Chapter 23:
Awaken
"Yes: I am a dreamer. For a dreamer is one who can only find his way by moonlight, and his punishment is that he sees the dawn before the rest of the world."
- Oscar Wilde
I had thought I was prepared for everything, but I was not. When my crusaders had intruded on the realm of this demon lord? They were all lost to the mists. This plane was called
Nightmare's Precipice, and in it all of the worst dreams imaginable were secretly housed. Locked away from the rest of the realms. Ubik, unlike Conrad, drew power from fear.
His domain was not in gluttony, but instead in uncertainty. The unknown which haunted every mortal. The greatest fear of all. Which gave rise to doubt, and from that doubt almost every tragedy. The demon lord capitalized on this.
He fed on it.
Femto, when he had been Griffith, had even fell victim to it.
That was why the demon lord was beside himself. I had not been susceptible to it at all. My army had been though.
"I will have to make some improvements to their training regime. The soldiers should be accustomed to this by now."
Almost all of them. Regill was immovable as always. There was no fear. Only discipline. "
Disappointing. I may have to lash the whole lot."
"I will wake them." I dig deeper into the mists. "Just don't be harsh, Regill. This dream has bested many heroes."
"These were not heroes! If something like this was too much for them to handle?" The gnome dismisses their efforts. "These fools did not meet the requirements! They are just
failures, Knight Commander..."
"Only because their teachers failed them." I could not hide my concern. Guts, Casca, Serpico, and Farnese were somewhere in these nightmares. "I will not fail them again!"
I would save them.
"On that? I have no disagreement." The Paralictor did not shy away from any responsibility. "I will
rectify this. I expect perfection from them all." The gnome reached for his hammer. "Anything less is a gross waste of resources."
I had to flinch. I
remember what that was like. When I had been subjected to the teachings of The Order of the Godclaw? It was the most brutal experience of my life. Not even the six-hundred and sixty-six layers of the Abyss could compare.
"There are dangers ahead." I could not hide my concern. Those crusaders of mine, their history, there was a wealth of misfortune to exploit, and this may crush whatever semblance of sanity they had. "Time is of the essence."
There was the communion. The accord I had with The Watcher. It had granted me a gift, and reminded me of who I once was. When I had cast myself into the Abyss. The Worldwound having fractured my soul into hundreds of heroes.
They wanted to be let loose.
I had to oblige.
In the place where the Nahyndrian Crystal was nestled many centuries ago? My heart? Now it bled again. This time it was not due to the power of a demon lord. It was just me.
Just Arlan Vorlesh.
"Have faith, my crusaders." I whisper. "Let me be your guide."
An aurora borealis is born. The mist began to disperse. In that gleaming radiance? There was an echo. Then another. And another.
Then
hundreds more materialized into being.
An army. A Band of Heroes. Mortals.
No more, no less.
Their hunger as palpable as my own. Their desire as sanguine.
They wanted to drink the blood of a demon lord.
<<X>>
Farnese could not look away. No, not as that person burned to ash. Serpico's mother, and this was just as she
remembered it. There she was. A smile on her face. The joy she felt was undeniable. The fire had entrapped her. Illustrious as it had ever been.
The young woman vomits. The disgust she felt was eating at her. This is who she had once been.
"I'm impressed." Ubik was floating in the air. The demon lord whispering in her ear. "Mortals are always the most
despicable creatures I have the pleasure of dealing with. It is why we even exist." They wanted an excuse.
The people? These mortals?
They could not and would not face what they had done to themselves. That is why The Godhand flourished. There was no end to the tragedy that was humanity. Their malevolence knew no bounds, and it nurtured these beasts.
They were like cattle. Just
meat for the monsters. There was no greater nourishment. Nor any greater nexus of misery to siphon from. This was the apex. The perfection they sought. If only they had not been foiled by that accursed Arlan Vorlesh!
There would have been so much more to draw from, but now it was becoming scarce. Their food supply was running low, and they would have to replenish it. These morsels were few. When before they were plentiful.
"They are..." The witch doesn't hesitate. "...but they are beautiful too." Her memories go back to her master.
"How annoying." The demon lord could feel it. The Knight Commander had stolen something from this girl. Her heart was now his. When before it had been easy to invade the sanctify of her mind? He now felt like he slammed against an impenetrable fortress.
The only thing The Master of Whispers could see was a symbol.
An icon. An abstract ideal given common courtesy. It should been impossible to even reach it.
However, no idea could ever claim to be indestructible. They could be changed. Rewritten in the favor of others. Defiled in every way imaginable. The demon lord decides to use that.
"Farnese, my crusader.
My apprentice." The young woman feels him everywhere. "Why are you even trying to fight? Just give in already. It would be much easier..."
The young woman recoils at that. No, it was not Arlan Vorlesh! It was not The Knight Commander!
"It would be simple." When the weapons appears in her hand? The witch looks on in horror. It was an ornate dagger. Usually used in ritual sacrifice. "It would be freedom, Farnese."
"I can feel it. How
tired you are of always losing." Ubik spoke, and out from his mouth came my voice. "It doesn't have to be that way. There can be an end to this game."
"The failures need not continue! All that is required is a flourish of this blade." A cut, and it would be over. The life would leave her body. Her soul would belong to the Abyss.
The witch shakes her head. The voices! They grew louder and louder with each moment! They were everywhere. There was no thought that wasn't assaulted by them.
It was the same. Just like in the days before the crusade. Alone in her guilt. Her madness ever present. The lust for the flames scorching everything pure.
The temptation that had ruined her. That made her into a monster. The murderer. The arsonist. The
pyromaniac who wanted to watch the world burn. Along with everyone that lived in it.
"No." There was a quiet confidence. "I choose to live." Her hands began to bleed. The bandages unraveling everywhere. The curse would not let her forget. Her penance had to be met with courage.
Not cowardice.
The Everlight had promised her that. The decision had already been made. Sarenrae would always be with her. Even if I was not. The pain acting as a bulwark against this illusion. Bringing her back to her senses.
"Arlan Vorlesh would never say this!" The witch is furious. "If it is fire you seek, Ubik?" The dream is set ablaze. "The
sun is what I have to give!"
The radiance banishes the primordial darkness. The demon lord in front of her, now aghast, as a
Sunburst ignites, and strikes at him. The explosion engulfing everything around him.
When the smoke begins to clear? The demon lord is still hovering before her, but now he was wounded! The witch had drawn blood...
"Despicable whore, I will tear your soul asunder--" The demon lord stops at that. His tongue caught by someone. There was a warrior? A brute the witch could not recognize. He had appeared as if from the ether.
"I tire of all of this talk!" The barbarian tears the tongue out from his mouth. The demon lord gargling on what remained. "I have only come to hear your screams!"
In the confusion, there is nothing more that the demon lord can do, and his head is caught in the grip of the savage. Who roars as he is taken by
Rage, and that is when he squeezes. Ubik's brain compressed to something the size of an amoeba. The vagabond unceremoniously dumps what is left on the ground.
The hero held the uncanny likeness of the House Vorlesh patriarch. Raven hair. Cerulean eyes. Bulging muscles that housed the might of a giant. Skin that was once fair, but had been tanned olive by hardship. Scars everywhere. An atlantean sword by his side. "To hell with you!"
The barbarian spits on him.
"W-Who are you?" The young woman was genuinely confused. "What happened to--"
"It's just a shade. An echo of sorts. The demon lord is elsewhere.
Plotting." He answers her quickly. "I am a friend. That is all you need to know... for now." He grabs her by the waist, and the witch blushes. Surprised by the sudden act, and the feeling of the giant's pounding heart. He doesn't hesitate before locking lips with her. A kiss? The witch eases into it, as she begins to sense something familiar. "In another time, and in another place; I will be waiting for you."
This feeling?
"Master?"
It felt like fate, but not quite.
It was as if this
encounter would not be the last.
<<X>>
Serpico saw it all. Again and again. The flames that burned it all. The blank stare of his mother. Whatever was left of her had gone with her mind. There was absolutely nothing left.
His mother had died long before she had been put to the flame.
"There is more to a person. Their mind is just part of the equation." The retainer was brought out of his musings. The voice was familiar, but he was certain he had never heard it before.
When he turns to look at the figure? It was an elderly person. Unmistakably male. Due in part to the bushy beard. His hair was grey, and his eyes a milky white. He was blind.
He had to be. There were too many wrinkles to count. A century of experience. It was written everywhere.
"Excuse me, but who are you?" The duelist was curious. "I feel like I should know."
"It's too early for that! Spoilers, my boy!" The arcanist felt
warm, in everything that he did. He was the grandfather that everyone had at one point. "I am just a wizard. On a journey of discovery. Of myself, and others. I like to learn what I can."
"A wizard?" Serpico is reminded of another. His liege. His lord. The Knight Commander.
"No, I'm afraid a witch is different!" The wizard knows a lot. Too much, in fact.
"If you are an apostle? I will have to--" Serpico reaches for his weapon, but it is not where it should be.
"Ubik has left us." The wizard doesn't stop. "Fret not." That same sense of comfort.
The duelist relaxes at that.
"Do you want to remember?" The elderly figure is cryptic. "What her last words to you were?"
"There weren't any."
"There were!"
The wizard knew everything. He always did. It didn't matter what it was. He had a record of it
somewhere. The Farwalker made sure of that. His friend had taught him many things.
"..." Serpico gives him a scrutinizing glance. What could it possibly hurt? "What were they? Her last words?"
"Don't cry. It's okay."
The duelist pauses at that. He tries to remember, but he is drawing a blank.
"Did she say that?" How many things had he blocked out? How many memories were lost to time?
"Many disappear..." The wizards seems to already know what he is thinking. "...but the feeling stays." He pats the boy on the shoulder, and gestures towards his heart. "The mind is temporary, but the heart lingers. It yearns. It desires. It is hurt by the world, and carries every wound even if all traces of them disappear."
"Why does it do that?" The crusader had to know. "Why not let it go?"
"It can't! People are their struggle. Their conflict! The war? It is what they are. Who they are! What they aim to be..." The dream begins to change. In front of them lay the Nine Hells. The flames licking at them. "Peace is not a lie, but in peace there is
nothing. It is devoid of anything. A person is more than that! They're all their problems."
"Sounds miserable." Serpico remembers his sister. "Why not just die?"
"Death is not an escape. It is a trap!" He smiles at the young man. The wizard liked him. "The world is horrible, and that is exactly why you shouldn't expect death to be any better!"
"Then what choice do we have?" Serpico clenches his hands. He could feel his heart ache. "Is there anything we can even do?"
"The same thing we always do!" The hero grins at that. "We fight, and we fight! Then desperately challenge the gods and goddesses themselves! Peace won't save us, but
problems will!"
"I think you're crazy." The duelist couldn't help but be happy. There was something endearing about the mad man.
"I am!" The wizard doesn't deny it. "It's part of being human..."
"I
think I understand." The duelist looks towards the horizon. The Blood War raging on. "It's time to go home."
The wizard begins to fade away. "That it most certainly is!"
The dream is extinguished.
There was only war, but in that war?
Purpose could be found.
<<X>>
Casca had to face it again. The Eclipse, and this time, the paladin had to face it
alone. Guts absent. Arlan Vorlesh a distant memory. If even that either.
The demons leering at her. Her clothes torn away. Salivating at the prospect of raping her. Despoiling her in every way. Just as Griffith had once done. When before she would have shut down? The grizzled veteran is focused. The Light of Valor ever present.
Elaine was no more. It was just Casca.
If she did not have a weapon? Then all she had to do was make one of her enemies. The dream distorts around her. As her aura burns away every monster that approaches. Quickly casting
Dimensional Blade, the young woman's hands become ethereal, and she tears through the beasts. Any defenses they had before now completely useless. This spell granted any weapon the ability to bypass armor.
Her bare hands included.
Viscera spilled onto the ground. As the young woman's hands clawed through the stomach of every demon in her way. They screech as they feel the grace of her goddess. It burns at them! Compounded further by
Smite Evil. The divine power purifying every demon that felt her touch. That is when Casca found what she was looking for. A femur that would make for a decent bludgeon.
The paladin tears it from an apostle's thigh, and proceeds to beat him to death with it. Casting
Holy Sword, the weapon is blessed by Iomedae. This enchantment a gift from her patron deity. The bone does not break. The femur
endures as it is used to bash every monster in her way, and with every blow it reduces them to a greasy smear.
The Inheritor had to be proud. Her paladin had become a fierce warrior. That day would never come again. The Eclipse was in the past.
Casca would die before she would ever be dishonored like that again. There the paladin stood atop a mountain of corpses. Soaked in the entrails of countless apostles. Their insides everywhere except where they were
supposed to be.
The young woman had been dyed crimson. Corum would have suited her! This violence fit for any barbarian...
"I don't need armor! I don't need a weapon!" Casca roars, and it is bestial.
Primal. "I have my arms and legs! I have this body!"
There was only rage. When before she had been broken? This memory had instead awoken something animalistic in her. A desire for revenge.
"Femto!" The paladin wanted to see him. The fear was gone. "
Griffith!"
The fury almost as great as the one dwelling within The White Wolf. The betrayal they all experienced. All those in the
Band of the Hawk.
However, she was just mortal. One person. Her exhaustion had to come, but that would make no difference.
"Rest, Casca." The hero catches her. If a crusader falls? There is always another by their side. A brother or sister to help shoulder their burden. This mysterious stranger had something
roguish about him. Casca almost mistook him for Judeau. "I'm here."
"Arlan?" That is what it
felt like. "What is going on?"
"Not quite." The masked man had every feature obscured. The shadows wrapped around his body. He was like a living shade. "Drink this." He reached for an alchemical concoction from his bandolier.
The young woman quickly ingested the potion. Her body ceased to ache. The contents of whatever was in it had restored her.
"I can see why The White Wolf fell in love." There is something
lecherous about the way he says that. The thief ogles her. There was no need for him to undress her with his eyes. This dream had already seen to that. "Gorgeous, and those
muscles accentuate your curves perfectly."
"Be careful, rogue. I am spoken for." Casca glares at him. "Do you have any clothes?"
"Of course." The rogue almost seems to conjure them from nothing. The shirt was intertwined with enchanted chainmail, leather pants with knee-pads came next, and then a pair of sturdy boots made from the remains of a wyvern. "Dress quickly. There are many more."
Casca keeps her focus on the shadowy assassin as she changes. Never once trusting him.
"On schedule. I knew they would be." The hero turns around to face another horde of demons. He reaches into his satchel, and from it throws a hailstorm of bombs. The explosives cascading through the air. The moment they detonate? The apostles are blown to pieces. Appendages flying every which way. Arms and legs torn from bodies. Gore raining down on the rest.
Casca quickly grabs the femur, but the rogue stops her.
"Almost forgot. A paladin is nothing without a weapon." In his hands the blade appeared. A bastard sword that was unmistakable.
"Dawnbreaker?" Casca had to be surprised. It was lost to her in this place. "How did you find it?" The young woman grabs the blade.
"I followed the butterflies." He replies, and as always there is a
suave undercurrent. "Just as always they never fail."
"..." The paladin was perplexed. Not for the first or last time. Those words definitely reminded her of Arlan Vorlesh. Her savior. The messiah. However, this person was too much of a pervert. What connection did this mysterious stranger have with The Knight Commander? "What is your name?"
"
Antonio Vorlesh. The pleasure is mine!" He throws a hailstorm of knives. They skewer another group of demons. Who cry out in pain as they realize they were all poisoned. "My friends just call me Tony!"
"Is that so?" Casca scrunches her face in confusion. A relative? "Does the name Arlan Vorlesh mean anything to you?"
"Not in the least!" The rogue slashes the throat of another apostle. It gurgles, grasping at the wound, and tries to stop the bleeding. The demon quickly falls over and dies. Failing to create any kind of tourniquet. Their regeneration was not working. That poison the rogue was using had neutralized it entirely.
This had to be another miracle. The paladin could feel it. Her divine senses going haywire. Casca grips Dawnbreaker tightly, and stabs into another apostle. "I understand."
The Knight Commander was watching over them all.
I was watching over them all.
They would never be alone.
Not while I still fought.
<<X>>
Guts remembered it all. How he was betrayed by everyone he ever loved. Those he trusted taking advantage of everything he gave of himself. His devotion made to be a sacrifice to their hatred. Their ambition! He had to fight. He had to struggle. He had to endure it all.
By himself.
The monsters were everywhere. They were even his family.
"No." That thought is crushed. "They were never my family." The White Swordsman charges forward. He had finally found it. The truth that had been escaping him. His misfortune unveiled to everyone. He now knew what it was like to have a family. It was not Gambino. It was not Griffith.
It was Arlan Vorlesh! It was The Knight Commander! It was this Sixth Crusade!
It was Shisu...
How could The White Wolf have forgotten her? The woman who loved him. The child everyone had called cursed for being born at the base of that tree. The tribute to Yggdrasil. It had banished him. It had torn him from the realm he was meant for!
Fenrir held nothing back. It was an act of vengeance. All for what The Black Wolf had done. When he had brought death to Asgard.
A father and mother denied their progeny. However, despite everything, Guts was
happy that it had happened.
"I would never have met any of them." It was worth it. This life had meaning. Guts had a purpose. He had his friends. These people who were now his family. He was no hound! He was a wolf! He was a Hellknight! He was a crusader!
Dragon Slayer ignited at that. The flames were sublimating all of reality. History changing, and the tapestry of time unraveling at the seams! The gilded dragon slumbering within the great sword had awoken.
Grunbeld would be sated.
"Is this all, Ubik?" Guts roars. "I am not impressed!" He swings his great sword, and a blanket of incandescence envelops the dream. This shroud of flames? They take on the form of many wolves. Who burn everything around them. The pack of beasts howling in tandem with the destruction.
The White Wolf soon joined them.
"It seems that I have to address this problem directly." The Master of Whispers appears. Not as a shade, but as himself truly. The form he wore was that of an elf. Cloaked in extravagant robes. The glasses he wore were the only thing that didn't change. "It would have been easier, if you had just surrendered--"
Guts doesn't let the demon lord finish. He is already on the move. The great sword swinging through a shadow. Another illusion. The Master of Whispers is behind him. Having deftly avoided the strike.
"Very well." The demon lord adjusts his robes. "I won't bother with any pleasantries." A cane appears in his hands, and he unsheathes it. Revealing the weapon within. The blade had a sickly hue. An emerald glow that promised death.
Guts immediately twirls around, and reaches for the demon lord. His claws almost catching him. Ubik blocks the attack. The Berserker Armor clashing against abysium. The moment he does? He gags.
"
Pestilence. It is a fine rapier
." The weapon had to be enchanted. That, or whatever material had been used to forge it was toxic. Guts may have been a demi-god, but this was no conventional disease. There was something
unnatural about it. It would have instantly meant the death of even the hardiest paladin. Their immunity to disease not withstanding.
The White Wolf falls. Barely able to stand after meeting it once. "
Begone." A cyclone is conjured as he speaks. The tornado crashing into the demon lord, and sending him careening backwards. The wind blowing away everything. Even the affliction had been exorcised. His mastery over air would make him the envy of even the most powerful kineticist. Not unlike Grunbeld's fire? There was no immunity against this. Only brute force could meet it.
Guts stands back up. Hefting Dragon Slayer over his shoulders. "Neat trick!" Whilst Grunbeld's flames dealt in destruction? His wind excelled elsewhere. It was in
displacement. It didn't matter what it was. This wind dealt in both the corporeal and the incorporeal. Any idea would be vulnerable to it. Even the
concept of it could be banished.
In this particular case, he had hurled it back at the demon lord. "How do you like mine?"
Surprisingly, Ubik didn't even seem fazed by it. "This rapier has been my ally since my rebirth, Guts. I cannot be hurt by it." He had developed an immunity to it. Over centuries of constant use. Ubik hovered above his realm. Secure in his power.
"It is never simple..." The White Wolf assumes another deadly stance. "Then prepare yourself, Ubik!" Guts quickly casts
Flight. He soars through the air, and meets Ubik. Dragon Slayer slams against Pestilence. The clash of these mythical armaments echoing throughout Nightmare's Precipice. The universe began to tremble. Unlike Conrad? Ubik was no pushover.
He was the voice.
He spoke for The Godhand.
When Guts fell back down? He was not ready. He met the ground with the subtlety of an asteroid. The planet shaking as Ubik kept his distance.
"There is much to learn." The Master of Whispers admonishes him.
"He already knows enough!" Another voice echoed throughout the realm. "I'm here to save the damsel in distress!" It was my own.
"I am no damsel!" The White Wolf was beside himself. "I already told you that, Arlan!"
"Whatever you say, my lady." I make my entrance. My many facets would serve my army. They would protect them. Aid them when I could not. "A fair maiden such as yourself deserves respect!"
I cast
Heal, and quickly repair any damage. What wounds The White Swordsman did have disappeared. I went to pet him, and that is when he had enough of my teasing.
"Ah, you bit me!" I shake my hand. Several puncture wounds bleeding profusely. "That's no way to treat your Knight Commander!"
Ubik could only look on in amazement. At this display of idiocy. These were the
heroes that had already destroyed Slan and Conrad? "Unbelievable..." This was just embarrassing. The Master of Whispers made a note of this. He would expunge every record of The Sixth Crusade. They would be wiped from every book. If only to salvage the dignity of The Godhand.
Of course, the demon lord would never get a chance to do this. I would make sure of that.
"I will join you." I drop all pretenses. The wound did not matter. The curse be damned. "This is an enemy that must be faced together, my crusader. Stand steadfast!"
"..." Guts pauses at that. "What about--"
"Don't worry!" I smile at him. "It's coming, but this must be done." This was no war.
It was a genocide. "This is their punishment."
No realm would be spared. No plane left to these monsters. The purification would occur.
This purge was in order.
"Be careful, Arlan." The White Wolf could not hide it. His fear. The only one he had left. That the day would come when we would have to part ways.
"No promises! At least for this..." No, this was not the time for them. I couldn't keep that one. "Ubik! I am The Knight Commander, and I have come to claim your soul!"
"The pleasure is mine." The Master of Whispers prepares himself. "I will end your crusade today!"
"Duly noted, but I don't consider this a pleasure at all!" It was just a chore. There was something dangerous in the air. A sense of foreboding. I reach out for nothing, and
Frostbite appears in my hand. The frigid blade making the temperature drop to absolute zero around us. "Try it!"
I quickly cast
Mind Blank, Communal. Then amplify it with
Conduit Surge. The magic protecting our minds from any intrusion. Ubik could rely on illusions no more.
The White Wolf leaps into action. Dragon Slayer burning everything that it touched. As he clashes against the demon lord? I cast
Walk Through Space, and materialize behind the monster. I swing
Frostbite down on his head. The demon lord blocks both blades with Pestilence, but the force of it overwhelms him. He recoils, and is thrust downwards. Crashing into Nightmare's Precipice. The planet cracks in half. The core fracturing at that. The blow from before had already damaged it. It could not handle another.
"A shame. I did enjoy this plane." The demon lord complains. "I will need a
replacement." What happens next is no illusion. The universe begins to change. Another universe is born around us. Nebulae drawn from ether. Galaxies revolving around us. At the center of it all was Ubik. The demon lord floating in the vacuum of outer space. A supermassive black hole of impossible size serving as his throne.
Guts is not fazed by it. The air around his body contorting to become an atmosphere. He could breathe again. The White Wolf flies through this facsimile of the Astral Plane, and collides against the demon lord! The black hole enduring the assault. Unlike the planet which had almost died.
I grip Frostbite tightly, and cast
Foresight. The spell granting me an unbelievable prescience. When Ubik appears to pierce Guts from behind? I am already prepared. Frostbite met Pestilence, and I cackle like a hyena. "Sorry, but it won't be that easy!" I cast the grand hex known as
Death Curse, and imbue my bastard sword with the magic.
Ubik doesn't realize it. Not until he feels his body begin to die. The fatigue hits him before anything else. He clutches his heart in harrowing agony, and expels it from his body. The heart detonates with the force of a hypernova. He had saved himself.
Just barely.
Another heart is grown. It replaces what was lost.
It did serve as a distraction at least.
Dragon Slayer pierces through his chest. Guts having taken the opportunity to impale him from behind. The demon lord is furious at that, and expels everything with a roar. The power hurls The White Wolf away. The demi-god crashing against the black hole.
"That should grant me a reprieve." Ubik tears the great sword out of his chest. Before it could even
think of devouring his soul. "Just you, Knight Commander?"
"Just me!" I don't hesitate to answer. "Don't die before my crusader gets a chance to witness it!" I focus on the others. The heroes I had lived as. Six-hundred and sixty-six brave champions! Those who would one day rout the Abyss!
The four remaining stitches around my soul begin to give. Then it erupts in a spectacular fashion.
They were all here. An army only of myself.
"W-What is this?" The demon lord was taken aback. Where had all these mortals come from? "Who are they?"
"Arlan Vorlesh! The whole lot of them!" The Band of Heroes at my back. I would lead the charge.
We roar as one, and together we all march towards certain victory! The one indulgence we would always have!
Ubik is overwhelmed by it all. As he attempts to stop them? He is blown back. Spears impale him everywhere. Swords stab into everything vital. His body blasted by every kind of magic. Whether it was arcane or divine. The Weave at their disposal. A fist breaks his nose. A boot stomps on his sternum. One of them even had the nerve to poke him in the eyes!
"I can't see anything!" Ubik screeches. "Stop this, Arlan Vorlesh!"
"No, I don't think I will!" I had cast
Legendary Proportions, and grew to the size of a colossal titan. I grab the diminutive demon lord, and shove him against a galaxy. "This is what I live for!" The galaxy begins to die, and it returns to Shar.
The night would have it!
That is when the throne begins to crumble. The black hole at the center of this universe is destroyed, and where it once was? A glorious White Wolf stood triumphant. Guts had won against it!
The beast began to howl, and from that came a hurricane. The winds smashing against The Master of Whispers, and hurling him deeper into the Abyss. All the way to the bottom of it.
Ubik could barely stand. The onslaught I had unleashed, and the winds of The White Wolf, they were both too much for him.
"This is how I die?" The demon lord accepts it. A mortal, and a wolf? They had bested him. After centuries, this would be his death. "This is the end?"
Ubik chuckles.
"It's strange..." There was absolutely nothing. His rebirth had already taken any emotions. Then why did he suddenly feel satisfied? "Who was I before--"
I plunge Frostbite into his heart. Silencing the demon lord.
Guts takes care of the rest, and relieves him of his head with Dragon Slayer.
The Godhand only stood as two.
"Here it comes again!" I grumble. Another one of the stitches coming undone. I nearly collapse as I am drained by it. "It is most troublesome!"
Guts manages to grab his Knight Commander before he falls.
It was not a burden I would endure alone.
"Rest, Arlan.
We won." The White Swordsman would carry his friend back home.
Just as he always would.
[] I dream of the past. The days of The Fifth Crusade.
[] I dream of the future. Of Calder Vorlesh, and his struggle.