Arcane general designated pyre swung his hammer around in a blur, an almost impossible feat seeing the weight and length of said weapon, well, at least to those not of the brigade. Pyre was of the lowest of the arcane generals, but to become one was a feat of pure strength, mastery of the burning runes and most of all, faith. Faith in the great burning mother of aether, the first and eternal dragon, she of the blessed scales, Lotes, the supreme being of aether. Grutlir, high priest of Molrik was a blatant blasphemy in the eyes of the great dragon, representing the complete opposite of what the mother embodied through her greatest servants, the brigade’s arcane generals.

Tall, muscular, with a physique that proved just how fast he was along with large mace that hit with the very concept of crushing force, only with the underlying aspect of the mutator empowering it. Most of all, it was the medallion around its neck that drew the ire of pyre, the medallion that drew the very invulnerable strength from Molrik himself. Pyre briefly wondered why the medallion hadn’t been bestowed upon the chosen of Molrik, Vesh phantom scourge, but he supposed the elite didn’t need it, for she was a power unto herself, he pitied the titan blade, for the child might not survive the encounter.

He paid attention to his foe who grinned maniacally as both of them clashed again, cracking the very shallow grounds with calm waters beneath their feet in the Nethervoid. Briefly moving back, the priest gave a loud bellow of a laughter, his body glowing from within as the presence of the medallion weighed down on pyre. The priest pointed one finger at pyre,

“Come, face the true strength of the blessed father, your blood will atone for the setbacks you and your allies have brought upon the mutator” Grutlir bellowed,

Swinging his mace, pyre tapped into the power of a rune etched into his very skin,

“Lotes’s protection” he whispered,

Pure shimmering burning scales that glowed like the early rising of the morning sun covered his body, the mace smashing into it but doing no visible damage to him. It did give him however the chance to retaliate with his Warhammer that roared straight into Grutlir, smashing his arm to a pulp, the limb dangling uselessly as he shot backwards. Still, the maniacal smile on the face of the priest never ceased as he twisted in the air, slamming his hand into the very fabric of the Nethervoid itself. Pyre felt a chill roll down his spine as the priest seemed to attempt to physically tear down the fabric of the Nethervoid, a feat that should ideologically be impossible.

He didn’t wait to find out though, discarding the armor of draconic scales, he switched it for a rune of empowerment, blitzing to appear next to the priest whose arm had healed. Smashing his hammer again into the priest who used both arms to block the punch, he forced the priest back down to the ground, both arms hanging limply. Throwing the hammer, he activated its rune of forceful destruction, the hammer screaming as it built up power to a terrifying the degree. The mace of the priest was suddenly firmly gripped in its mouth, clashing with the hammer of pyre, both weapons of brute force creating a concussive wave of power that blew both assailants backwards.

While it was nothing but a mild discomfort for pyre, the force of his hammer shattered the mace and totally blew the head of Grutlir off his shoulder. The body toppling over, pyre landed gently, his aether sense, a skill given to all brigade members tingled, informing him that he shouldn’t let his guard down, that a presence was looming over him. He moved the moment he felt its deadly presence attack him, one hand stretched out to recall his hammer and the other brought up with the partial power of the draconic armor to defend. The blow made a dent in the armor and blasted him backwards as he fought to catch his breath, tumbling as smashing into the ground, he spat blood, his body burning with pain from the unseen attack. Rolling away as the place he laid became dented, like a force had pummeled that exact spot, hoping to turn him to paste.

Flipping through the air, he summoned his realm, a domain of burning fire and pure force aspect that smashed about like a ping-pong. The attacks phasing through him, they smashed into a presence that was illuminated in the flames, greenish glowing eyes whose smoky green arms moved constantly to deflect the attacks of the realm. Pyre stretched his hand out to the presence,

“Crushing burn” he commanded,

The force aspect became one with the flames and started raining like asteroid on the presence, then he sighted the medallion floating in mid-air and realized who it was,

Grutlir,

“You survived” pyre snarled,

“Did you think your measly weapon would end me?” the voice of the priest echoed around his realm with a laugh,

Pyre activated another rune of pure speed, the world slowing to a crawl as he stretched his hand out,

“Arcane general designated pyre, request permission, goal: claw” he said, his voice resonating, fueled by burning aether and aspect,

A burning pathway opened up, struggling under the little aether pyre could funnel into it,

A red glass-like blade came out, sleek and lithe, and along with its blade came a burning white flame, the purest form of Lotes’s aspect that someone of his strength could wield without completely being overwhelmed. There were rumors that the leader of the brigade, Xerxes wielded an actual claw of Lotes herself the strength and willpower required to wield such a weapon must be astronomical, but it was the brigade’s leader, Xerxes was the definition of strength.

As time moved at a crawl, pyre was next to the essence form of Grutlir, the blade poised to smash into the medallion, shattering it when he felt the power of the relic pulse, halting his movement, pyre’s eyes wide at the fact. The moment his realm shattered, pyre knew just how trouble he was in, even as he summoned the armor over his body again, summoning out legendary ranked constructs that hummed to life, further draining his aether and aspect that powered it, he started taking steps for his final move.

Grutlir appeared close to him, a summoned mace made of pure aspect in his hand, crashing down on him. One of the constructs buzzed to life, placing itself in the middle of him and the attack, a shimmering aether shard blooming to life as it absorbed the power of the mace and promptly shattered. Pyre cursed as he realized just how much power the priest was using, cursing himself for holding back, he began to unlock the blocks he had placed on his body. First were the restrictive seals placed on his mind, sealing him from the eyes of the dragon he had implanted, with its unlocking came a rush of power to his vision, his eyes borrowing the power from the leader of the brigade himself, the ability of the sage’s eyes.

The peak of every ascender’s attribute came with the title sage(M), a mythical rank power given to only the strongest of the strongest, in other words the primordials. The harbingers however, by virtue of their position, were granted a single or two sage attributes, pushing them to the very limit of what was possible barring the position of a supreme being. Rumors also said it prevented them from pushing the rest of their attributes to the sage rank as well, an almost impossible feat save for the oldest of primordials themselves.

He could care less about the pros and cons currently, he simply needed to use the attributes before his body, strengthened to the peak of a new ruler, became unable to handle the power and simply expire. A rune granted to every arcane general, they could wield the sage attribute of their leader for the duration of time their bodies allowed, and pyre had trained his body to the limit of his capabilities, he was more than capable to handle a few minutes of imbuing his lord’s powers.

Sage’s sight activated and pyre grunted, power running through his sight as he began to see the underlying runes of reality, the very fabric that made up every skill and command, and they burned like hell. The second power he unlocked was sage’s might, enforcing his body with the very blessed aura rune of Draulr himself, enforcing his body beyond even the strength of a peak master or ruler, pyre prepared to enter a full-on slug fest with Grutlir. The high priest of Molrik coalesced completely in front of him,

“So, it comes down to this, doesn’t it?” he asked,

“As is the way of our reality, we must battle in the name of our divine ones”

Pyre pointed his Warhammer at the being,

“The mistake you make” he started as once again golden and red flames engulfed his body, bathing him in an ethereal glow,

‘Is that you assume a mere lord could match up to true supreme beings, so, in the name of the ever burning being, the true aether, the mother of reality and the first of the supreme beings, Lotes, I consecrate your very essence, your end determined, BURN” pyre snarled,

Around the arcane general, a circle blazed to life, infused with the rawest and purest of aether, burning like a column of fire, a tower or beacon of hope, pyre took his first step, swinging his mace like the judgement of Lotes he had become. It was too much to hope that Grutlir would had been eradicated, too much to hope that even as pyre felt his very bones begin to turn brittle from the pure power he channeled, that the high priest of Molrik would be annihilated in one hit.

Grutlir spoke in words of power ancient and grotesque, like a dying choking scream of an abomination, his very form flickered and for a fraction of a moment, pyre saw through the priest and into the eyes of Molrik himself, the gaze of the lord mutator burning into him, challenging his will and desire to succeed. Pyre knew in that moment that whatever machinations the lord mutator was up to, it began with his chosen, those who occupied positions of authority in his hierarchy, and for a moment he had almost hesitated.

Then the arcane general literally felt his very being ring in the harmonious cry of Lotes herself as but a fraction of the great mother seemed to possess him, her words unspoken but clear,

He would not suffer the unclean or the tainted,

He was fire, and fire consecrated,

He grabbed Grutlir with his burning flames even as the high priest hammered at his body and soul together, driving spikes of mutation deep into his very being, he weathered the attack of unimaginable agony, reciting the mantra of the arcane generals,

“My oaths are a burning fire, my actions the way of the true dragon, I burn for the archailect, I will suffer no taint to the archailect, and my life, my will continue to sever the ties of the abyss, I am arcane, I am rune made form, I burn” he completed,

With every word spoke, his existence burned brighter, his throne hummed in resonance, driving out every piece of the mutator’s touch within his body, and with the command given to him by the power he had summoned, he held Grutlir like an avenging angel, the high priest realizing he had fallen into a trap trashed crazily,

“Not fair, a true fight!” he roared,

“I am arcane, I don’t suffer a taint to a true fight, fiery oblivion” pyre said,

Grutlir’s very existence went up in a column of golden fire as the high priest wailed out pleadings to Molrik himself, beseeching his lord, but not even the mutator could interfere with the workings of Lotes herself. Grutlir was vanquished, and as pyre released the powers, he felt his body beginning to break down, the seals of power placed on his body to rein in the pure powers of Lotes becoming his final unraveling. Pyre had lived a very long existence and he smiled even as his body cracked, feeling his very throne begin to break down. He had done his duty to his supreme being, and like his brothers, his name would be imprinted on the robes of Xerxes as faithful sons of the dragon.

Then time stopped and the Nethervoid seemed to ripple, like it was fighting a stronger force from passing through. Whatever it was though, it had the power to halt pyre’s disintegration, like a gentle palm of power it held his existence for a few more seconds. When the Nethervoid finally lost its struggle and a golden burning pathway opened up, pyre, speechless as he was could only stare as a burning messenger floated through, its eyes burning golden embers, its hair reddish flames, its robes a deep red fire and its very body burning golden flames.

It stopped right in front of him, kneeling to cup his ashen face in its hand, pyre wanted to cry, to weep at the divine sight, a true messenger of Lotes had appeared. Not the usual messengers that were used by all the supreme beings as heralds of their words, but a true messenger, one of only six that stood next to each of their supreme beings, and like all arcane generals, pyre knew its name, even as the touch of the true messenger showed him memories lost to reality, millions upon millions of years ago, it showed him sights that would drive even an ancient to madness, but its touch held pyre’s mind together, keeping him sane.

Ishum

That was his name, in a long dead language forgotten by all but the oldest of the oldest of beings still alive, Ishum smiled at him, his smile glowing,

“Son of the true dragon, you have served faithfully, your watch is at an end” he started,

Pyre shuddered in guilt, not like this, here he was, defeated in the sight of a true creation of Lotes, where he should be fighting till he beathed his last, he ached in shame. Ishum shook his head,

“No, you did all that could be done, for your service, you have driven back the machinations of the blighted one, and for this, you are called son by Lotes herself, pyre, arcane general of Lotes, your brothers and sisters await you in the great flame” Ishum said,

Pyre hoped he could show his gratitude by his very looks, that his very burnt body conveyed just how much gratitude he had, and as he readied his mind, Ishum spoke again,

“However, pyre, if you will it, Lotes has one more task she intends for you to complete, but it is something you must choose of your own will” Ishum said softly,

Pyre’s eyes burned for one last time,

Finally… he thought,

He would be able to go out in the burning glory he envisioned,

“a dark time is coming pyre, one that even the supreme beings would be forced to participate in, the great enemy is stirring, it has managed to create an avatar in reality itself and it cannot be touched, not yet, for this is the eternal game of divine turns” Ishum explained,

Rohan….

The name ringing in pyre’s head like a curse as he felt anger bubbling from what remined of him, Ishum stared at him without blinking, letting him simmer in his rage,

“My time draws short, already I impinge on the turn of Lotes, pushing the priest of Molrik to invoke his very lord’s name allowed Lotes to move, so I need to act quick, tell me, pyre, child of the bright dragon, will you accept this last mission?” Ishum asked,

And at once, it was revealed to him,

The battles to come, the great being, the path Lotes had managed to weave, the last strand of hope in a web of deceit and misdirection she had built to throw away the gaze of the true enemy, an enemy pyre still couldn’t get a gleam of, but could feel its sickening touch on the fabric of fate itself. He was suddenly drawn from the vision, coming back to himself, he glanced at Ishum and with determination picked his answer,

Yes, he would serve as the hand of Lotes in the physical realm, he would be her avenging flame, and while his other brothers and sisters fought on in this battle, hoping to reach the great flame, the great place of rest where the dragon brigade members of old went to when they ceased to exist in the physical realm, awaiting the last and greatest battle of reality,

The burning days…

Ishum nodded sagely,

“Lotes is ever grateful, your descendants would ever be protected for your sacrifice, and when your work is done, you will be returned to the great flame, but a relic of your very existence handed to your family who as at this moment have been bestowed with a tier 4 world, ever protected from the great game of those childlike primordials, this, Lotes swears” Ishum completed,

Pyre watched as a long white sash with burning golden runes etched into it floated from behind him, floating around pyre in a loop before settling on him,

“In the name of Lotes, the true mother, the first aether and the beginning of the archailect, you, pyre sun-burner have been chosen, serve well, o blade of Lotes, pyre, blade of retribution” Ishum said,

Pyre felt a power unlike any other suffuse his very being, he felt his very essence and existence transferred into a form, the form of a blade, a burning blade of red and gold metal, its hilt made of draconic scales itself. Pyre felt his consciousness going into a deep slumber, realizing it was Ishum speaking words of power, he settled in for the long wait, till he would be given the chance to do Lotes’s bidding…