Brand

My life is a mess that mystifies me sometimes, events I had never before imagined seem part of the course now and I’m not sure sometimes whether to be thankful or curse the stars under which I was born but more than anything I’m grateful and surprised to still be alive.

[Dong], a bell tolls spreading complete silence that hangs heavy across every shoulder in the hall.

I am rigidly still watching as the Emperor interacts with the family of commoners through the Speaker. They hide nothing about how they discovered the fluctuations in the vegetation and air in their land, suspecting it to be a curse but too poor to hire a witch to cleanse the land, so they had reported to the nearest human settlement whose Mayor had ignored them.

None of this would have gone unnoticed in the more efficiently run lands under the Emperor’s direct supervision but Alla is actually ruled by Prime Prince Jericho in an experimental elected hierarchal governmental system that so far hasn’t collapsed solely because he is his father’s son. As a former prince I was never going to be king myself but I know enough to see the numerous flaws in the system but also the potential. Giving even ordinary mundane authority and sense of worth, if it’s given enough incubation time without the Prime being ousted, the ‘nation’ invaded or any similar setbacks this formation of nations could be the new way to rule.

No one besides the Emperor and his guards are aware of my presence in the room because of the power I had stolen and have been learning to make my own. Stealing the blessing a deity had prepared for one of its champions had every spirit, mercenary, priest, acolyte, and believer of Phosphorus after me for years in my flight, but ironically the Shroud itself helped me hide and survive to reach Orion where I thought I’d be rid of the tempting, useful thing. I had expected the Emperor to take his prize and do with it as he planned while I headed back to Conclave lands maybe to retire or just to chill before taking on another long mission, something easier preferably.

The enigmatic Emperor of Celest had other plans for me though...

I watch the nervous man explain everything he has so far discovered about the mirror like surface of what looks like a drop of mercury floating in midair on his property. They speak for some time, the Emperor having come here himself has the man drenched in sweat even in the mild coastal weather but only initially did he stutter before finding his spine. Admirable, Emperor Andromeda can be intense and is the most physically intimidating human being I have ever laid my eyes on. If he can even be called human that is, I wonder what he has Om doing now. Another surprise was finding a familiar face so far from home, the big man is even bigger, more intense but soft-spoken and a friend. The only one I can even remotely thrust in this empire of brainwashed maniacs.

*

Epilogue

The battle between the war-host of Paradisum and the Ancient Beast Mú Lai Protector of The Blue Woods ebbs and flows in a bloody and violent-filled stalemate. The damp, moss filled ground of the woodland floor now a wounded field flowing with blood and entrails of the Awakened squads of Barbarians as one after another they assemble themselves before their unstoppable foe with a mad eagerness only to be trodden viscerated. The Ancient runs rampant through them, her defence almost impenetrable as she fends off the invaders from her home by viciously lashing out.

The squads are organised, coming in groups that wait their turn so as not to get in each other’s way. The first battle the Awakened of Paradisum, the Tribes have had to truly test themselves since finding a second wind for their people in this previously lost art known as Awakening. The old men and women of the Tundra, the old orcs, dwarves and elves they’ve adopted into their homes, the Seers eager to reinstitute their place in this new age of power they find themselves all eager for their own turn at fighting a creature of such power and majesty in slaughter.

The mundane of the Tundra watch, many a wide-eyed youth that previously had no true concept of the stalwart passion that true warriors have for a worthy fight witnessing barbarism for the first time. Thousands upon thousands watch their elders display amazing abilities that scorch the trees, ripped up the ground in clumps of dirt, loose limb and still with Rage and Awakening find it within themselves to keep moving to fight lest they miss the glory of the fight.

Like ants before a superior foe the warriors throw themselves forward in numbers to whitle down the superior foe so those behind can have a better chance at victory.

The Ancient creature herself no longer looks as majestic and untouchable as she had when she barred their way forward, her fur charred, her tails having been shortened by a destructive disc of power that seems unstoppable in its cutting power, her horns having been cracked by a hammer of the war-chief and his elites after repeated blow. Samson having delegated his duties of overall planning and deploying so his elite guard can have fun while their foe still stands uncowed by the forces assembled against it, thousands of Awakened Barbarians hoping it comes towards them so they too may have a chance at glory, at death worthy of songs.

The Healers throw their Aid concoctions with wasteful impunity, stabilizing warriors ripped almost to nothing so long as their hearts beat and their heads remain attached to their bodies. The harsh barbaric ways in which the Awakened of Paradisum treat each other in the Awakened Arena having done its intended job of creating nay indestructible warriors that function even with egrecious wounds.

Creatures of the forests watch with curiosity, some flying above others almost invisible amongst the trees or in the ground at a respectful distance. The terrain changes, clearings forming as the fight destroys, the forest re-growing in new forms as the fight creates new roots, new trees, new soil, new puddles of water from ether fuelled by mana sparked by elemental abilities thrown around as weapons. The air gets thin to breath thick with ozone indicative of ambient energy conflict a catalyst of the cycle of creation and destruction.

The many different abilities of the fighting Paradisians complement each other even as vastly different from each other they are as they hem in, delay or outright hurt the silent Ancient Beast Mú Lai that has pitted itself against them. Ice-based abilities, fire-based abilities, sonic booms, cackling pseudo-lightning, conjured beans of power, astral ghosts that harass the unstoppable Ancient. Mú’s superiority over any one or even ten of her foes is evident even to the blind as she scatters them like wheat but still they whittle her down in suicidal stands that no one but soul-bound slave soldiers would ever make against such an obviously superior creature.

Dozens of the Host’s best warriors already taken out of the fighting as they recover from various maiming wounds watching the action from the scrying table setup by the Seers at the Healing fires at the back almost all the way amongst the ghost quiet non-combatant camping area.

* *

Cracks in the fabric of space form as the Circle finishes their ritual in the corner of Pangaea protected by standing armies of hundreds of thousands, numbers made up not just by the citizens and armies of Whales, Hala and Hangari by the Churches, Cults and Faiths whose gods and prophets have directed them to this cause. For years the once invasive but quiet Whalsh Kingdom has become a site of hundreds of thousands of pilgrims whose spiritual faith-based gifts have been becoming more and more prevalent in the past 20 or so years.

Millions raise their hands in supplication and rejoice as they, some for the very first time, feel the presence of their various gods finding justification in their beliefs, and their sacrifices. The entire Eastern and parts of Central terra firma of Pangaea having become Faith-controlled lands through coupé, politicking, invasion, bribery, genocides or regicides in the years since the Ritual began.

The entire solar system of Rigel jerks as the seven planets are open to the higher energies of the universe for the first time in untold eons.

The Gates that have been used to seal the Upper Planets from the Stable Planets of the lower Cohorts activate with power becoming doors open for any and all to walk through from any directions. The various Gate Guardians are released from their thousands or hundred thousand year vigils and are rewarded with floods of pure ether of a quality and quantity never before experienced on any of the seven original worlds.

Those Travelling the paths between paths find themselves surfaced in a glut of power as ether from the Upper World Omega seeps into the worlds. Diffusing through the now permeable membrane that is the Gates between worlds creating what will become Ley Lines that permeate the world slowly as invisible mist sucked greedily by the hungry worlds as they feed their own growth and development as quickly as possible with the new resource in anticipation of beings capable of breaking worlds.

*

Were once a magnificent Citadel that has in recent years become a religious sight guarded by staunch elite guards that never tire, thirst or sleep now a pillar of light so oppressively bright that it sears even the eyes of the priest reaches the sky. The clouds are blown away, the ambience of the power causes all within 50km’s to wail in despair as they feel searing pain flay their skin raw though no physical injuries can be pointed at. An entire city screams themselves raw in pain not even the high priests or champions of the various faiths spared from the searing miasma of the spirit of the Spirits descending down from the higher planets finally in more substantial forms.

People throw themselves on the floor throwing dust and sand on themselves trying to quench the ‘burning’ of their flesh. Some cut themselves open even as they scream expecting to see the bubbling of their blood as it boils from whatever it is that is happening to them, beasts run wild, some long since Awakened to sapience giving up their sanity for the sweet release of being a wild unthinking force of nature. Here and there people kill themselves or kill their children releasing them from the unbearable pain they themselves are experiencing.

Where once the Dyson Citadel stood proudly, a feat of Sorcery and Architecture combined to such precision that the building itself became an artifact of power light seems to boil. Then the bright boiling light unseen by any disappearing leaving behind a fathomless dark whole 10 km’s across spewing power in pulsing waves that cause the people within the vicinity sweet relief and unimaginable pain in equal measure with every pulse.

Laughter fills the entire world, the Spirits known to many as gods and deities finally finding purchase and true power in this new domain far from the war in the heavens without losing themselves so much that they become little but powerful immortals.

Creatures that have worn the guise of mortal or even immortal flesh shed their ‘skins’, some shocking their compatriots others taking up their inheritance.

The amount of ambient spirit energy on all the Seven worlds explodes in intensity, increased and purer, empowering all spirit based abilities and existences like never before experienced on the Stable Planets of Rigel. Mutations occur all around the worlds as fauna, flora adopts to the changes at a rapid rate the sentient worlds adopting themselves rapidly in different ways fuelling their own growth in unique and different ways depending on their needs.

*

A traveller and his guide find themselves suddenly glut with ambient ether as they transverse the invisible paths between paths, finding themselves suddenly sick but with their intended destination within reach. The barbarian clenches tightly onto himself as pain burns into his veins as an Awakening that should have been years away is suddenly within reach before even reaching the youthful age of 50.

They find themselves watching a fight of the ages as a single Ancient Epoch repels a host of humanoids assembled against it admirably, but from their perspective they see the 20 other Ancient Epochs watching the fight casually assessing the best the humanoids bring against their youngest sibling with interest. Their mother/father, an Ancestor watches lazily as one of its children struggles. It turns its head curiously as finally it feels the changes in the world, then becomes aware of the sudden arrival of the two humans.

It stands, communicating with other Ancestors from around the continent, asking, is this the time they’ve been waiting for? But no, this is only the prelude they all agree and again the Ancient yawns before lazing again to watch it’s oblivious children from a distance.

Some of the Gate Guardians choose to leave the posts they’ve been cursed/blessed/banished to guard for millennia, while others keep vigil eagerly waiting for the opportunity to finally do fight against a worthy foe for the first time in a long time. The time is at hand, the worlds suck up all they can and hold their collective breathes, they themselves glutting themselves on the higher ether as quickly as possible.

But nothing else happens, because unbeknown to any an old old man has chosen to die, and with his death the Calamity that was to come is ... though not averted... changed, delayed?

Even the Universe knows it not.