Standing tall and forebodingly within a remote valley in the Xiphyx(Shi-fix) Mountain range of Avalith is the ineptly named, Celestial Tower. The massive valley is a no fly zone to all but a handpicked few by the Queen of Queens herself to tend to it, and from the distance appears to be a rather tall and stoic jet black monument that stretches upward to a thousands feet in height. However, within a mile of its proximity, and underneath the vyrkrial dome that shrouds its true form is a sight that is anything but unassuming.

The true form of the Celestial Tower is that of giant’s torso confined to a chained coffin. The skeletal giant’s flesh is pitch black, its protruding bones, blood red, and its head and neck is twisted backward and arched back, as if it’s attempting to view the stars above. Two massive spires are erect within its body and its sharp peaks each protrude through its eye sockets. The tower is very much alive, as a seemingly never ending pool dark red blood oozes from its open wounds all over its body that flow into a mote of blood that surrounds the horrific structure. From its frequent soft yet haunting moans of anguish it exerts black steam from its mouth into the atmosphere, yet it never leaves the vyrkrial dome that shields the world from the monstrosity, subduing the region to an ever present black haze.

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The interior of the tower is just as vile a sight as the exterior. Black flesh and steel form the long halls of the tower. A web of red and purple pipes spewing black steam are laced about in every room. The tower has no windows, as its only illumination comes from red blinking eyeballs that shine dim red light, of which are littered about everywhere. Bloodcurdling screams of both man, woman, and child echo throughout tower.

Within the center of the tower is a large open elevator. The elevator is a black oval shaped platform that is currently moving down. Hrist and Helga are on the platform. Hrist appears to be uncomfortable in the hellish tower while Helga, who is wearing a beautiful dark red lab coat, appears to be right at home.

Hrist: You and your twisted delights. You could have at least casted an enchantment or three to mask the odor in preparation of my coming.

Helga adjusts her glasses with a smirk while she glosses over schematics on a clipboard.

Helga: Oh? What’s this dear sister? Is the fine fragrance of rotting Innokian flesh and boiling Celestial children too much for our soon to be new queen to bear?

Helga materializes a gas mask and flaunts it before Hrist. Hrist hesitates before proudly refusing it. The haze within the tower grows thicker as they descend, and its hue from black to red.

Hrist: I certainly hope you don’t let our lofty ambitions cause you to relinquish what little humanity remains in you. This monstrosity and all its foul deeds you commit in here are strictly for the betterment and ensurement of humanity’s future. Deviate from that purpose and I shall have this tower destroyed swifter than you make its victims scream.

Helga: Oh retract your claws sister. My appetites are not satiated with the prisoners blistering screeches, the wonderful chorus of flesh ripping from bone, or the euphoric silence that follows a symphony of sufferings…well mostly anyway. No, I delight in the etchings of each and every footnote we make towards our grand purpose. The mayhem that permeates these halls is merely a bonus.

Hrist rolls her eyes in disgust. The elevator stops before a long hall that leads to a two story high door made of black bones. The two approach it.

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The Cauldron Chamber is a spacious bloodstained room that stores many active steampunk machines and torture devices. At the center of the room is a giant cauldron with many tubes running from it to the surrounding machines. The heads of Hezekiah and other Arcane kings can be seen hanging in the corner of the room.

The doors open and the two sisters quickly enter.

Helga: Ah, here we are! The room where our most illustrious discoveries are made!

Hrist pinches her nose in repulsion.

Hrist: Ugh, Helga! This is uncalled for. You could have at least hired a maid. How can one take a step without tripping over broken bones or rotten flesh?

Helga: Ah, about that. Well I usually assign the prisoners to tidy up the place in my absence, the problem is however, I tend to use them as fodder for my experiments before they can even touch a broom. You never know when you may suddenly require a specific specimen to satisfy a spontaneous hypothesis.

Henry, a large eight foot tall deformed hunchback man with dark rainbow colored hair, jumps down from the ceiling. He has three arms and two bird wings protruding from his back. He has the voice of a small child and appears to be very happy to see Helga.

Henry: Momma!

Helga: Oh Henry! How has my little adorable pet been?

Henry: Alone without you Momma. The others like to misbehave in your absence.

Helga: You remember Henry, don’t you Hrist?

Hrist: I believe I recall this, thing, having fewer appendages when I last had the misfortune of laying eyes upon it.

Helga: I’ve made some rather handsome modifications to my little pet.

Henry: Yes, yes! I am Momma’s loyal pet. A loyal pet I am.

Helga: Have you been good?

Henry: Very good Momma! Very good! You’ll be so proud of me! I kept watch as your sacred concoction finished stewing.

Helga looks elated.

Helga: Did you now?!

Henry: Yes, yes! When the children’s cries for joy quieted their bodies seeped into the carbonized vyrkra, just as you predicted Momma.

Helga runs to a machine’s control panel that’s slowly printing out schematics. She swiftly peruses through it in glee, as if she has come across a striking revelation.

Helga: My theories…

She begins to laugh. Henry smiles and Hrist raises an eyebrow in intrigue.

Helga: My theories, all of them! They were all true!

Helga jumps for joy and lifts up Henry, spinning him around twice before letting him drop to the floor.

Helga: This is incredible! I can’t believe we’ve finally done it!

Hrist cuts through the joyous mood with the clearing of her throat.

Hrist: Mind relaying your findings to the unenlightened?

Helga: The Celestials! We’ve finally discovered the finer details of their terrestrial makeup!

Hrist responds with an inquisitive stare, prompting the more than willing Helga to elaborate.

Helga: Celestials are not human. Human beings and even Innokians alike are made from elements that can be found on Irikihl such as oxygen, carbon, hydrogen, nitrogen, and so on. However, my latest research proves that Celestials’ bodies, well in particular Arcane bodies, are carbonized vyrkra that has mimicked these properties.

Henry nods along, playing off his master’s excitement.

Hrist: Carbonized vyrkra? So what you’re saying is that you’ve toiled away all these centuries just to conclude what we’ve already known? That their bodies are entirely the construct of vyrkra? Come now Helga this is hardly a revelation.

Helga sighs in shear frustration.

Hrist: No sister. Innokians’ bodies are made entirely out of vyrkra, particularly the planet’s vyrkra. But Celestials’ bodies are of a far more curious design.

Helga materializes a chart depicting an anatomical sketch of a Veguhl man beside an anatomic sketch of a normal man.

Helga: Each and every Innokian has the capacity to morph their body in someway to increase the amount of vyrkra it can hold, albeit for short periods of time. For Tahlyans, their sacred Gyn-Yan technique. For Ohgahnians, the Ohgahn State, and so on. But us humans don’t share this unique feature. No, our capacity is finite and limited to only what our natural bodies can endure. Of course a well nourished and exercised body can hold more than one that is prone to gluttony, but that is the extent of it. However…

Helga materializes an anatomical sketch of an Arcane man. Mist is surrounding the body in the sketch.

Helga: Not only have I just discovered that the Celestials’ bodies are capable of morphing in a manor similar to that of the Innokians but that this morphing is designed to house more Iyn, not vyrkra.

Hrist: What? But I was lead to believe that harboring an excessive amount of Iyn for an extended period of time would deem lethal for anyone.

Helga: True, for a vyrkrial being. But as my researched has just confirmed, Arcane bodies are not the fabrication of true vyrkra; the vyrkra that our bodies and the planet have been forged with. No, their bodies are Iyn that has reconstructed itself into vyrkra, hence why I have termed it carbonized vyrkra.

Hrist appears to be perplex. She looks down at the corner of the room, deep in thought.

Hrist: Well, this is certainly perplexing. How can Iyn, which we believe to be the fire of our very souls, capable of assuming another form? I thought Iyn only serves as an amplifier to vyrkra, not a phenomenon to replace it altogether. If your discoveries truly have the credence you claim, then this does nothing but spawn more questions then answers, Helga.

Helga adjusts her glasses.

Helga: While it may be true that we have much to learn on the matter, I believe we have gained a considerable footnote in our endeavors. To our knowledge Iyn is the most powerful force in all of creation, but it’s also the most difficult and dangerous to harness and weaponize. When it comes to the shear mass and potency of one’s vyrkra our family is unrivaled, but even our powers, including Mother’s, are prone to fluctuation at the whims of our Iyn.

Hrist: You’re correct there. As mighty as Mother is, even she dares not to measure the upper limits of her Iyn.

Helga: And rightfully so. No sane person would attempt to stretch beyond the limitations of their soul. But now we know for certain that the Arcane have the ability to exceed these limitations without suffering the same repercussion we would. And if one were to master this ability, then all would surely come down to a contest of wills for the future rulership of Irikihl. A bout I would not so easily predict its victor.

Hrist clenches her fist upon arriving at a startling realization.

Hrist: They may not be an Arcane but I believe there is one individual who more than likely possesses this ability that concerns us.

Helga pauses before coming to the same realization.

Helga: The Witch Tier…Of course!

Hrist: Precisely. It’s the ornament she bears in her chest. It is no mere vyrkracite but more than likely this carbonized vyrkra you’ve coined. Which means she too may pose to be a considerable threat to us if she were to ever harness its true value. Which again begs the all too infuriating question of why has Mother allowed that thing to continue to tread among the living? It is a burning fuse waiting to ignite an insurrection that may never be doused.

Helga: If my inherited inquisitiveness is any sign, then Mother is simply doing her due diligence before she disposes of the unneeded. As the ending of Loc or his little Tahlyan friend wouldn’t equate to the ending of the Celestial threat at large. They are still more useful to us alive than not, at least for now.

Hrist: After all these centuries of extensive research it amazes me how little we still know about the Celestials.

Helga: Many of their mysteries should hopefully become privy to us once Mother allows us to bring her here. But as of now even Mother’s seemingly omnipotent prying hasn’t unveiled the secrets we yearn for.

Hrist: That is because Mother is only capable of peering into her thoughts. Since her mind is completely void of the secrets contained within the encyclopedia on her bosom, there is nothing of value to be gained from prying.

Hrist takes a deep breath.

Hrist: I am loathed to admit that we must allow Loc to amass this knowledge naturally, as the Celestials intended for him, if we are to make our move. Even if I am staunchly against the severe risks it entails.

Helga adjusts her glasses in disappointment.

Helga: And at the rate at which our dearly beloved little brother is improving the wait may be a true test of our patience.

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Atop a plateau on the bitter cold Thunder Peak Mountains is Loc squaring off against Smoke, Lightning, and Bolt. Loc is panting.

Loc: (Fighting up here is a nightmare. I can hardly breathe, I can’t use my mod, and how in the hell am I supposed to use Irikihl’s vyrkra to control electricity…)

Bolt tackles Loc to the ground but he quickly springs back up to his feet. Lightning swoops in from the air at his rear, knocking Loc back to the ground and sending him tumbling several yards. Before Loc can rise vines form around him from the ground and entrap him. Smoke approaches him.

Smoke: Too slow kid.

Loc: Shit.

Bolt sighs.

Bolt: We’ll, let’s begin again.

Lightning: Now wait Bolt. I think he’s earned a brief respite.

Bolt pauses with a reluctant and impatient face.

Smoke: Give him a minute Bolt. Let’s not forget we are Innokians and he’s just a kid.

The vines around Loc loosen and he frees himself.

Loc: Just a kid?

Smoke pulls down his goggles to briefly look Loc in the eyes.

Smoke: To me you are. I’ve lived a lot more life than I look.

Bolt: Very well. We’ll take a three minute respite. I suggest you make it count, Your Highness, because we’re not stopping until sundown.

Bolt nearly instantly takes off and lands on another mountain peak a half mile away. Lightning shakes her head at Bolt’s attitude.

Lightning: Don’t worry about him Your Highness. Get all the rest you need before we continue.

Loc: Can someone remind me again as to why I have to contend with the three of you all at once under these harsh elements?

Smoke: Because your little upcoming duel will be a far greater trial than facing the three of us combined.

Lightning: This is quite true. Prince Abaal’s strength nearly rivals a queen’s. If you are to have even a sliver of a chance at surviving the bout then you must learn to harness planet Irikihl’s vyrkra.

Loc: Easier said then done. I don’t know why but utilizing the planet’s vyrkra has always been a challenge for me. Hell even using my own vyrkra just doesn’t come easy for me. That’s why I prefer the use of my mod. Which makes Uncle’s decision to make me a Blavyk Caster, a class meant for those with exceptional vyrkrial talent, all the more puzzling to me.

Smoke: Because you do have exceptional vyrkrial talent, well at least when it comes to potency and output. Actually, I’ve seen your problem in other individuals. They have a difficult time utilizing their vyrkra because it’s naturally so powerful and volatile. The subconscious purposely holds back when trying to perform Vyrkra Arts because it’s aware of just how destructive it can be. And the only cure for this problem--

Smoke takes a puff from his cigar.

Smoke: Is a lot of practice.

Loc: Well, I don’t have that kind of time.

Smoke: Well, maybe you don’t need that much time.

Loc: What do you mean?

Smoke: You’re getting ready to face a foe that wants you dead more than anything. That’s something to be exploited.

Bolt: That’s easier said then done when our foe can achieve his desires with much ease.

Nearly startled, Loc turns around to see Bolt right behind him.

Bolt: Perhaps we could muster up some desperate strategy if the odds were more even. But Prince Abaal could drive an electrical bolt through your heart before you’ve had the chance to blink.

Loc: Wait a minute. I thought this was suppose to be under the guise of a civilized duel. I hardly believe he would bare his all before putting on a good show for his loyal aristocrats first.

Lightning: You’re right! If the rumors of his womanizing are to be believed then I highly doubt he would take the risk of allowing his bloodlust to reveal his true barbaric nature to the nation and its allies. He’s valued the reputation he’s earned from the human damsels, he won’t allow vengeance to squander that.

Bolt: And so it seems. And perhaps this does buy us a few precious moments. But what if the opposite holds true too? What if he makes the decision to execute a swift, painless, and humane execution? What strategy could one prepare for that? No matter you look at it we are at his complete mercy.

Loc: I am at the mercy of no one but my Maker. If Prince Abaal is to be my end, then so be it. But if he isn’t then he is going to rue the day he decided to interfere with The Will’s plans. Besides, I think you’ve just given me an idea Lightning.

Lightning’s face lights up with intrigue and she slightly blushes.

Lightning: An idea?

Loc: I may not possess the raw strength Prince Abaal has, but perhaps I don’t need to. In fact, the gap in out powers may be my greatest advantage.

Lightning and Bolt appear to be a bit puzzled.

Bolt: Well, whatever The Will has in store for you just know that I will faithfully fight by your side for him. You will not face him alone, you have my word on that.

Loc: Thank you, Bolt.

Smoke: Well, now it’s my turn to spar with him one on one now. You two can merrily watch from afar.

Bolt and Lightning take to the sky.

Bolt: Very well, I pray your sessions are fruitful.

Smoke and Loc square off. Bolt and Lightning land on a peak a few miles away and study them.

Loc charges at Smoke but he sidesteps and pushes Loc away, causing him to trip and fall on his stomach. Bolt sighs.

Lightning: Be truthful, brother. Do you believe he will find victory?

Bolt: Bah! He has no speed, no fortitude, and but little might. How is one to believe he is the Great Palyth of legend? Slayer of witches, and restorer of orders?

Lightning: Perhaps, these trials are not only for our would be savior.

Bolt: What are going on about, sister?

Lightning: Surely you can’t be that dense, brother.

Bolt: Once upon a time was able to read your mind like the winds through my wings, but ever since the odes of Queen Bethel’s defeat whisked through your ears it has been filled with nothing but whimsical ideals.

Lightning: Perhaps you’re simply beginning to grow feathers for brains. A revolution cannot be achieved through the might of one alone, but by the combined effort and sacrifices of many. We must play our part and overcome our own shortcomings, if we are to undo this hell the Queen of Queens has entrapped our kind into. In the end, we must all prove that we are worthy of The Will’s offering for a better life.

Lightning pauses. Her spirit becomes sullen after a deep breath.

Lightning: Master Armolos once held that same joy for a better tomorrow. But the fast and vain pursuits of a pirate were too sweet a nectar for the one who had fed on a lifetime of bitter oppression.

Bolt: I do not mean to repeat Master’s folly. But I will not place my hopes in a vacuous youth either.

Lightning: Sure the number of talents he currently possesses may not be to your liking. But the fire in his eyes is unmistakable. That is a soul that will never grow weary of its ambitions.

Bolt: We shall see how willing his spirit is in the coming days. That contest will be the deciding factor. Perhaps not a truer test of wills will be on display.

Lightning sighs.

Lightning: The truest indeed. A duel to the death with Prince Abaal is but a glorified execution. At least that is what is to be expected from all but our would be savior.

A pillar of vines bursts up from under Loc and he dodges it while charge at Smoke again. Smoke sidesteps, but as Loc passes him throws snow into his face. The more vines burst from the ground Loc narrowly dodges them.

Smoke quickly wipes the snow from lens of his goggles.

Smoke: Nice try kid, but I can still see you.

More pillars of vines erupt as Loc makes a desperate attempt to dodge each and every one in succession. Smoke is surrounded by vines, thus his view of Loc is slightly obscured. Smoke lowers a patch of vines to view Loc, who is now charging quickly at him once more.

Smoke: I see you coming from a mile away, kid.

Loc leaps as the vines pursue him. His eyes flash black and the snow on Smoke’s goggles freeze into large icicles, blocking his vision and catching him off guard. Loc throws a fist as the vines catch him in midair. Smoke barely manages to block it with his arm in time and the impact sends him sliding back several yards. He reveals an impressed smile.

Smoke: Not bad.

Bolt appears to be slightly amazed. Lightning smiles.

Lightning: As sharp as Prince Abaal’s spears may be, I believe our young king’s wits may be finer than any edge.

Chapter End