Icarus Awakens

“I know now what vexes my Foresight engine,” Mavar Helioc proclaimed as he stood in his office while reflecting on his brief venture outside the Thormundz region. “Not the specifics, but its nature.” He looked ponderously into thin air but did not neglect the one standing in front of him. Neither did he speak again, waiting for her to.

“The ringcat anomaly?”

“No.” Mavar shook his head as he mentally added another mark against Sasha, though he took into consideration how shaken she must have been from the appearance of Torch’s Proxy.

“If I may ask?”

“Do so.”

The engineer of flesh composed herself as she rethought the questions she had painstakingly prepared. “The deal we struck with Torch mentioned nothing of it. We, or rather you, Prime, were to just replace the power she specified with one that could block even our attempts to detect him, then avoid further contact. Given its nature, I would have expected you to have destroyed the ringcat while you had the chance. Remove an aberrant influence.”

“I was going to, just in case,” Mavar mused openly. Honestly. He always spoke the truth but did not always speak. Here, just the two of them, he could let discretion fade just a little. If Sasha hadn’t figured out the purpose of the intention he directed to her development by now, she wasn’t worthy of it.

“Did you connect something to a prior Foresight in the moment?”

“Not as such.” The man tapped his fingers on the desk, still craning his neck upwards, though he was slightly frowning at how much Sasha was fixating on that one method of divination. “That magic is no longer viable as a means to assure our aims. Someone has broken the rules of the Octyrrum. And, the Rules.” By the way he said it, it was clear they were two separate things. Not that Sasha knew the difference. “I know who one of these beings is, but not why.”

“What does this have to do with the anomaly, Prime?”

Mavar didn’t begrudge these questions. Sasha was out of her depth and this curiosity would be necessary in guiding her to what knowledge she didn’t already possess. Most would have to come from those with less calling upon their attention, but he could idly explain while his true mind was elsewhere. “Not the anomaly. Its minder. The one we helped create and hoped would survive. There is more to them than we were led to believe, a hidden bond I doubt even he knows of that extends farther than I would have expected our partner to go. It would seem what we overhead in the halfborn, would-be Tyrant's office was the truth. This all influences the random factor, the thing clouding my Foresight. The Entropic Agent.” Mavar nodded at the name he came up with and continued. “Torch does not appear to have known about his unique potential, only coming to us because she knew I could remove the power that so incensed her. Her insistence on us not interfering with him again is simply a means to prevent me from restoring his power to spite her. It seems she thinks the old unwritten bargain holds. It was a risk, but with the old one placing that monster where it did, the mortals needed to know of the danger before the Entropic Agent was killed. Without her, we couldn’t have given them the warning in time.”

“If the… Entropic Agent is that useful to us, why didn’t Torch kill him, or let him die?” Sasha asked, quickly adopting Mavar’s nickname for the young human now traveling into Aughal. The Prime approved of the question and answered succinctly, though there was emotion so strong beneath the words that a hint of bitterness leaked out of the tightly-controlled ancient.

“You are still so young. You do not know the ways of the gods. Torch no doubt knows the shape of the Entropic Agent even if the details inside are shrouded. Allowing him to die could mean unrest between herself and Hammer. He’s always been so attached to his ‘children’.”

His fingers tapped again, this time with purpose as he distanced himself from that topic. Light filled the air between himself and Sasha, displaying a simplified retelling of the battle they’d just witnessed. Only, it showed something else. “This is what I projected would happen after the halfborn Berserker was killed. The initial force was to die to the dragon with few escaping. Our target was meant to be with their reserves that would rush through, leaving the civilians behind. A cruel choice, but necessary. This,” he said with distaste, altering the image to show how the battle had actually occurred, “Is impossible. Unpredictable. Where did these formulae come from?”

“We gave them the heliorite, didn’t we?”

A fair point and a tally in Sasha’s favor. “To make weapons. The dragon had to be injured enough that it would either leave the reserves alone or be forced into the lake where it would be stunned long enough to let them pass.” A perfect illusion of Daniel’s wings was suspended in the air. “How did this come to be? His class is still godbound and limited by their influence. I sincerely doubt he could ever escape it without dramatic intervention by the fundaments. Yet, it is not just him. I witnessed powers during the viewing the mortals shouldn’t have. Ritualism in a level 4 godbound Arcanist. How is that possible in the current version of the Octyrrum?”

“I don’t know,” Sasha answered tentatively, as if it were the answer to a riddle she'd staked her life on.

“Of course not, that is my point. Nothing, not his bonds, origin, nor creation explains this. Whatever is happening around the Entropic Agent may be a threat to our plans. Yet at the same time, his disruptive effects on the Octyrrum will confound the gods. Ultimately it does not matter. Even if we did not have our deal with Torch, violating the other one would be unwise.”

His words didn’t unsettle Sasha as Mavar clearly wasn’t worried. That a god knew of their location was no great failure and should be expected from the god of knowledge. Their efforts had halted the advance of the Spokes, likely drawing attention. The Illustrious had, in other parts of the world, simply allowed the Spokes to continue past them and remain in hiding. An unspoken peace had remained due to this and would not be broken today. The gods of this world moved slowly and couldn’t amass the forces to contest their collectives all at once. The control they’d so tightly kept on society would slip if the Illustrious acted in concert against it, and they certainly couldn't sustain a war on two fronts.

Did Torch know about their long term plans? The survival of the Illustrious was no secret to them, but the organization had been careful in concealing their grandest of works. Even the so-called gods were fallible, not even Torch was omniscient. Mavar had been stronger than the projection of Torch, able to banish the Proxy if he’d wanted to. But Torch had appeared at just the right time, offering just what was needed.

Did she know? Or had the god only glimpsed the ephemera and mistaken it for ultimately harmless meddling, drawn to him only because of a power that vexed her domain? They were arrogant. They had been masters of this world for longer than even Mavar could conceive of. And yet, and this was the key, they weren’t the first. He gazed up into the air, envisioning a world free of them. A world returned to true magic, guided by hands that knew how to wield it best.

…

In the mountains of the Thormundz, at the center of the broken fort, lay a dragon. Rorshawd could barely move despite having had weeks to heal. He was broken, and there was no one to help. Every day he’d brought Regeneration as high as it could go and despaired. The mind inside the dragon was no stranger to being trapped inside a body and that only made this living nightmare all the worse.

He could defend himself, at least. Wyverns and other lesser things had thought to take advantage of his injuries. As if, even in this state, he wasn’t a dragon. Their bodies littered the courtyard surrounding him. Though his throat was whole enough to eat, the holes remained. Everywhere, and with them were focal points of pain. The living death had spread throughout his body. He knew by now that was what impeded his recovery. Not fully, not enough to completely rid him of hope. But the pace wasn’t growing quicker. It would be months for his main body to be whole at this point, but what of his limbs? His wing? His eye? Would that take years?

All that Rorshawd had done he did not regret, except his defeat. It was worth it, it would’ve all been worth it. Flying in this form had been all he’d dreamed. For a glorious few hours, Rorshawd could see himself purging the world of its corruption and making things as they should have been. Now both his flight and his ambition were gone. Had his order been lied to? That didn’t matter. They didn’t matter to the god in the mountains.

His only respite was the discovery he’d made when forced to self-reflect. When trapped by ruined gray buildings and the weakness of his flesh, there wasn’t much for him to do but think. From that, Rorshawd was amazed to find he could still advance. It didn’t make sense. He’d given that up to become this, hadn’t he? Did he still have his class, or was this something new?

It wasn’t like he’d been successful. The constant pain, in addition to the added time and struggle inherent in improving attributes beyond 50 made it impossible for the thing that used to be a level 1 human to immediately succeed. His first few attempts had failed, squandering the potential. There was enough fuel for that fire to make more attempts, and what else did Rorshawd have to do but slay anything that came close enough? This wasn’t a wall. He’d met that and knew the difference. This could be overcome with time.

He certainly had enough to work with. Was it a latent gift from his uncaring master? Rorshawd couldn’t quantify how much potential was within him. Not an astronomical amount, but more than enough for ten advancements. Maybe, just maybe, if he got his endurance to level 6 Regeneration would finally work!

However, he hadn’t succeeded in improving himself. It was all too much, and he didn’t try today. Today it was raining. Lightning flared in the distance, occasionally bringing flying, sparking things to the ground. They posed absolutely no threat to him and proceeded accordingly. It was the lightning itself that worried him. A direct strike wouldn’t kill him, but it would hurt.

Movement, in the rain. Distant. The senses of a level 5 creature that didn’t neglect its wisdom were impressive, and Rorshawd caught them as they entered the city gates. Identify Creature took over from there, revealing a lone mortal. Not one he recognized, even counting Daniel’s memories or those he knew from Eido. Had someone from his order come?

Rorshawd’s head lowered as he disregarded that hope reflexively. This was probably just a looter. He’d killed many of the mortals. Not all of their leaders, sure, but did they have enough to get through the mountains now? Despair made people do stupid or terrible things. In this case, it was going to get the avianoid killed if he got too close.

Which was exactly what he was doing? Rorshawd blinked as he realized the intruder was heading almost straight for him. Was he here to try and loot the center of the city? No, no they must know he was still alive. What was this then? Did this weakling think he was close enough to death to finish off?

Fire built in Rorshawd’s chest as he grew angry. That, of course, sparked fresh pain amidst the chronic dull ache, but it was an instinct he couldn’t suppress. The rain didn’t matter, he’d vaporize that and this insect as soon as they were close enough. The man stepped into the courtyard, not even fearful of him. Rorshawd had something that could change that, but he stayed silent. Let him approach. Closer. Closer. Closer.

Suddenly, the avianoid came to a stop. He was well outside the current range of Rorshawd’s fire breath, so the dragon fixed an eye on the intruder and glared death instead. He didn’t even have a weapon! What was this? “Why!?” Rorshawd roared the question, keeping mana out of his voice. He could still talk, but the damage to his throat made it a weak sound not fitting a creature of his size.

Another distant lightning strike. The mortal in front of him deliberated silently as he observed the dragon. The response came far later than Rorshawd would have wished. “I come to bargain.” The voice was thready and held obvious fear down to steady itself.

“You will take nothing of mine!” Could he move fast enough to get within range? The barest amount of mobility had returned to him. Without that, the wyverns might have ended him through use of their ranged attacks. He could do it. He could burn this insane mortal alive. Rorshawd had other means, but he wanted to watch something burn to death.

“We offer restoration in return for what we seek.”

“What?” Rorshawd couldn’t help but ask. He didn’t know how this insignificant creature could do what it claimed, or where the others were that they implied. This was enough to at least hear him out.

“Loyalty undying.”

“Hmm, allow me to answer.” There was a snarl in the voice, followed by a rushing sound as Rorshawd spat fire at the intruder. It barely went the length of his body as the majority was channeled through the holes on the underside of his throat. That offered a potential weapon against any that would take advantage of the limitations of a dragon’s reach, but he hated it. He hated what the mortals had taken from him! Most of all, he hated Murdon.

The avianoid was unmoved. The fire hadn’t touched him, the cast-off heat only warming him to counter the chill from the rain. A different inflection entered the avianoid’s voice as if it was someone else speaking. “My master can restore you. Not fully, but they have told me there is little else that could be done for you. We offer a bond of eternal servitude, the same as the one I accepted.”

Rorshawd knew of bonds, of the basic concept at least. Eternal servitude was a new one, and he didn’t like the sound of that. “No.”

“What else will you do?”

“No!”

“Will you stay here and die?”

“NO!” Rorshawd blinked, and added, “I deny you.”

“They gave me a class,” the avianoid said, continuing to bargain as if his life was on the line. Maybe it was. “I couldn’t advance, not until they came for me! There is a price, but there is also a gift in measure to your worth. And this loyalty extends both ways.”

“I know of masters. Of gods. We are nothing to them!”

The avianoid looked up and away from the dragon, silently deliberating once more. At times his beak moved as if he were speaking, but no words came out. Rorshawd took a careful step forward, the movement unnoticed amidst the other’s distraction. Another. It was a horribly infantile crawling motion, but if it let him claim another life he would crawl hundreds of kilometers!

“My master is in no position to take their subjects for granted.” Rorshawd stopped as the avianoid turned back to him. Not because he feared him, but because he didn’t want them running. “They are level 1. You could destroy them easily.”

“Good. Bring them here!”

“They are here.”

“What?” Rorshawd looked around with his good eye. There was nothing else in this city. He had claimed it! The monsters knew to stay away unless they were foolish enough to think they could kill him. That made them smarter than this fool, at least. “There is no one.”

“There is. Their ways do not favor direct power. That is why we approach you, mighty yet enfeebled, so that they may restore you in trade for your service.”

“No. You lie.”

“They don’t. My purpose is to speak for them, and they do not lie. I am but a vessel, whereas you would be a sword. What are your objections to this?”

“You lie!” Another jet of fire, still too far away. He needed to make the avianoid ask whoever this was more questions to his supposed superior. In those moments of distraction, Rorshawd could crawl closer. He feigned interest, asking, “How could I trust you?” Ask them. Ask them!

Infuriatingly, the avianoid had an answer already. “This bond cuts to the soul. You agree on a condition, and if it cannot be satisfied by my master, the bond will not be formed. In that case,” He frowned and looked up, but not long for Rorshawd to move. The voice carried its fear clearly then. “In that case, you may have this messenger’s life in payment.”

Well, that was enticing. “You wouldn’t run?”

“I-I am loyal.”

“And you wish me to put such chains on myself?”

The avianoid’s tears were lost in the rain. He spoke as if reading a script with a crossbow to his head. “What, what do you fear more? Theirs, or the chains of your flesh?”

“LIES!” Rorshawd did use his empowered roar then. The messenger jerked but remained rooted in place. Frozen with fear? No, he wanted to run, but something was stopping him. He smiled painfully. Did whoever this master was think he was that much a fool to agree to that? A prison of flesh was preferable to losing his freedom.

Now under direct control, the messenger spoke calmly again despite his terror. A different voice. Avianoids naturally had excellent vocal range, and whoever was taking over the man in front of him was using this to distinguish theirs. It sounded noble, with the slightest undercurrent of insanity. Rorshawd knew then who, or more precisely, what was speaking. “This one is a Proxy. The conditions he is under are managed likewise. You would be my warrior. There would be a difference.”

He looked at the messenger with scorn, not being able to do so to the true speaker directly. “And my conditions?”

“Do not betray me.”

“Simple words.”

“Do not harm me or mine. Do not work against my interest. Obey me. That is all. I offer you your wing, your eye, and your health in return. Is that not fair?”

“You cannot do this. You lie.”

“I can, and I do not. If I am wrong, are you dissatisfied with the consolation prize?” Parts of the avianoid were seizing up, all but what his master needed to speak.

Could this be true? No. Rorshawd knew this was a lie. But if he got to kill the one in front of him when it failed, what was the harm? “Fine. I accept.” He smiled.

“Very well. But a word of caution. If you are dishonest, you will die. Is your answer the same? You must submit, or we will leave you here to suffer.”

Rorshawd was silent fury. This was an insult. They were toying with him. Submit? Never! He, he had flown. He had soared. He was broken, now, with no way of returning to that paradise. He raged against this choice, true, but there was just as much a part of him desperate to get it all back. His wing. His eye. Could this master truly replace them? He wanted to fly, for the pain to stop, and they knew that!

“I will not abandon you.” They couldn’t mean that. A god had not kept its promises, who was this ‘master’ to make that claim?

“You swear this on the bond?”

“Yes.”

His wing. His eye. “I accept. Deliver on your promise, one way or another.”

A presence appeared next to him suddenly. A mass in the air, part of it yet distinct and heavy with the rain. They’d been moving slowly. Air gestalt couldn’t manage well in these conditions but they were right there! Rorshawd could have killed them easily, but they reached him first.

The head formed from the cloud stuff brushed against his scales. They kissed him on the cheek.

Rorshawd’s anger turned black. He would scatter their essence and charge the trembling avianoid, injuries or not. Burn them. Burn them all! He would-

The sensations made him pause. The pain was fleeing, and his flesh twisted like it had when his Regeneration was working properly. As Rorshawd took in what he was gaining, he registered a loss as well somewhere within him. Chains, loose but there on his soul. The promise he’d made enforced by the connection he now had with the creature that could easily be identified.

Ashier - (Gestalt: Air, Tyrant - 1)

The pact was made and the world shook with a fresh roar. Rorshawd stood, his wounds healing and his heart bound. The Tyrant had lost their Hero, but they had gained something else with which to pursue their goals and save this world. A monster.

...

At the center of the world there lay the Realm of the Hourglass, Lord of Time. In the millennia since the Collapse he had, by all appearances, sat unmoved from his seat of power overlooking the Hub, joined by seven empty chairs ringing the ancient miracle. Every other god of the Octyrrum devoted themselves to expanding against the Crest, though Hourglass himself had claimed that which had been shielded from the great enemies while the rest reclaimed. One was not always needed to watch, but balance must be maintained. And yet, despite appearances, he had been active. Seeing through bound Fates, acting through Proxies. Even his domain allowed for plans that could escape the notice of all others.

Save for a handful of exceptions, Hourglass had remained dormant. Gathering mana and willing souls, while the others spent their resources in the charge of repelling the Crest. His only regular contribution was towards the godseeds that would grow to Spokes, that necessity of their System being the only reason he extended a network of followers out into the Octyrrum as a whole. Otherwise, his churches sat abandoned, built out of necessity in that old pattern. His lack of attention had made the common mortals grow distrustful of that which was far removed from them, no matter how aligned they were in ultimate goal.

Yet, the inevitable occurred. Divine consensus was reached, and a meeting agreed to. Hammer already busied himself with his last preparations for the Divine Pavilion while the other gods moved their chosen Proxies to assure arrival by the destined time. Hourglass himself would need to send one, would be expected to. Fate and the god himself had other ideas. Old muscle performed the work of ages as a being of great and terrible power arose, seeing himself at the end of a journey first begun in the death rattle of the last apocalypse. Bringing himself to his feet, Hourglass set his sights on the future with the surety of one to whom the passing of this world bent in supplication.

The old pact had been honored. All that stood in his way now was fulfilling his end. When the pieces were scattered and the key within his grasp, the conflict of this world would at last conclude. He could not predict which side would prevail, but that did not matter. Dominance was not Hourglass' concern. As the god began to walk the world, his mind was consumed by thoughts of his true goal.

Freedom.

END OF BOOK 1: LANDING