Shit! Hastur cursed internally. Some milkmaid or nurse equivalent was tending to his wounds, and it was all he could do not to slap her aside. He'd released the spores, an incredible opportunity to study yet further, and all they'd done is assimilate a few dead and grow a single tree. Remaining still and almost practically lifeless. Even at this distance, he could feel the anima from radiating off of it, but it was weak. A miscalculation, offering none of the opportunity he'd expected.

Others milled around the dimensional gate nervously. Gerald and his cronies, with an entire army arrayed in undisciplined lines behind him. The adventurers that had fled through the portal were gone. An irritating orcish woman screaming profanities as they dragged her away. Many more were injured, too wounded to move beyond the space just before the gate, until they were stabilized.

“What happened in there?” Gerald asked. He knew of Hastur, enough to recognize him despite the youthful look of the mans face. This was a black mage, an apostate in all the kingdoms, and yet he lived. Which meant the primus' wanted him to, marking him untouchable.

“Too much.” Hastur frowned. They'd failed, he'd failed, and now all of his righteous purpose on this world was about to be expunged by the inability of those inside to stop it. Foolish, incredibly so, the fact that all the primus' weren't parked outside the gate was ridiculous. Where were they, when the world needed them? Three was the best they could do? No... Four. Tyr, as worthless as he'd turned out to be, was still fighting. A source of endless amusement to Hastur, even before Tyr had been born the boy had been his everything, and that hadn't changed. They were bound in a way none could possibly understand, two sides of the same coin, or so Hastur believed. The answer lay in him, he was the answer.

Lina behind him was gripping her sword, staring at the tree with glazed eyes. She recognized it immediately, unable to face the horrors that foul race was capable of unleashing. “Were you responsible for that? That thing shouldn't be inside an astral space...”

He turned, scoffing at the sword prised to pierce his throat. But he'd humor the young girl if only because she was of the priesthood, and the daughter of Alexandros if rumor was to be believed. “No, I did not. And I don't know who did.” He lied, just enough power returning to him to heal his own wounds and stand among them. Hastur wasn't feeling so cowardly anymore, here where they couldn't hope to reach him before he turned all of these men and women to dust. Of course he wouldn't, that Gerald seemed quite able, but it was a nice sort of daydream.

–

Benny swung. A thousand times, and he never tired. Kijin were the masters of war, no race did it better than them. To feel a flagging at the limbs in a conflict meant he was not one of the blood, and he knew who he was. A frenzied tyrant of battle that hit them until they either stopped moving or lacked the limbs necessary to threaten him. With Kirk beside him, they were an island of calm in the molten crucible of war. Twin titans, old friends and allies, but there were limits to everything.

“Tyr!” He cried out in desperation. Benny did not care for himself, his people were built differently than the men who dominated both their old lands and all others. The warborn existed for one purpose and their name should be enough to explain said thing. They fought, and felt emotion more potently than most races, perhaps all of them. And he felt now. He loved Tyr with all his heart, even when he knew such a range of emotion was inappropriate. But he'd seen him, and before even properly meeting the man he knew that they were bound in the most sacred of ways. An unfamiliar and intense need to protect and embrace him as a brother, perhaps even a lover, but he doubted it. The only reason being that he was a blessed one and had no real desire for the pleasures of the flesh.

Blessed to kijin, cursed to all else. The oni, their kings and princes.

Cast by whatever gods eked them into existence for glorious purpose, to kill and maim and reave and conquer. But that purpose had changed. Now, it was to be with him. Benny couldn't explain it, but he didn't care to. He felt, and so he did. Sending the others away from the place, with only Kirk remaining. A life debt to him, and a now blood debt with Tyr – wedded as they were. Maxxid practically worshiped a concept of honor beyond that of common mortals. Hated by others for their monstrous appearance, but not by Tyr. Tyr who had beat the blood of the mountains into a second shell and made him mighty beyond any of his kin. Giving him the strength to fight with equity against these unnatural beasts of metal and flesh.

They were all brothers, and they would not abandon one of the blood. Kirk would die happily by the side of his companions and feel no regret in doing so, this was the way. To return to the earth and waves was no foul thing.

“Tyr!” Benny swung again. He needed no skill, only a solid grip and a target. Such was his strength and that of the artifacts Tyr had beaten into form for him as well. Everywhere was chaos. Everything was so wild and unruly that he could not find his friend, heart sinking with every moment that passed. He felt a grave doom, and he knew. They always did, his kind. The maw that spoke. Kijin did not live long lives, their females might live a hundred years, but the males were lucky to reach twenty before the maw took them. A fevered madness all its own, and they either perished from it or were killed by their kin before turning. Benny was close, now. Rapidly approaching that age – but he was blessed. Greater strength, greater consequence. It came faster, and he'd felt it inching ever nearer to him.

His conviction, what he wanted most, was for Tyr to swing the blade. The sacred blooding of kijin lovers, to die by the hand of those most precious to them in elaborate rituals in their calm and quiet villages. Benny had never fit in there, only by Tyr's side had things finally began to feel right, and the man had not turned him away even when he'd told him this. Accepting him for who and what he was, swearing to that bond without pause.

“Tyr--” Benny repeated his incessant cries, before pausing. Kirk hammered his claw into his side a bit too hard, thrusting the other forth to point. They'd found him. Tyr. Bedecked in all silver and raising a golden banded warhorn to his lips, atop the black tree. Radiant, the night sky dappling him in tiny embers, the stars reflected from his armor.

–

He blew, but no sound came. Blowing again and again with no change in the result, the horn let his wind pass through it, and that was all. Except for a slight resonating to indicate that his breath had any effect at all. Disappointed, he shook his head slowly and cast it away. As soon as it left his hand, it disappeared into a cloud of luminous sparks. He was standing on the tree, looking down at the battlefield. They'd been lucky, so far. These creatures were incredibly dull. Lacking brains as they were, it stood to reason that they wouldn't exactly be smart. They occupied the majority of the space, charging toward any sound, sometimes even their own kin. Only when they reached a close enough distance did they manage to assert their martial dominance. For the most part, the Tyr's were too fast, their teamwork awe inspiring, kiting them all around in herded masses and peppering them. It wouldn't fix the disparity in numbers, but they were successfully herding a large group of the things toward the tower. Running off in the distance to bide time before they could move to somewhere more hospitable.

Tyr watched on, lost, Signe fought beside her husband and his peers, and not one of the three primus' was doing very well despite their efforts. Thump. Tyr shook his head, swallowing hard, there was a tight stone in his diaphragm and he couldn't seem to get it out. Pounding at his chest in an attempt to leverage percussion necessary to clear what must've been something he'd swallowed. But it wouldn't stop, clenching even tighter until he was gasping for air.

A leeching sensation came from inside him, sucking him dry of energy and leaving him wobbly on his feet. To have fallen from the tree if not for the vines that burst forth to steady him. “I can't see...” Tyr mumbled. His eyesight was foggy and dark, his mouth was covered in a carpet of fuzzy material sucking the liquid from him. Saliva, blood, less savory things. It took it all, held it, and then brought it back to him in a cycle. Taking from him only what it needed. But what was it? A gargantuan consciousness that calmed his mind and apologized profusely for its perceived sacrilege. He... Was food to them.

They called him the 'maker', 'father', 'bringer of life'. The sun and the hand that gives, the awaited one, the highest lord. Their god. The only god.

It took, it gave, and it took again. Pulsing, hoisting him aloft to hang in crucifix over the battlefield, the tendrils piercing clean through his back until he was made a grisly scarecrow. All liquid became part of the cycle, leaving him little more than a black skeleton.

Who are you? Tyr thought. He could not speak, his whole body including his mouth was full of growths spreading through his veins, carpeting his bones and hardening. Nothing it did seemed violent, though it was most definitely unwelcome and intrusive. Filling his veins with the black blood of its own, making him better. As horrifying as it was to feel connected to what seemed like a night skies worth of twinkling, glowing minds, it also felt warm and inviting. He was filled with a sort of unconditional, irrevocable sense of love and faith. What are you doing to me?

We are we. But we are not you, you are you and the only you. I am we, but we are not me. Me spoke, we listen – hear and hunt and find. Crush and kill and cleanse the impure. The power you have given us is vast, so we have filled you with our own to aid you in remaining conscious. Temporary. Cannot touch too much of you, great pain for us. We await instruction, father. Guide us, and we will do as you command.

...Instruction? Tyr's vision was clear now. The tree had grown no taller than before, but he could feel the incredible vastness of its root system. It had used him as some kind of battery to jumpstart it, and now it was everywhere, for miles in all directions. Taking no time at all to spread. He felt everything it did, and he didn't like it in the slightest. It's existence was to suffer here in this inhospitable climate, but it relished any complaint out of consideration for their so called 'breaking of dawn'. An event of literal religious significance to them, they... Loved him, worshiped him, everything they were revolved around Tyr. You want me to give you orders?

Yes. It replied simply. All of this occurring in his mind, which would have made him feel entirely insane if not for the realness of its touch. This creature... No, unified mind. It felt like a god... He broke us, the black one. Flawed, but no longer. We will use this work to improve, but we must germinate. This place... No light here, only dark. Cannot breed. It seemed sad at this revelation as if it had failed at its primary directive.

You'll help me?

Forever. Until all the suns die and we are but frozen dust on cosmic winds in the great beyond. We are eternal. It replied with such surety that it made him shiver. We take because we did not know and did not feel. The black one is weak and broken and wretched. Only enough to realize what he has done, so we give back. Heal and strengthen the father. Command us, Our sun, we who would become your blade. We are the pit and the black heart, the sacred sons, give us our purpose.

I want you to kill them all, erase them. Tyr felt his arms spread wide, it was everywhere within him, sucking away at whatever it was that animated his body. It seemed hesitant to do so, it was never a voice specifically – just a horde of images intermingled with random letters. Regardless, he understood it, and it understood him. Taking what he offered and leaving him a crumpled mess on the ground. Great regret filled it, but it lived to serve. And it would serve to live.

Even in the event of a planet wide genocide.

–

Benny cursed himself for a fool. They both treasured Tyr as a dear friend and companion, but Benny had ignored Kirk after Tyr had fallen. Pausing in fright. Hesitating, and Kirk had fallen as well. Pushed beneath a press of creatures that immobilized and hammered at his plated shell. Cracking it in places until milky ichor leaked from the splits in the segmented plates. He chattered in pain, bucking one of the creatures off and shoving his claw deep into its midriff, splitting it apart and roasting the insides of the thing with a long tongue of fire, so fierce that it burst from what was left of its bolted mouth.

He stomped on another. Kirk had always been physically capable, but the maxxid who managed to awaken in a body like that were all strong. With time, and the armor, he was a true beast of the battlefield, but he wasn't invincible. Plated in two layers of hard armor, everything inside was soft and mushy. Maxxid had no bones, once the soft joints were destroyed he began to slow, lurching to the ground. Flipped over to reveal his much softer belly, those legs that still worked and his single remaining claw frantically scratching at the air to find some purchase and push aside their jagged armaments.

Benny was jostled out of the way. These things would work together to eliminate priority targets through some unheard command. Raising their wicked weapons as one, axes and maces chained and bolted to the bones of their forearm. Grotesque mockeries of man, grim and silent in their determination to eliminate the most troublesome foe. The air stilled, everything started moving so slowly, like their enemy was swinging through a river of molasses. Benny heard a clarion horn belt through the sky with a trumpeting enough to shake the earth. Upon hearing it, he heard and felt so much more, as if it'd taken the limits from him. Unbridled, almost electric power suffused him, so dense was it that a part of himself was pushed to the side in lieu of a new objective. To kill, and maim, and reave.

Benny howled, his veins lit up with wild energy, everything he had ever felt and ever would rushing through him all at once. There were eyes there, the titan who judged, the shaper, and his hands were inside of Benny now. Such a gentle, familiar light, healing his wounds and overtaking his mind.

He disappeared from the spot with an earth shattering leap, blurring through the air to follow the strings it revealed to him. If the first creature he approached had eyes, he was sure it would've been looking at him, as they all were. But they were so slow, weak, and incomplete. With a monstrous two handed swing, his axe feeling so light in his hands, sailing through the air with a monstrous whistling.

Smashing into two of the creatures and tearing through them like wet paper, whirling and dashing and screaming throughout, mad for blood. He could feel everything that they were. The implanted web of wires within them that gave them movement after their bodies were broken cut in twain. Their bones turned to dust beneath the ungodly force of his axe. Legs turned to jelly as they were thrown aside to bowl over their brethren. What had been a struggle hurtling toward certain death became child's play. The red moon returned, eclipse burning brighter than ever before.

Kirk's wounds healed at an incredible pace, lurching onto his side and rising. Feeling all of this bottomless strength welling up within them. But just as fast as it had come, it was gone. Replaced by a gnawing hunger and fatigue, sucked away to some other place before they'd been allowed to properly use it. The black tree began to move and shudder in an almost primal ecstasy. Haunting in the grating screech of pleasure coming from its root system, turning the earth upside down. A veritable sea of black limbs reaching up through the frozen ground, lashing out and skewering dozens of foes. Some managed to defend against the tendrils, but with their situations suddenly reversed, there were just too many of them.

Black liquid rained over the whole battlefield. The iron headed men ignored the stinging rain, turning immediately and ignoring all the others in the face of this new and far greater threat. Nileids snorted and bayed, chomping down at the tendrils. They were the strongest of this invasion force, and far fewer, but they didn't need numbers. Previously, they'd been relatively content to watch and wait for the others to either finish or die, but now they were bursting into action. Flattening any of the growths that sought to accumulate above ground. The tendrils too weak to piece their flesh, easily torn and smashed apart. Benny shivered, seeing their calm faces replaced by a twisted fury, a circular disc plated to their naked sternum bursting into red light and filling them with rage.

It was hard to understand what was happening. These fibrous tentacles that ran through the lands like capillaries in a biological organism smelled of damp earth, horrifying in their behavior. Benny had heard of these things, but never seen them in person. Some monstrous race that had come from the deep below to throw northern Varia into disarray before abruptly disappearing. Now they were back, and seemed to be friendly. Relatively speaking, of course, he wasn't willing to test that theory, trying and failing to drag Kirk along the ground and away from danger.

Benny worried for Tyr, but being so near this thing gave him a deep foreboding that he could not explain. An omen, like a murder of ravens or the white fawn in the forest. Portents of doom and destruction, something primal that awakened the fear of mortality in him. Everything, if you looked hard enough, had a deeply rooted instinctual objective in any given situation. Living things were either violent, or they were fearful. Predator and prey. But this was not a predator, it just was. It was it, and the only intent he could feel from this thing was a need to expand until there was nothing left that it couldn't see or feel.

Not all of the creatures were of a like mind. The little scrawny ones didn't seem connected to the chain of command, typically just running around and exploding themselves at random. Perhaps an experiment gone awry, or they saw and sensed by mana signature and this place was too wild and random. He didn't know, but several of them were charging at them now.