Iwaku: Dark Reign

[Paorou-sama]

In the aftermath of the great wave, there was only silence, as the last remaining edifice of violence and conflict glowed crimson in the distance.

Nerf Castle loomed over vast, barren fields of gray stasis and stagnation.

Littered throughout the city were statues of each and every Iwakuan that once lived, both perfectly preserved, or broken in damnatio memoriae.

Yet amongst all the ashes and the overwhelming silence, a streak of crimson flowed, raging, pulsating life amongst the stillness.

Pieces of meat, scattered amongst crimson cloth, rolled in unison, towards a hill.

A hill where golden eyes of light watched the encroaching stone with a defiant, proud glare.

They belonged to a man in a black jacket, three stripes of red upon his shoulder.

"Truly, he has grown. To think that he would be able to end me in a single scene."

Furrow Insayne laughed as he stood against his many suns. He watched as his bloody organs piled themselves upon another, making a miniature altar of gore. He walked up to the pedestal, where his own severed head served as the central piece.

"Dust to dust. Like all of you, I am just made of ashes."

A flash of golden light emanated from the body of Paorou-sama, disintigrating it utterly. All that remained of him now was a cloud of crimson embers. Yet, at the bottom of the pile, was a jagged, crystalline, crimson sword, with a closed, bronze eye on its scabbard. The light that reflected off its violent edge was the metallic flash of a sword, the jagged lines of lightning, the sick glimmer of spilled blood, and the golden gaze of an unforgiving sun.

"I've learned a lot of things from Rory, you know. For unlike the others, I did not wait for instruction, nor the cozy life of a student."

Behind him, the woman stood, and he could feel his flesh hardening, stiffening.

Stagnating.

"I learned it on my own. I figured it out on my own. I fought for my own. I took it as my own. I walked the journey on my own!"

Furrow grasped the blade, embers quickly turning to ashes as they flew past.

"This power is mine. This story is mine!"

In an instant, his eyes turned upon her, firing bolts of golden light, and shattering into dust as they did. The medusa was not affected, altered reality shattering like mirrors upon impact. All that remained of his golden Utopia was dust and stone.

Yet he survived.

His limbs would crumble away, yet he would refute that reality. His body was false, mutable, expendable. His crimson cape burst forth from his back, and Paorou-sama was once again reborn. He took to the skies in one bound, a wicked sword in his hands.

He was the Magician - the Master of Reality.

"I'm not ceding it to you, woman!"

Below, the last of the magic washed an avenue clean of debris and people. Paorou-sama held out his legs, and mustered his willpower to soften the fall. He began to glow golden, wind and gravity around him shifting and distorting.

Then her face flashed in his mind.

... And for all his bravado, he fell and stumbled upon the hard earth, his broken body finally giving under failing power.

He forced himself back on his feet, feeling the cracks upon his worn skin. Pain, limitation, reality - these were things he had tried to break free from, now pinning him down.

With sheer effort, he pushed himself back on his feet. His will tempered flesh back into a presentable shape.

"As above, so below! So that's how it is, eh?" He defiantly cried out to the heavens.

"After all we've fought! After everything I've done! You've just given up!?" He yelled angrily.

Thunder was his reply, followed by a cold rain that tasted of rust.

He raised his sword to the heavens and smirked amidst the deluge. It quickly turned into a sneer, as his cape was drenched a deeper red. His billowing cape was the only color in the monochrome wasteland that remained. It broke the gray, thrashing viciously in the sullen downpour.

"So be it. I've had enough of your cowardice and your duplicity!"

The Crimson Tyrant marched towards the spire, where two angels had alighted.

Asmodeus.

Jack Shade.

Father and Son.

Messengers of the Apocalypse.

"The Tyrant will live on... I will deny... and kill you... like I've always done!" Paorou-sama muttered with a sneer, dragging the sword behind him.

 

[Kitti]

The world seemed to be coming apart at the seems and Kitti wondered briefly to herself if this might not be the end of it all, the end of Iwaku. It's hard to imagine that this might be the case, however, with so many souls burning bright as a hundred torches all alight, all yearning to prove themselves. There were those throughout the city, whether shifters or ISAF, n00bs or just citizens who had fought their own quiet battles and yearned to find a place in the stars, to be written in history. How could it be possible, then, with so many striving for more that this was the not so gentle ending? Perhaps, with new faces being born or traveling into this city, there would never be an end.

This revolution, it would change the entire city without doubt, but there would always be those stumbling from the wreckage and the carnage to begin anew. To add to their numbers, more would come, heeding the siren call of what was promised by the cycle, being drawn in by the seduction of the archetypes. She knew well that the city would not fall this day. The will of Iwaku was the will of those who had poured their souls into its creation - indomitable.

Approaching Nerf, sounds echoed out, a sudden cacophony that echoed through not only the ears but those planes of the mind that most were deaf to hearing. A wail of pain, a squall of fury, ripping suddenly through the very stone. This sound made Kitti sway in place, her hands to her ears. The sound was a warning call and Kitti's eyes darted over the scenery, looking for the danger it brought. The answer was not immediately clear, but within a second, made itself known. A rush of water, a tidal wave of epic proportions, was threatening to demolish all within its grasp.

Body aching, her ribs crying out in protest, Kitti pushed off from the ground with her feet. The loose white robes she'd been wearing were ripped and fluttered in with the air as she was borne aloft. She was pointed like an arrow, a white streak through the dirty sky, snowy and fierce. Her body, not yet broken, thrilled in the feeling of the sky once more. Since her wings has been torn, she had not used them to touch the wind as she had before, and her wings had all but mourned this loss. Now, propelled into the sky, she gained height as fast as she could, outrunning the surge of water. Looking down, she could see the waves washing over the street and a lone man who seemed determined to glide across the water and then, he was out of her sight as she turned her face away.

Nerf had been breached, then.

Glancing skyward into the dark emptiness, Kitti reminded herself that there would be no other time. Memories would be memories, and this was a new chapter being written. She swallowed and inhaled sharply, seeking for where the mirror had once been. With little other plan in mind, she began her descent toward it, unknowing of what she might find. Her options were few, but there might well be something left in the ruin of the mirror.
​

 

[Hecatoncheires]

[size=+1]A mountain of rushing water approaches, swallowing all in it's path, and for a second I think that our defiant little story shall come to an end here; with the sound of crashing waves in the centre of a desolated street.

Yet Piro, Aimi and Porg together stand strong; the water surges about us, but we remain in place, the one consistency amidst the rushing flood. Only Orion is gone, sucked up by the water, but somehow I think that the surfer will be okay; he's in his element, after all.

Finally the water begins to recede, to disappear further down and through the city, until only we are left; a few solitary figures standing in the middle of a street that has been wiped clean. In the distance I spot the vast, monolithic Scorpion lying crumpled amidst the street, brought down but too powerful for even the waves to push far.

"We need to move," I mutter, starting forwards with Aimi. I don't wait to see if the others are following; this is the end of the tale now, and we all have our own stories to finish. The silence that reigns in the wake of the flood makes me notice my other senses more.

The smell of death, of things coming apart, of stone chips from all the statues the Medusa has left in her wake.

From dust are we, and unto dust we are being forcibly returned.

One of the Scorpion's vast legs is still stretched out, having smashed into the wall of the vast castle that has secretly been at the heart of this nightmare for so long. Nerf Castle. It's always Nerf Castle. The place where stories come to die, where angels and necromancers have fought, where worlds have been ended and new ones fashioned from the ruins.

I had a feeling we'd wind up here, at the end of all this.

"Tha's our way'n, ah guess," Aimi observes behind me.
"Then watch my back, girl. I'll make sure it's safe to cross." Tucking the pistols back into their holsters, I haul myself up onto the metal carapace of the fallen war machine, slowly beginning to make my way up and along it. "Seems safe enough," I tell my companion, "Let's go."

Together, Aimi and I climb up and along the limb of the Scorpion, into the gloom of the castle.

This is it. Showtime.[/size]

 

[Pirogeth]

If there was one phrase I could use to describe the situation before me, it was 'The shit's hit the fan.' The shark looking beast had crashed into Nerf Castle only to explosively chummed, and the others lead by Grant had pulled ahead to breach the gates. I'm left here with this thin looking man who did not look like he could lift a sword let alone stage a break in to this fortress. Yet, as things in Iwaku went, the cycle gives power to anyone it deems necessary. This man felt pivotal something that I had wished I sensed amongst more people. The wreckage about the place caused by the wave had left the battlefield looking like some old junkyard, but not all of it was junk. I have the worst idea right now. "You, Porg, come on I saw something up on the building closest to the west wall." I took off, sprinting as fast as I could. The terrain made things difficult and something told me I had to conserve my inner energy. The area around me seemed to rock back and forth with the remaining streams of Deviant power. Greater still is my devotion, years of research lost if this is not saved from the corruption that had made this place as it was.

The door flew back into the building as I used my aural energies on it. The dust kicked up all about, both the Medusa's and a layer of thick historical abandonment. Neither of which deters me from finding the stairs and taking to sprinting up them. I had not looked back to see if Porg had followed, but I was sure that this man could keep up with me. As I neared the top floor the sounds from outside seemed to become quiet at first, but erupted into battle soon after. "That calm was not nearly long enough." I muttered continuing on. The roof, It was the roof that had the answer to our problem. Finally, the door there was unlocked, the solution sat there on top of the building. "Rosoft, I thank you for that last order of helicopters you ordered." It was armored and armed, undamaged aside from a few cracks in the window, and the blades seemed secured. Everything is as I hoped it would be. Hopping in, the ignition on the right, I tried once, twice, still nothing. Checking the gauges was not much help as I soon realized what was wrong. The battery, the gas tank, the engine, all were affected by Medusa. The acid was solid as well as the gas, the engine was nothing but a stone. "Alright, I have a really, really bad idea."

 

[Porg]

The group disperses as the torrent subsides and for a moment I am left there. As the last of the water washes past a small object catches my eye. Piro calls to me, suggesting I follow. I take a second to pick up the small surfboard ornament on a broken chain before following after him. I know Orion well enough to believe I'll be returning it to him, rather than mourning his loss in the waves. It doesn't take me long to catch up to Piro, the rampant magical energies flowing around the city are thinning reality which is freeing up my abilities. I can feel the liberation of my powers and I use the sprint after Piro to test them, kicking off walls instead of running up stairs and performing other acrobatics.


I get to the roof shortly after Piro, who is already inside the helicopter, fiddling at the controls. I can see the petrification creeping across the roof, a few scattered patches on the fuselage of the vehicle. "I don't think it's gonna-" I'm cut off by a crash from Nerf castle.


We're pretty high up, and there is a huge wall sized window on the side of the castle. This window is what made the noise as it smashes. I look around to see Archy flying though the air in a cloud of glass. Swearing I run to the edge of the building and vault off and up. Reality bends around me as I leave the rooftop and I rocket up letting off a pulse to scatter the glass before catching the catgirl. The impact send us flying backwards and I land in a steady crouch back by the helicopter. I feel bad, I'd barely noticed Archy had gone with everything that happened at the plaza and now here she was, barely conscious in my arms. She's bleeding but it doesn't look too bad, though she's definitely taken a sound beating. Looking up I see him, standing in the jagged frame of the window. He's a way off but I can tell he's grinning, goading me, he's confident he'll win this fight.


He's wrong. He has to be.


I place Archy down, leaning her against the helicopter. "Look after her Piro, I'll see you on the other side." I reach up and touch one of the rotor blades which has begun to solidify under Medusa's petrification effects. This gives it a little bit more rigidity and enough for what I need. The other me takes a few steps back and opens his arms in a theatrical invite. It's enough to get my blood boiling. I kick off the ground, backflipping and landing on the rotor blade. The air thins around me as I bend the weakened reality of the world, the blade of the helicopter bends under me momentarily before springing back. A pulse of soul energy and a rapid rush of air and I'm propelled upwards and forwards towards the smashed window.


I twist midair roaring as I charge soul energy into my fist the concentrated power leaving a visible trail behind me as I spin and swing the punch at the other me. He answers my punch with one of his own and energy lances out where our blows connect. The resulting shockwave blasts the rest of the glass out of the frame and sending cracks up the surrounding wall. there is a pause before the energy discharges a final time and we are blown apart. we both skid to a halt at either end of the window. I do not take me eyes off of him as he straitens himself and brushes a few crumbs of brick dust from his shoulders.


"Hmm.. I'm impressed" He hisses with an infuriating grin.

 

[Asmodeus]

Hush, child
The darkness will rise from the deep
And carry you down into sleep​

SPIRE

Blood, rain, dust and text. They flow as one now, across the tower roof, cascading over the sides. My every footstep sends ripples, plotlines and pictures forming in the pool and contorting to oblivion. Every one I have wronged, every image I have mangled, every sentence I have desecrated. And between the neon and the baleful light the only purity is the book in my chest, the last two pages waiting to be written. Rift storms tear apart the sky. Medusa tears apart the stone. One hand is on my sword, the other behind my back.

And I see my son at the centre of it all.

Jack Shade... Nobody... the soul of my only son, parasite-like inside my old lieutenant. The ghost of Artemis, her revenge, her spite forged and tempered. My rape returned, violation for violation. Now holding the sword that has cleaved the heavens. A twisted parody - a blind angel waving his stolen toy. What kind of mirror is this?

"Son..."

"Father..."

Now we are Arthur and Mordred, Cronus and Zeus, skywalkers, snakes and bosses. And between us lies the Sword of Iwaku, the greatest pen with which to write... to rewrite... to edit this story and forge an ending like no other.

Our fifth meeting. The first time, my allies intervened; the second time, he beat me; the third time, I beat him; the fourth time, I fled. Do our meetings reflect the ages or the seasons, the powers or the elements? Who is to say? The Cycle becomes cancerous mythic, the themes overspilling, the archetypes colliding. The walls of Nerf Castle are screaming as we meet.

"No elephants in the room this time."

Guileless son, I'll shape your belief
And you'll always know that your father's a thief
And you won't understand the cause of your grief
But you'll always follow the voices beneath​

LEVEL FOUR

He could hear the blades of a helicopter turning. He could hear Archy groaning. He could hear Kitti's footsteps. But who would reach him first? Who would die first?

The Shadowed One remained on his throne, feeling the microcosmic eddies of death and nullity that assailed his world. The city was becoming dust, swept away in concentric circles, the ground tumbling into the abyss, skyscrapers falling upwards into the Rift Storm inferno.

There were perhaps no more than twenty people still alive, still moving - the rest statues waiting to plummet.

The gears of the Cycle were stalling, their squeals like cosmic thunder. He felt reality turning weak, which only magnified his own powers. His gauntlet flexed with the energies of reality bending, a dozen crimson eyes opening up beneath the metal and pulsing golden pupils.

His other hand tightened his grip around the hilt of his blade.... around the hilt of Ragnarok...and waited.

Guileless son, your spirit will hate her
The flower who married my brother the traitor
And you will expose his puppeteer behavior
For you are the proof of how he betrayed her loyalty​

​

​

LEVEL THREE

"Now there's a handsome fellow." The Dark Porg grinned as he beheld his opposite, in mirrored stance. The stainglass window beside them was shattered, pieces of a painted meadow in fragments, swept around by the wind. The grand chamber they stood in was mauled from his fight with Archy - pillars crumbled, carpets singed, furniture tossed and broken. A reflection of their twin souls, ravaged and marred.

"You're the part of me that enjoys guilt-trips, right?" the Power taunted as he backtracked from the window, Porg following. "Well, how's this for size? If you hadn't resisted so much when Paorou dragged us to this city, we might have stayed in one piece. We might have made this place something better. Cos you see, I've always felt a little incomplete. I never had my full wits about me..."

His hands glowed like Porg's, a green fairie-fire to match his flame. "So that's two apocalypses you've caused. How does that feel? Is that guilt itching the back of your neck?" He shook his head as he retreated to the far side of the chamber. "Y'know, brother, I don't think there's a wall big enough for you to punch right now."

"You're my wall."

The Power laughed, a child-like, spritely chuckle. "Ooh, snappy dialogue! I bet you've been rehearsing that line for years." He came against the far wall. He had nowhere else to go. "I guess it's time to go off-script." He dispelled the fire around his fists and, suddenly, folded his arms and reclined casually against the wall.

Then his eyes flicked slightly, towards one of the pillars. "My secretary wanted to say hello."

Guileless son, each day you grow older
Each moment I'm watching my vengeance unfold
For the child of my body, the flesh of my soul
Will die in returning the birthright he stole​

LEVEL TWO

Somewhere amid the pain, Orion could see her. As he was lashed by ice and fire and shadow and aether, he could see the woman amidst the sphere. The Dreamweaver, the Lady of Magic, Medea, the Temple Guardian. She grew more solid as she approached, and from the shadow of her hood smiled delicate lips.

"No, Orion..." Her words were soft. They filled him with warmth, with love. "You are a good man. A kind man. You are the hero, the lover, the bright-eyed boy, so beautiful, so loyal. You don't fight women. You would never... never..."

More pain assailed him. His atoms were being shaken apart, every binding coming undone - the roar of the fiercest ocean - the wipeout of all wipeouts.

"They love you... we love you... we all do. Every woman. Every beauty. We long for you. We drown in your eyes. Handsome Orion. Mighty Orion. You would never hurt us."

She was fully before him, glowing like a thousand life-giving stars. And she drove the piece of shark bone straight into his stomach, twisting, shedding out his life.

Loyalty loyalty loyalty loyalty
Loyalty loyalty loyalty only to me​

​

LEVEL ONE

"Why are you giving me this choice?" I ask.
"Because it's the most important, Grant. You've seen what happens when the Anomaly occurs, when the Cycle breaks down and the Rift Storms come. There's no guarantee that this will not happen again. You go on to the True Iwaku, and you'll become a Cycle Guardian. You can stop the Anomaly from coming to pass once again, Grant; you can save lives, and maybe find the redemption you're looking for. It won't be easy, trust me; Iwaku's nature means you'll have your work cut out for you. But you'll be saving people from having to go through what you have, and that's no small prize."

Grant and Aimi hurried through the lower chambers, where shattered mirrors, cobwebs and wreckage were all that remained of the Moderatum Mirror and Diana's prison. The rooms, without their madness, were eerie dioramas - empty cells with only puzzle boxes, rooms hung with moth-eaten wedding dresses, rooms with cradles holding dolls and dead animals. Nerf Castle had kept tis memories and was a mausoleum of Razbots, Noob bones and scattered pieces of Homac's armour. Green light, like virulent blood, seeped between the flagstones.

A great thrumming sound drew them ever deeper. Piping and airshafts could be seen behind the cobwebs. Then wiring, cooling ducts, machinery. They were skirting the chambers of the Moonwings Array, the great lazer that Diana had slept beside, which had kept the clouds across the sky and veiled the screaming souls that Paorou had trapped.

They came out into the reactor shaft, where pulsing, crackling columns of power showed the array was going into overload. Stairwells and ledges around the beam showed the way up to Level 2, where Orion was battling.

And then a gunshot rang out.

Grant drew his pistols, swinging them upwards at the silhouette of the Confluence Lord. Raife was on the gantry above, dual-wielding like himself. They both fired, bullets sparking off the ladderwells and walls. The salvo drove Raife out of sight and he clambered higher, circling the shaft.

"Grant..."

Reloading, Grant turned and froze. Aimi was slumped at the shaft entrance, a hand against her shoulder. Blood was oozing out between her fingers. He rushed to her, pressing his palm against her own. "Shit! Hold on, kid."

"S'okay..." Aimi whispered between ragged breaths. "I'm gonna... j'st... sit here for 'while." She slumped back against the chamber wall, eyes fluttering. Grant tried to cradle her head, but her other hand held him at a distance. "No... s'okay... you gotta stop 'im... stop Raife... I'll be 'kay..."

Footsteps echoed above as Raife climbed higher, towards the control room at the top of the reactor shaft. Grant could already feel a stone chill where his fingertips touched Aimi's.

Hush, child
The darkness will rise from the deep
And carry you down into sleep​

​

"You ripped out your eyes and sold your soul... for a chance to be worthy?"

I circle Jack Shade, my arm still behind my back, like an officer giving inspection, a proud father perusing his firstborn. My other hand drags my blade, Metatron, through the ankle-deep and bloody words and soak the rooftop.

"Is this how you interpret my teachings? The Hero's Journey? Shamanic dismemberment? Do you really think you have suffered enough to earn your elixir? Do you even know why you fight, or have theatrics seduced you? Like all the others in Iwaku... standing up to me because they think it will define them... that they will validate themselves in daring the shadow they do not understand."

I end facing him, and do not realise how close I am to Tegan - how she and Syracuse are hidden by illusion at the rooftop's edge. Tegan... a woman loathed and lusted for by me and my son alike... another trinket like the Sword... a prize to squabble over. Should we take one each? Should one of us sacrifice power to win the woman? It is a pathetic fairytale.

...an Arthurian legend.

...a stale cycle.

"Well, Jack, no matter how you paint this villain, there is one thing that remains..." I lift my sword towards him, rain dripping from its edge. "This was always my story. From Gabe's beginning to Medusa's finish, I was always the starring role."

My eyes are celestial blue and bloodshot red, the royal purple of the apex. "Now give me that Sword, Boy... before you hurt yourself."

Loyalty loyalty loyalty...​

​

 

[Faulkner]

"My secretary wanted to say hello."

It's been a while.

Years and years well out of the loop, focusing on nothing but the day to day necessities required to get by. It's been a long while, but somehow, things wind up working out again, landing me the chance to see battle and angels once more, however briefly.

Not really the way I'd've wanted it to turn out. But then, when is it ever?

I think someone once told me the last time I spoke to Porg was in anger, but I honestly don't remember. My memory never was much good, so it's hardly any surprise. Even if I don't bear any kind of grudge against him, though, I still enjoy greeting him probably more than I should, considering I greet him by leaping out from behind the pillar to bring a sabre down on his head.

He catches it between his hands, and that fits with what I'd expected, too. I've never been a great fighter, not like this, hand to hand or with weapons. That's his gig, not mine. But I've been getting better, had plenty of time to, and more importantly, I have the element of surprise--even with his annoying evil twin giving away my presence and location. So while he stands there gaping at me, I grin, and kick him hard in the gut, sending him sprawling away.

"Hey Porgy!" I say in a voice full of cheer; for all my appearance may have changed over the years, that still remains the same. "Long time no see! How's life been treating you?"

He knows me as Psychosis. I only give him long enough to let this sink in, before lunging at him again.

 

[Kitti]

The corridor was chill, made of crumbling stone and seeming to have absorbed none of the sun's warmth. The feeling of the cold, smooth surface beneath her fingertips as her hand brushed over the wall was enough to offer her some courage, enough to continue forward without any more hesitation. The entire city seemed to be tearing apart at the seams with Medusa and it was more important than any one person that the city be changed, that the sorrow that had ensconced the city be ripped back to reveal the beauty within, but always preserved. That was the reason why she had changed track, the cause for her diversion from the protection of the others. While the powers had dreamed, arrogant in their strength, the city had crumbled beneath the fingers of the king.

The whisper of white cloth and the breath of air stirred by her wings announced Kitti's presence as she strode through the door. Her posture was imperious and her hand clasped the bloody punch dagger, though she had a feeling that the next battle she fought would not be one conquered with swords or physical force. Unaware of what was awaiting her, she passed through the doorway and as she did so, the scene before her caused the corners of her lips to turn up in a smile. What better way to change the city than to depose a king? Her eyes caught the glint across the room of a sword and her eyes flickered to the blade - Ragnarok.

"I haven't kept you waiting, have I?"

Her stride was calculating and her footsteps small, cutting the distance between them with a a serene calm. She was approaching the throne, not holding back, and the smile had yet to leave her features. She stretched her arms out at her sides, the punch dagger held loosely in her hand and she paused halfway across the room, lowering her chin up a little to direct her gaze to his face.

"I've come all this way and you don't even have a proper greeting for me? It's been so long since I've seen you."

She could feel the reality weakening as he could, the restless quivering of molecules in the air around her. Confluence would be hard-pressed to stand its own in this room. She inhaled deeply, feeling the reality marble surging with the weakening of reality and the dreamweaving coursing just within reach of her mind. Both present, both aching to be used, like a muscle eager to be flexed.
​

 

[Tegan]

The Chair he sat in, like a burnished throne, Glowed on the marble. He will only hold audience in her obsidian apartment, where they pretend like nothing's transpired, expired between them. He does not say why. It is paranoia spreading through him like a cancer. Tegan knows this because she put it there next to his trust for her. Anger, madness, revenge burn the hottest when burned slow.
A tiny stone scorpion scuttles across the chess board in front of them, its crystal body Reflecting light upon the table. In vials of ivory and coloured glass Unstoppered, lurked her strange synthetic perfumes. He cannot see them, but he knows them all by name, and how they smell on her flesh, combined with her sweat, sadness, lust. Lilac, bergamont, cinnamon, gunpowder, gardenia, jasmine... Smell like cashews oily and stale yet passed around like so much conversation.
Under the firelight, under the brush, her hair Spread out in fiery points Glowed into words, then would be savagely still.
"Speak to me. Why do you never speak? Speak."
"What are you thinking of? What thinking? What?
I never know what you are thinking. Think."

"Of everyone, I hate you the most. Of everyone, you were the only one with the power to stop this. But you are a coward. You are a slave, because you do not know how to be anything else." No, she did not say that to him. The memory is blurring into hallucination.

"I think we are in rats' alley where the dead men lost their bones." Is what she said dully, without raising her lashes. I will make a hero of you, Purger. Your path is despair. And one day, you will strike out at me across the table with a flash of steel I won't be quick enough to dodge...

"You know nothing? Do you see nothing? Do you remember Nothing?"
I remember Those are pearls that were his eyes.
"Are you alive, or not? Is there nothing in your head?" Every time we made love, I feared he would snap my neck, the knowledge of my betrayal shining like diamonds in his black eyesockets.

And we shall play a game of chess, Pressing lidless eyes and waiting for a knock upon the door.

"Others can pick and choose if you can't." But I don't mean that, do I?

She sees Paorou coming before the others and she doesn't waste a second. Stay hidden Syracuse, do not think to save me, and she's running to the Mad King. With a golden pen she scars Polaris across her arm, with the other, she raises it above her head, to the place where the Dreamsphere's ghost--that invisible planet- has hovered, protecting her all this time. It pops like a balloon and Tegan is herself again.

She doesn't tell him how she's waited for this moment, planned it for years with Syracuse. All the lives they had sacrificed to flush him out. She doesn't tell him these things because she's not the hero of this story, she was not writing her own legend. Nothing that had happened then mattered. Only this.

HURRY UP PLEASE IT'S TIME

Paorou-sama is standing in the middle of a deserted lecture hall. No, not deserted, there are two others speaking in hushed tones, a student and a professor. Outside the window, Anirune Forest burns.

"At the end of the 1st Age, most Iwakuan thinkers visualized the universe functioning like a giant clockwork." Syracuse's bandaged hands ghosted over a diagram. The young Tegan's face twitched imperceptibly. "The angel Asmodeus described its workings, theorizing that reality moved in regular, predictable ways through space and time under the influence of what we know as the Cycle." Tegan stands, gripping her chair as she turns away from Syracuse. Paorou's already dodged the furniture as it splinters against the wall. The professor continues talking to the space where Tegan sat.

"He believed that time was absolute—advancing and unchanging everywhere in the universe." Tegan falls into the splits, arching her back to avoid the swipe of Paorou's blood blade. A cut opens across her cheek.
"The Elitists who did not serve Paorou sought to imitate and explain these motions by crafting elaborate plots and orreries, which were models of the Meta Verse." Tegan's fingers weave intricate patterns in the air, surrounding Paorou with burning shafts of starlight.
"Some people saw order and harmony in this view of the cosmos; others came to see regimentation and tyranny. You know them now as the N00bs." Paorou's fist tightens around Tegan's throat, cutting off her air. "In retalliation, we designed the Obscura."

"The Medusa is about to destroy all you've created, even your precious little trap, and you're wasting your time fighting Asmodeus and the Purger?" Tegan's choking, so he lifts her higher by her neck until her toes barely brush the floor. "What's the matter, Mad King? Can't stand missing out on the glory? Or is it just nostalgia for the old days, when everyone actually thought you were the King of Insanity? Is that what this was all really about, Paorou? Reminding us how cool you are? That you still exist?"

"Disillusioned illusionist. Don't preach to me about disappointment, about sacrifice." Paorou's other hand grips his sword tighter.

"And what is your sacrifice, King?" Tegan spits out the words like blood. "What or who did you lose to the Dark Reign? EVER?" She'd done her research, spent hours, nights, days searching through the archives, through her memories and found nothing.

"Godmoder!" She manages to shriek before he throws her through the gaping double pained window. The glass shatters like a mirror and Paorou realizes his mistake.

He can't manipulate reality within these memories. Every time he begins to, she brings them to another place, another time, with her millions of deaths. "Viper in silk." And Paorou follows her deeper, as if he has a choice.

Tegan is dragging herself through the snow. It's hard on just her elbows. She's leaving a trail of blood behind her. Both of her knees have been shot off and she ran out of arrows hours ago. Behind her, in the distance, Torsty and his Vikings defend Mt. Iwaku from the Newb hordes. This is it, the place, this is where it must be. She does not know why she knows this, but she knows.

Paorou plummets from the white sky, a crimson vulture come to tear through her Nordic furs and rend her limb from limb. Tegan whimpers, the pain, as she rolls to the side, barely escaping the tip of his sword, piercing through the snow, the earth itself. Across the brief span of inches, they look into each other's eyes, both panting steam.

Tegan laughs. The ice shatters.

The water is so cold Paorou can't even feel it. His limbs are freezing as he swims, sluggish, to his sinking prey, her blood is turning the water red, his robes are turning the water red. Their flesh is turning blue.

Paorou-sama is laughing and why shouldn't he? The world is shit and what would he be without a sense of humor. Around swirls the abyss and chaos, cities burn, kingdoms topple, the cries of the damned, the heat of the furnace. It's all just background noise to him, static filler, a way differentiate the here from the now. A thousand crimson eyes blink and peer at all there is and Paorou finds it all so boring. Just the same plots over and over. At the time, it seemed like a good idea, that maybe after a million different tries of the same thing, something bright and new would emerge. That was the definition of Insanity, wans't it? Trying the same thing again and again, expecting a different outcome. That eventually reality would see things your way, get the hint, and change, bend to your will.

One of his eyes pulses, straightened by something behind it, before it explodes into blood and juices and matter. A gore-drenched Tegan cyclones down to him, her voice warped with war cries, her golden pens ready for the kill stike. But this is Paorou-sama's memory, not hers.

"You're interrupting my soliloquy, how rude~" It's as if he's pressed pause, the way Tegan freezes midair, her pens just about to pierce his face. "Die." Paorou thrusts his sword.

His blade may be jagged, but it cuts through me like a kitchen knife through ripe fruit. Except not quite, there's some thing in the way. The knife hits my stone pit.

I remember waking up in a new life drenched in the morning light and a mother is playing with my soft baby feet, she is smiling at me. I smile back as her love pours into me through her fingers and sighs. I am joy. I am I am I am.

Am I dead again? No. Not yet. Not yet.

Yet I wish I was because the light refracts and spreads around us like smoke and I don't know about Paorou, but it's the most beautiful goddamn thing I've ever seen.

When Tegan came to herself again, her hands were plunged into the impaled serpent's sliced belly, they were gripping something. With a tug, the shard tore free of intestine and muscle. The masked woman held the gore-soaked crystal, surprised at how heavy it was. Tegan smiled to her veiled companions. "Just a few modifications and it will be perfect."

Ocha gripped the shaft of her naginata. "The Noobs were able to keep the sole shard of the Mirror hidden from Paorou-sama all this time." The serpent's corpse made a wet sound when it hit the ground. With a sharp twitch of her wrist, Ocha flicked the viscous blood from the blade of her curved halberd.

"We still need the blade, the room and the power source." Soledad's green eyes pierced through the darkness, blind as the dead serpent.

The Shard of the Mirror, the burden held between Ocha and Tegan since the Zirkus summoned the Medusa. The crystal necklace hidden between her breasts. Paorou's sword was the only thing that could shatter it, change it into the perfect sphere. Another component, finally secure. The Obscura's lens reflects the light as it tumbles over the edge of the roof, caught in Feral's hands as she scrabbles her way up, up, up.

Tegan's writhing on the edge of the roof, the shards of Paorou's blade sticking out of her like red quills. In her agonies, Tegan's eyes roll upward, reflect Asmodeus and Jack Shade's brutality before they close.

Maybe, in another time and place, on the moon, You would've sat on my porch with my mother and peeled potatoes. And maybe in a yesterday buried in sand, you would have strode into my father's village, blazing stripes like sunset on the river. Pawing your cheeks, a feast, a warm hut, and thirty spears kept ready just for me. And maybe tomorrow we'll coexist in thatched harmony along the river. But today is today.

Good night, ladies, good night, sweet ladies, good night, good night.

 

[Delnoir]

A shockwave boomed from the throne pushing Kitti back. The silence held only a few seconds longer before The Shadowed One spoke, "Given everything that I've done part of me was praying that you might not make it to me. Perhaps even find a different way to Paorou. If I wasn't trapped in here I would probably be up there battling him right now, futile as it might be," the only noise in the room was the breathing of the man on the throne. It was as though this particular room of Nerf Castle was in a completely different dimension; A different reality.

"I...can no longer hear the Cycle. It's guidance vanished long ago. I've been forced to watch this world fall apart and pray that something happens. And at last I think it has. Now as this world meets it's final hour I think I know what my purpose is in this particular Cycle," The Shadowed One rose from his throne, his gaze never leaving Kitti's eyes, "I am your final test. Yours and anyone else that can make it into this room. I truly believe that is the Cycle's will," at last the the figure stood his intent clear. Drawing Ragnarok his voice boomed throughout not only his chamber but across the castle.

"I am he who bound himself to the Cycle. He who became it's eternal guardian. With blade in hand I will cleanse the evil in this world in the fires of destruction! I am Chaos! Come forth and prove yourself!!!"

 

[Kitti]

Despite the shadows falling across the throne, there was not enough shadow to obscure the identity of the man and perhaps even in pitch darkness the energy surrounding him would still have given the man away. Her glimpse of the sword, however, cemented the knowledge that she was correction in her assumption of the man she was approaching. Her self assurance was not shaken by the knowledge of who she was facing and in fact, if anyone were to be her final test, she was almost glad that it would be Chaos.

Familiar faces were showing in the most unexpected of places - her thoughts ran errantly into the death of Rory, her own hand in it, before she could stop them. She couldn't say that she was surprised when Chaos showed himself, an old knight of order and Rory's second, turned into a guardian to block her path. Her approach was watched at first, but it was only after she'd taken position in the center of the room that the man on the throne chose to speak. His words were not bitter, rather something more defeating, for his tone was resigned as he spoke, the shockwave pressing against her form which did not yield.

Nothing more than a pawn, trapped within this castle? A betrayer without conviction, then, one who did not even believe in that cause which he was defending? But he believed in himself as her rite of passage, the test that she would pass to progress into the last battle of this war and perhaps the last battle that she would ever see. These thoughts in mind, she was still unrelenting, undeterred by the prospect of having to fight the man who was once an ally she'd trusted with her life and it wasn't difficult, because she could picture his face as he confessed to killing the first person that had earned a stay of Kitti's blade. That had been years ago, but she could still recall the glint of pride in his eyes. But he had failed, obviously.

"Are you here that I should prove myself, or are you hoping to rediscover that spark you've lost in my blood? Either way, I will dispatch you from this imprisonment. Consider this your rescue, black knight, a favor for that which I owe you."

Kitti tightened her grip on the punch dagger in hand, her relaxed posturing tensing now, preparing for battle. Against a sword, the little dagger was next to nothing, but it was all that she had until she could take Ragnarok from the hand of its wielder. She was not willing to give ground and stood her own before him for a moment, the two frozen in facing one another. His expression was had to read with the shadow cast over the throne still, but she didn't need to see it. Imagining the half-smile and that shimmer in his eye, that was more than enough.

Kitti continued forward, arms lifted and ready now, her pace no faster than before but now tempered with the thoughts of one planning moves in a battle stance, the perk to being trained in the wielding of a sword even if she did not have one in her possession. The aching of her ribs mending was still present, but the adrenaline of a fight was beginning to kick in, granting her the reprieve from the physical pains of battle.

Closing the distance between them with a few more steps, Kitti slid across the floor, fast as a lunge but with gliding grace, the punch dagger raised in her hand as she threw a punch. She did not expect him to let the dagger harm him, but she would prefer to keep him on the defensive for this fight if able. Letting one such as Chaos have time to stew would only result in altered tactics and possibly having to talk about what had happened to Rory. Or would he already know?
​

 

[Pirogeth]

The helicopter is not starting, just as I thought. Porg has jumped to save Archy and placed her in my care. Well, placing her with me is probably more dangerous than leaving her on top of the building, but that's alright, if she's meant to come with me then let her, my studies are almost complete. I try the key again, nothing, even the engine will not turn over, so I have to resort to my own fuel. My first attempt at one of the most destructive forces of Soul Arts, aural disruption. It is something that I have only experimented with in my creations and the end result looking fairly pleasing. I concentrate one part, Piroko, located at the back end of the helicopter. Then Pirogeth these parts of my soul that are so different from me yet the same wielded together to make a force on its own. The two mix, as they should, like water into soup. However, with a little change in force, the two become like oil and water. They separate…too early. Again, they blend together, their forces entangled by my web of aural control. They are like one being, like me. Then in a moment turn them against each other, and-

*BANG*

A shockwave of intense aural energies resonate out over the top of the building and across the ground. Archy, whom I've buckled in, now rides with me across the somewhat large distance between us and Nerf Castle. The building we had been on shook and fell to the ground and our destination closed in fast. The wall of Nerf Castle was but a short glimpse as the armored helicopter crashed through the side of it. Brick and mortar lay askew across the floor leading to the large metal lump of my chariot. It was much like before only I remained intact this time. Getting out I see I must have interrupted something rather planned out and grand. "So this must be the forth floor. Cycle or not, I do love your décor. It feels not of this world." I jump down off the side of the rubble and look at this being that I had thoughts about since I revived. "Chaos right? I mistook you for dead upon my arrival. Then again, the Cycle loves to challenge me at every turn of my research." I look up to see him readying his blade, his temper needs work, but it is what is needed at this time. I look over to see Kitti noticing she had already pounced on him. Like any true angel she craved battle even if she seeks peace. "I suppose you will allow me one more line of dialogue?" He readies his blade as finally I ready mine. The aural energies around me swirl into a thin strip and bulges at the tip. Soon enough these form into a white, tangible object, a lance. "The fruits of my research, it is a mere prototype so I doubt it has power equivalent to that of its brethren The Sheath and Sword. But I'm sure it will be enough."

 

[Delnoir]

Kitti's lunge was nothing that would surprise Chaos. If anything it would come as a surprise when the world shimmered around him and he warped out of the way. His reality bending had been bolstered to utterly absurd levels. With the arrival of Piro Chaos glanced up and observed the lance, "I wouldn't be so sure of that. I'm sure you'll find Ragnarok more than a match for you lance. You see, Ragnarok was forged from my old sword and the dagger of the...I suppose Demigod, Homac. An Absolute Weapon bound to me, and only me. It will aid me in life, and return to stasis with me when the Cycle withdraws me from the world until it and I are needed again," Chaos looked at his weapon and nodded, "By which of course I mean 'death'."

Perhaps that's why Chaos was so calm. He knew that even if he was "killed" that he was eternal because of his contract with the Cycle. Such was the fate of a counter guardian. To call him the Cycle's janitor would be just as accurate. When the Cycle would be in danger, Chaos would return with all his knowledge and experience garnered. A single, consistent entity within a world where the Cycle restarts over and over and over. The knowledge that he'd have a chance to atone someday was one of the few comforts he had left. Looking over the lance from a distance he tilted his head, "Your work is not without merit however. It's a copy without a doubt but there's no rule saying a copy cannot defeat the original. I would know," a sword materialized in his hand. A knockoff of Isodath, Rory's old sword. Then it shattered and he began showcasing the various weapons he had learned how to project over his life. Someof the weapons were from Iwaku, others were weapons of legend. Finally he settled for holding Ragnarok on its own, "For as you can see I copy weapons too. Now then. Unless you have anything else you'd like to say..."

Chaos readied himself again, his attention on Piro. Kitti would have to get close to Chaos to attack; Quite possibly the worst place to be when battling him. Piro on the other hand had a lance with reach to it, a long swinging arc, somewhat stab friendly, and if he could materialize the weapon then it was a reasonable assumption that he could throw the lance and call it back to his hands as Chaos himself could do with Ragnarok.

Yet neither of them had see yet just how immensely his power had grown...

 

[Kitti]

The flickering light of the room illuminated Kitti's face, glinting off of her eyes and throwing back the shimmer like gunmetal, every bit as hard and uncompromising. The expression on her face was not a beautiful one, no gentle curve to the mouth nor softening of the jaw. Her fierce determination was evident in the hard line of her mouth and the unyielding upward tilt of the chin. She was not here to engage in some petty showcasing of abilities, she was here as a harbinger of the end. If Chaos wished to ignore her, it made her job all the easier.

The pages of a story that had not been her own had once threatened to swallow her in the cycle, ensnare her in its tendrils and drag her beneath the waves of plot, engulf her within the stony chambers of archetype, but she was free from them now and would not back down until she had carved her name with sword into the very binding. She cared not for recognition from one so absorbed by the machinations, she would consider Chaos only a lost cause, doomed to follow in Rory's footsteps always. Unlike those who craved to be divorced from the cycle, Chaos had elected instead to bind it deep within him, combine it with the deepest and most secret parts of his essence.

Having chosen not even to answer her words, Chaos had instead focused his attention solely on answering Piro. As far as Kitti was concerned, this was a boon, a stroke of luck for her purpose. Leaping away from Chaos, her face turned in an expression wholly ambiguous, she cast her eyes back to the throne. If Chaos had devoted himself to being tied to the cycle, then he should know well the tides of nobility, the rise and fall of guardians and the whimsy of the cycle to take her heroes and break them against the rocks.

With all but free reign, Kitti leapt lightly into the air and one small foot touched the ground in front of the throne, landing her firmly before it. She landed fully on the ground before it, her fingers brushing over the smooth materials of the chair as she admired its composition. In a fluid motion, she turned and seated herself upon the throne, her imperious stance challenging Chaos, her expression now mocking. She looked all the world a queen in her blood-stained dress, her arms draped over the side and wings spread indolently behind her.

"Then, by the Goddess Engel, the embodiments of all who have drawn her strength, and the spirit of the cycle itself, I claim myself the new reagent of this throne. You have outlasted your stay in this incarnation of the cycle, Chaos. Your service to this world is over and you are nothing but a faded memory, a pawn who cannot see beyond the images played before your eyes. I relieve you of your burden."
​

 

[Porg]

"Psychosis!? but I.. I thought.." I'm cut short as she swings downwards. I roll out of the way, the Sabre chiming against the stone floor. I roll up to my feet, taking a few steps away from the girl. It's odd, despite the changes I recognised her immediately, though I can hardly believe it. She swings again, she's pretty inexpert with the blade, and now that I've got my composure back I easily sidestep it.


"You thought what? Porgy~" The words have less malice than her actions would imply as she kicks at me again. This time I block the blow, taking a few more steps back. I place a hand back against the wall, gauging the distance, as I move along it a little, trying to put a bit more distance between me and Psychosis.


"I thought.. I thought you were dead.. just like everybody else.. like Myrn.." I look away for a second, almost afraid to look her in the eye. I am forced to look back at her again as she swings, a blow I block, raising my fist and letting the sword collide with the plate metal over the back of my gloves.


"Asmo too? Shit, did you guys even bother to try and find my body? With friend's like these--!" The words sting, like her gaze. I block another blow and take a leap back, putting a little more distance between us. I'm moving in circles backing away from her and I'm aware of the other me keeping pace with the fight, always across the sprawling pillared room from us.


"I-I tried… I asked around, I hunted, but no-one knew of you, hell most people didn't even know your name! What was I supposed to do Psy!?" I let my guard down, I'd hoped this would sway her, give her pause, but she swings and I barely manage to move in time. The metal bites and opens my cheek. She'd swung straight for my face, a killing blow. I'd hoped she wasn't serious about this fight, not really, I had hoped she still felt anything for me, other than anger or distain. Clearly my hopes were misplaced.


In a single fluid motion she takes her jacket off and hurls it at me. It strikes me in the face, covering my arms. Someone has taught her to keep up the pressure in fights and someone has taught her well. I immediately take hurried steps backwards opening my arms and pushing them forwards. The blade tears through the fabric allowing me more freedom. I hurl the pieces away in time to block the next strike with a palm of soul-energy, deflecting the blade away. "WHY!? Why are you doing this!?" The words are almost a scream, I'm getting desperate and angry, I do not want to fight her, but she's determined to give me no choice.

 

[Delnoir]

Chaos chuckled a little at Kitti's word, "You just don't get it do you? You don't get to choose when I leave this world. Not you, your gods, or even me. The Cycle does. You, me, your gods, and everything else in this broken world is NOTHING without the Cycle! You could never understand this bond and it's burden. Having to see battle after blood stained battle. Forced to remember everything I've done,Every person I've ever hurt, every time I've been forced to kill a friend! The cycles...I see them....each and every single one. Every single thing I've ever hated myself for! I've even killed you in a few Cycles, Kitti. Cycles that Iwaku has never told! AND IF YOU KEEP TAKING ME AS LIGHTLY AS YOU ARE THEN I ASSURE YOU THAT WILL HAPPEN TODAY! YOUR TEST BEGINS NOW!!!!!"

A chain whip materialized in Chaos' hand and lashed out binding Kitti to the throne. Pulling with all his might the back of the throne broke off and came flying at him. Spinning around he slammed his elbow into Kitti's with enough force to cause the throne slab behind her to break before spinning around and striking her across the face with the pommel of Ragnarok. Before Piro would have time to react weapons rapidly appeared over Chaos' head and begin firing forwards like missiles forcing him into a defensive position. The eyes on his gauntlet simultaneously opened and began channeling a massive amount of reality bending magic: Chaos' Reality Marble.

"Let us go to my world. Away from this hellish place. To the land still engraved him my heart. The last mocking remnant of days gone by and the times I so desperately wish I could return to!!!"

The world warped and twisted around them. Floors and walls began to reshape and from the outside, Chaos' entire floor of nerf tower was enveloped in the energy heralding the battle's beginning. When the dust settled around them, they stood in the courtyard of Castle Iwaku. In the days before the Admin War where they all lived in peace. Pristine, beautiful, and a sad reminder of a glorious past. When the world stabilized Chaos charged into the barrage of his weapons and slashed at Piro. All of his pent up self-loathing unleashed, his attacks were fast and vicious.

The counter guardian's test would be the greatest challenge any of them had faced yet.

 

[Pirogeth]

The summoned weapons and materialized reality bending came at me in a force most in this world would find unbelievable. Yet, my lance now took the defensive spin quickly cleaning up what reality bending magic was sent at me leaving just the weapons. In an attempt of sheer experimental pleasure, I let the lance's spin stop head down as I pushed it into the ground. A wave of energy much like the fifth but much unlike it shot out. If anything it was comparable to what The Sword of Iwaku and this being's weapon could emit. As the wave of energy traversed the room it started to feel a little more normal than usual. Energies from everyone were cut off for a brief second having most the weapons fall to the floor and dissolve. The ones closer to Chaos seemed to be unaffected and that was enough of a threat to entice me enough to move. I hopped backwards, pulling the lance out of the ground while doing so, and avoided any major injury. It is something of a surprise, the weapon is not supposed to be this effective, yet, it seems when it comes to the cycle there was much untapped and even more untamed.

"The pain? The Cycles before? Is the population really so daft as to believe they can be 'chosen' by the cycle?" I armed my lance against my right hand and let it go having the alabaster pole float there in the air its head wobbling back and forth as if a snake was ready to strike. "I admit this unseen force has struggled against me before, rocking back and forth to breaking point until entire dimensions break down and the story shatters; yet, there was not a moment I did not hold the reigns of their fate. If you struggle and cause yourself pain with these images, then you are as blind as Pirogeth and Piroko." This swirling lance guided by my aura, it has made a full pass around me. It is time to strike with it, but what could it do? I have never struck flesh with it before, the unbound probabilities of this prototype could do untold damage. Yet, it is a risk I'm willing to take. The properties of this dimension are too great to let some reality bending punk ruin it all. No, no, don't underestimate him too soon, I will see his counter to my own. He attacked in force, he is too close ranged to deal with my powers effectively.

I take the lance and have it aim the head toward Chaos. The energy of my aura should guide it along his making himself my most deadly weapon. I see in a short shot the lance fires outward missing him entirely on the first strike, but I was not aiming at him. Most cannot see it; some just assume it is the supernatural force behind dreamweavers, reality benders, and soul artists. Upon more research and an open mind aura guides all things even confluence to an extent. The powers were always harmonious, and the sooner he realizes it, the sooner this opponent will become greater than anyone I have fought before. I cannot help but smile, Pirogeth failed even more so than he thought.

 

[Jack Shade]

His hands reach for her, even as she slips, wind-soft, beyond his grasping fingers. She trails memories, nostalgic moments held like treasures in his whirling mind. Does energy think? Does energy have a soul?

"Tell me," Syracuse said, his words parchment-thick, "Asmodeus, Paorou, Chaos, Jack Shade, Kitti, Warmaster, Porg, Pirogoeth, Diana, Rory, Orion…what do these names have in common?"

A younger Tegan taps the eraser end of her pencil against her teeth. Each contact evokes a ring, a sigh of metal and enamel. "They're legends," she said at last, "Reincarnations throughout Iwaku history."

"Precisely," Syracuse congratulated "These are the names that shape the Iwaku we know. But each have shown the penchant for different ideals, different worlds, different visions. By the theory of the Tyrant, the Cycle will always end where it began, an endless cycle. Are each of these visions means to an end, or do they portend other powers at work?"

Tegan frowned. "I don't know," she admitted, "Do you?"

Syracuse shrugged, his bandaged shoulders rising and falling in resignation. "To see a game of chess, one must be able to look over the board, to see the hands that move the pieces. We stand on one square of the board. Pieces meet, die, and move beyond us without our perceptions to follow them. If there are other powers at work, they are nothing compared to the Tyrant."

"Gods?" She asked

"Gods. Heroes. Authors. Creators perhaps. But not in the same way Peridox, Gabriel, or Homac were revered. Religion and history are often unlike companions, but there are patterns between the worlds."

Tegan smiled, laying down the pencil and pressing her moon colored cheeks into her hands. "What are they like, Professor…these other worlds?"

Syracuse paused, sat back against his desk. "Not so different sometimes," he said softly, as if remembering something painful. "Few so dark as this, and some are fantastic beyond imagining."

She watched him, her wispy smile fading so quickly it left some question to whether it had been there at all.

"Syracuse?" She asked,

"Yes?"

"How will I die?"

He can feel her discomfort, bleeding off her skin and haunting her disheveled dress. She stands before the convent, swaying from one foot to the other, as if unable to make up her mind. Her lipstick is smeared by eager lips, her hands shaking. And yet there is confidence in her, a certain rigid stubbornness that keeps her from tears.

"Are you alright?"

She does not jump, only turns and stares at him, Syracuse just beyond the lamplight outside the front doors. Tegan does not hug him, not then. There is a distance between them now, a corrupted shadow that darkens her from him. They had both known what had to be done, but there was shame in it…or maybe fear.

"I'm sorr-"

"Don't apologize," she breathed, holding up a hand and shaking her head, "I don't need your pity, not now."

"Was it so awful?"

She looked down at her hands, thrusting them against her dress as if disgusted by something on them. "He's cold."

"Cold."

"Cold as a dead man. He doesn't see me when we lay together, I can tell. His mind is elsewhere, almost always elsewhere. What did he let them do to him?"

"Jack Shade's tale is one lacking purpose," Syracuse explained sadly, "There is no Asmodeus in this world."

"Is he so dependent?"

"Fledglings often are. Consider a child. Without a father to teach it the ways of the world, its mind will fall to despair and debauchery."

"He is not a child."

"But he does not know that."

Tegan shivered again, taking a deep breath. "He disgusts me."

"There is no fire inside him. A hollowed hole for Paorou and the powers to play God."

"How am I supposed to do this?"

"Give him something to feel again, Tegan. Give him something to love. Give him something to hate."

I'm standing here, waiting for a confrontation part of me hopes will not come. Above me, the sky roils, thunders. I remember the stone Medusa leaves in her wake, cold, like Tegan's betrayal, and, to me, the thunder sounds like that stone cracking, resounding fractures in our dying world.

He comes on wings of righteous white, a book in his chest. I see him in the light of the multiverse, and in that moment I know we have done this a hundred times, a thousand times. Sometimes he wears armor and swings a massive blade, other times he is firing a laser gun from the hip, leaping from cover to cover. We fight in many times, many places, for many reasons, but it always comes down to confrontation. That sense of vastness nearly overcomes me, I swallow back my vertigo and stand as he addresses me.

"My eyes were taken from me in this time," I say to him quietly, "It was a punishment, not a choice." He flanks my left and my blade drinks the rain that falls upon us both, "I learned my lessons in your absence and this struggle has reminded me of my path."

He turns round me, baiting me, testing me, standing just within my range. If I am fast enough, maybe I can cut him. All I need is to splatter him with the ooze, cut him without touching him. Poetic if it ended so soon, much like the battle with Paorou. All my glorious moments, cut short to save time and space. If I was a jealous man, I would take offense. "I am not here to interpret your obsession with metaphor and symbolism," I tell him, quiet in my opposition to what has become an almost tiresome dance, "I am here to fight for this city, these people. Medusa did not arrive until you returned. We both known convenience is not a word used in the Cycle, so it is your fault all these lives have turned to dust and stone, your fault those who follow you are led to torment after torment in your service. It is your poisoned charisma, your selfish insistence on being something in this world that has led us here."

I clench the sword so hard I think I feel it cutting through my flesh. So much rage here, was there always so much? I realize it must have something to do with Nobody, with my father, Asmodeus, how he abandoned me, ignored me, and how I turned his world upside down because of it. Well. He is here now. I have his undivided attention. If he would not look upon me as an ally with pride, I would force him to see me as an enemy with respect.

No. I am nobler than this.

No. I am not.

"Yis…yis…" In the destructive path the Dreamosphere had left, Woodrat pushed the wreckage away from his aged body. One arm curled protectively around his chest, nursing the damage already done. In his other hand, he clutched a brightly wrapped box, already shifting and transforming as he approached the two locked in combat.

"Hush now," The Sphere murmured, tearing Orion apart, bit by bit, "Dream of better times and rest. You've done your job."

"Yiss, yiss, surfer could use another board," the Woodrat hissed, drawing the sphere's attention. "The gift rat never forgets the good boys and girls, no, no he does not." In underneath his uninjured arm, a board shaped present hummed with ancient and eldritch energy.

"NO!" The Dreamsphere cried out, lightning lashing out toward Woodrat. The word 'Obey' blazed on his forehead and the old man hurled the board toward Orion. It spun, smacking against the surfer and detonating his bindings in a flash of light.

Lightning raked Woodrat, sending him spinning across the room to crumple. And in the smoke, the surfer emerged.

He looked stronger, healed now, power pulsing from every pore of his body. Like the star, his namesake, he glowed. Underneath his arm, a black board with green finish thrummed a chorus of narrative wails across the room. It had one word emblazoned upon it, a relic from the earliest days of Iwaku, signed across the surfboard with glowing letters.

Proboard.

"No one understands you…" I murmur the words and laugh. It tears out of me, many winged birds that force themselves into the rain and blood of this world, take flight and are gone, "No one wants to understand you. Iwaku puts you on a pedestal in honor…and for what? You make the most compelling villain? You cause the most torment of us all?" I raise the blade, out against the sky, against him, against all this repetitive bullshit. I tell him what he needs to hear. "You are nothing but a sarcastic old man. Your accolades are long past and people respect you because they do not respect themselves." Rage clouds my perceptions, I cannot see what he is holding behind his back, if anything. All I know is wrath.

"You're a king of the directionless, the biggest frog in the pond. We define ourselves by you because you let us, because it feeds you, and no one has the balls to call you out for what you really are." I step forward and he steps back, my sword is out and the sky roars approval.

It is time. I charge at him, swinging my blade,

"Just like the rest of us. A sad, frightened, sociopath too immature to let anyone else tell the story."

 

[Faulkner]

His question pissed me off. I couldn't help it.

"Why do you get to fight for Asmo while I was stuck up here working for fucking Paorou?" I snapped back at him. "I didn't even find out he was back until way late—I kinda have trouble keeping up with current events like the others. When Paorou wanted me to come up here to challenge you guys, I figured, hell, why not? At least this way I can do Asmo a favour--by weeding out the weak!"

I punctuate that statement by swinging my blade, aiming for his abdomen to disembowel him; he has to leap back to dodge it. Talking is annoying me. Porg is small fry to me, not worth all the chatter—I just want to finish him and be done with it. I haven't even bothered to shapeshift for this fight, a sure sign that I honestly don't see him as a threat, though whether he realizes that is anyone's guess. Either way, it doesn't stop him from continuing the conversation. "You're kidding!? What ever happened to the right thing!?" I take another slice at him, trying to use his determination to keep talking as a distraction, but he bats it away with his armoured hand; fuck, maybe not transforming was a mistake. I suck at combat like this, and it seems like he's getting angry, and getting stronger for it. Fucking SoulArts. "But of course this isn't about that is it!? It's about Asmo. It was always about Asmo!"

I actually roll my eyes at that, scoffing before I lunge at him one more time—and yep, not transforming was definitely a mistake, because he sidesteps it, grabbing my wrist with one hand, and my throat with the other. He pulls us closer together and demands, "Is this 'Asmo' enough for you!?"

My only response is a sneer, before he shoves me, and I go sprawling to the floor. And he keeps right on talking. "No. I'm not him. I never was and I never will be. I don't want to be. And I'm sorry for that Psychosis. I'm sorry I could never be good enough for you, never be strong enough for you. I'm sorry I couldn't be him, that I couldn't be powerful or important. I'm sorry you always got stuck with me. But mostly Psy... I'm sorry about the way I treated you, about my jealousy, about my feelings... And I'm sorry for leaving you behind."

"Oh my fuck, do you ever stop talking?!" I snarl, getting to my feet again to circle him slowly, watching for an opportunity to strike. I need to shapeshift if I plan on having an advantage in this fight, but there's a brief time during the transition where I'm even more vulnerable than normal—I need an opportunity. "I stopped giving a shit about any of that a long time ago—if I ever gave a shit at all! So just shut up and fight me!" I lunge at him again, coming in low and fast, but he steps back and knocks my blade upward before spinning around to throw a punch at me. Instinctively, I bring the sabre back down again. I'm not even sure what I'm trying to do with it, block him? But his fist collides with the flat of the sword, and there's a sharp burst of crackling energy, pain, and the next thing I'm aware of is my back colliding with the floor again, hard enough to stun me this time.

"For once Psychosis, this isn't about you," I barely register him saying through the ringing in my ears, but what I am aware of is that the pain came from shards of metal slicing me up.

The fucking bastard broke my sword.

 

[Cosmic Orion]

I am left naked before this smokin' dudette who I swear is flirting with me. Hitting on me with honeyed words while she lashes me with whips of every element. Kind of awkward. How can she make me feel all warm and loving inside? I could almost kiss her. Delicate lips than I cannot tear my eyes away from even through all of this pain. For all the praise she heaps on me and claims women desire me. . . not a single one on this planet showed a flicker of interest in me since my arrival. Except for her. Should that bother me? More important stuff is going on right now than the richness of my love life in all honesty. My body is getting torn apart at the atomic level. Soon nothing will remain.

But that is a lie.

Deception that even this bodacious babe seemingly cannot fathom. For all this time she has been tampering with my outer shell. Weakening it. Unaware of what sort of power is contained within this human disguise. The truth shines so bright that even I can see it with my fading sight. Cosmic energy glows from underneath all the wounds left in her wake. I can see the light with my own failing eyes while she chooses to ignore it. Painful? Oh hell yeah it is dude. Every step it comes closer to shattering, I feel like I die a little. Yet I still resist. Unable to give up and surrender myself to the bitter wipeout called oblivion. I cannot let the others down.

So here I am trying to figure a way out.

Now I feel the shell giving way with nothing left to conceal me on this planet. The shark bone is the last straw that shatters it utterly. It is gone and it is revealed at last to all who bear witness that I am no man. For while it is my life that spills out in a sense. . . truly what spills out is me. Pure cosmic energy. Unstable is now the only way to describe my energy and unpredictable the best way to describe my fate. Over extension of my powers right now could end in going Supernova or even collapsing into a black hole. Do I dare risk attacking her when a single flux in one direction or the other spells the end for everyone I have come to care for? No matter what the outcome though, I will not go out with a silent little sputter.

"Dream of better times and rest.  You've done your job."

Right now my eyes cannot see. Only my ears hear. The pain is that hardcore.

"Yiss, yiss, surfer could use another board,"

"The gift rat never forgets the good boys and girls, no, no he does not."

"NO!"

All the shackles are destroyed in a single moment when the strange aura of this 'present' strikes. Left in the swirls of smoke my hands search for the gift that set me free. Getting a hold of it, the last bit of my strength goes into unwrapping it with all the desperation of a doomed dude. Fortune smiles on me in this dark moment as I feel the smooth texture of the board run along my fingertips. Whatever it is. . . the vibes coming from this thing are from a time long forgotten and far before my own. Those very vibes bring my power back under control while not keeping them trapped within a shell.

Outside the smoke as this board rests under my arm, I lock eyes with the sphere babe.

"I am alien to this city. To the whole world. To every world I have ever known. And yet I would protect them all, though none are my home. I have no home but the cold blackness of space. Space that it is my responsibility to bring light into. For I am a star."

"A living star."​