The Eye of Terror: Battle of the Eidolon Wastelands (Part III)

[Faidth]

   Abbadon’s abomination barrels towards Sepher with relentless haste. The daemon god before him may be terrifying to some, but this creature, being composed of chaos energy, is immune to fear.

   The creature launches itself at Sepher and a spray of pus erupts from its grotesque form and splatters across Sepher’s eye sockets. The liquid is foul-smelling, but worse than that, it is incredibly corrosive. It seeps into the sockets, bringing terrible pain, and slowly begins to course its way through Sepher's body. The effects are quite debilitating and will inhibit the daemon god's actions by decreasing his strength, slowing his movements, and making the creature more difficult to evade. 

   The creature swipes forward, its closed fist connecting with Sepher’s chest. As the gooey, flesh golem’s hand connects with the daemon’s chest, Sepher can feel something incredibly strong boring through his well-armored torso. A strong pulse of chaos energy erupts outward, leveling Sepher in the chest and violently flinging him backwards.

   Sepher will likely be able to use the new-found distance between himself and the creature to his advantage.


   
   Abbadon lurches forward as Soul Reaver’s gauntleted fist connects with his back. The pain that ensues, though mildly discomforting, is nothing compared to the shockwave of psychic energy that rips through him as Kalana’s runes activate. A loud crack echoes through the battlefield. It is immediately followed by a thunderous resonance as the rune lodges within Abbadon’s form.

   Moments later, Abbadon’s screams tear through the entirety of the battlefield, piercing the hearts and minds of all who are there to bear witness to the sight before them. Searing charges of crimson light erupt from the vibrating spheres. Each one pulses rhythmically as they unleash a barrage of brilliant crimson light as bright as the stars themselves.

   Abbadon cries out in agony as the orbs begin to tear him asunder. Bits of flesh and armor arc into the air in vicious splatters as each bit of light penetrates the Chaos Lord’s form. His eyes blacken and his body wilts as both his power and life begin to be disintegrated by the effect of Soul Reaver’s attack.

   Soul Reaver’s true attack is ultimately a success, leaving in its wake little more than a simpering, broken creature that clings to the few fragile threads of life that are left in the Chaos Lord.  Abbadon collapses to his knees in a writhing, frothing mess. However, seeing that his fervent efforts of superiority have culminated in a terrible defeat, and ultimately cost him his own life, he expends what little will and energy he has on making Soul Reaver, and all others who dare to look upon Abbadon the Despoiler in his final moments, pay for their crimes.

   Abbadon slowly reaches the Talon of Horus over his head. His entire arm trembles noticeably as every movement he makes is now a huge exertion. The artifact weapon crackles with energy, though it is easy to recognize that its power is failing.

   This is wrong. Abbadon struggles to understand how he could have failed this badly even as his physical body is torn asunder. He reaches out to his Gods, but the 4 pillars of Chaos do not respond. He is forsaken. All fear and pain disappears. All that remains is rage.

An earth-shattering roar violently trembles the earth under all of the companions as Abbadon’s death knell accusingly assaults their ears.

"NO!!! I will NOT be bested here. I REFUSE! If the ruinous powers refuse to help me, then SO BE IT. I will not die here, for I am BEYOND DEATH. I AM THE DESPOILER OF WORLDS AND DEATH WILL BOW BEFORE ME!"

   Summoning the last of his strength, Abbadon rips the armored shell from the top of the Talon of Horus. He plunges his hand into the ancient machinery, ignoring the new wave of pain that rips through him as the gauntlet's matter-disruption field rips his hand apart. The millenia-old technology used to design the weapon has been lost to the ages. But Abbadon learned it's secrets from Horus, the original owner of the device. The tattered remains of the Despoiler's hand grasps a small hidden gear buried deep within the Talon and twists it. At the same moment, he uses the very last of his energy to mutter a powerful incantation.

The Talon of Horus springs back to life, the artifact erupting in an explosion of effervescent light.

There is a brief, brighter flash from within the blinding light. Any warp-sensitive beings nearby detect the unmistakable sensation of reality being torn asunder. A fraction of a second later, the Talon of Horus explodes.

The 50-megaton blast is detected from orbit by all Imperial ships. Those witnessing the explosion from above briefly see a grotesque apparition in the clouds of debris kicked up by the blast. The face of the Despoiler.

[Danyael]

He turned to face the coming battle, shielding Kari from danger while watching with silent levity as the Despoiler falls to Soul’s attack. But mirth devolved into wariness when the Despoiler’s desperation brought about a final calamity. Deeply sensitive to the warp, Danyael’s eyes conceived the twisted energies shuttering throughout the landscape, prompting him, through biokinesis, to dull his senses to the assault. As Kari was protected by his Everworld Cloak, he didn’t worry for her well being. Then came a sudden tone, preceding the very fabric of reality being cleaved to shreds as the Talon of Horus explodes.

He only had a moment’s window of opportunity to react; knowing he couldn’t save everyone. By use of his agelessness did he exist both in and out of time. And by pushing the limits of this gift would he have to act quickly. Thoughts and tactics blew through his mind at speeds equaling blinks of time, calculating a fitting strategy. He knew conventional means would not work. Nor would a single defense prove effective. So he would use many defenses all at once instead.

Another tense sip of air preceded the focus needed to culminate a proper defense. With the dead world now brought back to life, if only for a fleeting moment, he would use it to his advantage. With the conduit of his own body as a focal point, he felt the level of electromagnetism gyrate beneath him, coiling its way up, riding the invisible leylines of energy connected to him and him alone. And like a diver to a pool, he plunged his will into the Eidolon Wastelands, feeling his body extend throughout its every fiber. And with it, he heard the pained cries of the world rival the death wails of the Despoiler. As he was fairly tuned in with the elements, the Elementals weren’t difficult for him to hone in on, stretching his will to snare around them. Feeling the vibrations of his companions, he was able to snare hold of only two: Faidth and Kith, as Soul and Sepher were too far out of range.

The greater elements of the unseen universe swarmed into the living world with the presence of a tumultuous deluge, washing over him with such tidal force, he felt it engulf his essence in a skein of raw ferocity as his body arched with the coming power. Even for a world clinging to life, the Eidolon Wastelands offered a strength that belied its appearance. With the deed done, he extended another limb of his will to tap into the Wellspring, this time reaching out as far as the timing could permit, traversing the cosmic webwork while simultaneously keeping him centered at the point of origin.

Finding the ideal place in time, he began to pluck away at the treasure trove of hosts from beyond the mortal plane, pulling them into full sync with his own, bringing about a quickening of the collective of energies he’d herded around him. Feeling the coming doom, and with seconds before impacting, he lifted his will, with the weight of the world, to encapsulate himself and his companions in a wheeling cocoon of clashing celestial energies, brought to the forefront by use of the Source with the intent of buying his companions enough time to think of a better plan. He had no idea how this would turn out. All he could do was brace for the worst and hope for the best.

[Soul Reaver]

The motes of light next to Soul Reaver blaze forth with lances of magical energy, each drawn inexorably straight toward the Despoiler.  The high-pitched screaming noise is deafening, overriding even Soul Reaver's own involuntary, mad laugh.

The beams strike Abaddon's immense powered armour with phenomenal force.  They hammer home in rapid-fire succession.  After a second of intense fire, the beams vaporize fist-sized chunks of Abaddon's ancient armour, and the surrounding metal explodes into a thousand superheated shards.  In moments, the raking beams have slashed, torn and cut their way through Abaddon's already tattered powered suit, yet the attack does not relent.  Flesh, blood and bone are blasted away.  A dark rain of steel and boiling blood patters down to the earth amidst  blinding flashes of scarlet light.

By the time the beams have finished firing, the chaos Warmaster has been crushed down to kneeling on the desolate, scarred ground.  His body is a shivering, blackened mass of scorched flesh, only the faintest spark of his twisted soul still clinging to its ruined husk.

Soul Reaver looks down at Abaddon's remains with a mad, twisted grimace of satisfaction of his face.  The warmaster feebly reaches for the skies, the spitting and crackling Talon on Horus still on his hand.  But then, he lets out a fierce, spite-filled challenge to death itself, and tears the plating from the talon.  Soul Reaver's mad grin disappears in an instant.

He means to destroy you all!  FLEE!

In a flash, Soul Reaver has turned his back on the Warmaster.  Already he could feel a dreadful sense of impending doom - a feeling that he had long ago learned to heed.  Diving down from the skies, he swoops down toward Blooddrinker.  As if in response, the sword pulls itself from the ground and back into Soul Reaver's hands.  A surge of hot energy washes over the exhausted Soul Reaver with the blade in-hand.

Behind Soul Reaver, Abaddon reaches into the ancient talon and grasps a forbidden mechanism hidden deep within.

Soul Reaver speeds away as fast as he can.  Diving as low as possible to gain velocity, he still does not think it will be enough.

There is a 'click' as the gear in the Talon of Horus falls into place, and Abaddon's sinister incantation takes hold.  Soul Reaver can feel an incredible energy surging from within the Talon.

Faster, FASTER!

The battlefield is bathed in a baleful green light.  So much energy cannot be contained in one spot for long.  Reality itself screeches and tears asunder beneath the stress.  There is a moment of silence, then...

Soul Reaver heedlessly throws himself forward, pushing himself past his limits.  The ground beneath him is nothing more than a grey blur.  He is so close to the ground now he is half running, half flying, using his muscular legs to push himself foward ever quicker.  Scintillating arcs of red lighting course over his body and dissipate into sparks as he passes by.  Blood and sweat streaks over his face and his tattered cape streams out behind him.  All his muscles ache from the exertion, but still he pushes himself further.  More and more power pumps from Blooddrinker to refill Soul Reaver's flagging reserves.  Soul Reaver scrapes away at the energies he still has, casting a powerful Shielding spell to erect a shimmering blue sphere around himself.

...a terrifying explosion of gigantic proporitions mushrooms out from where Abaddon had fallen.  A wall of red fire and chaotic, green energy expands in all directions, chasing the fleeing Soul Reaver.  Solid stone is disintegrated in its path, and globules of molten rock are driven forward by the roaring winds.

The bright flash almost blinds Soul Reaver, but he is hardly even looking where he is going at this point.  The heat of the explosion is the first thing to hit, then the sound.  Then, a storm of hot air.

FASTER!!!

Globs of magma impact on Soul Reaver's shield, spattering away from the scintillating barrier.  But no matter how much he pushes himself, he cannot completely outrun the explosion.

The blast throws Soul Reaver forward like a limp doll, and the world spins around him in a roaring cacaphony of flame and heat.  He is smashed down to the ground, breaking his left arm at the shoulder, before the roaring winds threaten to pick him up again.

But before he is hurled back into the air, Blooddrinker thrusts straight down into the ground, the high metallic ringing noise of the impact sounding like bells of sanctuary to Soul Reaver's ears.  Soul Reaver's right arm holds on for dear life as the flames and noise and sheer pressure wash over him.  His muscles bulge as he grits his teeth and averts his eyes from the explosion's epicentre.  The shielding spell shimmers madly, cracks forming over its surface from the force of the blast it is enduring.  Even within, the heat is incredible, and the smell of burning skin is unmistakable.

Soul Reaver braces himself with all his might against the blast, hunkering down behind Blooddrinker, the sword stoically and immovably standing against the explosion.

And then, miraculously, the air cools, and the noise quietens, and the wind stops.

Soul Reaver sinks down to his knees, his fist locked around Blooddrinker's hilt.  The Shield crumbles into splinters around him.  His body steams from the exertion, his cape is mostly incinerated.  Soul Reaver is barely conscious... but alive.

[Kitharsis]

Kitharsis cuts off his tendrils after they caused their damage to let the others get their attacks in.  He stood waiting for another chance to strike, but it never came.  Soul Reaver's combination of attacks rendered The Despoiler worthless, clinging to life.  But Abbadon was not finished.  In a final act of manevolence he triggers something within the Talon of Horus.

The intense buildup of energy strikes Kitharsis's keen senses sharply.  In the split seconds he has to think Kitharsis finds himself at a loss for an escape plan.  All of his tattoos flare to life and spew out thick strands of crimson energy.  The strands wrap around him and merge together into a thick shield.  A vicous, angry roar can be heard from inside the glowing crimson sphere as Kitharsis pumps more and more energy into it.  The bag of sand at his hip explodes and the it mixes with the energy circling around him.  The sand exponentially hardens the shield, the energy of the desert mixing in with his own.

Danyael's shield of clashing celestial energy wraps around Kitharsis's shield.  The combination should hopefully be enough.

But he knew it wasn't going to be.  His salvation was there, inside him.  The dark, corrupted energy sitting in the shadows of his mind.  Waiting to be released.  An unlimited supply of power waiting to be siezed and unleashed.  It wouldn't be a contest.  The dark energy would envelop him and not a scratch would become of it.  But what damage would it do?  The toll may be too much, even if it means saving his life.

Another roar rumbles out from within the shields.  He was running out of pure energy.  Dipping into the corruption was tempting him more and more.  And it would be so easy...

He doesn't have any more time to think as the Talon of Horus explodes.

[Veldanya Venalla]

The Seraphim watches as Soul Reaver's string of attacks are successful, leaving little more then a husk of the foul creature they were fighting mere moments before.  After enduring such a long, hardfought battle Jharm allows himself to relax...an almost fatal action.  He realizes his mistake when he notices Abaddon tinker with the Talon of Horus.  Realizing that the Despoiler is planning something, more then likely a final attempt at taking the lives of those who succeeded in defeating him, Jharm does the only thing he can really hope to do...flee. 

As the angel flees the epicenter of the blast he erects the strongest shield he can muster, focusing all of his available strength into it, while at the same time casting a strong healing spell over all his companions in the hope that the damage they are all likely to suffer will be offset by the healing energies washing over them...hopefully enough to prevent death from claiming any of them.  With that done the Angel soars away from the blast, a trail of white light behind him as he pours the last bits of his power into himself, hoping to increase his speed and avoid the center of the explosion.

[Daccio]

The giant blind daemon would take a step forward as the goo splashes across its face, lancing pain shooting through its body. The daemon was used to pain however, and had already suffered so much that it almost welcomed it. Rathotuhael opened its maw and let out an earsplitting roar as it slowly moved forward as well.
As the creatures fist comes in contact with his chest, the daemons hands grasps at it, clenching his own strong fists tightly around the others. He moves to crush the fist, but just as he does a strong pulse of energy explodes into him.

The earth rips apart as Sepher is shunted backwards, his clawed feet not leaving the ground. As the daemon’s body came to a rest, a giant tear in the plates of armor in the chest is visible, and some black slick blood runs down it. The wound seems to start slowly closing on its own, but that is not Sepher’s concern at the moment. The energy he had been building came to a crescendo in his fist as he held it up, eye sockets staring blankly at the creature ahead, but a new problem arose just as quickly as he was about to deal with this one

  Even the blind could feel what was coming… as crimson light began to emanate from the screaming form of Abbadon, Sepher was mentally preparing himself for the worst.
   
"NO!!! I will NOT be bested here. I REFUSE! If the ruinous powers refuse to help me, then SO BE IT. I will not die here, for I am BEYOND DEATH. I AM THE DESPOILER OF WORLDS AND DEATH WILL BOW BEFORE ME!"

And then it happens…. Reality, chaos, life, death… all were nothing in that once instant as the ancient artifact that their enemy wielded explodes. All the energy he had been readying for the attack was now redirected into the strongest shield that the daemon god could muster… All of the energies that it could pull from the surrounding area, from the very ground beneath him, from the near dead sun where the daemon god originated… anywhere and everywhere as the daemon god knelt, bracing himself. He could not run, no, and not enough time to gate to anywhere… but he was Rathotuhael the Undying, and he would do his best to survive this day.

[Faidth]

   Faidth looks on with a grim sense of satisfaction as the darkness –laden creature before her succumbs to the blows of her companions.  Being whipped through time and space is something she still has not grown accustomed to, and she finds that her body is not fully cooperative as she attempts to regain her faculties.

   She climbs to her feet and prepares to bear witness to the creature’s final moments. However, it appears that this Despoiler of both worlds and souls is not about to venture into death alone. Faidth, quite sensitive to deviations of the elements can practically touch the nearly palpable energy that spreads across the battlefield in Abbadon’s final moments.

   The earth trembles violently and the violent eruption of energy that explodes from the recently destroyed Talon of Horus leaves in its wake a wave of pure destruction. Faidth panics. Never before has she borne witness to a being such as this, and his incredible power is both terrifying in eminent.

   She turns upon her heel, desperate to get away from the blast as quickly as possible. However, she finds herself encompassed by some strange manifestation, so alien to her perceptions that she gasps in surprise as it dances around her form. She knows not where this sudden protection comes from, nor can she readily discern who has intervened on her behalf.

   However, across the battlefield her gaze falls upon Danyael and she gives a grateful sigh of relief that he had the foresight to aid her. She is rather unfamiliar with his powers, and not knowing the extent of the powers that he has used to protect her, she seeks to strengthen her defenses further.

   Her voice is scarcely a whisper, and the words that she speaks are Fyrellian, a language unknown to any of her companions. It is somewhere between a prayer and a mantra, and as Marius’s teachings pour from her lips, the ground around her begins to rise, forming a nearly impenetrable shell of stone, hardened earth, bits of metal and shards of bone.

   The atoms fuse together as her transfiguration melds the ingredients into a single, cohesive form. Like a loom, she manipulates the energy Danyael has expended to protect her and uses it to weave the components together.

   Hopefully, Danyael’s protection, augmented by her own barrier, will succeed in affording her some security.

[Faidth]

   The incredible rush of energy that explodes from Abbadon’s failing form and washes over each form that dots the battlefield with intense ferocity.     

   Danyael calls upon a flurry of whirling celestial energies which he uses to successfully encapsulate himself, Kitharsis and Faidth. Both the Tirthandaran and the Fyrellian have supplemented Danyael’s gracious defense with their own forms of security. Kitharsis’s shield flashes intermittently as the deluge of chaos energy slams against. A flurry of projectiles careens through the air and plinks off of Kitharsis’s shield before falling harmlessly to the ground.

   Faidth finds herself faltering as cracks begin to form in the barrier that is currently protecting her. Without intervention, the barrier would certainly shatter into thousands of splinters, before leaving her wholly exposed. A sudden outpouring of bright, white light washes over the battlefield and falls upon each of the companions.

   She is unaware of where this grace comes from until she catches sight of the angelic being as he hurtles across the battlefield and attempts to flee the epicenter of Abbadon’s destruction. It seems that the Seraphim, the eternal protector, has blessed his companions with some much needed assistance. In doing so, he has managed to bolster the defenses of all worthy enough to call him friend.

   During his attempt to escape the blast, the Seraphim is blindsided by a large piece of pillar, which strikes him in the shoulder with such force that he nearly falls from the sky. However, the Seraphim is putting all his energy into fleeing, and though the explosion relentlessly pursues Jharm, the angelic being is soon able to vacate the impact area.

   Rivulets of blood trail down a deep wound in his shoulder, and he can almost be certain the bones within are broken, but he has likely seen worse.

   Sepher, engaged with the beast that Abbadon had willed into being, must now content with two threats. At the death cries of its master, the creature howls furiously. If such a creature could be moved to emotion, the cry that flows from its lips could be perceived as something between sorrow and unbridled fury. Its resolve is strengthened as the final cries of its master reaches its ears. Its eyes flash angrily as it launches itself at Sepher again.

   It claws, bites and screeches at the daemon. Knowing that its own demise is imminent, the creature is determined to bring Sepher with it. Another burst of some foul-smelling acid explodes from the creature’s open mouth and splatters over Sepher’s form. As the corrosive liquid comes in contact with him, Sepher can see his armor wither and feel his skin crack. The concoction burns with great intensity, peeling away layers upon layers of skin and bringing unbearable pain.

   However, Sepher, sensing that Abbadon’s death will not come without consequence, erects a powerful shield to protect himself. This serves Sepher quite well as the Shield helps him to avoid the bulk of the damage dealt by the iconic blast. In addition, it effectively thwarts Abbadon’s creation as it launches itself at Sepher again.

   The creature slams against the barrier, smashing its grotesque face against the shield. Its expression of ire is brought to an erupt end as the explosion reaches it and unceremoniously removes the creature from all existence.

   Soul Reaver, too, fights to avoid the blast. However, his efforts are nearly rendered obsolete when he is thrown to the ground and met with the sound of his own, breaking bones. He positions himself behind Blooddrinker and struggles to maintain his shielding spell. Despite his injuries, his efforts are rewarded as he finds himself clinging to his last bit of coherence, but ultimately alive.

[Veldanya Venalla]

A curse escapes from the Seraphim's angellic lips as a pillar slams into his left shoulder, crushing the armor and shattering the bone beneath it.  For a split second it almost seems as if Jharm is about to falter but he grits his teeth against the pain and manages to escape the blast.  The moment he realizes he is safe finally his energy finally falters and the angellic being plummets to the ground, his massive form careening into the ground almost like a meteor, creating a sizeable crater.  At first it doesnt seem like anything is happening but from within the dust cloud a bruised and broken form can be seen slowly walking out, cradling his shattered shoulder.

Not knowing the extent of damage the rest of his companions might have received from the blast, Jharm knows that he must get back quickly and see where his healing powers will be needed most.

"Light hear my plea...grant me your aid so that I can help my friends"

The moment the plea leaves his lips the Seraphim can feel a slight boost to his failing energy.  Using but a small fraction of the restored power, Jharm casts a minor heal on his shoulder, just enough to begin to reform the bones so that he will be able to use the arm to aid any of the others that may be on the brink of death.  After wiggling his fingers to make sure they still function, the Seraphim takes to the air and heads back in the direction of his companions, intent on helping any that are in need of it.

[Danyael]

Danyael’s own healing factor could go but so far. But being in a realm so distant from his own homeland, and his own power spread out amidst the cosmos, he was grateful to be holding some semblance of strength in the face of such opposition. He felt the presences of the elementals; Kari, the water elemental safely shielded behind him. The other elementals, Kalana, Garr and Karyl were distant. But with them encapsulated within the force barrier, he too held the brunt of his focus on protecting those in his charge. With the Fyrellian witch providing her own barrier within his own, he could voice nothing but silent concerns for the young warrior’s well being. Then he felt a sudden surge of friction grate within the energies of his force shield, as his mind’s eyes caught focus of the chaos energy emitted from his longtime friend, the Tithandaran, who erected protection of his own.

Simultaneously both apart and separate from the Eidolon Wastelands, his consciousness was spread out wide among those within his field of shielding. Though with his own lingering string of ether connecting him to the Wellspring, he could only center himself with enough reinforcement to keep the barrier stable. He recognized his mistake, silently scolding himself for using the more forbidden powers in an unknown land. But now, centered as he was, he could only take one additional action outside of teleportation. With his connection to the invisible strings of energy that threaded through existence, he felt the energy presence of Aileron’s ships. With he Eidolon Wastelands shattering apart and his own companions in mortal danger, he sought one, and only one, thing left to do: Aim up.

With a bend of will, Kari was safely embraced in his arms and he began stretching his presence throughout the field, letting the waves of lingering gravity bend and twist, rearranging itself into an upward plummet as the barrier, and everyone in it, began to fall upward. He knew the elementals didn't trust him. They had no reason to, having witnessed the childishness of his behavior, prior to his departure and return. They may never trust him, regardless of the affinity he now shared with them all. But, if in some way, he could at least attempt to make amends, to attempt to regain their trust, then he would do so. The barrier, taking with it the collection of earth, water, magma, wind and aether - all fused together by the celestial leylines of the divine, soon became a spinning globe of pan-chromatic radiance. He watched Jharm’s sudden injury and mending of such with lukewarm concern. While the Seraphim approached, perhaps he could see the rising sphere of whirling light edging its way evenly into the sky. If Jharm’s mind was open to communication, he would bear witness to a slew of silent images gently washing through, all presenting the same message: the people Danyael was protecting were more important than himself. And that if his friend could help the two companions or the four elementals, then the Nephilim Lord, in what lingering stance he held in the physical world, would be grateful. He would no longer hold himself before others ever again.

[Kitharsis]

It is pitch black.  Blinking has no effect, it is just as dark with his eyes closed as when they are open.  He waves his hand in front of his face, then touches his nose to make sure he is still actually there.

He feels empty, like his body was a hollow shell.  He grunts in frustration, but no sound rumbles out from his chest.

Now he realizes his feet aren't actually touching the ground.  Hovering in the air in this dark void he begins to feel helpless, vulnerable.

This is where you belong...

He wants to scream.  His lips part and his lungs bellow, but no sound comes.

This is where we all belong...

A different voice.  He clenches his teeth.  They are familiar.

You are weak.

He crosses his arms and cocks his head to the side.

Yes, you prance around with these fools trying to save the universe.  But to what end?  Do you want to die fighting someone else's war?  And what will you have at the end of it if you don't die?  Scraps?  If they knew the history of the Tirthandara they wouldn't trust you so.

His eyes narrow at the darkness.  This isn't the first time they have tried to persuade him.  He doesn't know what tricks they are using this time, but it is getting old.

Perhaps some of our brothers should pay your realm a visit...  Yes, that would make things very interesting.  Then you will see what you truly are.  You will see what power you are ruining with your foolish purification.

Power.  Is he really diminishing his strength by cleansing the Tirthandaran energy inside of him?  The Shaman has warned him numerous times of what would happen if he were to use the unpurified energy.  But the old man only knew of the tales told from ancestors past...

What is happening here?  He shakes his head and centers himself.  This wasn't right.  The corrupted energy inside of him was evil.  He feels it every waking moment.  The thought that he actually considered using it sickens him.

He blinks again, his eyes focusing more clearly on what is in front of him.  Not hovering, no.  He was immersed in a sea of the corrupt energy.  It churns and flows around him.

Look at it!  The voices shout at once.  Crazed excitement crackles their tone.  It is endless!  All you need to do is reach out and grab it!  Take hold and conquer!  Crush your enemies with a thought!  Realize your destiny and rule this realm!

"No.  I will not be tainted by you!"

He roars and bellows out into the darkness.  His chest bursts with a pure white light that pierces into the darkness around him. 

"And if you dare send your brethren to this realm I will destroy them all!  I am not one of you!  You are the weak!  Allowing corruption and filth to rule your lives!  Begone!"

The white light is pushing back the darnkess more and more as he screams.  The presence of the voices fades as the darkness receeds back.

As you wish...  See you soon, Kitharsis...

[Danyael]

The ascension was symbolic in certain ways. The prospect of a source of fervent light rising above the tumult of death and shadows. It almost made him laugh at the thought of it if it weren’t for his lack of interest in talking. For the first time, since his discovery of the Source, did he find himself centered amid his companions. He felt, in some ways, balanced. It was bittersweet, considering he was no where nearly as strong as he could be at present, so far from the rest of the wellspring on this desolate scrap of dead earth. But within the chrysalis of divine energies, shielding his friends from the onslaught of dangers, using himself as the aegis, did he feel right in place.

And it was also in this moment, connected to everything around him, that he felt another influx of energy; this one taking the turn of internal turmoil. He felt the vibrations just as easily as he felt the limp Kari in his arms. But with his companions safely tucked within the barrier, they were inadvertantly connected directly to him. And thus, he need not seek out the source of disruption, for it had made its way to him instead. It pained his heart to see his friend, Kitharsis, in such a bad way. And while he could not read the soul of the Tirthandaran, he could taste the bitterness of yet another struggle of his friend’s inner demons - literally, this time.

And then he heard his friend speak. “No. I will not be tainted by you!” the rage in Kith’s voice stung Danyael, as he too felt the very fury of his friend as if it was his own. While the nephilim lord’s every fiber was focused around struggling to hold the barrier, and its ascent, together, his blind eyes watched the coalescing energies of pure white light erupt from Kith’s chest, fending back the invisible enemies into what inner recesses from whence they came, followed by a scolding rejection by Kith himself. Danyael could feel, almost touch, the lingering presences of the dark forces as they faded back into the dungeons of Kith’s internal abyss, and he could only hold out with a heavy heart for the man he was proud to call ‘brother’.

While not using his voice, his mind reached out to the warrior, a fusillade of soft images and intentions all presenting the same message without the use of a voice: “Be still, brother. None will ever touch you on my watch.” though the message was cut short as an all too familiar presence attempted an interruption, its own malevolence quietly overshadowing Danyael’s message just before also being expelled back into the inner world within Danyael’s own soul. Weakly, he smiled assuredly to Kith in the distance, returning his full focus to raising the massive barrier into the skies.

[Kitharsis]

He snaps back to his senses.  The explosion was over.  His shield is mangled and disintegrating around him.  Spent sand is gathering at his feet as it falls down his body.  He breathes heavily as he blinks his eyes back into focus.  He raises his hand before his eyes and smiles slightly as he touches his nose.

The rest of his sheild falls away and breaks apart into a pile of sand around him.  He was out of pure energy, save for the spark in his heart. 
 
Fool...  Echoes a whisper in his mind.

But that wasn't the only presense weighing on his thoughts at the moment.  He knew for certain that Danyael was there too.  He didn't hear him, but felt his emotions pouring forth.

Kitharsis gasps when he realizes that he and a few of his companions were travelling upwards through the air.  He looks over to Danyael, who gives a weak smile of assurance.  Kitharsis allows a smile to crack his own fatigued lips as he nods back to his friend. 

Danyael had gone out of his way many times in order to assist Kitharsis and everyone else during the battle.  For that he was in the Nephilim's debt.  Kitharsis only hoped that he would have the chance to return the favor in the future.

Sighing, Kitharsis relaxes and leans back onto the shield.  He has nothing left, save for the warhammer strapped to his hip.  Even so, it was merely a hunk of metal without his purified energy coursing through it.  An empty shell,  much like himself...

[Kitharsis]

Kitharsis perks up with a start.  The sand welling at his feet was warm.  Curiously, he dips his hand into the dry puddle and allows the grains of sand to fall through his fingers as he lifts.  A grin grows on his stoney face as he glances over to Danyael.

He lays his palm up, facing the approaching sky.  The few grains of sand that still have life in them lazily float up and rest on his palm.  Soon, a small board is constructed, resting on the palm of his hand.  Kitharsis's grin has grown to a full smile, pearly whites shining and all.  The work is clearly pleasing him.

The rest of the sand falls on top of the board and tiny figurines start to be recongnized.  The Tirthandara chuckles as the last specks of sand float into place.

A full chess board, with two colors of pieces floats in the air before him.  His face is now stern, as he stares out to Danyael.

"Your move!"  He shouts across the distance.

[Danyael]

The sudden longing for wine and women found their way to Danyael's thoughts; more for the women than the wine. Taking his thoughs back to the present, where the hollowness of time kept to the slowest, most geriatric pace, he suddenly felt the sensation to pee.

With his hands not only full, but his arse aching from all the exertion, Danyael couldn't help but to divert his focus slightly to the chess board at Kitharsis' prompting. Squinting his eyes to depict the figures adorning the lines, he set the stakes before starting the game: "I'll only play for panties."

[Kitharsis]

"Panties..."  Kitharsis works the word through his mouth.  His previously chipper demeanor shifts to confusion.  Thoughtfully, he looks down to his belt.  There might be something in the many pouches at his hip.  He starts rummaging through them, looking for something that might be a panties, whatever they are.

With an "Aha!" he shoots his hand into the air clutching the carcass of a brightly colored lizard.  God knows what it was doing in there.  It is a reptile that lived on Legund.  When threatened it panted with deep, throaty exhales at the perceived attacker.  Perhaps they were called panties where Danyael was from.  It was a suitable name indeed.