Icarus Awakens

The Octyrrum possessed four peoples of the elements. Earth, fire, water, and air. The last of these were traditionally seen as the weakest. Fire and darkness were a bane to those of earth, though beyond these threats they were hardy. For air gestalt there were many threats. The updraft from fire could scatter them. So could a strong enough breeze and, while their form gave them some resistance to weapons, a well-wielded fan could pose a mortal threat.

Air gestalt, those who didn’t gain levels and the protective powers of their kind, were like duskers in that way. There were things in this world they had to fear that others took for granted. Sunlight. A gentle breeze. But then again, an air gestalt would never go hungry. The only possible corollary to starvation would be a vacuum and nature had made its position on those clear.

Ashier’s nature as an air gestalt had influenced the kind of Tyrant they’d become. They would never be one to lead from the front, overwhelming any opposition with personal strength and numbers. Neither were they particularly apt at leading through inspiration, having no voice. But Ashier could influence.

Vassalize was the second power they’d awakened in the moments after gaining their class. It fell in line with most Tyrant powers as, for level 1, it was incredibly powerful. Ashier could create a bond between themself and another, though that only ensured loyalty. The true benefit was that this process enhanced those they bonded to, either causing them to undergo power evolutions or grant classes to those who didn’t have them. The only downside was that each use cost them advancement potential.

They thought of that idly as the two figures below them paced and took in the surroundings. Ashier wasn’t certain, but their best guess was that this class had come to them when Jonus died. The first Tyrant of the Thormundz. If he’d survived to lead as a level 3 Tyrant he probably would have saved the region. That was the reason Ashier had fought so hard, sacrificed and betrayed who they did. Mortals held their own against the Crest. Against all odds. Murdon wasn’t a bad person, just too soft. By fleeing he’d doomed them all and now Ashier didn’t know what to do.

Kartoss, their voice, the avianoid with unpleasant features and threadbare clothing, sighed and sat on the ground. It was a sound of defeat and despair. The man was not in the best of spirits, worse now than even that moment Ashier had found him and made their offer. Service for power. They hadn’t known it would work in the moment, but it had, making Kartoss a Proxy.

Ashier had never heard of the class. Perhaps it was a thing of Tyrants, or just uncommon enough to not be widely known. The odd thing was he still couldn’t advance. The level and initial attribute burst had come with the bond forged by Vassalize, though the advancement wall Kartoss had come up against earlier in his life remained. The failure of the plan was only part of the reason for the bird’s disheartened warble.

Ashier took his voice to speak to the third. Kartoss resisted slightly as he wasn’t expecting it, but he couldn’t do anything to stop the Tyrant. They could either fully possess them, using the body as a shield, or invest only part of their form to control the Proxy. Ashier willed the words to be spoken, Kartoss acting as a two-way translator. “It is spreading. This region will be overcome by the Crest eventually. That damned draconoid. If Murdon hadn’t rallied them against me-”

“It was spreading already,” the third dismissed with a deep voice, one that also wasn’t his original. Rorshawd, betrayer of mortals, and then betrayer of the thing he’d betrayed mortals for. Now he was bound by the Tyrant, who had been wise enough to place more durable chains on him. Though he’d certainly received appropriate payment for his freedom. The fact that he currently stood on two legs, for example.

“But not this fast,” Ashier/Kartoss countered. “I wonder if we can survive there. You, perhaps, in your greater form. Myself, I am less certain. Certainly not my voice.” Kartoss’ face twisted with a worry that didn’t infect Ashier’s speech. “We must either find a way to survive it or be pushed out of my region. Even if we survive it, I fear the invaders will force our hand.”

“Those mysterious interlopers from the Crest? You are deluded.” Ashier tolerated that insult too. They were under no illusion as to Rorshawd’s nature and hatred of them. It just didn’t matter. “No mortals live beyond that void. It is the domain of the Lord and its kin. That which your gods steal and corrupt.”

“You speak well of that which abandoned you twice.”

Rorshawd glared, not at Kartoss, but at Ashier themself. Even invisible, he knew where the Tyrant was. He raised a red-scaled hand tipped with claws towards them as if to drag them down, but Ashier was out of his reach in more ways than one. “And what are you? A ruler of no one.”

“A ruler of two,” Ashier corrected. “Kartoss, do you hunger? Yes,” the avianoid replied as if he’d been talking to himself. ”I see. Rorshawd, you will hunt for the both of you.” The draconoid’s slits narrowed. There was tolerance of disobedience, and then there was ignorance. Ashier would not have their intent misunderstood. “Go. You will need to find enough for both of you to last a week. You can carry the extra during that time, of course, but I fear they will be coming soon.”

Rorshawd’s nostrils flared with the anger within, but the order had been made. “Fine.” His voice someone deepened further, slightly echoing towards the end, as his form contorted. Regeneration had been one of his two powers affected by Vassalize, converting it into something vastly more powerful. Draconic Avatar. Those powers that were changed both gained and lost benefits. Rorshawd no longer had improved healing, not counting the formidable natural healing rate of his level 5 endurance. In exchange, he could transition between a humanoid form and that of a true dragon. The initial process had also healed almost all of his wounds.

The holes in his neck had remained in his dragon body. That, and the pockets of death deep within where the necrotic gas had afflicted the flesh the strongest. Ashier was a Tyrant but had been level 1 then. Their powers only went so far.

“The day will come when I see your end,” Rorshawd intoned, the red of his scales shining in the sunlight.

“Perhaps.” The Tyrant, still concealed by their stealth power, waved an airy hand. The bond between them was pulled like a leash and the dragon took off. From across the barrier that shimmered in the seventh sense, marking the divide between the Octyrrum and the Crest, someone took notice.

…

“One last wrinkle to smooth over.” Mavar Helioc, Prime of his collective of the Illustrious, stood next to one of his apprentices on what had once been the plains north of Eido. He was on the wrong side of the Crest that even now worked its way to erase what the incursion army had done over two decades ago. There was a tang to the air like electricity, that affinity for this region of the world fully unmasked. The ground, however, was lifeless. A tree died in the distance as the shimmering line met it and it evaporated when its life was fully spent.

Sasha Veltrex stood next to him, her presence the only reason the other, lesser members of the collective could survive here. They had survived within the Crest for as long as Mavar could remember thanks to the efforts of those like her. The methods were tested exhaustively, but having the flesh shaper on hand at this advance camp made sense should something unexpected happen. Such as the dragon taking flight a kilometer away.

“Tell me, Sasha, could you make something like that?”

The woman was dressed heavily in practical clothing. The overall covering whatever was beneath had many pockets for various implements. The Arcanist, who was almost free of her class, had brought half of her equipment along for the journey. “It’s a level 5. Speaking in terms of resources, I could gestate something close enough to a true dragon in our breeding pools and make alterations to it. Higher level variants would tax my powers though. Were my mentor still alive we could dare for greater.”

“That was what cost us his services.”

“Of course. But in answer to your true question, no. I could not make something like that.”

“Correct,” Mavar agreed. The others in the camp, servants, and the thing in the center weren’t following this conversation like the workers in the cavern had when discussing the slave host. There was a sense of death all around them. They’d lived within this maelstrom all their lives, but you didn’t see its extent until you traveled outside the normal protections. “Instilling sapience into our creations was what led to our current state of affairs, if indirectly. An intelligence on par with mankind is one thing, but soul investiture comes with problems. Doing so again must wait until we have dealt with the Octyrrum and have unfettered access to the Astral domain. With regards to that specimen, not even we can replicate the unique circumstances leading to its current state. Instilling the combination of powers on it is almost an afterthought compared to what the Tyrant did.”

“More effects of the Entropic Agent?”

“Yes.” Mavar’s eyes locked onto the one he knew as the true Tyrant, analyzing them across multiple spectra. “Hmm. Too far, and I don’t have enough experience with the Tyrant class to draw a conclusion. Their powers could be aberrant or simply those specific to them. The other, yes, but he has not advanced. Curious. My ability to predict them should be mostly preserved.”

Sasha caught herself before she glanced up at the taller man. Mavar sounded uncertain. To one familiar with him that was a rarity growing more common these days. The Prime of the Illustrious was used to having a solid idea of the future through the use of his Foresight ability, magnified by the information taken in by their surveillance of nearby regions and observations of other Illustrious collectives.

The grand scheme relied on such surety. Their ancient purpose was being fulfilled, though it had taken an alliance with both Spiritualists and one of the gods themselves. To add further complexity, a separate deal had then been reached with Torch when the god had sent a Proxy ahead of the main mortal group’s departure from the region.

Sasha took one small measure of comfort, which was that the tools of the gods operated on the same principles as her own master. If he, Prime of her people, was losing his grip on the future, so were they. Such uncertainty may then be more valuable than accurate prophecy. “Are we going to eliminate them?”

“They know of me. The Tyrant, at least. While we remain on this side of the border there is nothing they can do. But their presence within the reverting section of this place is problematic. Especially that dragon.” Mavar looked further out, but could no longer make out the titanic monster that had flown off. “I admit I erred there.” Sasha did look then in a mixture of amazement and shock. He laughed for the smallest of moments. “You are surprised? Truth above all else, Sasha. There is no value in self-deceit. Were I to choose again I would have ended that dragon before the Tyrant found him. I simply did not predict such a binding would occur.”

She considered that. Mavar, for all her life, had been a pillar of truth and the force directing all their hope. All of that, and an aloof, intimidating figure. Was this what he was like with everyone closer to him in station, or had recent events humbled him? And why was the barrier flickering?

Sasha was running back towards the center of camp before Mavar had to say anything. The flesh construct, for which there was no better description, warbled in alarm. Its general structure was like a giant frog with its throat permanently bloated. Pores along the sickly green, leathery skin rippled as the effect this creation was generating began to fail. Other parts of the skin bubbled, the composite of that noise creating the alarm. If it had eyes, they would be bleeding.

Mavar’s thoughts were no longer on the Tyrant. Perhaps Sasha’s barrier creature had failed on its own, but it wouldn’t be like her to make something so shoddy. No, something was pushing against their defenses. The stronghold, built into the rock of a mountain, had so much overlapping coverage they could live in relative normalcy even outside the auspice of the Octyrrum. Here, they were exposed, both to the Crest and what lurked in it.

“We are being stalked. I will address this situation. Sasha, the lives of the others here are yours to protect.”

“Prime, is it a-”

“Yes. True Light.” It was one of the few abilities the former Cleric had held onto after abandoning his class. After freeing himself from it. The space around him illuminated, though while the radiance was overpowering, it was not blinding. It was as if the cast off energy was both in and out of the visible spectrum at the same time.

Something at the edge of the Illustrious’ barrier quickly retreated from it. Only Mavar saw it as he knew where to look. Iridescent black like gloss on a nightmare, the barest shade of purple hidden in the folds of the enemy. He didn’t bother warning the others not to follow him as he strode towards the flickering barrier. If anyone couldn’t figure that out they didn’t deserve to survive.

So, a lesson then. Mavar sometimes thought that way. It was inevitable. All of his collective knew the past, but he was the only one who had been there. The only one left on this side of the Astral, though he suspected the appearance of a horror here and now had to do with those that had chosen to sacrifice their freedom. If Andrastia had been forced to rebuff Grave once more, it could have opened the way for something this strong to invade the world.

Mavar could tell his opponent was strong. Of course, neither had an official level, being outside the bounds of the Octyrrum’s chains. Should he have to estimate his strength, Mavar would place himself midway between the 8th and 9th tier. It couldn’t be a direct comparison. His kind were fundamentally different in how their powers and mana worked, and that wasn’t even accounting for his ultimate project. And this horror? Not as strong. However, at this end of the spectrum, the disparity between others could matter much or little. A level 8 could take a 9 or win easily depending on the circumstances. Observe. The first moment is for observation. The second, understanding.

Mavar processed it all in the span of time it took for his half step to take him out of the shield dome. He couldn’t use Foresight here, the constructs necessary to use the power back in his office, but it was a simple encounter to predict through intelligence alone. He wanted to survive, protect those within the barrier, slay the horror, or drive it off. Those were his priorities in order and he hardly needed to think to organize them. What the horror wants is obvious.

Motivation. Force enacted in pursuit of a goal inspires action. Now came the trickiest of steps. Even if you could understand your opponent’s desires, and that wasn’t always a given, gleaming their capabilities from the fractured time before a battle begins could be an impossible task. Easier with known monster types, but within the Crest there was no such thing. Humans at the peak of their potential could have over a hundred active powers to rely on, not to mention passive features. Guessing, estimating, or calculating all of that from glimpses and assumptions was the bedrock of the third phase. Planning.

Which of your powers would you need to use immediately? What would you need to hold in reserve to counter the unexpected? A thousand questions the inexperienced could die trying to answer. Mavar knew what he was going to do after only two seconds. It wasn’t hard. There was only one other variable he had to solve for

The horror had made its own calculations, assuming it had a mind that word would apply to. Perhaps instinct would be more appropriate. Preset responses to given stimuli, although the intelligence of a creature this powerful would represent a complex web of them. That would make it predictable.

The first assault came for him in the same amount of time the others needed to blink. Flesh seemed to solidify within a radius of Mavar, a sharp spike of dark matter lancing toward him. True Light did nothing to protect him from this attack. The radiance, not emitted by him but a product of passive alterations to the ambient light, only revealed the horror’s true form. An arm built solely to kill reaching out faster than Mavar could breathe.

Only, he didn’t need to breathe to dodge. Mavar’s mind was already processing information at a rate far faster than normal, allowing him to route energy to his limbs in time. His arm rotated and caught the strike, deflecting it sideways. Into the barrier! Ah. A classic fork. Another moment of excruciating analysis left Mavar with a greater respect for the horror’s threat potential and cunning. If it had made this its opening move, it would be wise enough to know-

The second and third attacks came together, two more tendrils shooting from the main body that remained hidden. The flesh was scaled with living eyes, seeing not with light but madness. Such aberrant flesh would be naturally resistant to any number of transformative debilitations Mavar could inflict. The world didn’t want this monstrosity to exist and yet it prevailed. Even his magic couldn’t compare to that. The saving grace was that his opponent’s body wasn’t Mavar’s only potential target.

Redoubt Form. Mavar thought the incantation rather than speak it. This taxed his will, but he didn’t have the time or air to speak. The mana he was pushed into his body twisted, his bone and tissue following with the slightest of delays. Skin first took on the patterning of brick, then the consistency. His clothing shed as stonework pushed out. That was fine, transmutation specialists didn’t wear permanently enchanted armor for this very reason. He could always transmute another.

The first tendril struck him in the chest. The Illustrious Prime did not need to look down to know its momentum had been stopped before it penetrated more than a millimeter of his hardened body. The other attack was off target, attempting to skate by his defenses and strike once more at the barrier. Its initial assault on it had been slow to bypass their senses, but the strikes now carried the full force of the horror’s insanity.

Mavar’s hand caught the limb, but only after it had gone past him. Weakened by the previous strike, the barrier gave way to the tip of the spike which cruised towards the barrier creature with all the destructive potential of a missile. Atmospheric Manipulation. Resonant Sharpening. Mavar called upon more of his abilities, creating two spikes of his own out of the air itself to drive down into the limb forcing its way past his grip. They pierced through, the enhanced tips of the spears able to fall through the ground as if it were air. Terraforming.

“Prime!” Sasha called out from behind him. He glanced back for a moment, fearing the attack hadn’t been halted in time, and then realized he was hearing his subordinate’s reaction to his exiting the barrier.

From her perspective it has been, what, five seconds? A mountain struck his head and battered him sideways. He’d neglected the other tendril, which had whipped around after failing to pierce him. The ground shook as his hardened mass dug into it. More writhing limbs shot in a cluster, forming a larger spike between them. Only the closest part intersected with his revelation aura but the total size must be one meter in diameter. Mental Acceleration.

Something curious happened. From an outside perspective, it would seem as if time had frozen, although this effect was simply a mirror of Daniel’s Moment of Clarity. Relatively, he was experiencing time on the scale of microseconds to seconds. There were a few key differences, however. Mavar wasn’t restricted from his other powers.

Etheric Manipulation. Dismiss Redoubt Form. Mantis Form. Resonant Sharpening. A fraction of a pause as he gave additional consideration to one last, potentially very taxing power. Seed of Second Life. Mavar deliberately walked through the activation of his powers one at a time rather than risk dual-channeling them. Even his experience and ability were being challenged as he operated within a space he was not meant to. True Light was altering the ambient electromagnetic spectra, but Etheric Manipulation dug at something deeper.

Mavar stood and the world waited. Like the rest of his people, he was now surrounded by a barrier, though this one wasn’t shimmering white but static iridescence like the robes he normally wore, phasing in and out of reality rapidly in patches.

He walked up to the horror’s collected tendrils, moving carefully. Mavar had to be very deliberate when he influenced time to this degree. That is to say, I normally must be. Gently, he brought up one of his freshly malformed hands. Where his field intercepted the horror, time accelerated into his reference point. That single section moved forward until its momentum carried it out of his influence. The eyes that could move stared at Mavar. Not balefully, even though the creature must have understood what was happening. Just observing, with a maddening glare, a-

A sky tinged red above an isolated mountain peak. The station sprawled around in a long spiral as if a giant snake had twisted itself around it. This was where the brightest of their people would have finally found the cure to the plague ravaging them, but they’d been too late.

Thousands arranged in neat rows before the throne. None without injury but firm in their resolve. Enemies had hounded the nation for centuries, finally striking at their heart. But she stood to turn the tide, finally forced out into the open. Her sacrifice would have brought everlasting victory.

Hundreds of moments from past lives, other worlds. Remnants of souls, though far less than what could be considered a spirit. Fragments that would never become whole again. Everything this creature had collected within itself as it wandered the Astral, a predator that was now consuming-

The explosion threw him backward. The ‘arm’ of the horror had continued to be dragged into the field as parts of it entered the altered timestream. The mass was somewhat pliable, but upon building up it had eventually ruptured. Things like that tended to happen if you were reckless in maneuvering others through different time frames. What happened to the horror could just as easily cause blood vessels to erupt on a smaller scale.

Mavar had known this would happen and averted the attack meant for the barrier behind him while injuring his enemy. What had surprised him was the ferocity of the mental assault. It has the corruption archetype and hundreds of fragmented souls, at least, powering it. If it had not been disrupted that may have been serious. It seems I took appropriate precautions. He mentally revised his estimate of the foe. This is a greater horror. Grave could not be responsible for this, could he? Regardless, it must be banished. Atmospheric Manipulation. Dismiss Etheric Manipulation and Mental Acceleration.

The consequences of Mavar’s actions fully played out as the bubble of accelerated time around him popped. Disturbed air and the final moments of the explosion, alongside numerous stacked mana bursts from Mavar’s one-off abilities, rocked the surroundings. The concussive force would have killed his people nearby or, worse, thrown them into the Crest, but for a veneer of compressed air surrounding the flickering barrier. Such was the magnitude of the mana released from the man that some traveled to the boundary of the Crest itself, though the Octyrrum prevented it from spilling over. He was using an inordinately massive amount in this fight and yet was not deep into his reserves. Mavar could do this all day.

Those under his ward had been threatened enough. With his powers and the failure of whatever mind warping assault made against him, Mavar had gained the initiative. He ran blazingly fast. The kicked up earth could have imperiled anyone of lesser endurance standing nearby. True Light revealed the offending limbs of the horror as he traced them to their source, occasionally firing an ability to prevent another strike at the barrier behind him.

The Prime of the Illustrious was a transmutation specialist, as appropriately demonstrated by his powers thus far. The classic domains were regarded as balanced, though each had its niche. Transmutation had good destructive potential, though its shortcomings were that it largely affected the self or a very short range around it. This horror was very far away. One. Two… thirty kilometers? False gods.

He could spend all day shredding tendrils apart, but Mavar suspected they’d just keep coming. The main body was where the twisted consciousness of the horror truly resided and he reached it in all of ten seconds. Mantis Form was not Redoubt Form’s exact opposite, but it made for a sprint that would shame dragon flight.

In truth, there was very little left in Mavar’s arsenal that was not explosively powerful. He’d had all the time in the world to trim down his powers and optimize those that remained towards his ultimate end. In the war he had Foreseen, his and every other Illustrious cadre needed those that could punch on the level of the gods.

There you are. The horror, as it turned out, was primarily a collection of random body parts sourced from mortals and monsters, and not all from this world. When it sent out an attack, these melted into homogenous flesh covered by the eyes containing the corruptive influence. Given the strength of the gaze alone, he wouldn’t be surprised if there were other means it could use to inflict it.

All the better that this form prized slashing weapons as much as speed, for he’d need to cut this thing apart. Redoubt Form could turn one into a living castle. Mantis Form made Mavar’s features elongate, inverted his knees, and manifested blades around his body. He’d chosen the standard variant of this combat form, which were long sword-like protrusions of dark carapace he could lock his hands into. If you looked for it, you could see the edges vibrating faintly. Humming a deadly tune.

As Mavar caught sight of the main mass, it exploded outward. The falling pieces were equally physical and mental threat, both of which Mavar had adapted to counter. Without the need to protect others, his offensive potential was unleashed. Whatever twisted substance composed the horror could ignore normal attacks with ease. Had Mavar not imbued his natural weapons with a resonating damage enchantment, then he might have struggled as well. As it was, the two blades on his arms cut through the falling rain of insanity while his legs carried him clear of any that he couldn’t intercept. More importantly, they also carried him towards that which had shot backward out of the mass instead of forwards.

The greater horror was in retreat, the majority of its mass already unmaking itself following Mavar’s attacks. However, such a creature would simply recover and return so long as part of it survived. Even killing its physical form wouldn’t be the end of it, but Mavar had no means for an excursion into the Astral and trusted his allies there to handle it. Either way the threat had to be extinguished, otherwise it would strike again when he was not present. The Tyrant and their pet dragon were obstacles enough, he could not have two threats to their operations dividing his attention.

He caught up to it, arms drenched in the slightly viscous material contained within the horror. The maddening eyes lined the flesh, even on parts that wouldn’t normally have them. It would be invisible even without whatever mockery of magic concealed it normally, save for the light Mavar generated, though he was certain the effect produced by the eyes worked whether you could see them or not.

The horror twisted and writhed feverishly, moving faster and faster in the air. It was such a simple creature, in the end. Long range attack potential, though not extreme, and a nearly unavoidable madness effect. High survivability. Four to five archetypes, but that is all. On par with level 7 at best. I’m ending this. Flash Morph.

The rapid ability did not alter his entire form, but merely broke the blades off his arms and converted them into held weapons. It was the earliest power he’d awakened from his former class, though any transmutation Cleric now wouldn’t receive it until level 2. Bane of Titans. Another mana pulse and the twin swords tripled in size. Keeping this many powerful enhancements on them was stressing the material and his mana structure, but Mavar did not need them to last long.

Mavar took one step forward. Terraforming. It wasn’t teleportation. Neither did he alter the flow of time again, he simply shifted dirt. A lot of it, as he sped along a surge of earth to catch up to the remnant horror. He cut through, first horizontally with one sword, then vertically with the other. Fearing another assault via his senses he closed his eyes and steeled his mind.

It did nothing to stop the tide. In the throes of its death, the last horror fragment released itself onto the immediate area, saturating the firmament with its unnatural nature. Mavar’s mind twisted with one, then two, then thousands of tormented specters drowning his cognition. At that moment he understood how far he’d underestimated the horror, which had sacrificed part of its patchwork spirit to fuel this attack. By its own false nature and terrible evolution, it had not built itself to win against any foe. It was meant to die to the right one. Him. A perfect host to become an even greater horror of these forsaken lands.

The madness infected him, warping his flesh and soul. Fragmenting his mind and throwing into chaos the careful structuring of mana that framed his body. But some part of him held on, knowing this was no longer a battle he could win, or survive. This was now about denying the enemy. How quickly that had turned.

His mental incantation was opposed by every spirit the horror had contained and those parts of himself already forgone. He fought for each letter, failing, pushing harder, and growing weaker with time. But before he could be claimed, the Prime spun what mana was still freely his to great and terrible effect. Atomic… Manipulation: Cas…cade.

…

Sasha Veltrex had just finished cleaning one of the sharp implements, her myothermic stimulator, of blood when she saw the distant flash, and then felt the wave of pressure. Not from a mana pulse, not entirely, but a massive blast. Everyone who still survived had something nearby to hold onto by now, which for Sasha was her barrier creature.

Gaps in the barrier around them briefly appeared, the pockets heralding a mind-numbing sensation of wrongness, before she stabilized the creation. No one else succumbed to the wild mana, although they’d had to quickly put down five of the lower rank who’d been exposed, however briefly, to the tendril that had breached their perimeter and the influence of the Crest.

Something wet and amorphous rose out of the ground near the barrier and was promptly shot with six arrows and two magical abilities. They all bounced off. The flesh collecting itself into a rough shape seemed impervious. And then familiar. “Prime!”

“Ugh,” Mavar groaned while reconstituting himself. He had a searing headache. Why? That wasn’t part of the process. Oh. Bothersome.

“Prime! What happened? Did you slay the horror?”

He grimaced but nodded while walking towards the barrier and shaping his customary robes from the air. “It was a trap, and more powerful than I gave credence for. Arrogance, I freely admit it. I was forced to destroy myself and return to my redundant vessel.” A few of the survivors not familiar enough with the Prime to know his greatest power looked in awe. Sasha bore a different expression.

“You used Second Life?”

“Yes.”

“But your powers-”

“I know,” Mavar wearily silenced her. “It is an unnecessary complication. Ah, and the Tyrant has vanished in the confusion. Did they sense us? No, it doesn’t seem so.” He looked around, counting mentally. “Considering we are rid of a greater horror it is almost a worthy trade, but my temporary weakening makes this situation harder to handle. I can still kill the dragon easily in a direct fight, but to kill it before it flees?” He frowned.

“Should we return to the sanctuary?”

“Yes. Prepare your creation for travel, although the waters should be calmer now, so to speak. And,” he turned to address the entire group, “Do not let your conviction waver. The plan remains the same. First, we reclaim this territory, entrenching what we can before the Crest fully passes over it. And then,” The Prime gazed outwards, to the west and slightly south. He spoke as if his gaze could cover thousands of kilometers and pierce into the very core of the Octyrrum itself. “We take the world.”