The sky - which had been completely replaced by Chalybis now - shuddered as He was met by the mortal resistance. It was somewhat less insignificant than He had originally expected, but still no true match for His might. It appeared that they were intent on putting up an actual fight against His invasion, which meant that He would be forced to eradicate every single one of them before proceeding. Fortunately, He did not really mind getting the chance to commit more wholesale slaughter here, vigorously remembering the other defiant sorcerer that had originated from Alkan and against whom He had yet to take revenge.

Whilst His onslaught against the magical wards continued, a group of shimmering discs, hollow silver constructions made out of gears that spun past each other in mid-air, each one appearing directly in the path of one of the many volleys that were being aimed at His form. The hail of lead and diamonds vanished as it struck the portals, returning moments later in the opposite direction as He spat the attack back to their origin. The torrent of projectiles that returned was far larger than the original one though, a literal barrage of metal that could not possibly have been launched at Chalybis already.

Perhaps the Alkanites would understand the hint that every weapon wielded against Him would be returned tenfold and stop attacking Him, but secretly, Chalybis hoped that this was not the case...

Balast's eyes flame at the mention of his ancient foe.  His armour spikes seem to straighten, his arms flick into a battle stance and he stands more upright.

"Oh I'll fight.  I can do much more than heavy lifting currently until my business is completed but I do understand that it will be impossible to assist me right now.  However could you pass on a message to Jool.  Ask him to concentrate his magical energies through the essence he took from me.  That essence was born to fight the mad and it will be only too glad to oppose Chalybis.  As for me I neither want nor need payment for the limited service I can give.  I am sworn to fight the mad in all places and at all times and would be dishonoured to do less."

Balast

"Yes, of course," said one of the soldiers. "Heroditus, give our guest your rifle and battle-stave." Heroditus, a young-looking soldier of sorcery, did as he told. "Use these weapons. Now.."

An old man burst into the room, purple ink covering his body, and dived straight for Balast.

"You are Balast, Aspect of Destruction!" he cried, half-question and half-statement. "Oh, tell me it is so. You are just what we need. What Alkan must have. A miracle! Have you heard of the Hieronymus Machine? Perhaps of Project EL AYTCH SEE? No, don't answer. Tell me, is your blood the blood which wards magic and purges the Mad?"

Chalybis

As the magical attacks were coverted, shifted to gleaming metal, and thrown back towards Alkan, Chalybis saw that further magical volleys caught the metal, screaming, obliterating it. The chain remained, as did their offenses.

Chalybis saw that beyond the invisible wall, beyond the white walls of Fort Seal, men in heavy iron suits and filtration masks were working behind the last defense of Alkan, arcane in their own right, drawing a line of black, shimmering mystical power behind Fort Seal, possibly to defend it from attack on both sides. The line was soon complete, but Chalybis saw protection begin to erode very quickly as it was struck by invisible forces. The men in iron suits, behind the line, began erecting a series of giant mirrors behind and in the back of Fort Seal. He saw that the technicians atop of the wall were doing a similar thing.

Balast blinked rapidly at the man and regarded him with caution in his eyes.

"I am Balast yes, my blood will purge the mad if used correctly but so would the blood of any of the aspects but I have little to spare until I can restore myself fully and that will take time.  My power in this time and place is limited without Eternity's End and my links to my own realm.  As for the rest I have heard neither of the project or the machine.  If you want blood now a fair amount of mine is spattered across the walls of this place to assist it in holding against the floods."
This message was last edited by the player at 07:46, Tue 20 Apr 2010.

*BOOM*

A thunderbolt from the heavens and the Hero and his Lancer had arrived. Maxillita quickly looked to the sky.

"Well then. Colossal Cosmic Horror.."

Several of Chalybis' massive mechanical eyes watched the labouring men with great intent as they created their new line of defences only to see it crumble at the hands of an invisible enemy that lay beyond them. It was not long before He had determined what the purpose of their new endeavour was - there was an extremely powerful unknown force within Alkan which was attempting to break out of its containment, and now the Alkanites were attempting to channel its path directly into Him with arcane devices of some sort. Obviously, He could not allow such a thing to happen, and therefore it had to be stopped.

At the same time, another part of His immense presence noticed that another deity had arrived in Alkan, one which He recognized from previous encounters. It appeared that the bothersome High God was indeed suicidal as it had come to challenge Chalybis during the zenith of His powers whilst it had not become any less insignificant since their last encounter. Although He would have preferred to squash the godling as the pathetic vermin it was, He felt that there were more pressing matters to attend to right now - the High God couldn't even reach Him several miles up in the sky, let alone cause Him any harm there - and turned His attention back to the Alkanites.

It appeared that He could not affect anything within the sealed area right now, so the mirrors near the end were beyond His ability to destroy. The ones atop the walls were similarly protected by the chain of troublesome sorcerers - all of which seemed to be just as foolishly persistent as the first one He had encountered - and therefore also quite difficult to deal with. A more creative solution - as opposed to the normal brute force and utter annihilation - would be required here.

And then it struck Him, the perfect way to deal with both the unknown forces and the Alkan Seals which He was not shattering at an acceptable rate right now. All He had to do was wait for the Alkanites to finish their work on their creations and allow the massive power that His various incarnations were already gathering in other realms to accumulate within Him until the time had come to strike. Until that time He would simply continue His assault upon the Alkanites undeterred, pretending to be oblivious to their pathetic little plot...

Balast

"Nothing so simple, my lad, nothing so simple," said the man. "I am Grand Master Yakshire, of the Sorcerers of Alkan. I don't work for the Conclave. They pay me, yes, so I work for the Conclave, but I work first for science and second for Alkan. If Alkan falls the Tree will be destroyed. Us with it. I built a machine using all the best symbols. Funded by the Conclave. Here, in Alkan. Hieronymus machine. Works fine, would work fine, but I'm missing a single symbol. I need destruction."

He grinned, pleased with himself.

"You see, it is a weapon, the ultimate defense," he said, and leaned in to whisper conspiratorially to Balast.

Chalybis

The fight continued, with no side making any immediate progress. Steel was thrown, countered. Spells were flung, dispelled. Men rushed and the technicians continued their work. The mirrors were very quickly forming an elaborate pattern of glass, and the men in magic-resistant suits had finished their work and were now inside. Chalybis saw more soldiers join the fight, shooting at him, saw more magicians form the ring. They were getting reinforcements.

Max

Max saw the seething iron above him, the thunderous booming of the Mad. He was atop the Fort, behind a ring of dtermined sorcerers desperate to contain Chalybis's influence. Behind him he saw that there were technicians working at a highly complicated system of mirrors. Soldiers fired towards the beast.

"You there!" yelled a commanding soldier upon seeing Max. "Quickly - magical proficient or not?"

"He's with me," said a Systemarch with a familiar voice - almost like Balverstus's. He held in his hands a large orb, made seemingly of thousands of different coloured glass, shining slowly from inside. He was an unmodified Systemarch, no elaborate body-modifications or hissing machinery, and he was dressed in light robes. At his waste was a long carved stave that seemed to twist and change as it was seen. "I apologize, friend, but my Cystal of Ahandradon is still waking up. It's been long since I've had to fight.."

There was something familiar.. about his eyes.

"Lord Xakuu," said the sergeant. "I will get back to commanding my men. This woman is in your charge."

 Hallowed Leord Maxillita approached the Systemarch. She bowed, in respect.

 "I am Maxillita of Xi, daughter of Maccus of Xi, whom is son of Marx, whom is the son of Mai, whom is the first of the rulers of Xi. I have come to slay Chalybis, the one who so corrupted my birthright. May I ask your name and title?" She said politely, though her voice cracked. Could it somehow be..?

  savethemsavethem savethemsavealkan savethetreesaveeveryone savethem.
This message was last edited by the player at 16:06, Wed 21 Apr 2010.

 Fierce manifested in Alkan, wearing his dark blue armor that he ha let lay fallow aeons.. He looked up into the sky.

  .. and smiled.

His voice boomed out for all to hear, his arms outspread, his eye shining with manic zeal.

   Blessed Invocation of The Infernal Priest Dagra Dai's Wrath! Admixed Negation and Persecution! Hallowed Recantation of the Witchhunter's Word- Écrasez l'infâme!
This message was last edited by the player at 00:33, Thu 22 Apr 2010.

Visions ripped through Balast of another city reduced to nothingness. He blinks rapidly shaking his head in disbelief.

"That is no defense.  You cannot use it in that way.  One slip and you will reduce this entire place to nothingness.  Just creating a stable hole would be a complex challenge.  If you do this the only being to survive will be me.  You'd need all twelve council symbols and a god of each type to wield this.  But you would have to sacrifice a god to power it.  Whoever takes the role of Varl will be unmade to wield those energies.  Take me to the machine and explain it on the way.  I need to know how you are planning to close the hole afterwards as Domvoi never managed it.  I will also need you to swear the oath of the black council before you do anything.  In case you don't know it that oath is to serve the tree above all else and to fight the mad before all else."

The stand-off between Himself and the Alkanites was of little concern to Chalybis - He only grew stronger as the resistance became more intense, and He only needed to last until the Alkanites would bring their own doom upon themselves by attempting to turn the invisible forces upon Him. Their impending destruction was inevitable, as was that of their precious yet insignificant fortress. Nothing they could do would be capable of seriously harming Him, and no magic would ever be any threat to His limitless might.

Despite this, Chalybis realized that something was not going how it should - cracks were appearing within part of His form and it was becoming less and less stable with every passing moment. The origin of this undesirable effect - a divine ability of some sort - was swiftly localized, and studied. An instant later the infernal machinery that ran within Him had devised a method of replicating this sealing power, divine glyphs forming upon His surface as parts and gazes rearranged themselves to spell out the doom of His unworthy adversary below.

Willing Himself to 'move' around within the heavens, Chalybis forced all of the unwilling - dying - steel together, the massive lump of silver gradually tearing itself from the remainder of His body as it shifted position. The diseased part now hung over Alkan's walls and the sorcerers thereon, hundreds of tons of solid metal that were about to break free and crash down upon them with an unimaginable force. Something here had just dared to oppose Him, and now the entirety of the realm would pay for this insolence...

PM
This message was last edited by the player at 22:26, Fri 23 Apr 2010.

Balast

"I.. see," said the man. "I see. Yes, come with me. I faithfully and truthfully swear on the Black Council to serve the World-Tree, Yggdrasil, and to fight the Mad with all I have."

He took Balast through the shaking, groaning thin corridors of Fort Seal, obviously expecting him to explain as he guided the Aspect to the Hieronymus machine.

Chalybis

The Word of the Witch Hunter had been proclaimed, and Chalybis felt a piece of his magnificent form lose its ability to manifest as a Cthonic Entity and crash below, upon the pathetic creatures within their pitiable Fort Seal. It was a feeling of utter horror replaced by a feeling of malignity and then, finally, of completion as he found the knew knowledge within him. The piece of Chalybis had been turned to slag by magical might as it fell upon Alkan, to be neutralized entirely by the magical defenses of the place. A Chalybis had died.

And a word was spoken by the machine-demon: Ékrah Sarahz Laryinfeame Ia.

And suddnely the Witch was without his precious Word. Still, the battle raged on.

Max and Fierce

"I am Xakuu, Lord Xakuu, brother to Balverstus, known as the Trickster Spider and Lord of the Crystal Unknown. I am.. you knew me as Dxacku." He smiled, thinly. "I needed to know that it wasn't you who murdered my brother."

Suddenly, as the Word was spoken, a beautiful and familiar word, and a sheet of slag crashed magnificently against the magical defenses of the Fort, to disappear entirely. Suddenly, a Word was spoken in turn by the machine-demon: Ékrah Sarahz Laryinfeame Ia.

It was as if the soul of the Fierce God had been taken from him, for he could no longer use his Word. He know longer knew the Word. It belonged, now, to his most hated enemy. Max, too, felt the horror as his theoelectromagnetic field, just a little bit, shifted.

The sky was alive with steel and magic.

What a fool this Chalybis was. The Word was a damnation, a decree of the Infernal Priest that would follow him to death. I had lost nothing.

I drew from the magic in the air two dozen golden threads, twirled them about my fingers. "Blessed Invocation of Silver'd Wyrm's Inferno, Dichotomy of Vengeance and Mercy, FInal Expression of the Heretic's Faith- HADOKEN."

A beam of destructive energy screamed forth from his outstretched loom of his hands, to smite the blasphemer.

The golden Aura of a First God flared into being, restoring his power even as it was expended in this attack.
This message was last edited by the player at 02:19, Tue 27 Apr 2010.

Maxillita smiled. "Your brother died honorably. He fought to defend me, and died doing so. Perhaps I may return the gesture. I will fight until my final death."

Maxillita held out her right hand, summoning her blade to her. Anik's shield was strapped to her right arm.

The God of Craft was exceedingly good at what he did. An apology was definitely in order.

The Fire exploded outwards from Balast's eyes and when the flash subsided he was restored to his full power once more.

"This is the form of the Aspect of Destruction my friend.  I am one of those who will see the tree dead before the mad win and now I know what I have to do.  Listen and listen well to the void.  I was born between, a servant of the beginning and the end.  I know the void in ways no other does.  It is not a tool it is an appetite.  To control it you need it's antithesis - creation.  I was trapped for millennia in the prison built for me by the black council and I fought creation merely to survive every day for the entire time.  I can channel the void through your machine but without a creation based god the machine will move outside my control.  I cannot control the void though I can wield it.  Those who follow Varl, Aspect of Creation can control the void but not wield it.  Only a pair can do what is needed here and the creation god may well be destroyed in direct opposition to the void.  If I had Varl's essence I might be able to correct the issue but I don't.  Now however shall we remove this pain before he damages something important."

After analysing the new power He had just obtained, Chalybis decided that it was not valuable enough to maintain when compared to the ones He already possessed, removing it from His knowledge immediately. Although its effects were lasting - although not much so considering any who He might use it upon would not exist for much longer to begin with - it had only been usable once so was nothing but a waste of His power now. This was of no concern to Him though, for the fools beneath Him had already prepared a more destructive power for Him to claim as His own...

As the pathetic energy beam seared its way towards Him, a single one of the glimmering portals winked out of existence before Alkan, immediately replaced by several of its peers and relocating itself between Chalybis and the attack. Simultaneously, the silver metal above began to rearrange itself into a vaguely conical structure that began to protrude down from the main bulk, facing Alkan with its tip. The hostile intent of this creation became clear rapidly as crackling red energy began to crackle within its hollowed form; a weapon of titanic proportions that was aimed at the walls before Him.

With a rather unexpected and therefore eerie silence, the infernal powers unleashed themselves as a beam of deep red light that headed straight for the walls containing the defiant Sorcerers. Within His bulk, Chalybis was extremely pleased with this, having realized that several of His enemies were know unwillingly helping Him to destroy them all and enjoying this as much as His stoic nature would allow...

Balast

"I think we shall," said the magician, smiling to himself, impressed with Balast's new form. "But if what you say is correct, then .. hmm. I believe my Hieronymus machine will work. It has to work. Nevertheless, your theory regarding the finesse of such destruction does make sense. It fits the mathematics.. I knew I was missing something, but.. I think I have it. Yes. I can.. I, too, can be a part of the machine. I can be the Aspect of Creation .. I will sacrifice, for the defense of my family and of my Conclave," he sighed, "I will sacrifice my magic, now and forever, I will burn out in a single act of control. I know how it can be done.."

They stopped, now, outside of a locked, magically-inscribed door, the words ELL AYTCH SEE carved carefully on the front, as well as TOP SECRET, CLEARANCE NECESSARY and POTENTIAL MAGICAL DECONSTRUCTION ZONE. It was heavily locked, Balast saw, with magic as well as the more mundane security measures; it took the man a full three minutes to unlock the chamber.

From above, there were horrible screeching sounds loud enough to penetrate even this deep into the Fort.

"Care to step inside?" asked the sorcerer.

Chalybis

And the Word left Chalybis, taken from his mind, and even as his mind was eased with the forgetting of the Word he felt an aching as the stress from another place shook his great frame. Even with the consumption of souls, simply existing in this state - let alone waging consistent war with it - was incredibly exhausting.

The pathetic beam of light was not as pathetic as it originally would seem, blazing through the portal and then continuing again, spreading agony about the gigantic body of Chalybis. It seared, burned, a scalpel of light and hope, a constant thing summoned by the tiny creature below. It couldn't hope to disintegrate the other four fifths of his being, but the pain was intense, and Chalybis felt the Madness burn from his oil and then replace itself over and over, purifying and corrupting, an incredibly harrowing thing. Energies made of pure intentions split the side of Chalybis.

Through this, as Chalybis took the theoelectromagnetic pattern of the sacred blast and shifted himself to properly utilize it, he felt another entirely horrible feeling. It was if a net had been placed over him, as if he'd been covered in quick-setting concrete and had been left to dry. Something had been determined about Chalybis, and if he could feel physically ill he would have done so. It did not help the massive aching. As he felt this rush of torment, he saw the face of an ancient enemy, blazing eyes and a face carved of sand sneering at him - the sorcerer. And then..

He was not as efficient as he'd have liked to have been. Not with the exhaustion, the strain, the beam and the curse.. the magic continued unabated, but the vacuum and the antimagical gaze could not, and the magical missiles struck Chalybis. There was a roar of agony uncontrolled, the searing of steel and scorching of machinery, and Chalybis felt himself weaken. The magic continued. He was struck by ice, by fire, by energies unknown and calamities worshiped yet misunderstood, by glyphs and sacred numbers and occult incantations..

And then there were the cannons. Chalybis had readied a Hadoken of his own, the crimson light which struck the shields of Alkan with a billion sparks and twangs of magic crackling under the pressure. Chalybis saw nothing under the shields, dominated as they were by the terrible blood-red beam, but he knew that they must be weakening..

Max & Fierce

As light was thrown from the Fierce God, Xakuu nodded.

"I thank you, Max, for a being a friend to him even in his last moments," he said, smiling. "I understand why the
Dhaal chose you to Avenge him. I apologise for the deception, but it was necessary - until recently I was a wanted man, you see. But.." He stopped, looked above. A shattering of red had descended upon the wards.

The Fierce God, his face creased with concentration, split Chalybis with his sacred Hadoken. He only stopped, in fact, when a terrible red light crashed down upon the shields of Alkan with a harrowing screech, the screams of the magic itself. Several of the chain that kept Alkan's magical defenses strong fell down, but were still held even as the chain strained. Several were killed, immediately replaced by sorcerers behind them.

The screeching was terrible. It was the death of magic, the fall of the Realm Sorcerous, the lifeless word and the action without meaning. Above, a prismatic swirl was all they could see of above; there had been an immense pressure placed against the shields.

Balast nods slowly.

"If you understand the cost I cannot refuse.  The mad are my enemy since before the conclave was even imagined.  This war is my duty to fight and if anything the."

He pauses and climbs inside.

"Changes I would suppose you would call them have only increased my desire to fight the mad if they come at a cost.  I can no longer lie by commission or omission.  A trait I collected from Raelis.  Anyway let us proceed.  This is no time to delay."

Firce attempted cut him once more in twain (or to finish the job) , dividing the mad god. He then, exhausted, disappeared.
This message was last edited by the player at 13:43, Tue 27 Apr 2010.

Although it was a powerful display in its own right, Chalybis was less than impressed with His current progress towards the destruction of Alkan and all that lay within it. The barrier that protected it was indeed weakening under His onslaught, but so was He, and He would not accept any form of defeat at the hands of these insignificant mortal infidels. If they were not willing to seal their own fate by attempting to unleash their ultimate weapon upon Him, He had no choice but to arrange that to happen Himself.

Over a dozen shimmering portals still hovered beneath Him, each of which was attached to any of the others as He decided it to be. These portals would now become the doom of Alkan, and the end of the pathetic resistance that was annoying Him. All He needed was a single extra portal in the right position, something which could be easily arranged now that the magical wards around Alkan were occupied by the infernal powers He was throwing down upon it.

Beyond the actual wall He was besieging, beyond the chain of persistent sorcerers and even beyond the arcane wards that faced the invisible powers whose existence He intended to release, a shimmering gold disk sprang into existence. Although Chalybis knew that this portal would not survive the hostile environment for long, it would not be required to; one instantaneous surge of pure destruction was all He required to wreck the fortress that was Alkan so that He might free all that lay locked away within it...

A magnificent blade shimmered into Maxillita's hand- the form of the blade had changed again, back to what it had originally been- A simple weapon, hiltless, bearing the image of an autumn leaf.

Yet, it was not the same- it glowed, a soft silverly light. Beautiful.

Maxillita closed her eyes, focused on the blade- she recalled every memory she had of it, of his people, of his past; finding the blade, the battle with the first harvester, the destruction of the second, shearing into Chalybis- all machines. The sword had never known blood. He remembered the eyes of Osiris- the destruction of Anvildramdum- the death of Balverstus. The corruption of his realm, the destruction. Dxaku, Sophie, Wyrn, Roid, Ruse, Desafon, Msonus, Anik, The Friar, Kaie, Equibrillum, Lharazed, Crailek, Foun, Metatron. Councilmen, Gods of the Towers, Friends.

 She remembered the dead. She remembered her own death.

Her blade hummed in response.

  She was no hero. This was not for the sake of valor, for fame. This was for the lives that would be lost if she failed. This was for the lives that had already been taken.

  She poured in all her divine power, nearly every bit of energy Fierce had, her own lifeforce, the magical energy that surrounded her and lay sleeping within her, the strength in her muscles and in her heart - drew it all into the blade that would have been the mark of a Hero.

  She drew her arm back and released all of this in a single slash of her blade. She spoke one word, a command to her blade, one to be relayed to the metal above.

  "Sunder."
This message was last edited by the player at 00:29, Wed 28 Apr 2010.

The Destruction of Fort Seal;
Death of the Machine God;
Death of the Aspect of the Void;

The Flood is the crashing tempest of all magic that is drawn from the Realm Sorcerous, from the breast of Yggdrasil herself. Alkan was designed not as a city but as a filter, so that the wild sorcery would not burst forth from the Realm Sorcery and bring havoc across all worlds. It was designed so that enchantments might stay in the form that it was intended to, that spells might be learned by rote and remain fairly predictable, so that those who ride the spirits of air might not drop out of the sky and so that the demons and the spirits might be called without fear.

The Flood is known to the Alkanites as the Urge, for many cryptic reasons, but the most important is that while it is born of Yggdrasil, it cannot be controlled by Yggdrasil - it is nothing that the World-Tree can stop or manipulate. It is an uncontrollable Urge. Just as the World-Tree must bear fruit in the form of the worlds, must host life, magic must exist and flow freely.

It was originally filtered from the Spring of Majesty, through the Temple of the Urge (or the Flood) and through the Cyclopean Machanea of Victory which gave the Flood pattern, order, a limit so that it might be easily manipulated, channeled, by the sorcerers within Yggdrasil. There are millions - billions, really - of them. The amount of magical energy is immense. And yet.. Alkan was originally built to monitor the unstable Realm Sorcerous, to filter through the massive Machanea, through the Great Gates of Alkan. The hubris of the Sorcerer, once again, spelled doom. The magicians of Alkan fell slack in their task. The Machanea was left untended, broke down - a flaw in the engineering coupled with a flaw in attitude leading to the sealing of the great city.

For a thousand years the Urge has crashed against the Great Gates. Enough would be converted through the Gates lines of purification for the purposes of the witch, spilling on occasion to the dismay of sorcerers the world over. The Conclave, so often the antagonistic force, rose and built a tertiary system of its own, housed within Fort Seal. It did well. It wasn't perfect, but it was monitored with fascistic zeal and held enough of the Old Wisdom of the Alkanites to protect the World-Tree.

And now this system was threatened.

Chalybis, Tchal Habbis, the Machine God: the enemy. A seething mass of madness and steel, assaulting the feeble wards of Fort Seal, the tertiary filtration system. Master of time and space. The battle has raged on for hours, with neither side giving up any ground. Master of Time and Space. Able to manipulate and control portals of glimmering gears, able to transport strange energies as well as mundane objects.

Chalybis places one such portal within the Floods, behind the seals and protective glyphs of Fort Seal, knowing rightly that the Urge would happily use his massive physical being as a conduit to reach beyond the seals and the filtration lines. Many more glimmering portals appear above the wards of Fort Seal - wards not designed to combat the Flood, but instead to stop supernatural, magical and physical blows from reaching the fragile white stone of the place.

Chalybis feels the energy ripping through his very being - not his physical being, but the theoelectromagnetic field which allows him to control such portals. It is like being struck by lightning, like being hit by a train. No - it is like being hit by a tsunami, a massive flood which cannot be held back any longer. A billion different feelings, conflicting ideas, words, sounds, images, symbols, actions, intents, lusts, needs, saints, gods, spirits, languages, creatures - everything that was or ever would be magic flowed through Chalybis. Chalybis's dulled senses were a mercy. Any mortal might have been killed immediately by the crashing sensation; actual sorcerers wouldn't have stood a hope in the Abyss.

But Chalybis's seeming control was immaculate. He was, after all, a creature of pure logic - unlogic, even, since he was also one of the Mad. It flowed from him, projectile vomit of a sorcerous nature, through his many portals summoned above Alkan. The wards were not designed to contain the Urge, and did not even have to be broken - rather, they were persuaded, twisted, changed, no longer wards but a shining fluctuation of prismatic magic, energy in every colour perceived (and unperceived), shaking the stone walls of the fort incredibly violently.

It was then that the heroine, Maxilita, her energetic companion thankfully long dissipated, took her magnificent blade, the symbol of her hope and of her vengeance, and rose it to the sky in a single slash. One single gesture of ultimate defiance, of Good - for perhaps it does exist - over all that would bring ruin. With everything she had, she brought the blade to the sky and commanded the death of Chalybis.

Sunder.

Her blade, the Divine Master Sword, was said to command all metal, to command the winds and more. A single lash of wind was given entrance through the toiling Urge. It did no damage to Chalybis physically, but his theoelectromagnetic field, as tense as it was, had shaken. Max fell to the floor, exhausted, passed out, blade in hand. She knew that what she had done wasn't enough; but it was everything she had. The last thing she heard as she died was the chattering of a thousand voices, then silenced, and finally one: You are forgiven.

The Flood crashed down upon the Fort. Undefended, a hundred thousand would die. The chain was smashed as the men on the ramparts were consumed in a sea of chaos. None would survive. They could not stand the voices, the cackles, the feelings, the emotions - the agony. The chain was smashed, the mirrors were shattered and then twisted. The stone was turned to dust. Dust, what all things were once and what all would become in death.

Max died, his theoelectromagnetic field pulled and torn at without remorse, twisted into a hundred possible Gods - beings that were once Max, are at once Max, would forever be Max, would be Max.. but Max was asleep. The Divine Master Sword, perhaps convinced of Max, protected her from the horrific tensions. She died, but it was a painless death. She would awaken in Xi with her theoelectromagnetic field intact and her sword in hand.

The tempest continued as the Urge rushed through the Fort, a thousand whispers of damnation and enlightenment. wave upon wave of raw cosmic energy, raw magic, killing everything it touched. The sorcerers took it the worst - their training saw that it could take up to hours of agonized screaming and clawing at flesh before their demise. A hundred colours. A hundred hates.

Chalybis felt an unfamiliar strain upon him - it was barely noticeable when compared to the strain of raw, blind concentration, of his psychic exhaustion, of pain and of it all, but it was there, and it was heavy. It was Yggdrasil using her erratic and uncontrollable tool, the Urge, purging the unclean by forcing the Sorcery as hard as it would go.. for the Mother and Father of Chalybis wished for him to fail, wished for him to die. Perhaps, in time, it would break him - but it was not, at this moment, enough.

Balast never saw the Hieronymus machine, and the crazy old magician never saw his greatest creation in action. It was all gone, all taken by the splintered ultraterrestrial rainbow that took them all. The magician, to his credit, didn't scream or whimper; he simply took death. There was the sounds of deep bells, tolling for thee, and the smell of swamps and gunpowder. Balast did not immediately feel the Floods. He was protected by Nothing itself.. and the Urge feared it, skirted about it. It would take from him, yes, slowly. It would destroy him. It would be so powerfully painful that the screams of Balast would forever be etched on what was left.

Balast knew he could end his life now. Let the Flood take him, stop fighting; but no. There was a service. He needed to complete the surface. For Yggdrasil. And so met Balast with Final Death, the Third destruction, and he felt the cold of the Rivers beneath.. long later, when all that was left of Balast was a smear of blood lining the entire perimeter of the Fort, protecting Yggdrasil from the Urge for as long as possible, when this was finished and the Pavilion lay cold, shattered, bloody.

But Balast had not betrayed Yggdrasil, or worked against her in any way. He was what he was. He believed he was doing his World-Tree a service, the most valuable of service, and was pure of intention. He died protecting Yggdrasil. Perhaps.. there was a chance of Unearthing, of one last life. Perhaps. He would travel now to the Rivers to meet his destiny..


There was nothing left, now. The seething sea of steel above and the broiling ocean of sorcery below. Chalybis felt the pressure, and perhaps he panicked, now. He could not have stopped channeling the Urge even if he wished to. He saw, now, one last vision: an ancient enemy. The Lord of Sand, Sura, sneering as he held the scales of judgment in his hand. A spell - no, a Fate, softly spoken but just as binding. "Tchal Habbis will meet his death by my hand," rasped by a sand-filled throat. It was this last clause, Chalybis knew, 'Tchal Habbis will die', which struck him down. 'By my hand' - all it took was Sura determining the first clause. Magic. Treacherous magic..

As the Urge took below, it ripped across the entire infinite mass of Chalybis above, twisting and crashing, fighting and then destroying his theolectromagnetic field. There was never a chance. Chalybis met Final Death in agony, for he had betrayed Yggdrasil and she punished him sorely; there would be no Realm of Rivers for Chalybis, no second chance. Nothing.

Later - much later - steel crashed to the Pavillion, smashing it to pieces, and the Flood ripped against the Last Line of Balast.

And so ended the Cataclysm of Alkan.

((Nat just...retcon this post out of existence if it doesn't make sense or apply anymore. Otherwise, it seems that Ruse is the only one in a position to reinforce Balast's last ward that is holding the flood back from the tree proper.))

Ruse appears here, behind the warding line created by Balast. He was in the air, and in a misty form - out of reach of the flood and not in any hurry to change that fact.

He looks around at the destruction - it seems he had missed the big bang and that everyone was dead. The tides of magic were everywhere, yet there was a bloody line with a source he would not recognize acting as a makeshift last-ditch ward between the tree and the flood.

My oh my, mother." Ruse's voice echoed from the mist. ""Mother, what savage fruits you bear. look what you've gotten yourself into now. I am not pleased with this devestation, but...but...I'll not let it harm you, mother! Please, give me the strength to protect you now until we can figure something out."

Suddenly from nowhere, a great mass of mist began to form along the last warding line of Balast. It billowed outward like massive clouds, but as suddenly as it formed, if was sucked...inward on itself by some unseen force, compressing into a perfect wall of mist. The wall was thin to the eye but deceptively so - it's hardness would put even neutralized living metal to shame.

Ruse was reinforcing Balast's ward now with his power and will, one shifting god standing between the flood and the tree. Silently and stoically, he waited as he filled what was left of Alkan with his misty power - power that spread out over the bleak desolation before him. The ward "steamed" with Ruse's reinforcing power.
This message was last edited by the player at 17:25, Thu 29 Apr 2010.

Ruse could only stay for a moment when he felt the Flood come near him, encircle him, stalk him, surround him. He was relatively safe beyond the smear of Balast, that bloodied, blackened stain, when he felt it creep into him, tamper with him, enter him.. despite the feeling being one of utmost holiness, it was also a horrible, wretched experience.. like a thousand spiders crawling over his flesh or the destruction of the mist under the glare of the hottest sun.

Involuntarily the paradox vanished, gone. But the damage had been done.