Another (all of) space, Another (all of) time

"Something is wrong" hissed one ASPECT of one reality.

"THIS cannot be undone" seethed another.

" How DARE HE! We ended HIM", "HE must PAY"

Vehemence given sentience, Abyssal entities screamed for their pound of flesh.

" Quiet". whispered the tyrant.

And.

The world kneeled.

" find HIM," whispered the gentlest of suggestions

And the NIGHTMARES obeyed.

Verdant plains as far as the eye can see. Lush knee-length grass covered the entirety of the Nithrel plains. Woodlands, small mountains, and streams snake through the emerald expanse. The Great plains form a viridian corridor with the Skytree mountains on one side and the Mist-sea on the other. The sun beating down lazily, herds of Ineks, quadruped herbivores the size of large boulders and covered in rocky scales native to the area went about their day on the grassland. Some of their eyes trained at the horizon, a disturbance of some sort. Inek herds could get massive, with the plains being thousands of stone throws in width, the primordial herds could get up to hundreds of thousands of heads strong. A stampede from a herd that size was a small ecological disaster. For now, the Primarch of the herd, a hill-sized specimen kept his eyes trained far as he chewed the cud, checking if it was coming closer to his precious herd.

On these peaceful plains, the 14th army of the Glorious Empire of IMMORAL 100,000 strong was being besieged by what seemed like spide creatures. Chaos reigned through the ranks as soldiers ill-equipped to deal with these 14-foot spider-men fell by the dozen.

" We have lost men, Xeral (general), our flank was ripped apart by the Ver'rack, we need Zeva to hold them off or we risk losing the entire side"

The Xeral looked at the man who had spoken with calm eyes. Tall and gaunt, with sunken eyes and a thin frame. This march had not been good for his previously well-kempt second-in-command. Since the start, everything that could go wrong did. And then some. Something smelt rotten and it wasn't just the stench of burning bodies in the air. Raiding parties at night, supply lines sabotaged, Officers assassinated. There were leaks. But who in their right mind would side with the ANGH'UL?. Foul beasts born not of this world. Who would want them to further their pestilence on our plane?. What would anyone have to gain?

Shaking himself out of his brief reverie, the Xeral, all seven feet of him radiated a palpable aura. Heat roiled off of him in tangible waves. Now was not the time for thought. " Authorization - Novem Noctem septum, the Shrike is hereby activated, Priority - Ver'rack. Tell Zeva to stay out of the line of fire for now" rumbled the Xeral's gravelly baritone.

" And if their heavy hitters show up?" asked Davian.

The air screeched under the immense weight of a plain iron hammer materializing by the side of the Xeral. His ornate gauntlets and breastplate glowing red hot just from being near the potent artifact. Its power, enough to warp the metal around it to molten slag. His usual dark brown fur burning orange and a vicious smile playing upon his Leonid canines.

"We'll just have to see who hits harder".

The wind sang to Zeva Andross.

It always had. It had sung her to sleep as a child, saved her from dangers as a girl, and shed the blood of her enemies as a woman. A tendril of wind grazed her ear, carrying along with it the orders of her Xeral. Its stern tone at odds with its soft caress.

"Shrikes" she trilled, "Priority Unus- Ver'rack, engage to eliminate, Adrastea guide us"

"Adrastea guide us" barked twelve figures as they leaped with unearthly grace. Garbed in grey and outfitted with instruments of mortality. The Shrike's talons blurred across the battlefield.

The Ver'rack are a sight to behold. And upon beholding, you retch. Uncontrollably, before voiding your bowels from the smell. Pale humanoid torsos grafted onto the razor-sharp exoskeletons of spiders. Lipless mouths, lidless eyes, and lobeless ears ooze tar-like pus. A barbed tongue serpentine in its quest for flesh. Outfitted with bone bows and septic barbs, these hellspawn make full use of their sinewy appendages to find high ground and bombard enemies with, first their horrendous visage and secondly, poison arrows. Calling them light-armed cavalry would be an understatement. Regardless of how it moved, an 8-foot tall poisonous man-spider could hardly be called ‘light’.

It was towards these scuttling abominations that the Shrike and her talons were gliding toward, not a care in the world.

Zeva stopped a good 500 paces before reaching the enemy lines. The Ver'rack's initial sneak attack had cost many lives before shields could be activated. And they wouldn’t hold long. Her eyes narrowing as she gazed at the defiled bodies of soldiers at the foot of the enemy mound. Her soldiers were not monster trophies.

It was all she could do to still the anger raging in her heart. She wanted nothing more than to have her winds shear these abnormalities from her lands. But, she had her orders. Unknown dangers still stalk these shadows, and she was needed to deal with any surprises. Above all her Xeral must be obeyed.

“Go” she rasped as 12 shadows darted behind enemy lines.

The screaming began.

Elite Rangers seldom have problems dealing with monsters whose only saving grace was agility. Masters of the ASPECT of AIR. They carve through their enemies with the ferocity of a razor-sharp tempest. ASPECT must be met with ASPECT, mindless creatures cannot face the might of AIR.

Zeva was worried. The winds were restless, they whispered of blood, of pain. Something wasn’t right. She trilled thrice. The shadows didn’t bat an eye, a well-oiled machine they retreated as one moving back to their leader.

One didn’t make it.

Three blurs of fire and magma burst from within the lines of the Ver'rack. Zeva was fast, but not fast enough.