those soldiers of their reason. More fuel for the anarchy on the streets. Teknikkan drones are falling from the sky now, and gunships bailing out. They too, like the Ego-Zombies, have lost their beacons. Now we are bastard children all. And there is only one figurehead left to topple.

I pull myself over the railing of the freeway. Already the injuries Ozryel dealt me have healed, and the only blood on my clothes is hers, from where I stomped her body apart. And even that becomes dust as I start the journey north. Medusa hogs the other end of the skyline, stood atop the Scorpion which has frozen on the streets, claws and tail aloft. It is like some holy artefact, a cathedral parasitic. Great pulses of energy are rippling from it and turning all to stone. Two thirds of the city are petrified, a million people fossilised in their beds. This is how it ends for them.

Tegan... are you out there still? Are you alive? I feel what I have always felt, since first we met - what I have felt so seldom in the lands of Iwaku: that you, of all, will die by your own terms. That you are apart from the ebbs and flows that have claimed so many. Too strong to be torn in the gears of the Cycle, but to wrestle with the narrative, the Woman and the Dragon, till all around you is shattered.

There is dust in the air, playing games on my fingertips. The shape of her hips, plunging to burn-scarred belly. The trench of her shoulderblades. The crest of each curve and the puckered flower of lips and labia. A hundred forms of her, like projector slides in the air. A movie heroine. A femme fatale.

Sand.

Iwaku Beach. Don't keep me waiting. Her last words to me. Is she the only thing that waits for me beyond the ashes... beyond the end of the world... beyond my last crusade? And if so... should I not fear it...?

I snarl and slap the dust aside, increasing my pace through the swirl. We won't have long till Medusa resumes her march. I must beat the Goddess to Nerf Castle before she ruins us all. The book tells me that Jack has the Sword, and with the Sheath destroyed in the Convent there is nothing that can block it. I'll take the weapon from Jack and slay the Goddess - close this trap upon her. And she will haunt this world no more.

A forum for the masculine, for structure and control, for direction... for glory.

The Dark Reign of the Sacred Feminine will end this night.

Feral clambered up the fence, fingers and toes finding purchase in the mesh. She was striped by fire and searchlights, ears twitching at every scream, every gunshot. Above her, the Noob who called himself Raven was perched atop the fence, with the barbs crushed under a sheet of canvas he had found. His arm was outstretched.

"74K3 mY h4Nd!"

An explosion shook the fence and fire tore across the compound behind them. The Flamers had found Doctor Zalinar's lab and torched him along with his specimens. Everywhere the ISAF were scattered: firing wild, fleeing, or simply staring at the skies and waiting for the mob to trample them. All coherence had been lost and they were more like roaming undead than soldiers now. They fell to the Spammers' shivs, the Pimprats' chains, the fists and fury of the Trolls. Someone said their commanders were dead, and with them the concentration camps were nightmares imploding.

Feral lunged and grabbed Raven's hand, letting him pull her over the canvas and into an undiginifed tumble to the asphalt beyond.

It wasn't long before a line of Deviants tore through the fence behind them. Raven and Feral barely had time to get up before they were swept along in the wave of prisoners-turned-revolutionaries. They were heading into the city, back towards the heart of their oppresion. Back to Nerf Castle, that first great church of the Elitists built over their sacred grounds. All things would end tonight.

"Remember, Grant... remember our legacy... remember what Raife did to his daughter... what he told her.. about us... Remember what monsters are..."

The old man was knelt over the entwined statues, grey like his hair and beard, grey like his coat, his eyes, his city, his heart. He was, as ever, the greater sculpture, even with Uriel and Sozrosse petrified before him. Grant was sculpted by his pain, contoured by loss, carved by ruin. The tears and blood-drops had drawn his wrinkles and the knots of his muscle, and left him as he was.

"Grant..."

He should not have lived this long, a stranger now amidst the remembered dead. For all the life within him had been given to the departed, to animate them in his conscience, in his nightmares and memories. They were the moving, twitching thorns who were never silent, and he the wasting, decomposing husk...

"Grant!"

He stirred and looked up at Aimi. She was clutching his shoulder. Her eyes were urgent silver. "P'roko's calling us."


Minutes later, Orion and Porg would see the figures emerge from the Council Building. Aimi, head lowered and arms folded against her sides, followed by Piroko, who seemed unsteady in her step. And lastly, Grant, carrying in his arms the prone body of a councilman. With the shadow of the Warmaster's statue looming from the lobby, they came down a few steps before laying Pirogeth on the stone.

At last they had found him... a blue rose amidst the rocks... And at last his testament could be given.

 

[Warmaster Death]

Postscript: Somewhere beyond the fourth wall.

The bottle was near empty, the smallest of the three silent figures grasping the square blue glass with the clumsiness of the inebriated, three empty glasses on the table received the last of the Johnny Walker blue label.

The diminutive one was the first to speak
"it's it weird that I'm proud of you guys?" he slurred, his glassy eyes passing from the colossal space marine to the bulky necromancer
"I mean, well, fuck, it was hard for me to do, I can't even begin to imagine what you guys" he began, but as the space marine's massive hand encompassed his shoulder he stopped, instead tipping his head and the glass back, letting the soft burn of the alcohol brush at the feeling of unease that had built up during the long silence
"it's fine Michael" WMD's voice was a soft whisper, and the diminute wannabe writer looked to the third figure
"I'm sorry Uriel, I never meant to have her mean so much to you, only to have those hopes n dreams crushed, I, I, I didnt know how to make her real, I, didn't want to make her some sort of charicature, a fraction of what she was" he mumbled, the words tasting sour like a bad excuse
"life is not supposed to be easy" Uriel's response was controlled, but the little drunk's words had angered him deeply, and brought the maelstrom of memories, thoughts of an old love tore at his every fibre.

"kind of you to say, but we all know that damn near anything can happen, your lives shaped by my stubby fuckin fingers as your evolving stories lift me from my despairing arrogance, and I owe you at least a moments peace and happiness" the drunkard set his glass down on the table and fumbled with a golden colored pack of cigarettes and a brass zippo lighter, as he clumsily half lit the cigarette, the Warmaster looked down at him with a little sympathy and mild distaste
"those things will be the death of you" he reprimanded the little fat man gently
"though I think you forget that without us, you are lessened, but without you, our stories end, there is always another tale we can feature in, another chance for us to find that peace" he added, and Uriel nodded
"I remember the choice you gave me after the last great battle of the legacy, a choice I do not regret, despite the pain and the greif it has caused me since" he said, smiling sadly
"I will see Sura again one day, when all is said and done, when there are no more tales to tell of me" his voice wavered a little, and the writer dropped the half finished smoke into the beer bottle that served as an ashtray, before rising from his seat and wrapping his arms around the necromancer in a brotherly bearhug, Uriel hesitated for a moment before returning the gesture, before the three all looked to the laptop screen, waiting for the final chapter of the story to run it's course.

 

[Pirogeth]

The life of a herald was supposedly simple; get information and analyze it. It was just that simple, nobody needed it, nothing seemed to depend on it, and in the overall scheme of things such a minor part. However, one would know better than to think something like that when the Cycle was nearing its peak. Every part was and is just as important as the other and the herald was no exception. His lips were dry with the faint taste of sand upon them, unlike the beach it was not a welcoming texture. For a time taking in the surroundings was a difficult task. Pirogeth could barely open his eyes let alone see who was around him. There was a feeling of movement, rough and unsteady and only felt on his torso. Below he noticed his legs had been petrified and with no power left he could not undo the damage. Looking about the Herald searched for other information, that old Guardian Orion was here and Porg. It was after that he took notice of Piroko, she must have been worried sick about him after the chain separated. "This is good, I don't need to go any farther." Pirogeth said to Grant. Once propped up Pirogeth could talk to everyone there without looking like some bed ridden victim. "So this is what he managed to rustle up huh? Man the Cycle's in trouble." Pirogeth had a dry laugh to himself, even I couldn't help but silently chuckle. Piroko just stared at him thinking to herself. Why did he do it? He might have stood a chance if they still shared their power. My dear you would be correct if it was any ordinary enemy, yet, this creature is a direct enemy to the natural occurrence. Although currently operating in its confines she has the power to stop it.
"He's getting stronger." She said approaching Pirogeth. Her head shifted downward as her hope left her. If the Medusa could do this to someone that had a small chance against her what would she do when they no longer have each other's power and surrounded by people that don't have that chance. In her inquiry she noticed that the petrification had made it to his waist. "It's progressing."
"So long as we are not linked to each other it will not hurt you. Now I have some information for the rest of you. Mr. Orion if you would be so kind as to check my pockets. You will find some vials of a very special attribute." Doing so the surfer pulled out the vials The Councilman had taken from the Vault. "In a way I think the Ex-High Councilman predicted this scenario. We had Sakura sustained in a stasis chamber. The vial you are holding is normal water that had been injected into the chamber. After being that close in contact with her a serum was developed from her power. That essence you are holding is what might give you a fighting chance. It slows the petrification process but it does not stop it." As Pirogeth fulfilled his role more and more the petrification moved farther and farther upward. Very soon now his throat would be encased in stone. "I do not care who uses that, just so long as they intend to stop her; because even if it is a vile villain, the Cycle has a better chance of correcting them out than this calamity." His voice began to rasp as his vocal cords started to solidify. "And Piroko…no matter…what…keep to our promise." It was done, the councilman was no more.
"You…you stupid bastard!" Piroko yelled marching up to the remains of the Councilman. "Don't just go away and tell me I can't save you. Don't just shrivel up when I know we can still live!" She thrust her hands forward toward his chest. "I'll make my own decisions got it." And what a decision. If I had eyes I'd cry tears of joy, but we'll see what happens.

In one bright flash the soul link was seen shattered between the two but that did not matter to her. Both of their forms started to glow with a bright blue light. "Sorry Pirogeth, but it is the only way." She apologized before the two started to become one. The world seemed to stop for a moment, or perhaps it was the fact that I was now regenerating and getting my actual eyes back, my touch, my senses entirely. From the void and stillness I felt for so long came one of the most grand and familiar feelings I had known. The wind was blowing across my arms. As the event settled and the blue light fades from my vision, I can now see the crumbled remains of the city that I hovered above all those years ago. And in one shockwave of my energy I could feel any stone left over on my body shatter. I took in my first breath; the smell of the decayed world filled my nostrils. I was back, but in truth I never left. I could feel the power around me return and with it I generated a lance, white in color. "So how about we stabilize The Cycle before it gets any worse?"

 

[Hecatoncheires]

[size=+1] Together with Aimi I emerge from the ruins of the building, the councilman in my arms.

Underneath my wide-brimmed hat none but Aimi can see the tears being shed for our lost comrades, our fallen friends.

"This is good, I don't need to go any further," the councilman informs me. With a silent nod I lower him to the ground, propping him up against a large slab of over-turned paving. He's withering, barely with us now, a dying bird readying to sing his last song.

But what a song he sings.

He arms us with words of wisdom and the tool we need to stop the Medusa, a true Herald to his last. I have no more tears to shed, no more remorse to feel, but I do believe that I will remember the good councilman should I somehow survive this.

I look about the shattered remains of this courtyard, bullet-strewn and lined with the bodies of those who stood in our way. Just inside the lobby I can see the statue of the man who bought our entrance to that place with his life. Here we five stand, the last of the terrorists, the final unfortunate few.
"So how about we stabilize The Cycle before it gets any worse?" Piroko suggests. In response I let the empty clips inside my pistols slide out and crash down on the floor, the sound like small explosions amidst the silence. Wordlessly I reload my weapons before regarding the assembled group.
"Don't see how it could get much worse than this, girl, but might as well do something about it.

"No more speeches, no more waiting. We're not heroes, we're just the bastards lucky enough to stay standing this long. And there are other, bigger bastards in need of murdering." I glance over to the wreck of the van Aimi, the Warmaster and I drove in aboard. "No more vehicles; it'll draw too much attention. We move fast, we move quiet, we hit them when they least expect it.

"Then we kill absolutely every fucking one of them."

Whatever I might once have been is lost now. If I was a hero at any point in all this then I failed; I failed to find my friends and free them from their captors before the Medusa found them; I failed to save Aimi from the madness of the Inquisition.

But there's one thing I can do tonight, as all things die.

Somewhere in this burning city is a man, a man under who's watch all these horrors were allowed to pass. I met him before in another life, when he tortured me to the edge of sanity aboard a ship called the Torment. I saw what he did to his child, the girl Uriel reminded me of before he died.

I'm coming for you, Raife, you motherfucker. You made us all into monsters, but now your creations are turning on you.

I'm going to write your eulogy in your own blood.[/size]

 

[Cosmic Orion]

Useless. That is how I feel watching the boss dude that got me into this mess in the first place die right before my eyes. Petrifaction spreads with every second that ticks away and I cannot save him. All of my cosmic power and all I can do is just watch him die slow. It reminds me of Miru, the little bro that I can only imagine is dead now. Poor guy had done nothing wrong to anyone and yet they all treated him like a schooly or acted like they forgot him. Well I still have not forgotten Miru at all. I miss him as much as I know I'll miss Pirogeth. The man who put me on a journey that eliminated my greed and selfishness. Even though the Herald might not have intended it, he impacted my life in this now almost destroyed city more than he might ever know. All those years of accumulating money as hired muscle were a waste of my talents. I understood that now. Paychecks were nothing to me now. Of course it helped that I had also realized a week ago that there was no way money would ever buy anything in this City ever again. Money no longer motivated me. . . so I was no longer a mercenary. Instead something worth infinitely more had taken hold in my heart the day I freed so many of these dudes and dudettes from the Mature Tower.

At last I understood what it meant to be a true Guardian.

Perhaps that was why I could feel tears sting at the corners of my eyes as I pulled the Sakura Serum vials out from his pockets as instructed. My last order from the boss dude carried out without a moment of hesitation. Did he notice that at all in his final moments? Or did anyone else notice as I slipped one of those vials into my coat? Now that no one was trying to kill us every three seconds the others might start noticing the cracks in the skin on my forearms and hands that glowed with cosmic power. All the energy I had expended in the last few days was taking a toll on my body that only Tegan would understand. But then I saw something that I will never forget:

Dude and dudette merged into one.

All the others took a few steps back in reaction to the blue light and the wind, but I did not budge an inch. I helped up this person I did not know that had come from two of my closest friends. Logic ceased to help me cope with what I had just seen and left me speechless. Though the rest might have taken it for stoic silence. After all I hardly said a word unless it was the heat of battle. Instead I helped the new 'being' up from the ground and onto their feet. Now all I had left in this world to protect were Tegan, Porg, and this new. . . whatever it was I had just helped up off the ground that used to be two of my friends.

"So dude, just what do I call you?"

My question is most likely lost though in some bearded dude's righteous words. Though I hardly mind as I find they inspire me enough to fist bump him. Something each of us needs after all the harsh vibes this City has put us through. A small smirk of a warrior's pride crosses onto my lips grim with optimism. Part of me feels like this just might be the last night any of us gets to ride the waves.

If that ends up true then I'm taking this last chance to give everything I have.

 

[Tegan]

Everything, to put it simply, was completely and utterly fucked. Noobs let loose from confinement always resorted to frenzied chaos and destruction; derailing narrative was their natural state, their buffalo stance; that need to reduce everything back to that spanless white, with only the blink of a black cursor. Infinite potential, infinite infinity.

That's why they worshipped the Medusa. She was chaos and potential incarnate. But it was a mistake to summon her in their own image. This was their fault, this was Tegan's fault. This was Paorou's fault and Asmo and...

And Feral had to fix it somehow.

***
​

"Every atom in your body came from a star that exploded. And, the atoms in your left hand probably came from a different star than your right hand. It really is the most poetic thing I know about physics: You are all stardust. You couldn't be here if stars hadn't exploded, because the elements - the carbon, nitrogen, oxygen, iron, all the things that matter for evolution and for life -weren't "created" at the beginning of time. They were "created" in the nuclear furnaces of stars, and the only way for them to get into your body is if those stars were kind enough to explode. So, forget Jesus. The stars died so that you could be here today."
​

Tegan fought to trudge the thick sludge that threatened to drag her down into the water's black depths. Behind her, the Flamer's flames pulsed to infernal heights that evaporated the rain. Her clothes were drenched in sweat, the stolen ISAF gun wanted to slip from her wet palm.

She couldn't find Ocha or Soledad, but that was no surprise to her. A shifter and a half-hijacker who served the Luna Ashe, it was only expected of them to have their own agendas to fulfill. Just as she with the Revisionists.

Tegan gripped a steel girder and hauled herself from the sewage and onto a concrete bridge. She lay on her back, chest heaving to catch her lost breath, and gazed up at the smoke-filled sky.

She had to find Syracuse.

***
​

"waaaaaaaagh!!!" Feral flailed and clawed as she was crushed between the bodies of trolls and pimprats. The Noobs had been rioting since they'd overpowered the ISAF a few hours ago. Normally, Feral would be down for smashing some shit up after all they'd been through, but there was still some business to be taken care of. The Moderatum Mirror around Paorou's sky rise castle...thing. It was the only thing protecting him from a massive wave of Fuck You that the Noobs could deliver.

The neko burst from the swell, hissing and spitting and generally trying to make herself the center of attention. "come on you cunts!" she hollared "we gotta go take out the shit brick shield around that castle!" She may as well have been trying to whisper in their ears for all the attention they were paying her. She thought she saw a Spammer look at her for a second, but alas, he was only pausing to expose himself to a group of Flamers as the torched an ISAF soldier. This was completely fucking useless.

"fuck a shit you guys listen to me!"

 

[Asmodeus]

Pirogeth... Piroko... Piro... whatever the creature might be called... it was here now. It was among them.

And on its robe was the symbol of the circled dot... the symbol of alchemical gold... of the Fifth Element made manifest. Confluence, Dreamweaving, Soul Arts and Reality Bending; The Age of Gabriel, the Admin War, Iwaku World and the Elder Invasion. These sets of four had now been answered... and the fifth was coming... the other... the beyond.

The opposing gender of all things. Its unity and completion. Order and Chaos, Apollo and Dionysus, Yin and Yang, God and Shekinah.

Piro was the promise of things to come. As were Zypher and Archy, born of both genders, and mad Celcius and the stone fusion of Uriel and Sozrosse.


Aimi stepped between the others and placed her hand on Piro's chest, her palm upon the dot at the centre of the embroidered circle. "It's th' end..." she whispered, breathlessly, as the light around Piro faded. "Th' end of all our stories. Th' flaws of man an' woman, mended in th' soul."

Around them, fire painted the horizon. The Death Camps were being torn apart, and like a flood the Noobs were surging inwards, picking through the statues of the fallen, ever onwards to Nerf Castle.

"I's th' teachin' of th' Goddess," Aimi said, as she lowered her grasp to catch Piro's hand, to squeeze it, gently. "Tha' th' story ends when all tha' is masculine and all tha' is feminine submit to one 'nother." She smiled into the face of the transifgured Piro. "Alch'my. Th' Hero's end."

"Just Piro, will suffice," the creature answered as he looked beyond Aimi and smiled at Orion. The voice was deep. It seemed it had chosen a male appearance in which to converse. "And we should heed Grant's wisdom in this. As Councilman I carried the eyes of the Purger Jack Shade and was blessed by Soul Arts. I was given the vision of a Herald, to see beyond this realm."

Piro's hand still tingled with a residue of energy. He lifted it slightly, and a pulse of Heraldic energy washed against each of them. By his power he let the news be told. They saw what he saw, in the Rift Storm night above. What Miru had seen when Medusa possessed him. What had caused the great anomaly which rendered the Cycle flawed once more.

For but a moment they felt themselves up high... in the arctic void above the city... a smear of rooftops in the smog below.

And they were not alone.

Like bunching clouds there were figures in the air around them. They twisted on the wind, not quite seen, numbering thousands, maybe millions. And each was pressed against the silk-like veil of pages, choking as blood and ink turned to rain.

A million suffocating cries... begging them... hands reaching through the skin of smothering paper.

The vision faded. They blinked and saw Piro again, standing with them in the courtyard. "I'm sure you have each felt this, in your own way," said the News-Letter. "The dimension we are stuck in, thanks to Paorou, is only as big as his power can muster. And he has shut it off from all other realms, in order to trap the Medusa. Now the dead have nowhere to go. Medusa is freeing souls from their bodies, but the balloon of this world has no expansion left in it. The souls are being crushed, compacted, shredded. It is tearing the Cycle apart."

Nerf Castle shimmered eldritch green beyond the Council Building, barely ten blocks away, beyond the spires of the Bread Cathedral.

"We must break his hold," Piro declared as he handed out a vial of Sakura Serum to each ally. "We must kill the King, and free the spirits of Iwaku."

I find her on the rooftop.

TK... Julez in kitsune form... now a stone embellishment to this rain-soaked plateau. She has the highest grave of all, for below us the streets are littered with the children of Holmgard and the Mur Virus. My book tells me little of what transpired here... that the Virus was a perversion of Prolific X, cultivated in Julez, and released by Acquariana to sow chaos in the name of the Luna Ashe... a fellowship of women, bent on the destruction of the Cycle.

Another of your factions, Rory? How deep was this plot of yours, this scheme to bring the Feminine upon Iwaku and pervert our every path?

I still picture him, in the Convent, his eyes content as Jack Shade threw the dagger at his throat. He had known his death for more than two decades and embraced it. And now, in the fruition of his plans, Rory had abused the ones who loved him... Fluffy, now that Medusa abomination... Kitti, thrown from the road in untimely death... Ozryel, whose pieces still clung to my toes... and little Julez, now curled and frozen, like roadkill in the wake of titans. He had used his allies as cruelly as I ever did.

And for what, Rory? To teach us what?

I rest my hand on the stone brow of Trance Kitsune, eyes closed with a prayer. She was the waking Sakura - the innocent who suffered all the filfth and fraility of this Cycle's incarnation. The lost soul of the Dark Reign. I hope she is at peace now, that she has gone to the better place beyond this world where only monsters roam.

"Terrorist..."

The voice comes from the edge of the rooftop. My gaze tracks a trail, through puddles of blood and poison, till it rests on the figure curled against the parapet. In her Inquisition clothes I hadn't seen her. Natalie is slumped, clutching her chest where a rupture is cauterized, deep and clean... as only the Sword of Iwaku could inflict.

"He has the Sheath now..." The Grand Master utters.

Realisation takes me in its slow grip. I was a fool to think the Sheath would be buried with the Convent. If only I had found a way to speak to Aimi, to conquer her fear of me, and learn what secrets she held.

"He's your son, Asmodeus..."

"I know." I had always known, in the stiller parts of me.

"Jack Shade gave his soul to the Cycle... It used him as a vessel, to carry another. Your son."

"Nobody."

So many women. They are crushing me now. My hand touches Julez, my ears hear Natalie, my skin bears Ozryel, my lips taste Tegan, my hatred fixes Medusa... my memories recall Artemis. After all I subjected her to she fled with my seed in her womb. Her final victory. A child born beyond Iwaku, unloved and tormented, then hurled into the hollow shell of a lieutenant I betrayed. Twice the son resenting. A paradox to mend my own.

"The Feminine seeks to repair through Medusa..... but the Masculine is still active... The Tyrant seeks to repair through conflict..."

I move over to her, crossing the blood-flecked darkness between us. My hand grips hers. "Does the Purger know how to use the Sword?"

She smirks, her black-scarred face creased with pain. "I'd still... be hunting... you fucks... if he didn't."

I smile. "I wish we could have met under different terms, Detective."

"Don't fight your son..." she coughs now on the fluid welling in her lungs. Her fingers grip mine. "Whoever wins... Iwaku loses... the Cycle... will... it will come undone again..."

My smile grows weaker as sadness creeps in. My eyes avert. "The story needs its big finish, Detective. Our battle was written in the stars before I even fell from them. The passion with which you hunted us terrorists... I've felt that fire for decades. Could you abandon the things that make you, undo yourself piece by piece? Tear up the shores you made against the madness of a life? We are creatures of rage, you and I. It is how we draw breath, in this harsh world."

Her eyelids droop. Her legs and waist are wreathed in stone. At last, amid the rain, her whisper sounds. "Then... then make it... make an end... of yourself... Mad Angel..." Her arm comes to rest in my lap. I look down. I understand.

As Natalie Verortus, detective of the Dark Reign and Grandmaster of the Inqusition, breathes her last, I slip the Fear Garden device from her wrist.

I know what I must do.

Beyond the rooftop the skyline of the Bread Cathedral lurks, and behind it the green-hued outline of Nerf Castle. To my right the Medusa waits atop her Scorpion, and to my left the Council Building is in ruins. I wonder how many of my allies survive out there. But it is not my part to know, or intervene. I have only one road left... as do we all.

It is time for us all to return to Nerf Castle.

 

[Paorou-sama]

"And so it has come to pass: that the black-winged son of the angel held both the tower and the killing blade of Iwaku, seeking to slay the blood-stained gods of old!"

There was carnage everywhere, from the burning smell of ashen corpses and the endless fire-blood that constantly erupted from each wound on Skhone's body. Unlike his human host, he stood well over ten feet, with a constantly growing musculature that matched his endless power. The crimson, burning, bread god stood at the epicenter of a great conflagration, his vital fluids pooling at his feet as a crimson inferno.

Before Skhone was an angel of death, held aloft with black wings. He stared at the howling, artificial god before him, with empty eyes that could see nobody. The blind angel was the Purger, Jack Shade. In his hands he wielded both tower and sword of Iwaku.

His weapon could be said to be blind like him, seeing only the sheathe as the one thing it could never cut. The sword was deceptively simple : It looked like a mere long-sword of black metal, without much furnishings on the blade. However, it glowed a bright green, like a pale omen. All things were made equal in its ruthless arc.

The two stood in the midst of a collapsed cathedral, where the clean separation of pillar masonry served as an indication of the sword's capability. Jack Shade simply hovered in mid air, anticipating the next action of his opponent. Skhone, below, snarled and mumbled in his inscrutable tongue. The fires about him raged and hissed.

Before this moment, the Purger had actually dealt several cuts and killing blows upon the Bread God, yet before him it still stood angrily.

It was an unnerving realization.

As if to mock his thoughts, the red voice spoke once more.

"Oh, Jackie, Jackie, Jackie... Surprised with this little inconvenience?"

It was a voice familiar yet distant to the angel, like a lost memory that itself consisted of vague recollections. However, it was enough for him to figure out the source.

"Paorou."

He would tilt his head in the direction of the voice, but even with eyes, it would have been a pointless exercise with the Mad King.

"Get used to it. You're trying to be a hero, right? Then, that's kinda the point. Absolute Weapons do not promise absolute victory~"

Even with his mind's eye, Jack could see a vivid, torn red cloak, with golden eyes that danced in the darkness. This was his true opponent - Skhone was just a tool, a proxy by which he played his secretive games.

Then the Bread God screamed, its voice the hiss and roar of an oven's flames. A pillar of fire burst forth from its feet, quickly lifting it into the air.

JackShade swiftly flew to one side, then felt a change in pressure within that same split second. He extended the sheathe in an instant, a tower blocking the blow of a large, black rolling pin, crackling with energy.

A large Breadbaker had jumped forth from the pillar to strike him as soon as it smelled blood.

From the gaping inferno of Skhone's wounds, demons flew forth with gnashing teeth and gaping maws. From the burning pool of blood below, the scream of a hundred more spawn, drawn to this world by the call of the Bread God. Skhone hovered above, obscuring the moon and illuminating the burning battlefield like a small sun. Each drop of his wounds called forth imps and horrors, all hungering for bread made from the bones of their enemies.

The Purger simply drew the blade and swung once in an instant, cleanly severing the Breadbaker, rolling pin, hat and apron, in half. Green light flew forth from the strike, like alien blood spilled from an open wound.

The blind angel turned skyward, and quickly flew at Skhone. In the span of a few seconds, the Bread God was now surrounded with a thick mass of his cohorts, like a bleeding, burning throne of bloodthirst and hunger.

"How beautiful the sword has become, stained with the blood of its fatherland!"

The Purger could feel the red cloth whip past his face as he flew at breakneck speeds. The golden glare of Paorou's countless eyes could be felt like countless burns on his skin.

"Truly, it suits someone with your destiny- How ironic that your attempt to change fate is what draws you to it's end."

Jack swung, hitting nothing. The green light from his blade flew forth, rippling through the air, but found no mark. Clouds, and pillars of smoke were sliced clean in half, dispersing in an instant.

Paorou-sama stood before Jack in mid-air, his arms crossed and a smirk on his face. His crimson cape thrashed about him, like a swirling red cloud.

"Hey now. I said you're not supposed to have an easy victory."

He pointed upward, and Jack saw a bloodstained mass of demons, imps, and flesh spiralling through the humid night-sky like a thrashing wurm.

The mad king quickly flew backward as the gargantuan mass crashed into the Tower of Iwaku, cracking it's walls and dislodging some masonry. Horrid screams and gore battered the walls of the tower endlessly, prompting Jack to regress the sheathe for but a split second. In that same instant, the angel quickly swung the sword in a wide arc, dismembering thousands of demons with a green flash. Entrails and blood spattered amidst specks of green light, raining crimson on the firefields below.

Then Jack realized he had overlooked the obvious.

From below, a large, reddish hand grabbed his leg, crushing it with its sheer mass, and burning it with arcane fire. Then with unnatural speed, Skhone thrashed him about in the air like a cruel kid with a small bird, finally throwing him straight at the ground. The angel quickly recovered before he even touched the earth, his black wings delivering him from a crushing death. He swiftly flew from the following advance of countless imps and demons that pursued his fall, ending them all in one flash.

Then Jack sheathed the sword, and Skhone lost his arm.

The useless, large piece of meat fell to the ground, gushing blood as it thrashed uselessly. A small fire spread from the pool of infernal liquid, and Jack could hear screams coming from the blaze. Both from the imps, and the victims. Skhone seemed to be unaffacted by the loss of his arm, as his stump began to regenerate with a horrendous sound. Jack could only understand it as mixed screams and chants of the faithful.

More and more demons flew forth from the fires, killing, baking, burning. The screams of the innocent only grew louder. Skhone's burning wounds began to close.

"Oh shit, son! Not much of a hero, are you?"

Paorou-sama said in a mocking nasal voice, standing behind him.

The Purger made no indication of his boiling emotion, nor of his lethal movement. In a split second, he performed a thousand strokes - his sword painting thousands of green lines that covered the entirety of Paorou's form.

The Mad King simply stood in mid-air, frozen mid-laughter. His eyes were blank, and his cape lacked the 'life' it had prior.

"... Not much of a King, are you?" Jack said, turning away to face Skhone in the distance, who was still regenerating his large fingers.

Jack Shade slowly sheathed the short sword of Iwaku, then realized too late that something was amiss.

Paorou's laughter continued behind Jack, and he acted as if dusting himself off.

"See Jackie, there's nothing that states that I can't cut the sword itself."

The angel held the Sword of Iwaku, the blade of which had been twisted apart by some great force.

Behind him, Paorou juggled the twisted green-glowing black metal shard like a toy knife.

"This short-sightedness is exactly why you can't be the savior of Iwaku~"

Paorou flicked his fingers and the dark shard immediately flew back into its original body, twisting itself to its former shape by sheer power of Reality Bending. Paorou-sama then cracked his knuckles and several golden eyes opened about him.

"Here's a tip, Jackie boy! If you cut off a hand, that's all you will cut off! That weapon isn't a miracle cure, it's a surgeon's knife! So unless you're a surgeon, I suggest you give it to me~"

Paorou sat down in mid-air, crossing his legs and putting his hand on his chin. The golden eyes about him glowed ever brighter, illuminating Jack Shade's back with his raw power. In front, Skhone began to lunge at him, and the Purger could feel the hot oven flames licking at his injured heel.

Yet with all this, the Purger simply sneered, without turning to face Paorou.

"I already gave it to you."

Countless green lines began to appear on Paorou's body, glowing brightly as Jack spoke.

"See, I cut your hand..."

Paorou's hand fell off, and he had a surprised expression on his face.

"... and many other things."

Pieces of Paorou began to fall off as the green lines erupted with countless flashes. The golden eyes began to flicker and weaken, and all Paorou could do was laugh. His limbs crumbled away into a fine dirt, and he could do nothing against the rule of the Absolute.

"Ah, such a deceptive sword. A traitorous blade! I had assumed that it was the blood of Iwaku that stained it..."

Jack slowly flew towards the advancing horde, leaving the disappearing Paorou-sama behind. The green lights continued to eat away at the Mad King's form.

"... I did not realize that it was your own!"

Paorou-sama laughed, even when his vocal chords and lungs were now missing.

"Watch out, Father-Killer... Like Prince Mortred, your sword may just be giving you a glimpse of your own future..."



... And with that, the Mad King disappeared from the burning sky, never to face Jack Shade again.

His laughter echoed throughout the Dark Reign.



Skhone charged the Angel, not realizing that the green liquid splashed on his body slowly began to glow brightly in Jack Shade's presence.

 

[Porg]

I'm surprised to see that the man Grant brings out, the head councillor, is the man who bought me a drink at the convent. It isn't pleasant watching him in this state, dying and wheezing and almost fossilised. I find myself wondering, however inappropriately, whether he remembers me, and what he must think of me, having only seen me as a bewildered and confused boy at a bar. I can't say I feel the same person as back then, however recent it was. Has this world changed me? Or perhaps, I find myself thinking, it has merely made me come to my senses, stabilised me, grounded me.


I shield my eyes from the glow as Pirogeth and Piroko combine. The event taking me quite by surprise. I had felt SoulArts from the two, but now, it is something else. I eye him somewhat cautiously but I cannot deny I am intrigued. Aimi's words go a little way to explain things but things are far from clear to me.


Without much warning he delves us into a vision, a shocking one, and I feel a fool for not noticing it before. Am I so out of touch with this world that I couldn't hear thousands, millions, of screaming souls? Or perhaps I could, and it is the maddening influence I have felt gnawing at me this whole time. Well, just another reason to fight.


"It isn't just the king. He has his knights, and his rooks." I chime in. My intention clear in my tone. The King is not my fight.


I walk forwards, passing Grant and stopping. Though I do not look to the man. "Grant. I know neither of us is the person we once knew. But here we are again, and you should know that I still consider you a comrade, a friend even." I risk a glance at him noting the faded trail of a tear on his lined face. Still human even if he doesn't want to think so.


I continue walking, moving towards Nerf castle. What I said to Grant meant so little, but it makes me feel better. I need to believe I am still capable of humanity. Need to believe that even if he is me, there is something different between us, something that means I would not have just done what he has.

 

[Jack Shade]

A chime. It began with a chime. Slowly, almost with languid fascination, Syracuse reached into his bandages and took out the watch. It was time. Tegan had yet to find him, Medusa had taken the Scorpion, Jack was dealing with Skohne, and Asmodeus was on his way to the tower. All pieces were coming into play, just as expected, just as planned. Sitting up, Syracuse stood and looked over the edge of the building he perched on. Jack and Paorou spoke a ways away from him, both posturing, both underestimating the other. Let the Mad King overplay his hand, let Jack believe the mad king was dead. It did little for both of them in the long run. Paorou was not ordained by the Cycle to fight. Asmodeus and Jack were…and they would fight upon the last array, the surface of the ruined Nerf Castle.

Tegan and he had preparations to make. Holding out his hands, Syracuse loosened the bandages around his palm, red and orange energy spilling out into the open air. He was weakened, and amid such cataclysmic powers, he could not sense her.

"Where are you, Tegan?" He asked the ruined city quietly, "You aren't going to make me wait…are you?"

In the fetid sewers beneath the city, Tegan ducked around a wall and held her breath. The ISAF zombies shuffled past her, gurgling to each other in words long lost through ruined lips. Without their Commander, the remnants of the security forces had turned rabid. The streets were more dangerous than they had ever been, and the upper alleys were not safe to traverse. Slipping behind them and back down the corridor, she cursed her initial indecision to call upon Ocha or Soledad to find Syracuse. Now, in the end, it had come down to the only two that had ever existed in the Revisionists, he and her. Once professor and student, they'd shadowed the rebellions and conflicts of Iwaku awaiting the Tyrant's move. Syracuse, as it turned out, had been right. Still…he was somewhere else now, unleashing havoc on the city to keep the Purger and the Angel distracted. Both groups converged toward the Nerf castle, but she was far behind.

The echo of Syrcause was weak, now. His power had waned dangerously, unexpectedly. A curse was swallowed, bitter, reminding that even those who moved beyond the grasp of the Cycle had chance to contend with. What was it he had told her? How was it that he could always find her? Her memories were a torn mirror of shattered glass, all reflecting different truths. What was it he had said? It was after they had met, after she'd had time to stare at the picture he'd given her…she had come to his office and said…

"Professor Syrcause?"

The bandaged Hijacker looked up from his desk, inking in intricate circles along a blank piece of parchment on his desk. "Yes, Tegan?"

She stepped inside, pausing at the door when she couldn't decide if she wanted to close it or not. Finally, she did, smiling shyly and taking a seat. These days were before the convent had finished training her, before the Purger, Jack Shade, before all of it. She hadn't her confidence then, only the curiosity of a student who couldn't quite remember…in a way, like the rest of them.

"I wanted to ask you about the picture you gave me," she said at last, taking out the photograph and putting it on the table, "What is it?"

Syracuse chuckled, the only indication he was smiling, pushing his work aside to take the picture between two linen-wrapped fingers. "Tegan," he said, "Are you familiar with the Iwaku Multi-verse theory?"

"It was proven correct, wasn't it? Dimensional bleeds in the beginning of Paorou's empire proved that Iwaku is a multi-verse with an infinite variation of worlds. History is always similar, but somewhat skewed, and it revolves around a cast of personalities who recur in almost every instance."

"Correct," Syracuse congratulated, placing the picture down and clapping, "Taken from the Convent resources, I'd imagine. Paorou had that fact removed from academic cannon years ago."

Tegan shrugged, not elaborating.

"But, if we consider the truth of these multi verses, then we must ask ourselves of their makeup, their construction. If my theory on the Tyrant is correct, all Iwakus share a set of similarities, differences, and truths. Do you know what the Absolutes are?"

"The sword and the sheathe," Tegan answered immediately with a smile, "That one isn't too hard."

"Correct," Syracuse confirmed again, nodding, "But the Absolutes are not limited to mere objects, there are other truths as well. One might consider the four powers Absolutes…Truths that persist from reality to reality, verse to verse. Likewise the presence of personalities like Asmodeus, Jack Shade, Paorou, Sakura, and others might also be considered their own form of Absolute. Absolute purpose, you might say, in that each version of them serves a purpose historically."

"Don't we all?"

"Fair guess," he said, "But not necessarily true. We all play parts, certainly, but some are more often chosen by the Cycle than others. But we aren't here to talk about the theory behind roles. We wanted to discuss the Absolutes." He paused, pointing up at the ceiling, "And the last set of Absolutes? Can you guess?"

Tegan looked up where he was pointing, then back to the picture. Her eyes widened.

"The stars?"

"Correct, the stars." Syracuse clapped his hands together again and took the picture from the table. "Distant, feminine, aloof, and withdrawn, the stars have always remained a constant in every Mutli-verse observed or spoken about. Similar constellations, light, and number all correspond. What does this tell you?"

"The stars are important to the Tyrant?"

"Correct again. The Tyrant cannot change the stars, no matter how He tries. That is the greatest victory of the Feminine over the Masculine. Although the Cycle has been dominated by the Masculine force, the Feminine remain guiding influences over the Masculine's work. One might consider the Tyrant in love with the stars. They, and they alone maintain permanence despite their lack of importance. Distant, but assured…a tribute to the Feminine even if the Masculine overshadows it."

"But this star…" Tegan pointed at the picture, "It isn't in the sky. I spent the last few nights looking and it isn't there."

Syracuse stood, walking around his desk and making sure the door was locked. Turning he clasped his fingers together and shrugged. "It was there for years, Tegan, years before it fell from the sky and into Iwaku. See how bright it is? Does it seem familiar? Once it was called the guiding star, the North star, a point of vast celestial importance in the cosmic order…where did it go, I wonder."

Tegan was quiet, but her hands shook, just a small tremor. A memory brushed across her mind and was gone, she never got to see it.

"Stars are energy and energy never vanishes." He held up one hand that pulsed with the Rift energy that made up his being, "I know this best." Stepping around the desk again, he sat, taking Tegan's hand in his own, gently laying it down on the desk. "Energy only takes another form, a more suitable form to complete its work. There is no coincidence that you found me and I found you. This is the destined turn of the Cycle. If ever you want me to find you, only remember what you used to be called, what you used to be."

Tegan yanked her hand away, holding it to her chest. Her heart thundered inside her, blood thrummed in her forehead, rushing with clattering memories, forgotten visions, the echoes of prophecy.

"What…" she caught herself, took a breath, and asked again, "What was this star called?"

The bandages around Syracuse's mouth crinkles, almost into a grin. "When it still shone, it was known as…"

"Polaris," Tegan said, energy rushing out of her and roaring through the sewers, a blinding glow bursting from the manhole covers, washing into the streets. Orion, from where he was, began to glow as well, his body responding to the call of another star within Iwaku.

And in a moment, Syracuse was beside Tegan in the sewer.

"Took you long enough," she muttered, a small smile curling at the corner of her mouth, "I was beginning to think you'd gone on without me."

"The thought crossed my mind," Syracuse teased, taking her hand, "We're cutting it close. We'll have to move fast."

They were gone…and then they were somewhere else.

On the roof of Nerf Castle, Syracuse jabbed the golden pen into his arm, drawing out his energy and making a sweeping line around the top of the spire they stood on. Above them a storm raged and the city wailed as flesh turned to cracked stone. Tegan had cut her arm as well, drawing opposite of Syracuse until their lines met.

ARRAY Syracuse scribbled into the stone, drawing a line from the circle to the edge of the castle and wrote another ARRAY.

TRAP Tegan wrote in the center of their circle, and another word beneath it, EXCEPTION: followed by SYRACUSE. Syracuse gasped, his energy flaring weakly as he wrote out another word across the stone, almost losing his grip on the golden pen as he did. SIPHON he wrote along the line connecting the circle to the old Array in Nerf Castle. He hadn't time to find the actual array, but the energy would find a way…it always did.

Taking Tegan's hand, they were gone again, whisked to the edge of Nerf Tower where Tegan spun illusions around them. The battlefield had been set, the players soon to make their appearences. It all came down to the manipulations of moments now, and both the Revisionists were tired.
They had only one chance…both could feel that.


Syracuse's hand closed tightly around Tegan's, and she returned a comforting squeeze. Nothing needed to be said between the two that had not before, in times less frantic. Now they could only put their faith in the plan…and the turning of the Cycle.

Paorou crumbles behind me. It's strange, to feel the power of the Iwaku tyrant drift to nothing after so brief a meeting. The Cycle never did like the Mad King as the Shadow, and maybe it made a choice here. I cannot let myself be hung up on small victories. Paorou might be gone, but Skohne remains, and Medusa along with it. Somewhere, Asmodeus plots to kill me…maybe I plot to kill him too, somewhere inside. All this rage I'd been directing at others since they took my eyes, it's a blessing to get it off my shoulders. Once upon a time I'd been nothing but a dog for their pest control, using Tegan to control my emotions even as their machines in my head controlled my movements. Did they see the potential of the Hero in me then? Is that why they cast me into darkness? I hadn't, then, seen the light at the end of the tunnel. There was no opening for me then, I was only a dog…a killer without hope.

Flying toward Skohne now, green liquid glowing along his pulsating form, it reminds me of how far I've come. Once I might have sat in Iwaku's throne, governed the people. The power of Adminship, they said, when I was given this blade. But that isn't quite right, is it? I don't think I was ready to sit in Paorou's throne. I'm not a leader, not yet anyways. For too long I've let this city down. I've made them wait on me, on my return, I've betrayed their trust…I've assassinated their friends and family, I've been a monster. I wouldn't expect them to trust me after this, even in the act of heroism, I still question my purpose here.

Once I'd come to Iwaku to surpass Asmodeus.

The whole time…I've been learning to surpass myself.

Skohne towers over me, his form echoing in my vision. Fire roars along his body, people scream, burn, and turn to stone around…Iwaku is blighted by these horrors, by these deceptions they've allowed to masquerade as order.

"BREAD FOR THE BREAD GOD!" The former Orochi roars, bringing his fires and divinity down upon me. I do not move, I do not bend. I've run long enough, I've made excuses long enough.

"No, Orochi," I say to him, blind against the might brought against me. "Not today, and never again."

Green lines cross his body like grids, cutting the Bread god into hunks of raining meat and impotent power. Among them I soar, black wings no longer so bedraggled, so fallen. They are the lustrous shine of a raven's. I am not Asmodeus. I do not soar with wings of white, nor do I seek to wear them for myself.

I fly to Nerf Castle, to where the Cycle moves me, sword and sheathe at my side and conviction in my heart.

I am Jack Shade, an angel every bit as equal as Asmodeus.

I am Nobody, I am his son.

But I will not be his Shadow.

 

[Asmodeus]

Every life is many days, day after day. We walk through ourselves, meeting robbers, ghosts, giants,
old men, young men, wives, widows, brothers-in-law. But always meeting ourselves.​

Ulysses, James Joyce​

[DASH="blue"]"hey, just... ooph.. hey... oi..fuck just... listen... HEY!"

Feral ducked as a molotov flew past her head and shattered, spitting fire and glass, in a nearby shop window. She had lost Raven, as well as the more organised hijackers who had gathered to assault the other camps. She was somewhere in the outer districts, amongst the dust-clouds left by the rise of the tl;dr Scorpion. It was this trail the rioters were following, their ancestral memory recalling, even in anarchy, how they had once served the elder machine. Between the footprints of the Scorpion they looted, smashed and torched - a giant join-the-dots game that would lay the city to waste.

"pay attention ya cunts!" she shrieked, whilst jumping up and down on the hood of car. "the elitists need our help! there's a mirror round the--"

A troll kicked over a fire hydrant. A jet of water launched Feral off the car and into a dumpster.

"TL;DR! TL;DR!" the mob chanted.

"Y'know, there's better food at the mini-malls."

Pulling a pizza box off her head, Feral glared up at the other Neko who had appeared, perching, on the lip of the dumpster. Archy reached in and pulled her out. The two catgirls landed between a gauntlet of petrified Bread Cultists. It was an eerie sight. "Came to help with the camps." Archy explained as she reloaded her pistols. "They're all cracked open now. ISAF are fleeing and Hijackers are springing the inmates."

Feral poked a nearby priest, watching his nose fall off. Then she turned and grabbed Archy's coat. "HIJACKERS!" She shook the other catgirl. "we need hijackers! there's a shield around the castle. the Moderatum Mirror. it got me and Miru lost when Zypher took us there"

"Oh yeah, where is Miru?"

"oh he got shot in the head, but that's not important!" She shook Archy again. "the only thing that'll break that mirror is reality bending. a butt load of it. A BUTT LOAD!!"

Archy glanced to the main street, where Deviants were shrieking and shattering windows with their screen-stretch powers. A few Hijackers were among them, directing what to loot and which statues to topple. Archy smiled. "Gotcha. Follow me."
[/DASH]

"Answer me! Any of you! Can you hear me?"

"Yes. I'm here."

"We can't get out... we're trapped... oh god..."

"Be calm. The Mad King has confined us. We are his servants, ever."

"Shut the fuck up! There's intruders on the roof!"

"I will deal with them. You concern yourself with Medusa."

"The Teknikkan grid's down. There's nothing left to fire!"

"And I've lost the Cult. That mother-fucker slaughtered his own followers!"

"Have to get out... have to get out... my children... my loves... oh god... please..."

"Where is the Purger? Why isn't he helping us?"

"So dark here... have to get out!"

"I SAID SHUT THE FUCK UP!"

I'm in the belly of the beast now.

Three rains are falling. The foul blood of the rift storms in torrential downpour. The pieces of Skhone, dropping like meat. And the dust of the Scorpion, petrifying all as it rampages overhead. I duck around its leg as it crashes through the cathedral, demolishing the last chapels. And amongst the stainglass I see the eye-piece of Orochi's visor.

I had hoped to meet you again, Cardinal. Perhaps in another life.

The leg moves onwards and the shadow of the Scorpion passes to the next street. I dare not look up. I know Medusa holds the reign of this Armageddon chariot, and her gaze will find each ant that scrambles in the ruins.

Hurling myself through the north window, I land in a rainbow of stainglass colours. All around are statues, hordes upon hordes of frozen cultists. The Mad King's terra cotta army, buried alive with him. They line the streets and plazas. They are painted by the blood rain, made sickly brown in the pulsing light of Nerf Castle.

I am almost there.

Thunder splits the air. The cannons of Nerf Castle, the last line of their defence, open up on the Scorpion and keep it circling. Each boom seems to crack my bones. I stumble, I scream. I haul myself onwards. A Teknikkan artillery piece, kicked on its side by the Scorpion, gives me a way in. The great gun barrel is crashed against the castle railings. I clamber up it, slipping on blood and Skhone fragments, then fall over the iron railings into the castle grounds.

The Razbots are on me in seconds, like locusts swarming a bird. I roll and slash, cleaving them from the air. The courtyard is spread with metal pieces, to a serenade of cries and whirrs. The last one pins me with its foot and levels a cannon at my face.

"NO I'M NOT READY YET! AAAAGH!"

There is a flash of light and the Razbot implodes as something lands on its shoulders, crushing it like a can. The weight of both come down on me, and I am left blinking through the machine's mangled ribcage, at the face of an old annoyance. "You!"

"you?! gaagh!" Feral rolls away as I punch her straight on the nose. "Cuntwagon!"

I get up, then notice Feral has brought some friends. In the green twilight Archy stands, losing off shots at remaining Razbots, and beside them are a pair of Hijackers, some Shifter gangsters, and a whole rabble of tattooed Deviants. Together we have taken the courtyard. "The catalry has arrived."

I move towards them, picking up Feral by the collar and dragging her along. "The others?"

"Left them at the Council Building. They're on their way."

"Made some friends?"

Feral scratches my face and gets loose, hiding behind one of the Hijackers and glaring at me. "they're MY friends, fuckface! I brought them to break the Moderatum Mirror"

"The what?"

"yeah, that's right! you don't know shit! now shut the fuck up!"

Archy is corralling them, moving the Deviants toward the green-hued castle. They cross the courtyard between towering gargoyles, through orchard groves and over stone balustrades. They are a tattooed tide, breaking into groups with Hijackers and Shifters at the lead. Archy and Feral keep the most of them, though, and take up semicircle before the South Gate.

A rock crashes behind me. Another church is collapsing, the Scorpion getting bolder as the artillery runs dry. I keep moving, and close the distance with Archy and his Deviant choir.

"Okay," breathes the catgirl. "Time to cause of shitload of bad luck."

"put these in cunt." Feral hands me a pair of earplugs which are being passed out by the Shifters.

From one angel to another.

No sooner had the light faded from around Piro when it began around Orion. He was shimmering, his skin alive with astral light as he resonated with Tegan. The surfer stood, looking at his hands, feeling the stardust float around him. "Woah..."

"We hav t' move," Aimi cried, "Ev'rything's unbal'ncing. Th whole world's sw'lling with pow'r."

Grant slapped Porg on the shoulder then looked to the others. "You heard the lady. Let's go!"

The five hurried between the buildings and onto the promenade that would take them through the cathedral district. The streets were awash with stone bodyparts, bricks and stainglass fragments. The slaughter of the Bread Cult had filled the air with dust, and the sky was equal curtains of red and green as the Scorpion stalked Nerf Castle. With Orion's light, though, they found their way, the Surfer like a beacon in the bleeding night.

They had reached the ruins of the cathedral when Aimi stopped, the first to clutch her ears as a shrill and tremulous chorus broke the night. The scream carried through every street, shattering windows and statues, stretching the very concrete beneath them. They all took cover and held their ears. It was like the world was squealing. The Deviant screen-stretch assailed their senses.

"AAAAAAGH! WHAT IS THIS?"

"Deviants! Hundreds of them!"

"GOD NO! NOOOO!"

"I can't... I can't block... there's too many of them."

"I've lost the grid! SHIT!"

"Raife? Porg? Where are you? Talk to me!"

"CAN ANYONE HEAR ME? SHIT!"

"Raife! Guys? Anyone!"

"NO MORE... NO MORE! THIS MUST STOP. MY DEAREST ONES, IT MUST END NOW. AWAY WITH YOU. TO SLEEP, MY LOVES... TO SLEEP."

I have felt this before.

down below, every sensation of pain and anguish was amplified to the point of unconsciousness. The land of Insanity was bleached white, the red sun eclipsed, the air turned from purple to green, then blue, then white.

And on the horizon... at the edges of reality.... the Mirror cracked.

It was a tiny breach at first... a small hole... through which shone.....

...

... a light.



Asmodeus saw it, even as whitness eclipsed him, and his final thought was the last the angel would ever feel....


..... he had been wrong.



The Mirror shattered into a thousand pieces

Green light bleeds from the castle walls, the stone giving skin-like shudders. We have broken the spell that shields the lower levels. As Archy, Feral and I remove our earplugs we hear the Shifters whooping in victory. The Deviants are twirling, ecstatic in the pulsing light, while Hijackers applaud. The revolution has struck. The gates of the Bastille are open.

"knock knock, little pigs!" Feral yells. Already, some of the Deviants are charging the South Gate.

But celebration is cut short. Archy points upwards, a cry goes out. At the second level of the Tower, far overhead, something has appeared.

"ENOUGH!​

It is a mother's cry, admonishing and deluded. It crackles like static and sends Deviants fleeing. The Dreamsphere is at the balcony, flames of magic, ice, shadow and eldritch fire pouring from her. It is like a star has been birthed inside the tower. We stare into the eye of the Dreamweaver, from which all magic issues - all that is extraordinary in stories. She is beyond description, beyond belief.

And her anger is resounding.

From the South Gate, from the arched windows, from the cracks of the stone... her fury surges. It comes as a great wave - water, ice and fire - a deluge that crashes through the courtyard. The statues topple. The nearest Deviants are swept away.

"that wasn't part of the plan! aaaagh!" Feral yelps as I grab her by the collar again, pulling her against myself and Archy. My other hand grips the shoulder of the nearest Hijacker.

"GET US INSIDE! NOW!"

We vanish, a teleportation flash before the water floods the courtyard.

"Oh bugger..."

Porg stopped the others as they emerged from the ruined cathedral.

Ahead of them, like divine judgment, the walls of water where rushing out from every side of Nerf castle. Churches and high-rises began to tip. The Scorpion reeled and struggled, each leg displaced.

They saw Medusa fall. Then the Scorpion crumpled, powerless against the flow.

It went under, and water filled the horizon.

"Porg! Aimi! Help me make a shield!"

They began joining hands, focussing their powers as they sheltered by the one remaining cathedral wall.

The air was filled with the roar of water, all light extinguished by the curtain of ash, fire and ice.



Only Orion remained in the street... smiling as the mother of all waves came towards him.

 

[Cosmic Orion]

Who couldn't smile at this?

No seriously I want to know.

Cause the greatest thing I have seen since I arrived on this planet is coming straight at me.

"COME AT ME BRO!!!"

Nothing will wipe the welcoming smile from my face as I yell to this mondo gangbuster wave, arms spread wide as I challenge it without fear. Darkness all around me. . . but as before I stand against it bare-footed, a righteous beacon with a twinkle in each eye. Just now I realized this might be my greatest day alive. Though it could also be my last. No worries though cause I have a feeling this dude right here hasn't reached the end of that day by a long shot. Gripping one of the many strange teeth hanging from my necklace, I rub it for luck as I charge at the wave. Left with only moments before impact I ready my board with unwavering resolve. There is no chance for paddling here but I still believe I can pull this off. I will catch this wave. And I will grind the hell out of it until only foam remains. For if I live beyond this day they will call me Brorion, son of Broseidon, PRINCE OF THE BROCEAN!

Finally, it hits me.

Swept up within what is not only rushing waters but a mix of every magic imaginable, I can feel it all straining against my shining skin. But this alone is not enough to crack my shell. Extreme heat and cold are tickling feathers to me. For the others watching it looks like I got swallowed up with everything else including the Medusa. As I rise up along the wave, a surge of energy from deep within pulses outward from my bod. Stomach flat on the board, my legs are kicking with all their might as I get closer to the wave. Left in my wake on the wave are sparkling specs of stardust that are the antithesis of all these ashes. Defiant to the wave itself, my presence is not going unnoticed too much longer. The Conductor that made this miracle happen is going to realize how much joy and hope I have taken from it rather than sorrow and despair.

My head bursts up from the water and I yell out into the city.

"Fire? Ice? What are you hoping to do exactly, eh?! Dude, I can survive in SPACE, no sweat! This wave? I can surf this wave until the end of the UNIVERSE!"

The fire, the Ice? What is it even supposed to do to me? I have all of my memories now. . . it's like the wave itself is bringing them back as they wash over me. Surviving in space without a special suit or anything is what I was made for. Because space is my home. That great black void so many look up at with awe and wonder, unsure of what the blackness holds. . . I am what lights up that blackness. I have a purpose. I always have. Cycle or not I will do my best to keep the lights burning bright. On a world with no stars for so long I despaired, but now I get it. I fell here for a reason. I was supposed to be the star for this dark reign all along. Protect those who are in need of a Guardian that can ride the gnarliest waves. One that never really gave up no matter how bad it got.

Rising to my feet on the board I start to eye my target zone. The lip of the wave. In order to move against this mondo wave I have to get behind the face of it while staying on the surface. My eyes search for the spot that will stand tall and pitch out the most. Have to time this just right to hit it with the most speed possible. Otherwise this move will shoot straight to the top of every 'Worst Wipeouts' list ever. Even worse. . . from the corner of my eye I notice several shadows looming behind me inside the wave itself. More than a couple look big enough to snack on me. Realizing that odds are I look like a tasty glow treat to them, I decide now is the time to pull this sick move!

Zooming down the face of the wave to gain speed, I look up to see a chrome crocodile with chainsaw jaws coming at me mouth open wide. It sends spray everywhere as it descends down the face of the wave. And when I say chainsaw jaws I mean it! The teeth are moving counterclockwise at a speed ready to rip and tear. Both eyes glow with the radiance of two blazing red suns. Vicious looking spikes jut from the back as though each were a nail hammered through from the inside at random. I can't help but wonder what the others will see swim past them as they take shelter inside their barrier.

Just what kinds of crazy stuff has this magic wave brought to life?!

All I can do is shift the weight of my feet and veer from it's path while still aiming for that precious lip. Carving up the face of the wave I put out my hand, letting my fingers trail along the eldritch wave only to leave even more specks of sparkling stardust behind. My fleeting mark on something destined to last less than a day. Now I put more weight into my back foot on the board to pivot back and forth as a means to ascend. Every foot that I rise is plagued with a different freak of magic leaping out from the eldritch wave. Suddenly I find myself striking a pissing dog pose as I dodge a school of piranha covered in green flames. Countless dudes summoned from what is probably Iwaku's lengthy history or created just now. All of them coming to life at the beck and call of the Conductor. No doubt the others will have some nostalgia as they see these creatures swept past them in the flood waters.

Finally I reach the lip of the wave.

Wiping out is not an option, if I do not land this trick a fall that would kill most awaits me. At the very least all these beasts will finish the job if the fall does not. Meanwhile the angle of the board beneath my feet is almost completely vertical. Kissing the lip of the wave with the tip of my board is the last push it needed to go absolute vertical. Surfer's worst nightmare now turns into my dark reality as both feet threaten to slip right off the soaked board. Launched straight up into the air, every ounce of effort goes into grabbing the tip of my board with both hands and twisting mid-air before pushing off the board with all my might. All of my skill and poweras a Surfer gambled in the riskiest move that does no involve a rocky cliff.

I did it. I got behind the lip.

But my hangtime lasts less than five seconds.

Plunged inside the flood waters, I find myself surrounded by creatures the magic stuff of this wave has brought to life. One of them tries to eat me but I swim out of the way just in time. Only to have it chomp down on the safety cord that connects my wrist strap to my surfboard. How can it even do that?! Could there really be so much magic here that it overwrote the reality bending of my surfboard? My eyes widen in a pain worse than I've ever felt as the current separates me from my board. Less than three seconds goes by before I lose sight of it. I know I cannot swim after it. I don't have the time. People are counting on me right now. Grief gives me vibes so bad I feel like I'm gonna puke. The board I have had my entire existence is gone and there is nothing I can do to get it back. Even though I cannot see them, I feel tears leave my eyes. . . lost in the wave. But I will not stop. Pain means nothing as long as I do not let the other dudes down.

I am a Guardian after all.

Left with no way to possibly swim against this current on my own I have to think of something. And I do as the creatures all start to circle me. I start to attune myself as quickly as possible to one of the countless frequencies of magic swirling around in here. Hopefully I can last long enough for this to work as the light my bod shines with lures in these freaks like a piece of glowbait. Taking the tooth necklace off from around my neck, I cover it with stardust and focus all the energy I have attuned myself with into the necklace. Right before I toss it away from me. Flashes of light follow that I am forced to look away from while stunning those that would eat me alive. Left in the aftermath is nothing less than a perfect resurrection of a sea beast I once conquered and killed long ago. A man in the grey suit more fierce and larger than half these freaks the wave conjured up on it's own now swims through the flooded Dark Reign under my control.

Grabbing on without a moment's hesitation to the dorsal fin of this colossal Carcharodon carcharias from beyond the stars, I hang on as it swims against the current. Anything that gets in our way is chomped in half. Blood of all colors fills the waters and turns it into a tie dye of death. My eyes cannot see anything but the colors yet my savage shark swims toward the surface thrashing his tail all the way. Connected like bros, it understands my commands without a word. We have a bond that can only be broken by death. I think I will call him Broviathan.

At last I get a decent view of Nerf castle once Broviathan breaches the water's surface. Even though it sure has gotten pounded, nothing has changed the disappointment I feel every time I lay eyes on it. From the day I woke up in the lame ass Dark Reign people talked about this place. Just through name alone I pictured a large foam yellow place with tons of rubber suction cups and a ton of plastic too. Once I finally saw it though. . . a wave of disappointment passed through me. One that was only topped by the depression I felt on the day someone told me there was no beach and no waves. Depression topped alone by the grief I feel now having lost my board.

Inside this place has to be what made the wave and while I loved it, others are probably not such huge fans. Broviathan shoots up out of the water at full force toward Nerf Castle. Krakens have nothing on the way his face shatters through the wall of the second floor straight into the chamber of this Conductor. Jaws that could chomp a building to pieces narrowly miss this epic looking orb in the chamber. I think we surprised it judging by the scream it let out. Looking out the massive hole in the wall we created, I notice the waters letting up. Just a few seconds is all it takes for me to realize that this epic looking orb thing is the Conductor. The one who had it out for us all just now. Pointing my finger at it accusingly I hear my voice reach a depth of rage filled with righteous wrath.

"YOU! . . . Dude, you made me lose my board."

My eyes narrow with violent vibes I have never felt in my heart before as I charge head on at it with nothing but my bare hands and a massive space shark by my side.

 

[Asmodeus]

LEVEL ONE

The flood had washed away the Bread Cult, and now rushed out to consume the statues of ISAF, Inquisitor and Soulmate alike. Medusa had fallen beneath it. And anyone fighting the Noobs on the city's edge was now cut off.

Raife watched it all on the last functioning uplink. His chamber, above the shattered Mirror, was a latticework of red and gold. Across Latin-scrawled floors, still slick with Miru's blood, he paced by the giant screen. And overhead, on walls and ceilings, a million painted eyes were watching. Every room of the castle was decorated thus.

One eye for each soul trapped in the Rift Storm night.

The Lord of Confluence busied his hands, loading a shotgun, counting down the seconds till the enemy were at the gates.

LEVEL TWO

The Dreamsphere shot forward, an impossible velocity, straight into the jaws of the shark. It was swallowed whole, all light extinguished for but a moment. Then the shark flew apart in a bloody shower. Fins, flesh and bones repainted the chamber like shrapnel and Orion was knocked off his feet. More windows shattered as blood and body matter evacuated. From a distance it would seem the whole level of Nerf Castle had suffered some heamorrhage.

The Dreamsphere remained, in the ruins of the shark's stomach, water rippling around it. "Hush, my child. Hush."

A phantom limb scooped Orion from the floor and flung him to the wall, the impact sprouting chains of magic. One by one the rings constricted: a mannacle of ice, of fire, of shadow, of wood, of rock, of chained electric. Each one held him, while from the Sphere itself came eldritch tendrils, piercing the Surfer's nose and mouth.

He felt his atoms being shaken, the links between them severed. She was trying to split him apart.

LEVEL THREE

The Soul Art Sprite is on us the moment we materialise in the outlying chamber. The Hijacker who got us here has his neck snapped and as he falls the Dark Porg unfolds from shadow.

"Look ou-" I don't get to finish. Porg's fist slams into my book and shockwaves seize my limbs and torso. I am thrown across the chamber and into a vine-crossed pillar.

"shit! the ginger cu--" Feral yowls as Porg backhands her through a window, the Neko vanishing in a shower of glass and fur.

Archy has more time to react. Her fist blooms with magic and she drives it forward, connecting with Porg's fist as he punches. The two are thrown apart by the discharge, banging into opposite walls.

"Keep moving," Archy says. "I've got this guy."

I nod and roll to my feet, keeping low as Porg makes a flying kick at Archy. The two twirl in the air, exchanging blows, and I swing out through the shattered window, gripping the gothic buttress that supports the west wall. Feral is a few feet below me, hair on end as she dangles from a gargoyle. "ARE YOU ALRIGHT?"

"fuck off!" the Neko screeches, and tucks herself onto a ledge.

Fair enough.

I never expected any of us to stick together in the final act. These trials we face alone. I spread my wings and vault upwards, springing from buttress to window, window to gutter. In bounds I climb the castle wall, as below the battle between Porg and Archy throws violent light through the windows.

LEVEL FOUR

The Shadowed One remembered. As he sat upon his throne he recalled his meeting with the emissary in the skies above. The one that had called itself Mass and descended from the alien ship in a thousand-particled cloak. He remembered the tentacle strands of its hair, its glittering eyes.

And he remembered too the crystals of ice that formed on its toes. The way it coiled over and upon itself as Medusa's gaze found it. The way it turned to ice and sand as it was dragged back into the heart of its disintegrating ship.

And he remembered its final poetry, before Mass and his ship dropped from the sky and rained destruction on the city.

No more can we outrun our doom,
Our fate will be your own world's soon.

How right it had been. Medusa had destroyed that alien's entire universe, and now the Dark Reign was suffering the same fate. Everything was returning to dust.

Only one hope remained for the Cycle. The Hero. He believed it was Jack. His master believed it was Asmodeus.

Right now he would settle for either.

SPIRE

With a final lunge I grip the guttering around the spire. It's overflowing with blood - the Rift Storm rain now dust-choked by Medusa. I'm drenched by the time I haul myself over. And there on the tower top I lie, like the first night I fell here. A white moon, fading to red, and ringing in my ears like a final note of music, the echo after the choir gets slaughtered. An orchestra collapsing into monotone horror.

And as before there are feathers falling. But they are not mine. They are from a younger bird... an infant kicked from its nest and forced to fly. Compelled to soar so high and brave its father's talons.

I catch a feather, raven black, that has fallen from Jack Shade's wings. He is here, and we have come at last to the end of the labyrinth.

Porg's punch has left a dent on the back cover of the book in my chest. There are only two pages left.

I let the feather drop, and climb to my feet.

It is time for the Saviour's Page to be written.