The Archons, all of them, roar in anger, and Staosha is suddenly no larger than a bee, a gleaming point of metal, blazing red in the fiery glare of Hosk's atmosphere.

Hasmed's roar becomes a scream, and is cut off as Nariel darts forward to enfold the enemy Archon while leaving Staosha only a fraction of an inch outside of himself.

Then Staosha and Nariel pull apart, moving beyond the bubble, and eject a thousand shards of metal into a pool of magma far below, where they burn, melt, and sink into the molten rock...

Left, meanwhile, snarls and starts to tear at the diamond mountainside, striking sparks in her rage, + HARBONAH WILL DIE FOR THIS CRIME!  HE TOLD US THAT ALL THE YOUNG HAD PERISHED ON HOSK, AND THEN SET IN MOTION A SCHEME TO USE THE SURVIVORS, WHOSE VERY EXISTENCE HE HAS KEPT HIDDEN.  ALL OF HIS LIVES ARE FORFEIT.  AND I MUST BE THE ONE TO DESTROY HIM. +

The Archon suddenly swings towards Cyan, then James and Banglen-Yp in turn.

+ WERE I YOU, I WOULD NOT SPEAK OF THIS TO RIGHT. +

"Indeed," the General replies, her voice hard and cold in the furnace of Hosk.  "Not only for his anger and the...direct assault he would attempt; but he would be much displeased to discover you have spoken for its target."  A pause for consideration follows. "Though I believe he might set that aside, given the claiment of Harbonah's lives."

She slowly breathes out; some of the tightness fades from her face and her eyes shift to a cloudy sapphire.  Sickened, Cyan turns away from the glowing pools of molten metal already mixing with the magma.  "A dark deed on my part," she whispers as Berd croons, combing her russet hair with his claws.  She avoids James' gaze, studying instead the horizon.  "No, Berd.  Mine.  As I said, I took responsibility."  Another pause, and her lips quirk in a mirthless smile.  "Splitting hairs does you no good, father; 'she' and I are one and the same, you know that."

Her glance takes in the furious Archons.  "Swiftly done, as such things go.  Well done."  They deserve congratulations, having carried out her orders to the letter, with no lingering for agonizing vengeance.  "And...my oath.  I can offer little else to assuage your anger, your sorrow at this bitter revelation, but that."  Cyan's voice sharpens, an echo of its brilliance returning.  "We will free Hosk's children from Harbonah; aye, free them as best we can for them.  Alive, I hope; will do everything in our power to bring them back -" and her eyes now do fall upon James for an instant.

"- and perhaps, perhaps if miracles exist, to heal them."

Another long, slow breath passes her lips, and she nods.  "Of course, there is Harbonah and his people to deal with.  Not all of them will know this.  But they will."  She slowly nods.  "They will."

A bleak smile touches her mouth.  "I will show them."

"The only surprise," James says sadly, "is that there were any survivors.  After that it was inevitable that Harbonah would seek whatever leverage or advantage he could find."

"Do not condemn yourself, Cyan.  It is a difficult thing, I imagine, to be a judge, but sometimes justice demands it.  There is such a thing as righteous anger, after all."

"I can't help wishing, though, that Hasmed had kept his secret.  I wanted you Archons to aid me in re-shaping Hosk.  I still do.  But I wanted your creativity and I hoped, perhaps, for optimism.  If the new Hosk is born from your desire for vengeance, it will be a hard place."

"So, let me show you a little miracle.  Maybe you will see that the best vengeance is to prove Harbonah wrong."

and then kill him. James doesn't finish the sentence but just for a moment his smile hardens into something sharper and more dangerous.

Banglen-Yp seems puzzled at first, until realisation slowly dawns on her face.  Then she reaches out a hand and touches Left.  A gentle brush of finger tips against the flat of the rapidly spinning blades, with predictable results.  Left jerks away from her as blood sprays.

The blonde starts calmly regrowing her fingers, showing more concern for the Archon than for herself.  • Always Harbonah surprises us with some new cruelty •

And her face shifts, suffused with anger, and her voice grows hard as the ground she stands on.  ⋄ This must end here ⋄

Edging closer again, Left declares, + IT SHALL.  THE ESCAPED SERAPHIM WILL SPEAK TO OTHERS.  HARBONAH WILL COME HERE TO GLOAT AS WE DIE.  AND HIS OWN EXISTENCE WILL END IN THIS PLACE. +

James takes up a position which suits his purpose better than any other, though not for any reason that his companions can see, and he closes his eyes...

James stands with his eyes closed, while around him the environment begins to change.

The first changes are very subtle and, given the effect of Berd's protective bubble, all but impossible to detect.  The temperature, both air and ground, begins to cool; the ground begins to stabilise, no longer rocked and torn as violently by volcanic and seismic activity; even the fluctuations of the local magnetic field are dampened.

A short time later, the ground around James' feet is pierced by a dozen metallic pin-points.  These spread out until there are hundreds of them for metres in all directions.  Gradually, but perceptibly, the pin-points grow into larger forms in a score of shades of silver, steel grey, gold, copper and bronze.

The forms themselves are equally diverse.  Some are more monolithic, appearing as columns, or as smoke clouds or lightning bolts frozen in solid form.  Others are more organic, appearing almost to be metallic trees and vines.  Still others appear as organ pipes or bamboo stands, as though someone has poured molten metal into the cracks between a host of crystals, since removed.  The smallest are almost filigree as though someone has thrown a lace net into the air where it hangs perpeutally suspended.

As the forms contact the air some immediately begin to tarnish in shades of black, green and blus adding another layer of colour and pattern to the display.

James opens his eyes to survey the first elements of his handiwork (still only a matter of inches high) and nods, apparently satisfied.  "A beginning.  For the danioti, though I plan for each to have their garden."

"Link with me, please Berd, I'm ready to start scaling up."

Those with keen senses would note that the forms themselves are not growing, rather they are being gradually revealed by a combination of accelerated subsidence and erosion (which processes are masked by the high level of environmental "noise")

Berd is silent as James indicates his own thoughts on the children.  It's a miracle, frankly.  And if Berd had done the same - cindered the world in his own way - there would have been nothing remaining.

They're fortunate it was Dorian's first attempt.

Cyan nods, grateful for James' lack of condemnation and understanding.  It doesn't make it easier to meet his eyes, not yet, but she rolls her shoulders to relax a touch, feeling the sting of self-hate begin to fade.  Executions...not at all her way, though the General certainly would have understood.  "Hosk can still be born from the hopes of the Archons, James, as you had wished.  With you to guide them..."  She slowly nods, her amber eyes narrowing as she tries to understand what James is up to.

But that smile of his is frightening.  A good thing it's not directed her way, Cyan decides with a small shiver.

"Agreed, Banglen-Yp."  A slow nod, and a wince at the de-digitation.  Unsurprisingly, the woman immediately begins to regrow the lost fingers.  "Harbonah is...beyond insanity, into the realm of pure evil.  Such things cannot be tolerated.  They must be torn out by the roots.  We might change the minds and thoughts of many Archons.  But to change his?"

She shakes her head.  "I know him.  It is beyond me."

A shade of a smile appears on her features.  "Then we should prepare for the arrival of the Seraphim, should we not?"  Her eyes again fall to James as he commences his work, but she speaks to her escort - the Archons who protect her, and Left herself.  "Should we call the nephillim?  Right and his forces as well?  We will need Harbonah to bring his people.  As many as he can.  And oh, I think he will come."

Then the world begins to change about them - only about them for the moment, but...

Geometric patterns, forged of minerals and metals.  The oppressive atmosphere begins to abate about the protective shield.  And a forest begins to grow - a forest of iron and nickel, of tungsten and copper, of platinum and gold.  Oxidization lends its own tints, and the threads begin to glow in the hellish light.  "Lords of the West," Cyan whispers as James makes his request to Berd, caught by the beauty of the Patternmaster's vision.  "It is...beyond words, what you begin here."

And Berd responds.

One mind reaches for the Underflow, forming a conduit of unaspected energies, ready to be birthed by focus.  A link to James follows, beginning with a trickle of that power, slowly increasing through the circuit-breaker of Berd's spirit.

Here is a beginning, James.  But keep me posted on what you need.  The drake's head rises, his eyes beginning to burn like tiny, whirling galaxies.

He knows what he, himself, requires.

And as he waits for the answer from the archons, he reaches out with another head of his hydra-mind.  Not into the Underflow, but into the Myriad Worlds.

COME!

The call erupts from the drake - not aspected to archons, not to a person, but to himself, specifically.  His own mind.  Cyan blinks, catching the spillover on the intimate channel between herself and her father, but her attention remains focused upon James' creation.

And the call goes out again.

YOU CAN NO LONGER HIDE FROM WHAT YOU ARE.  FROM WHAT WE ARE.  OUR DAUGHTER REQUIRES US.

SO COME.

Spreading like imperceptible ripples, the cry echoes through the vastness of the Myriad Worlds.  And in hundreds of universes, tiny creatures raise their heads.  They blink in unison, the foolish, dazed, greedily hungry looks in their eyes fading.

Then sharpening.

Then burning like tiny, swirling galaxies, as they raise themselves into the air.

+ I HAVE ALREADY CALLED AS MANY OF THE NEPHELIM AS ARE WITHIN REACH.  I HAVE NOT SUMMONED RIGHT.  I BELIEVE THAT IT WOULD BE CRUEL, AND DANGEROUS, TO BRING HIM HERE AT THIS TIME. +

Around them. the world is changing.  To those who merely observe, it is happening quite fast.  To James, who urges the changes to occur, they seem to happen with geological slowness.

The Archons assist, as does Berd.  Where Berd provides strength to feed the changes, the Archons also provide inspiration.  Suggestions.  Hints at what would make a pleasant environment for their own kind.

Suddenly Banglen-Yp, her fingers fully restored, looks up to the heavens and smiles.  • They're heeere •

Overhead, the sky is torn apart, and Archons swarm through in their thousands.  They fan out, slowing and taking up positions in the turbulent air with mathematical precision.  They form a dome above the mountain of diamond, a dome which has a gap at its zenith.

Clapping her hands, Banglen-Yp laughs with delight at the display of perfect aerial control.  Left merely gives a metallic howl of derision.  + THEY AWAIT THEIR MASTER.  PERHAPS THEY ARE AFRAID TO APPROACH CLOSER IN SUCH SMALL NUMBERS. +

Cyan's eyes close as Banglen-Yp speaks, two syllables drawn out like metal claws across a chaulkboard.  For a moment she stands still as the world changes around them, James' impossible dream slowly manifesting before their eyes.  And an invisible shockwave passes over her as the Seraphim's arrival rends the sky itself.

It's time.

Her eyes open, a clear topaz almost completely faded to diamond.  But she masters her fear, holds it at bay, keeps the terrible, berserk fury separated.  Instead, she focuses upon the ranks upon ranks of Archons, many thousands of them taking a formation in the sky above, blades, fire and lightning scarring her vision.

It is a vista of terrible beauty.

Vanishing from many worlds the tiny creatures heed the call, falling into an Underflow few of them had known existed until this point, their minds swimming under the weight of the irresistable compulsion.  Not a control, no, but a need arising from within themselves, a need begun within Berd's heart and gifted to them by his cry.

Not controlling, never.  Their hearts mirror his, and his need is also theirs, lack of knowledge notwithstanding.

They swirl and shoot through the burning depths of the underflow like a thousand tiny torpedoes, slowly converging upon a single point.  Rarely do two of their paths intersect, but when they do, a V becomes a Y, only one being remaining, moving at greater speed, eyes igniting with power.  They flit past vast, shadowy bulks, sweeping along their lengths like submarines passing gigantic oceanic escarpments - living monoliths within the Underflow, too large to care about the tiny creatures at their flanks.

To Hosk, they come, their burning stares fixed on a gleaming sphere in the void above them as they traverse the currents of creation.

Left's derision brings a small smile to her lips for a moment as Berd sits up on her shoulder, his cold, fiery eyes studying the Host before him.  Power continues to feed through the drake into the Lord of Amber close to them.  "Be ready," Cyan whispers to the Archons with her, to Banglen-Yp.  James has his own concerns.

"I cannot have dreamed of better companions," she continues, stepping forward to give James a touch on the elbow.  A touch for him, a touch for her.  It steadies her, straightens her back.  "Nariel, Staosha, Suriel...our shining protectors.  Rabacyel, questioning and strong.  Barkiel, brilliant in form and spirit.  And Shalgiel, repository of your people's hopes with us."

She draws in a deep breath.  "Left, ever my clever guardian...survive this, Left.  If Right does not see what transpires, I know you bring him the story."

James...Banglen-Yp...she will speak them, Cyan knows, as Berd opens a bridging to those here who accept.

And so it begins, she sends to those minds connected to hers.

Raising her arms, she gestures to the massed ranks.  "Seraphim!"  Her voice echoes over the broken land of Hosk, enhanced by Berd's power.  "I am here!  I, the General!  I, who served Harbonah personally!  Who carried out many of his orders, his secret commands!"

Another gesture to the planet around them.  "Look upon Hosk, world of your destroyed hopes.  Look upon it now!  See it, as it changes!  Ask yourselves 'Why?'  Ask yourselves, what truly has happened here, on Hosk?"

Now both arms raise toward them.  "And why does Harbonah wish us dead so greatly?  Why does he wish you to slay us?  Just in fear of us stopping your plans?  And if that is the case, what does he know about us that you do not?"

Her eyes lighten further, rainbow glimmers within their diamond depths, and a laugh threatens.  But Cyan holds it in.  "I.  Have.  Answers."

Now one hand jabs a finger up toward them.  "You have the strength, here and now, to destroy us all!  You!  Can there be a question of that?"  And they do.  Perhaps, if the Nephillim come, that might change.  But now?

"And if you do, the answers die with us!  For why would Harbonah share his knowledge with you?"

Her arms fall.  "But I can give you those answers.  If you ask for them, I will give them.  And more - I will let you SEE the truth, in me."

I will let you see all the truth.

In reply to Cyan, there is only silence.

At first.

Then comes the sound, quiet as a whisper.

At first.

Rapidly it grows in volume, until the diamond mountain beneath the feet of the Defenders of Worlds quakes under the force of it.  Laughter, like the din of every sword in all the Myriad Worlds clashing in some titanic battle.  At the heart of the dome of Archons the sky blazes, as if a new sun has appeared above Hosk, and a shape appears... a wheel of fire that burns with a white heat.  And at its heart it holds a sphere of iron, glowing red in the heat, and inscribed with countless runes and sigils which shift and change constantly as the orb slowly revolves.

Harbonah.

+ YOU ARE FOOLS TO COME HERE, TO HOSK, A PLACE WHICH BEARS GREAT SIGNIFICANCE TO ALL ARCHONS!  YOU WILL NOT DIE BECAUSE YOU CAN STOP OUR PLANS, BUT BECAUSE ALL OF YOUR KIND MUST DIE WHEN WE CHANGE THIS NODE TO BETTER SUIT US.  WE SIMPLY COMMAND YOUR DESTRUCTION SOONER BECAUSE YOU SLOW OUR PLAN SLIGHTLY, NOT BECAUSE YOU CAN STOP IT.  YOU ARE AN ANNOYANCE, NOTHING MORE. +

Around and behind Harbonah more Archons appear, and amorphous shapes, studded with countless dark eyes, like creatures of the deep oceans.  And every one of those eyes is fixed on Cyan, and filled with a savage, insatiable hunger.  Harbonnah's hounds.

+ WHEN A HUMAN SWATS A FLY, DOES HE DO SO BECAUSE HE BELIEVES IT CAN DESTROY HIM, OR BECAUSE IT'S BUZZING IRRITATES AND DISTRACTS HIM?  YOU ARE AS FLIES TO US, YOUR BUZZING IS AN IRRITATING DISTRACTION, AND YOU WILL BE SWATTED. +

For a time, James busies himself with the task of change.  Drawing eagerly on both Berd's link to the power of the Underflow and the inspiration of the Archons, James pushes himself to refine and expand the garden even as he strives to stabilise the surrounding environment, to protect the work and make it permanent.

To James, the Archons' arrival, though a spectacle to numb the mind and senses, is merely a precursor to the confrontation to come and he does his best to ignore it, even as Cyan makes her opening address.  Time is precious and growing shorter.

For all that, he cannot let Harbonah's remark pass unchallenged.  Harbonah's logic is poor and James cannot resist drawing attention to the flaw in his argument.

"Oh, I think we're rather more than that.  Does one boast to a fly of its imminent destruction?  Does one require such theatre to swat an irritating distraction?" James gestures broadly with one arm to indicate the assembled host.

"No, you are here because we are a threat.  To you.  We have no quarrel with those you have called here as your audience.  For that must be your intent, surely. If we are so puny you will not need their help?"

"We are a threat because Cyan, your former General, has information that you would keep hidden.  She is willing to share the truth, all of it.  She may not know all of your secrets, but what she knows, what we know, is enough to break your hold on power.  Even as recently as a few moments ago, your creature Hasmed was kind enough to share the truth of the children of Hosk."

"We are a threat because I can show you how this "node" can be changed to better suit everybody.  There is room enough in the Myriad Worlds to accommodate us all should you just will it.  There is no "must".  You wish to exterminate our kind because the only security you understand is absolute dominance.  Without colleagues, without friends, you can only be safe if the only remaining creatures are your abject servants or inconsequential."

James turns his attention to Harbonah's "associates", "Congratulations!  That is how he sees you.  Those of you with the temerity to disagree will be next to be purged should your master succeed.  You have a choice, here, too.  Remember that."

A great cloud of witnesses, very Biblical :)

+ YOU ARE NOT A THREAT TO US, JAMES.  YOU ARE JAMES, ARE YOU NOT?  OUR GENERAL DESCRIBED YOU IN GREAT DETAIL, BEFORE SHE BETRAYED OUR TRUST.  YOU BELIEVE THAT ALL OF THESE ARE HERE TO HELP US DESTROY YOU? +

The metal orb pauses in its rotation for a moment, and the runes upon the surface glow more brightly, shifting about to form a pattern of concentric circles with a dark space at its heart, like a gigantic eye staring down at those on the ground below.

+ YOU OVERESTIMATE OUR OPINION OF YOU.  THEY ARE HERE TO OBSERVE YOUR DEATH, NOT TO PARTICIPATE IN IT. +

The eye-like pattern breaks apart, the symbols flowing across the surface of the orb, and Harbonah hangs in silence, briefly, before continuing, + SHARING THIS NODE IS NOT AN OPTION.  FOR TOO LONG WERE WE TRAPPED, CONFINED, AND WE WERE FORCED TO FIGHT EACH OTHER SIMPLY TO HAVE SPACE TO REVOLVE.  NOW THERE IS AN OPPORTUNITY FOR EVERY ARCHON TO HAVE AS MUCH ROOM AS NEEDED.  FREEDOM TO MOVE, TO GROW AND DEVELOP, WITHOUT IMPINGING ON ANOTHER'S SPACE - THAT IS WHAT I OFFER MY PEOPLE. +

And as the Archon leader speaks, still more followers continue to appear.

For a long moment, Cyan freezes under the attention of the great, burning ring.  Part of her spirit remembers pain, unendurable, mind-breaking pain.  Part of it remembers obedience.  Part of it cowers beneath the weight of such memories.

Then James speaks, and she straightens as his voice penetrates the haze of fear.

Back and forth they go, Harbonah and James, as she gathers her words and her spirit.  James speaks the truth, and Harbonah answers with his own.  His weapons - the creatures he brings, his hounds, and the orb he carries at his heart garner her attention for a moment.  She dismisses him.  There is, in the end, only one purpose to her presence here: not to defeat his creatures, though it might come to that, but to seek a change in the way of things.

And so she speaks, her eyes a pale, pale amethyst.  But not to answer Harbonah.  Rather, she speaks to the Archons he controls.

"I am not here to argue with you. Only to speak, and hope that you listen."  Her voice rises again, like James', held and amplfied by Berd's power.  "There is room within the Myriad Worlds for all, as others of your people have proven, time and again.  You need not impinge upon any beings space to have sufficient of your own!  There needs to be no war!  But why, why not destroy everything and keep all of that space for yourselves?"

Her lips thin as she gathers herself.  Then, "I have that answer!  There are reasons why not to destroy!  There are things that have been kept from you - kept, with your terrible imprisonment you did not deserve, and yes, with this drive to war!"

Turning, she casts her gaze upon them all as she speaks.  "What are you offered?  What happens when you achieve it?  What will be asked of you then, what will you DO?  Do you think you will be free?  Or controlled?  What does Harbonah keep from you?  Why must all be destroyed, when there is an infinity of room?"

"What will you lose, what secrets and knowledge will die, if you destroy all that exists, break it down to chaos?"

"Do you ask these questions, in your spirits?  Do you wonder, what is the worth of this plan to you?  What else might there be?  Is there not more than this?  Might there not be more than control, than struggle for dominion?"

She draws in a deep breath.  "Do you not wonder what secrets Harbonah might have?"  Raises her arms again.  "And what advantages you might gain, were you to know them?  And the answers to these other questions?"

"Knowledge is power!" she cries.  "You know that!  All of you know that!  There is knowledge in the Myriad Worlds!  There is knowledge of Harbonah's secrets in me!  Do you wish to know them?  Dare you take the chance that one of your rivals might learn them, and you not?  I offer you this one opportunity!  Free access to these secrets, to any with the bravery to reach within me for them!  Harbonah cannot punish you all, if you make this choice!"

Her fingers rise and point.  "Eshurianti, will not one of you be the first to strike for new advantage?"  Again, a shift of her arm.  "Danioti, what advantages might you find for the defense of your charges?"  Lastly, the other rings of flame.  "Herenethi, what truths might you unveil, what secret wisdoms?"

"And what of the Sencathi?  You have sight!  Surely you can see one of them, here!  And does it, or any other Sencathi, place its support with Harbonah?  No!  And if not...then why?"

"What do they - the entire Sencathi people - know that you do not?  Will you seek that truth?"

Her arms fall.  "Or will you all, all of you, sit idle?  Watch a single, important opportunity pass by, obey the orders of one who carries his own goals?  You must know he has his own goals - so would any of you!  Why would he be different?"

And her voice rises again.  "Do you know what he did with the Children of Hosk?  What he plans for the survivors?  And there were survivors!"

One finger touches her forehead.  "Hasmed knew.  And now I know.  That secret is here, along with everything else.  And I offer it.  Not to Harbonah.  But all of you."

And they come.  Spiralling closer through the Underflow, at speed.  Dozens, at first.  Then scores.  Then hundreds.

A swarm of them rush through the Underflow, every one of them a Very Small Thing - shadowy crows, black and white winged cats, fox squirrels, the occasional owl, some things that defy description, and even another drake or two.

All with brilliant, burning eyes.

All answering to Berd's call.

Fragments.  Pieces of the puzzle.  Not all of them, not by any means.  But perhaps enough.

And now, like hundreds of tiny bubbles, they boil up from the Underflow and rise through the Void to converge upon tiny, gleaming Hosk.

Harbonah laughs again, + IT SEEMS THAT TREACHERY ATTRACTS TREACHERY.  DID THE SENCATHI TELL YOU WHY THEY WERE ALL BANISHED OR SLAIN?  DID THEY REVEAL TO YOU THAT THEY WERE THE FIRST OF US?  THAT WE ARE THEIR CHILDREN?  OR THAT THEY IMPRISONED US BECAUSE WE WERE NOT LIKE THEM, AND THEY DEEMED US IMPERFECT?  OR THAT THEY WOULD NOT SUPPORT OUR PLANS BECAUSE THEY ALL HAD SCHEMES OF THEIR OWN?  IT WAS NOT WISDOM WHICH TURNED THEM AGAINST US, BUT THEIR OWN AMBITIONS. +

The Archon shifts form to become a tall, three headed, eight winged winged humanoid, his body sheathed in flame.  Wheels of fire dance around each of the heads, pulsing in time with his voice as he continues to speak.  In his right hand he holds the rune-etched orb, much reduced in size.

He drops then, to stand on the diamond mountainside, which cracks beneath his feet.

+ But they did not have it in them to slay us.  We Archons, for all that we are monsters in your eyes, care for our children, by and large. +

+ There were no survivors at Hosk.  We have long suspected that there were spies and traitors among our commanders.  They are all Archons, after all, and filled with ambition, just as our parents were.  To test them, we gave each of them a morsel of false information... a different morsel... so that if our enemies acted upon any particular one we would know whence it came.  Now, of course, we will need to find another method to discover these traitors. +

The three voices pause for a moment, then, + Can we assume that Hasmed is dead, since he is not among you?  We would be interested in knowing... did he give the information freely?  Or are we far more alike than you would like to admit? +

He steps forward, through the dome, + Interesting.  You came here to talk to Archons.  To a world where your very existence, in many cases, + and one of the heads turns to regard Banglen-Yp, + depends on this flimsy construct, created and maintained by the Despised One.  What would you have done had we simply placed a portion of Broken God outside the dome? +

Cyan turns a glance to the sencathi for a moment, then back to Harbonah.  She waits in silence as he speaks, her carefully arranged words collapsing under the weight of his own.  This is a being who knit together a society of rivals under his own banner, and holds that alliance in place; not merely by strength of body, she knows, but also by strength of will, of resolution, of charisma.

His hold over them will not crumble under the impact of rhetoric.  Of clever word-dancing.  Of any other attempts to obfuscate.  The only weapon strong enough to oppose it is the truth.  And for that truth to come, she needs to take a final step.

A near impossible step, but it must come to be.

As he finishes, she paces forward to stand before him, a tiny figure before his might, Berd a burning-eyed weight crouched upon her shoulder.  And her eyes darken from diamond into brilliant emerald, catching the hellish light of the world, the hellish light of their adversary.

"We knew only of sencathi's motivations what they told us, and their is a different story.  We rescued them from their own imprisonment, set them free.  Perhaps this is true, and perhaps their betrayal of you, their children, began this.  If they are your elders, perhaps both of you have learned something."

She takes a deep breath.  "If there truly were no survivors of Hosk, then that is a great sorrow.  A sorrow I feel as well, though I am not an Archon.  The truth of that lies within me, again, open for those who wish to see.  If you truly did not take them, twist them, mold them to your desires, then I must apologize for the accusation, dreadful as it was."

"What we would have done had you employed the Broken God?  I would have died, most likely.  I came here to speak, not to fight.  Not against..."  She waves her arm at the assembled, watching Host.  Broken God or not, there can be no 'battle' against so many Archons.

"As for what we did to Hasmed, you are correct.  Hasmed is gone.  We heard lies in his words, hints of hidden deviltry.  And with those hints, we wrenched that information from his mind, heard this story of Hosk's survivors, taken, tormented, and molded."

Slowly she turns away from Harbonah to face the Archons.  And her voice rings louder.  "And yes!  Harbonah is correct.  We are alike!  More alike than either side wishes to admit!  Hearing of Hasmed's collusion with crimes against your surviving children, we passed judgement and slew him upon the spot, for supporting a regime that would consider such madness!  I could not find it to forgive him for such crimes, and gave the order myself!"

Turning her head, she regards Harbonah again.  "A misplaced judgement it seems."

Then back to the Host.  "But we do carry similarities!  All of us!  You.  Us.  Them!"  A wave of the hand to the myriad worlds.  "All beings in this universe.  We know fear!  We know hate!  We also know joy!  Curiousity!  Care for our children!  Just like you!"

Her arms rise.  "People all through the universe have committed dreadful crimes!  Crimes against their own races, crimes against others.  Crimes like this one, done to Hosk!"

"Just like yourselves, in the end."

Another wave out toward the myriad worlds.  "How many worlds, how many children have died out there?  Children not your own, but children nonetheless?  How many more will die - out there, and of yours as those out there strike back?  How many lives that will never, ever grow into something to look upon with wonder?"

"But the pain we feel from our losses, whatever they might be - it burns us to crimes of our own, and whatever guilt we might feel from those crimes pushes us further!"

"It can STOP!" she cries.  "It can stop, and stop now!  There is no point where one has gone too far!  There is no place where one cannot say 'hold!  This is enough!'  There are no crimes that force one to continue!  This war, this death, the loss of the children of the Archons, the children of the myriad worlds, it can all end.  By choice!  By your choice, by our choice!  It is not!  Needful!"

Gasping, she takes a moment to wipe her cheeks clear of tears.  And draws in a breath for the deepest plunge.

"But do these crimes define us?  No.  No more than the worlds you have burned define you.  You are more than that - worthy of respect.  As are we."

Turning back, she faces Harbonah directly, and her voice shakes with fury.  "You tortured me.  Tormented me.  Broken me into a weapon for your hand.  You took of me and created more weapons.  Small wonder I believed you would do the same with your own children.  Even now, doubt lies in my mind that you speak the truth.  Your past says otherwise."

Slowly, Cyan breathes out.  "But I forgive you what you did to me."  The words come out as if torn from her, but she straightens after speaking them, rage clearing from her face.  "I forgive you," she repeats, her voice smoothing, relaxing.

It likely means nothing to Harbonah.  But it does to her.

Stepping forward within reach of the colossal figure, she holds out a hand.  "Would you like to see what I would have shown your followers?"  Glancing up, she addresses the Host.  "Would you all like to see - all the knowledge of which I spoke?  And the knowledge of the Myriad Worlds, which hold things beyond imagination, advantages and knowledges to be carried by those with the courage to seek them out?  Hasmed's final thoughts, the judgement carried out against him?    I was wrong to pass judgement upon Hasmed!  I should have given him to your people, for it is your place to deal with those crimes against your children, to decide whether to forgive him or send him into death.  You should know that, know what he knew."

"And would you see the horror of your enemies when this world was cindered in a moment of madness?  Would you see that some of them burned, trying to stop it from happening?"

"Would you know the faces against which you fight?  Would you know that which you would destroy?  Do you have the courage to meet it?  To try to understand it?  See how similar it truly is?  To gain from it what you can, for when it is gone it will never come again?"

Her hand rises toward Harbonah's own.  "Will you see?" she asks, her voice clear to all, thanks to Berd.
This message was last edited by the player at 17:46, Wed 14 Nov 2012.

Harbonah is eloquent and his arguments carry weight.  This comes as something of a surprise to James, for while he never underestimated Harbonah's force of will, he had not expected the Archon to be so charismatic.  James marshalls his wits to compose a reply, but Cyan answers.

James is pleased.  The bard's training holds her in good stead for such a confrontation.  She makes the very points that James had in mind and does so rather better than James had expected of himself.  More than that, though, James knows that this is Cyan's moment, not his.  If Cyan cannot persuade the assembled audience to see her truth then James demonstration will never amount to more than a well-meant gesture.

Indeed, James can feel how finely balanced the situation stands.  Harbonah's proximity is discomfiting but James can hardlly take a defensive position without the risk of provoking a hostile response.

It will not take many to accept the invitation.  If enough do, however small that critical mass, then most of the rest will follow.  But they must do it soon.  If they linger too long, Harbonah will be confirmed in his position and, in all likelihood, attack.  The best that can be said of the fight that would follow is that it would be over quickly.

To give himself something else to think about, and in the hope of piquing the curiosity of the assembled Archons, James redoubles his efforts in the creation of his garden.  The metal forms begin to grow and spread anew.  In a burst of creativity, James pushes the 'odds' of more unusual effects.  On some of the new forms, the exposed alloys contain volatile compounds that react as they are exposed to the air, glittering like fairground sparklers or burning like flowers of flame. In other places, an imbalance of free electons creates a static charge that discharges periodically, sending small arcs of electricity between variegated stems.

Right's Archons move into the bubble, along with the James-shaped Banglen-Yps.  They surround Cyan and Harbonah, and draw attention away from the real James.  Ripples of change spread across the surface of Hosk, chemical reactions releasing vapours which burn in the heat with all the colours of the rainbow, and more.

Cyan speaks at length, and there is a subtle change in the Archons hovering overhead.  They move closer.  Not by much, but definitely closer.  There is no move to attack though.  They seem to be listening.  Harbonah turns one of his heads to regard them for a moment, before looking back to Cyan.

+ If we take your hand, you will burn.  The fire will not stop until you are wholly consumed.  Is that your goal?  Martyrdom to prove what you will sacrifice for your cause?  Or to enrage your father?  To force your allies hands? +  One of the heads shakes slowly, and another smiles sadly.  + We will not grant you that.  It would be too rapid an end.  For your crime against Hosk, you... all of you... will die slowly.  Painfully.  We shall command danioti to strip your skin, a half inch at a time.  The eshurianti and herenethi will sear stripes across your flesh and cause your nerves to burn.  You will all know the pain of Hosk. +

Harbonah's eyes narrow as he notices something in the distance beyond the bubble.  The edges of the Archon formation are drifting.  The Archons there are moving about, apparently distracted by the changes to the landscape.

+ What are you doing there? +

And the world continues its change as Cyan and Harbonah speak, James investing his energies, his imagination, and the counsel of their allies into his work.  Little by little, an alien faerie-land begins to emerge, a world of stunning, toxic beauty, arsenic highlights over nickel plated columns, manganese-laden phosphorous showers burning indigo in the sulfurous air, electrical strobes snapping and striking from the tips of carbon-steel twigs.

Archons move into the sphere - their allies, providing more of an audience for Harbonah than a true threat.  There's no question in Cyan's mind that it trumps the lot, especially with that curious sphere in its hand.  Save perhaps for the sencathi - she knows little of it.  But battle is not the point here, and she hopes they recall this.

Certainly Harbonah himself does not appear discomfited by their presence.
Instead, he plays the usual debating game of ignoring many of her statements to focus upon a few he can easily answer.  She understands; he has not grasped that this is not, in fact, a debate.  She, herself, did not comprehend this until very recently.  Neither, in truth, is this war a real war.  Nothing here is as it seems.

But this is something he must know.

"I have suffered your flame," Cyan replies.  "I know you need not kill, and my father can save me from the worst of it if you choose to take my hand.  I do not wish to die, Harbonah."  Her voice shakes for a moment on that last, but steadies.  "Nor do I wish your death.  Not any more.  This forgiveness is truth."  Her lips thin for an instant.  "I wish this war to end, and not with the death of either side."

She glances up at the Seraphim above.  Sees their interest waver.  Sees some focus on her words, on the interplay between herself and Harbonah.  Sees others drift to study James' work.  Her topaz eyes gleam as she waves an arm toward the world beyond the shield, the changing world before them.  "Fascinating, is it not?" she answers Harbonah.  "So different, yet...so interesting, I suspect.  Hosk cannot be replaced.  The children lost upon Hosk...lost children, of any people, cannot be replaced.  The sorrow is too much.  But Hosk itself?"

Another wave of the arm.  "Hosk can be healed.  Made anew, into something different, something splendid.  Something taking from the ideas and desires of Archons, not made to dance to the whim of one person.  Look at this!  Look at what transpires!  Is it not wonderous, a thing to study, to see, to understand?  Out there, there are infinite worlds of difference, infinite space into which a people - many peoples! - might grow!"

"If Hosk can be healed...what else might be?"

Her voice rises.  "I have seen what Archons, your people can create!  I have seen beauty in their forms, seen amazement in their structures, seen mysteries in their thoughts!  You offer so much, simply by existing!  So, too, do those infinite worlds out there, each one a jewel to explore, to study!"  She takes a deep breath.  "So much to see!  So many mysteries, and not only in the worlds themselves, but in the people - things one might reveal, secrets one might unearth, angles one might absorb and comprehend!  All those things are out there, growing, like this world you see changing before you!"

She shakes her head.  "The children lost here will never be forgotten.  The children lost out there - in the Myriad Worlds! - also never forgotten.  But there does not have to be hate!  Anger, certainly, but anger washes one clean!  Hate stains!  Hate makes one do what one hates in others!  And then guilt - guilt comes to us all, touches us all."  Her voice rises to a shout.  "That can be set aside!  Forgiven!  And even forgiven within yourselves, because you are worth respect!  As are all people, and the care they hold for their children, similar to your own!"

Her hands fall, and she stands before Harbonah without defense.  "We do not have to kill each other over space.  It is endless.  We do not have to kill each other over hate - hate poisons ourselves.  And we do not have to kill each other over guilt.  Forgiveness washes away that guilt."

Again, she turns in a circle to hurl her words to the Archons - all of them, the Seraphim, Right's followers, and Harbonah as well.  "The Myriad Worlds are truly endless.  I have only seen a hint of them.  I do not have your lives, your endless time.  But I hold some of those secrets within me.  I offer them freely.  I offer a chance to see what might be lost - forever! - if the Myriad Worlds are destroyed."

Harbonah laughs again, a low rumbling sound which builds slowly to raucous peals of laughter, before fading away again.

+ You would heal Hosk?  Make it once more ideal for our young?  By doing so you seal your own fate.  Hosk repaired means that there will be more Archons, and more Archons require more room to live, to control all that is around them. +

+ Have your allies not told you this?  It is in our nature - we will each control as much as we can hold for ourselves.  We can no more resist this compulsion than we can stop turning, or than your kind can live without food.  It is almost painful for an Archon to be within sensing distance of another, and to know that there is a thing nearby that will resist control. +

+ No amount of creation, no amount of artistry, will assuage the hunger that lurks within each of us.  Even your allies fight, every day, to resist it. +

He turns away from Cyan then, all three faces watching the changes being being wrought all across the landscape.  He considers it for long moments, before finally bringing his attention back to those within the protective bubble.

+ I suspect this remade world will be exactly what we require for our young.  For that we thank you.  But there is a secret to us... +

+ HARBONAH!  NO! + Left cries out, but is ignored as the Seraphim continues speaking. + ... which we now see has not been revealed to you.  It is this: for all our numbers, all our cunning, all our power, there is one thing we can never control.  Our number. +

+ As we grow older, we develop more lives.  For the most part we hold them within.  They become part of us, waiting to emerge when the current life is taken from us.  There is no way to stop this.  It is a natural part of our aging process. +

+ IF YOU REVEAL THIS, I WILL KILL YOU! +

+ You may try, if you wish, and all on this mountainside will perish in an instant.  We have more lives, traitor, but the humans do not.  What we have said so far is no great secret.  Many know of it.  The secret, which has never been revealed to outsiders, is this: eventually an Archon can hold no more lives.  When that happens all new existences beyond that limit must be placed in an environment such as Hosk once was. +

+ These, then, are our young.  We continue to produce them for as long as we live, and we can not prevent it happening any more than a human can stop the flow of time.  More young need more space, and eventually produce yet more young.  That is why confinement was so hateful for us... we could not control our population, and we had no space for more.  We fought among ourselves.  Well... we have always done that, but confinement made matters worse. +

+We will permit you to remake Hosk - by doing so you aid us.  But eventually we must conquer this node if we are to survive. +

James give one of his characteristic shrugs, though his armour somewhat distorts the movement of his shoulders.

"I still think you're failing to grasp the nature of infinity.  If, as I understand, the Myriad Worlds are truly infinite then you and the other Archons can have as many children as you like, you can each have as much space as you need, and there will still be infinite worlds for the rest of us.  There's simply no need to pursue genocide."

"If the Myriad Worlds aren't truly infinite then killing all of us won't solve the problem, it will merely delay the inevitable squeeze, and probably for no more than a generation or two at that."

"The best solution, of course, is both simple and difficult, as these things often are.  You say you feel the need to control, that it is a compulsion.  If control is what you're after, try self-control.  You say that you all feel this need, that our allies must resist it daily.  Well I haven't seen it in Left, or Right, or many of the other Archons I have met.  Do you know what that means?  It means they're succeeding.  Your audience don't appear to be trying to subdue each other, they must be succeeding too."

"Do you really think other species don't feel needs and urges, basic impulses that must be controlled.  Most people don't have the power inherent in even the weakest Archon and yet most people can refrain from mutually destructive behaviours for the good of society."

The ones who can't are called sociopaths.

"All that you're really saying is that you want to destroy us, and the inhabitants of countless other worlds, because you're too weak or too lazy to try to do the right thing."

"Still, I thank you for allowing the attempt to re-make Hosk."

Turning to the audience, James announces, "Any who would like to be involved are welcome.  I'm after creative input and guidance, I've barely scratched the surface of what we can do."

Cyan turns to stare at Left as 'she' and Harbonah argue, and finally the truth comes out.  And her confidence crumbles, Harbonah's words hammering upon it like a death knell.  How can they truly stop this juggernaut from rolling through the Myriad Worlds?  How can the Archons defeat their own nature?  How can they win this war, this final 'battle' they face, with their own allies keeping secrets from them?

"Why?" she asks.  "Why did you keep this from us?"

And then James.

Cyan's eyes close as his words wash over her.  Slowly she breathes in, then lets out a long sigh, releasing tension.  As always, James cuts to the heart of the matter.  The Archons must see that there are other choices.  That is the only path through this minefield; until now, they have been convinced their only option is Harbonah's plan for the destruction of all.  Even Harbonah himself, though it is possible that plan springs from other ambitions.

They need choices for the Archons.  Choices.  James offers one.  But a person backed into a corner needs to see more than one escape.  They...

It strikes her like a bolt of lightning.

Slowly Cyan's eyes open, topaz-bright.  "And what if there were another Myriad Worlds?  An empty place without life?  Not merely a single universe, but a multitude, as this one is?  What then, Harbonah?  What if you had the choice to go there?"

She throws her words out to the massed Host.  "What if you had the choice to find a new home, empty of life and laws, where you could grow to your hearts' content without sacrificing other lives?  From whence you could return to these worlds to study, to see, to experience, but leave for the other to live, to hold your spaces, to have territory and places to raise young?  What then?"

"Would you still choose destruction?  Needless, pointless destruction?  Or reach for something more?  More life, more knowledge, more experiences?"

"To learn more of life without the necessity to control?"

And she turns to a member of their group who has remained silent and watchful - strangely so.

"Banglen-Yp.  You spoke to Luke, Tahirah, and Aaron of your home - the place where you, all of 'you' are all that is.  A place like the Myriad Worlds, but empty."  She steps closer.  "Could this place be a home for Archons?  Would this place be a home for Archons?"

Harbonah looks at James, and his voice seems almost sad as he speaks, + Believe us... we understand infinity.  The node may be infinite, but there is no finite limit on our potential numbers.  Eventually there will come a day when we would be forced to fight, yours and ours.  Your numbers grow, as do ours, and always both sides need more space.  The longer the day of conflict is delayed, the greater the numbers who will be destroyed, on both sides. +

+ Doing it now means less lives lost. +

He turns and walks towards the edge of the bubble, where he pauses to look out over the hellish domain which is Hosk, +Your people do not refrain from destructive behaviour, any more than we do.  We observed you for years after we were released.  We witnessed wars, death, pain, misery.  Yes, there were good things too, but often they were brought about by shame, or fear, or in an effort to gain more power. +

+ Archons are no better or worse than Humans.  When we do not fight each other, as all those who are present do not fight, it is because one who is stronger commands it.  Where we to declare, here and now, that we were relinquishing our command of the Seraphim, the fighting would begin almost before we had finished speaking.  The Seraphim are crowded too closely here for it to be otherwise. +

Left dwindles in size until she is no more than a foot across, and her voice is quiet, sibbilant, like a blade sliding over a whetstone, + I WOULD NOT SPEAK OF THIS BECAUSE YOU WOULD SEE THAT WE CANNOT CONTROL OUR NATURE.  THE BEST THE NEPHELIM CAN STRIVE FOR IS TO DELAY THE INEVITABLE, AND HOPE THAT A SOLUTION PRESENTS ITSELF.  IF I HAD SHOWN YOU THAT OUR NUMBERS CANNOT BE CONTROLLED, THAT WE CANNOT BE CONTROLLED, THEN THE MOST LIKELY SOLUTION IS THE WORLD KILLER'S.  THE NEPHELIM, EVEN BEFORE HOSK, FEARED WHAT THE HUMANS MIGHT DO IF THEY DISCOVERED THE TRUTH. +

Than Cyan speaks of a new home of the Archons, a place beyond this Myriad Worlds, and there is a stirring among the host.  James' request for aid increases the movement, and many of them moce closer to the bubble.

Banglen-Yp thinks for a moment, before replying, • My home may not be completely empty.  I don't know if part of me is still there.  It seems possible.  But it makes no difference.  If I am there still, I can control my size and shape.  I can become more Archons, or more worlds, or more space.  And if an Archon misbehaves... •, she licks her lips before continuing, • it would become one with everything. •  She grins then, and her mouth seems to hold too many teeth, all of them extremely sharp.

Harbonah gestures to the Archons with his empty hand, and the voices start to cry out to James.  Ideas.  Questions.  Suggestions.

But no threats.

Sorrow touches Cyan, now.  Understanding for Harbonah's plight, for the plight of the Archons.  He may have his own reasons for what he does - most certainly does - but at the core of him, she sees the desperation.  The questing.  The hunt for a solution.  The painful failure, perhaps, that turned him onto this path.

Or perhaps she sees only what she wishes to see.

Either way, Cyan takes it as truth.  One must trust, to make another trustworthy.  To trust, one must understand.  And to do that, one must set the past aside.

Goodbye, my pain.  My anger.  My loss.

Music swells in her spirit, the music once heard in a cathedral, shared with her by a man she holds in her heart.

She shakes her head to Left, a sad smile on her lips.  "I understand, Left, and blame you not a whit.  But Left...I would not.  No more worlds destroyed - neither Archons, nor otherwise.  I would never.  You need not fear that from me, nor from my father."  Berd dips his head silently, knowing better than to speak.  "You are my friend, Left.  I could not do that to your people.  To any people."

Raising her head, she stares at Harbonah's terrible, beautiful figure.  "To any people," Cyan firmly repeats.

"The beings of this universe have committed terrible crimes over their histories," she agrees.  "They - we - are not perfect.  And yet, for all the awful things we have done, have we not created wonders?  Is the universe itself not a wonder?  Something that could be explored and understood by Archons as well, rather than destroyed in a never-ending quest for a little more time, a little more space?"

She reaches toward the burning figure before her, her hand hovering close to its flames.  Feels the heat.  Holds her fingers there, despite the pain.  "Would it not be better to find a solution?"

Her hand sweeps out again, across James' creation, now changing in accord with the Archons' wishes.  "To have worlds like this one, where you can raise your young?  Worlds protected by your danioti and others - allies, perhaps, who would help see your people flourish?"  Another sweep of the hand, this time toward Banglen-Yp.  "And a new place, where you can gather without fear of confinement, of crowding, a place of endless space?  A place without the pressures that force you to battle for command, but rather the freedom to gather to speak, to discourse, to visit this universe and study its wonders?"

Both hands rise now, and she stares through the space between them into the shining, awful, glorious host above her.  "And create wonders, yourselves?  I know you can.  I have seen them.  And my father has seen them, has watched one of the Herenethi comprehend art...and by so doing, become an artist himself.  And create a timeless work at which others will marvel."

"It needs not end in fire, blood, and destruction, leaving only ashes and emptiness in which to grow until there is no more room...again."  Her voice drops, but it carries despite that, bourne upon the wings of Berd's power.

"There could be more.  There would be more."

Turning about in place, she listens as the Archons' cries fall upon James, their suggestions, their queries.  Their hopes.  And finally, both hands still upraised, she faces Harbonah once again.

Amethyst eyes bright, she bows her head once, lifts it to stare at his unearthly visages.

"Please."
This message was last edited by the player at 19:21, Wed 05 Dec 2012.

Harbonah stands in silence, looking out across the landscape.

Banglen-Yp is the first to speak when Cyan falls silent, more information about what is being offered, about herself...

• I can not be hurt by Archons, at least not permanently.  I have learned much from being here and speaking to those who aren't me.  If more of me is still in the other place, I - that is, the I who is there - that I would welcome the new experience as much as this I has.  Sharing a place with creatures who are not me. •, a strange expression flickers across the blonde woman's face, and she starts to sing, albeit slightly out of tune:

• Neighbours, everybody needs good neighbours
With a little understanding
You can find the perfect blend
Neighbours...should be there for one another
That's when good neighbours become good friends •

There is a flare of light, and a wave of heat, and Harbonah is a wheel of flame once more, with the metal orb at his heart. + WE GO NOW TO CONSIDER THIS PROPOSED SOLUTION.  ANY WHO WISH TO REMAIN HERE, TO ASSIST IN THIS REBUILDING OF HOSK, MAY DO SO.  AFTER ALL, SHOULD WE DECIDE AGAINST THIS OFFER, HOSK WILL STILL BE NEEDED. +

With Harbonah's assent, James finds himself suddenly presented with a plethora of demands, requests, suggestions and pleas.  James does not have Berd's facility with multi-tasking and he finds the situation momentarily overwhelming.  That is a dangerous sensation when one is working with the Pattern and James is forced to redouble his concentration, focussing on one small 'movement' at a time until he is back in control.

Once the immediate risk has passed, James finds himself enjoying the situation.  He has the opportunity to shape an entire world and a host of willing designers, engineers and architects.  James begins to branch out, taking on more and more ideas presented by the Archons.  He forces himself to accept all but the most outlandish or impractical ideas, reminding himself often that the Archons will have different aesthetics and perspectives to his own.  It is not his place to judge, only to accommodate as many ideas as possible and create.

With his concentration needed elsewhere, James pays scant attention to the more immediate issues raised by Cyan's conversation with her nemesis.  That they are still talking, James takes as something positive.  It seemed the Archons were not so dissimilar to many of the other peoples of the Myriad Worlds, being neither exceptionally virtuous or despicable but remarkable mostly for their potency.

James, for the most part, would happily accept a ceasefire and, ultimately, an enduring end to the current war.  A small part, however, remembers those for whom any peace would come too late and is still galled at the thought that Harbonah may avoid condemnation for the war crimes he has committed.