Crailek squints in the harsh light, and raises an arm to shade his eyes. "Man, you guys are quick!" He frowns, then, and moves his corpse in the doorway, expanding the bubble of psionic energy to fill the doorway with just an in or so on any side of space. "Here, you can have the one that killed the shambler."

With that, he attempts to shoot the bubble out of the door as hard as possible, while simultaneously closing the door to the tower.

There was a thunderous boom and the screams of the last Crailek as it was torn to pieces by the hail of diamond fire. Several explosions of white light, shouted orders and sudden darkness. The Tower had been sealed once more; the corpse had been destroyed. Crailek felt uneasy. For a shadow-God he had little capability to see in the darkness, and he felt as if something weren't right.

Crailek curses, blinking hard to try and restore some semblance of sight. Regardless of success, he slowly turns around the be facing away from the door from wherever he had been facing before, and begins waking, hoping to eventually run into the little pool of water or the statue.

The explosion is loud, magnificent, blinding and brutal, trapped as it was within the confines of the blackened tower room. A grenade, perhaps - it matters not. The force of the grenade crashes against crailek, and he feels his right hand disintegrate into ash and then nothing as it is taken by the blast. Instinctively he calls up the force-shield and is taken by the tsunami of light and sound.

He awoke sometime later. The room was dark and silent and Crailek could taste his own blood. There was an aching pain in both his mind and his right hand. It was missing.

Crailek looks down at the mass of air where his right hand usually was. He sighed, and flexed the non-existent muscles in that hand, and reflects on how much that didn't feel like it very well should have, what with there being no feeling whatsoever except a sort of pain.

He sighs once again, and pushes himself up onto his feet with his remaining, now lonelier hand. He scratches his head, feeling an odd tickling at the back of his mind, a feeling like this was all too familiar for whatever reason. He shakes his head, and looks around for any other explosives, signs of danger, or generally any sort of anything at all. He moves his tongue around in his mouth, absentmindedly trying to find out if he were still bleeding and if so, from where.

As he'd been thrown, Crailek's teeth had chomped hard into his tongue, and his mouth was filled with copper-tasting blood. He'd been scrapped and battered, but besides the stump of a hand that he remained he was relatively unharmed. The ground floor of the Tower was a mess - paper and shattered stone everywhere, the smell of chemicals and awakened dust permeating the entire room. It was dark and very still.

Crailek sighs, and looks towards the door, to see whether or not it were still intact. Hopefully it was, but if not, then he had to wonder why they couldn't have done that in the centuries trying to break in. But no matter, now was more important, with the questions it brought. Questions such as "Was there still a door?" and "What the hell was that explosion?" and "Where the hell is my hand?". Indeed, these questions were ones that Crailek himself had, and ones that he hoped to figure out by looking towards the door.

Crailek couldn't find his hand, and the explosion was long done. Nevertheless, the seals had functioned correctly - as they had for hundreds of years - and as such the door was shut tight. There was no sound coming from outside, only the still silence of the Tower.

Crailek frowns at the door for a moment, then promptly heads towards the stairs to go up in the tower. He attempts to head back to the room with the chest with the orb thing, and look around once again at all of the surroundings within the room.

Past the corpses, the library, the memories of horror within the silent Tower..

There was the chest, surrounded by unused weapons, and inside the chest the deepest blood-red orb, its face adorned with glyphic runery. It hummed with unseen power.

((Let's just say you described this room instead, as it is the one with the chest and the red orb.))

Crailek heads back to the chest, and attempts to open it and pick up the orb, obviously with his left hand, to inspect it closer without the distracting flood of information that had happened last time before death.

Crailek took up the Orb of Ghandash, and as he did so he felt an unnerving sense of crawling all over his body - as if he had invisible spiders crawling up and down his body. It hummed a deep red.

Crailek attempts to pocket the orb, and then head to the nearest book case and pull out a book at random. He hoped it was not written in the same way as the ones in the lower level of the tower, but he held no illusions about such things at this point.

The orb felt heavy and alive in his pocket.

The book, interestingly enough, was written in the same maddeningly occult language.

Crailek stares at the book for a moment quietly, then calmly places it back on the shelf. He wordlessly turns back and walks out of the room, down the spiral stairs, through the room with the bowl of water, across the room with the squid carpet, and down the stairs to the main lobby, with the statue of himself, the desks, the bookshelves, and the tapestries. He walks around the statue, and heads down to the first underground room, the one with all of the weapons.

He stops within this room, and looks at all of the weapons, seeing if any seemed out of place, or called to him in a way the others did not for any reason.

Crailek now knew what must be done.

There was a single blade, dulled and rusted, that seemed to call to Crailek. A scimitar of no obvious worth or mystical potency, it nevertheless seemed attractive to him. Surrounded by weapons beautiful and marvelous, it was a rare sight, and Crailek had a feeling - an inkling - that beneath the rust and dullness of centuries lay a powerful and deadly weapon.

Crailek attempts to pull the sword from its resting place, to hold it up and look at it closely, to see if it had any distinctive marks on it or such. He figured it warranted such attention, and his plan could wait for but a few moments.

The sword was easily removed, and besides a distinct pattern of rust - the orange-brown looking at once and at once not like dried blood - there were no obvious patterns or markings upon the thing. It felt good in Crailek's hand, somehow right. As if he were always meant to have this sword.

Crailek smiles at the sword, holding it with one hand. "Today we shall see if you hold the strength I feel you have."

With that, he attempts to make a copy of himself through his natural God power, and send it straight out to the lobby to try to open the door, with the original Crailek following behind but staying out of sight and range for the moment. He hoped the copy had the power to at least open the door, which shouldn't be too hard.

((COPYCAT! (Though I copied meta Lol)))

(Hang on a second. You're trying to use your raw theoelectromagnetic field, your raw godly power, in order to create a short-lived paradox in the same location?)

(Read my seventh minor power)

Crailek felt his consciousness expand, take the form first of vacant shadows, and then feel those shadows take solid form.. his consciousness split in two, each parts equal and strong.. he felt himself create and take the second body..

He felt his second body rise from the floor and place its hand against the cold iron door leading to the Valley. He felt a small surge of power, and saw the door scream quietly as it rose up, letting the harsh sun burn at both of his bodies' eyes.

There were no gunshots, no sudden alarms. Had they forgotten, so soon.. ?

Crailek looks at his clone for a moment silently. Then, "Well? Go on, go out there. Walk."

He watches to see what happens, and waits for his eyes to adjust to the light so he can see out the door.

Crailek nods at Crailek.

"Very well, my friend."

The door creaks as it is swung open, but remains so without any visible damage. It is heavy, though, and the strain upon Crailek II is obvious.