Icarus Awakens

Ytaya joined the assault on the Divine Quarter as an avatar of the storm. Moving about in the dissociated form as a cloud of sand had its disadvantages. She couldn’t create spawn with her attacks, they were less powerful, and she could die should the material of her body be scattered faster than she could replenish it. Little issue in a sandstorm, though ultimately what bothered Ytaya most was how the form made her feel. The comparison to gestalt was more uncomfortable than dying had been.

Somehow, they were aware of her presence here. Fredreick had let those he ambushed escape. There was also an impressive array of Blessed before her, perhaps one had pierced the storm? No matter. They couldn’t kill her and, in return, she’d already snuffed out the head of Torch’s church.

The Cleric had been trickier than anticipated. Ytaya had shifted her focus after the combined forces retreated, choosing to pick off the weakest head Cleric rather than the strongest first. They’d still been able to avoid Ytaya for a time, being able to see in practically every direction and able to predict where attacks were coming from. When that answer had been ‘everywhere’, he’d lost.

Star’s Cleric had used a bevy of rapidly produced objects to try and fight her. Like an Artificer, except their creations were impermanent and driven by narrowly scoped powers. One had managed to dig into Ytaya’s main body before exploding. That had almost worked but for the part scattered into the storm where she regained consciousness. It was a reminder that while she was immune to the direct effects of mortal powers, the secondary nonmagical results could damage her. However, in this storm, Ytaya practically had unlimited endurance.

Perhaps in another environment they could kill her that way. Instead, she was able to wear down the enchantment Cleric’s defensive charms and end them. “Two of the seven down,” she reported. “The spawn are keeping them contained.”

“I am fighting the Tyrant. They are elusive but the servants fall easily. Really, pathetic. This is a Tyrant? Casia, I may not need you after all.”

“Fredreick, be careful and withdraw if it seems too easy. I am in place on the Eye and the siege wards are in place. You cannot die.”

Ytaya looked for her next target while the two argued. She had her own promised reinforcements, unnecessary though they may be. Spawn from higher-level individuals did make for stronger servants, though they did not benefit from the powers they had in life.

The storm pressed further into the courtyard as the Star Cleric’s death made its impact on the constructs pushing against it. Five left, although Ytaya also considered whichever true version of the six Arcanists running around an additional sixth. That was the one who had escaped Fredreick, who was now channeling some form of charge power. Those tended to be more destructive the longer it took to summon the effect. Ytaya was beyond mortal powers now, but perhaps she should-

“You. The promise of our god. Everything dies.” A soft, feminine voice released an incantation to the wind and a powerful surge of mana crashed against Ytaya. Pointlessly, though it made the fallen dusker take notice. That hadn’t come from any of her remaining targets. Most of Scythe’s people were trying to eliminate the spawn and remove the harrying force from the field while Transmutation and Illusion covered them. Ytaya turned her head and realized who the people standing in loose formation were.

“Reapers.” Just as the Council kept note on those who possessed the precious resource that was Resurrection, so too did they track its dark opposite within the church of Scythe. Resources she’d prefer to keep alive if possible, if only to give them a chance to come on her side after the plan succeeded. Ytaya eyed Restoration’s head Cleric instead. A limited threat, though taking their healing off of the table would cripple the churchs’ longevity.

“The first and last law. Everything dies.” The second of the imperious three spoke the incantation like the curse it was, saturated with black disdain. He carried a metal quarterstaff, one half-crescent blade arcing for opposite ends. The mana tried to eat at her mortality and shred at her soul to, among other things, prevent the possibility of revival. Fortunately she was beyond them and the power parted around her like a rock in a river.

“For the good of us all. Everything dies.” The last voice sounded regretful, though he advanced with the others all the same. A large club of a blade trailed behind him, held in only one hand. Scythe’s head Cleric wasn’t among them. Despite her position, she didn’t have that power. They still came on, even though they must have known their powers had failed.

The clink of glass gave Ytaya pause. Each reaper had withdrawn a potion and consumed it while she turned from them. The first speaker, the one with two long knives, spoke again. “The inescapable fate. Everything dies.”

“You tread on death’s domain. Everything dies.”

“The mercy at the end of strife. Everything dies.”

Something was happening. It- Ytaya could feel the magic now, faintly. Impossible! Casia had said- “You told us we were proof against all mortal powers!” That was the great equalizer, allowing her and the other two to consider assailing an entire city with just themselves and a small army of minions. No one had a strong enough beast in their thrall to counter them, and even if bonded powers would pose a threat, they were rare or weak enough not to matter. This power shouldn’t have touched her, but the dark mana was beginning to collect on her like scum in a still pond.

“Everything dies.” The reapers spoke the third incantation as one and Ytaya gasped. She’d tried to take off into the storm, only for everything to become real again. This shouldn’t be happening. The air was heavy. Flying was out, but she could run.

The reapers didn’t reach for any more vials. Out of mana potions? Three each, fit for their level, was already an insane expense. Good, that was good. Ytaya felt whatever effect the reapers had been able to force through dwindling. It was like being exposed to the sun in this new form. Not instant death, but she couldn’t pull from the storm around her to replenish her main body. Taking enough damage now would shatter the vessel housing her consciousness and send it back across the line of mortality. Had they just brute forced it? No matter, they weren’t incanting now. If she ran and regrouped, she could kill those three next and be rid of the threat once this effect ended.

That was when the blue ring shot out and passed through the three, surprising her and the reapers. It was shaped like a smoke ring, though more luminescent, and in the center was a strange configuration of spheres and lines. After passing through the reapers, the circumference shrunk dramatically. What kind of power was that?

“Unexpected”

“Just.”

The third reaper spoke in turn. “The end is nigh. For you. Everything dies.”

Another blast of mana threw Ytaya to her knees. She took in a breath and realized what that meant in the next moment. The former dusker looked down, but no, she hadn’t been returned to life. The reapers slowly walked to her, not having stopped for the strange ring or the husks that continued to fight around them.

“Ytaya, what is happening? The Commander’s husk is almost to you.”

“I-“ A knife struck her in the throat and but for her nature she would have bled. Ytaya did feel like she was bleeding something. Life itself? The bladed staff took off an arm which failed to reform. It fell dead to the ground as a hardened block of sandstone, looking so similar now to her original body.

The dagger rotated around her throat as the first reaper moved. Moments later, a massive sword bisected Ytaya vertically. Everything began to grow dark. Actually… that wasn’t… so bad…

…

“So that’s what it does.” Lograve breathed heavily as he watched the Mirage elite die.

The illusionist Cleric at his side, less winded despite having spent the entire battle so far maintaining multiple active illusions, asked a question with a piercing inflection. “That looked like Ritualism. How do you have that power?”

“I don’t know,” Lograve answered honestly. “I’ve compared what I can do to known figures who have it, and mine is certainly less efficient.” He leaned against a wall, fighting the urge to siphon water from his armor to drink. “It must be some kind of level disparity, similar to attributes but for a power acquired too early. I didn’t know that was possible. Speaking of, what did that pile of edge do? I recognized Beckon Mortality but that power shouldn’t be affected by multiple uses.” He frowned, trying to figure it out.

“She must have been able to resist it. Resistance, not immunity. We wouldn’t have figured that out the first time. Howard wouldn’t have seen it.”

“Who?”

“Time’s champion.” Lograve paled at the mention of that church, though he was already a bit blanched from prolonged exposure to his armor. The other continued as if he hadn’t just mentioned the most terrifying church on the Octyrrum. “That was power stacking. You’re familiar with it?”

“An advanced maneuver, like dual-channeling,” Lograve answered distantly yet focused, similar to when he was carrying a mental conversation at the same time. He was starting to put something together. “You told them to do that, didn’t you?”

“Me?” The Cloak Cleric looked at him innocently. “I’ve been here the whole time.”

“But you pointed them out to me, knew I would give them just what they needed. You copied my rune like it was a stick drawing in the sand, not just once but multiple times, and independently controlled those illusions. I’m very familiar with maintaining a wide area power and the level of control that takes. And you know the name of the only Hourglass Cleric in the region.” Lograve hesitated for just a second before trying to poke the man’s chest. The Cleric had a put-upon expression as the finger went straight through.

“You do know I could have faked a physical presence?” The Arcanist’s eyes widened as he was proven right. “I’m guessing you’ve double checked with Sharise on the major figures in my church? Though it would be completely on brand to have a fake champion or hidden powerhouses. You have an idea of who I am, don’t you?” Calius smiled, marking this man in his mind. “The real battle is going to be at the Spires. The Eye.”

“What?” Lograve was somehow paler. “You’re just telling me this?”

“The Cloak knows when subterfuge is needed, and when it is time to pull back the curtain.” The Cleric summoned an illusion in mid-air, similar to the one Lograve had used to plan the battle against the dragon and yet far more intricate. A perfect representation of the Divine Quarter. “You’re getting a peek. With that leader dead the churches can handle this battle. The next one will be the true test, and they won’t be there in time. You’ve played your part here. Move on. You would be more useful at the Eye. This isn’t prophecy,” Calius clarified. “This is just some friendly advice.”

…

“Ytaya? Ytaya!” Casia passed over the outer wall and felt the risen dusker fade. How had they killed her? The reapers’ power should have had no effect. Yes, they could die, but not like that! “Fredreick, have you killed that Tyrant yet!? The siege wards are closed, but losing Ytaya weakens our grip on the Spires. It cannot be allowed to continue subverting the city’s will.”

“It is difficult. I am fighting their most loyal. This street trash still backs them even knowing the damn gestalt is a Tyrant! I am razing this street to the ground after this. Wait, what is that?”

Casia made a snap decision. “Pull back. I am diverting Rasalia’s husk from the Divine Quarter to the Eye. The battle there is lost but we’ve delayed enough. We claim the last legacy, and then-“

“AH! It burns! How?” Fredreick’s voice carried a sudden agony which made Casia’s lost heart freeze. “You bitch! You told us we were immortal!”

“What is happening?”

…

Ashier had lost half of their followers in an instant to mere words. The people of Aughal truly feared Tyrants more than the obvious monsters right in front of them. Hesitation was the only reason they had Proxies left. Breaking with the class meant death, and that motivated the rest to stay. That didn’t change the irreparable damage the sand creature had done to their following, which would be repaid in death.

If only Ashier could kill it. At first, they tried methods that would destroy one of their kind, which ultimately meant bludgeoning attacks with broad-headed weapons. Her remaining Proxies and odd collection of other classes had little else to contribute since they were fresh to their power. Rorshawd was not being let loose under any circumstance save Ashier’s imminent death.

That a spade empowered with the strength of a dragon didn’t phase the enemy boded ill. If a Proxy could be granted Rorshawd’s firebreath instead that may make a difference, though that was impossible. Power Network, the feature that enabled the way they could shuffle powers like attributes, only worked on those at or below their level.

Ashier again regretted her monster’s loss of Regeneration as a Proxy bled out from sand shards embedded along her legs. They resolved to Vassalize a Totem Warrior or Berserker whenever they had the chance, which wouldn’t be now.

“We’re going to die,” Famar said blankly. He’d accepted his fate, and that he’d been tricked. Like a man walking to the gallows, Ashier supposed. They would reward him, assuming they both survived. Famar would see, eventually, that what Ashier did was always just and good. They had a longer perspective and the willingness to do what needed to be done that at first, would seem heartless, but theirs was the way to the improvement of everyone’s life. Even if distasteful actions were needed in the moment, like puppeting a less promising Proxy to distract the sand monster while others capitalized on the opportunity.

The monster was ever gleeful in the repeated failures to kill it. That it took its time to savor kills was one of the reasons Ashier hadn’t needed to flee yet. A more primal monster would have just been done with it already. Rorshawd would have burned everything to ash, and with control of a sandstorm, this thing could have caused a similar level of destruction.

It came down to their biggest problem, Rorshawd’s usefulness conflicting with his unruliness. Ashier couldn’t trust him in this moment, not with so many innocents he’d burn if given the chance. However, they’d had another idea before the sand monster had revealed their identity that could still work.

Stand still, Ashier commanded Famar through their bond.

“What!? It will kill me!” Famar verbally objected, but obeyed without the option to do otherwise. Having seen the earlier sacrificial plays, he knew what was coming. There’d been a thin hope that the Tyrant would preserve him considering they’d used him as their preferred vessel, but no. They were the most odious of classes, barely above monsters in the eyes of the gods. He’d given up his soul to one, so dying was the least he should expect.

The thing in the sand sensed the weakness like a sandlion scenting a nearby arterial cut. Even if it was plain to it this was a feint, what did it have to fear? Nothing they’d done had harmed it so far, and it was made of sand. Was there even anything to attack?

Famar felt the Tyrant leave him and knew then all they were doing was buying time for their escape. They’d used whatever power cloaked them, leaving the man only with the sense of their cursed bond. The air rippled before him with the coming death. Perhaps, if he had the innate senses of the air gestalt that was now his master, he could know exactly when it would come. The only solace he felt was a coward’s, that he wouldn’t live to see the rest of his friends and family die.

The monster became clear in the storm, having taken a humanoid form but shifting the arms into blades. There was creative cruelty in it, a mind experimenting with the various ways it could use an infinitely flexible form to kill. Not even Casia had shifted her base form to the degree of Rodreick, preferring only to sprout long talons if needed. As it came at the speed of the storm, Famar’s throat took in the polluted air as he was forced to speak. “Breathe now!” That being his last words seemed almost comical-

A torrent of fire erupted from just in front of him and would have incinerated the Proxy if it were not pointed in the opposite direction. Ashier, currently contorting their form to open their Cloudborn Sanctuary, allowed the flames Rorshawd was forced to breathe to escape in a narrow plume aimed directly at the sand creature. Where nothing else had worked, this burned it along with the air.

The voice of the creature screamed out in pain, cursing, as it tried to flee. It was fast, but Ashier currently possessed every stolen attribute from Rorshawd. The creature moved like the wind, but Ashier was the wind. Opening the portal took seconds, and the Tyrant could track where the enemy was even when they tried to hide amidst the swirling sands in a way no other mortal race could. They’d made the command for Rorshawd to use his breath attack a standing order, one they could now trigger without needing a Proxy.

A command from the nearest Proxy sent another wave of fire towards the enemy. Rorshawd did try to subvert her will here by refusing to stop the jet of flames, but the Tyrant simply closed the portal. As time froze while it was closed, not much fire was expended. The space itself was also undamaged by what flames spilled into it. Honestly, Ashier wasn’t entirely sure of all of its properties yet. Unlike their sanctuary, the monster in front of them wasn’t immune to his fire.

By the fourth wave of flame it was clear whatever kept this strange monster going was burning away as the storm itself cleared from the heat. Rorshawd’s mana was too, but he was getting the job done. No matter, they’d work on finer control later. They had the chance now. The Tyrant regained their composure and sent a message to all of their remaining Proxies.

You fear me, but it is my place in this world to serve the will of the Octyrrum and advance mortal kind. See this dreadful enemy fall to my hand and ask if I am truly the worst alternative. This is my pact. I spend lives, but not needlessly. With the shaking of this world comes the call for one such as I. A bastion against the peril of monsters and the weakness of mortals. Know this. I am but at the start of my path and seed of my power. With you, I will see it realized, and finally free this world from the stain that is the Crest.

…

The last of the plotters froze in disbelief on the Eye, pausing for one moment to confirm the deaths before screaming in fury. Within the Sun Spire her husband still desperately fought against the Assassin.

Below, the majority of the husks were being destroyed as the threat became known and the churches overcame Ytaya. Only one group of note remained, marching towards the Sun Spire and the crowds there. The final part of the plan began. There, caught between the unbreaking Shroud and the advancing horde, the invasion would become something far worse.