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 Chapter XIX

IX Tezelnazaku: 

The Lightdancer meditated. In the last two days when not meditating she had yet to see the skulking monster her sister had made, though she was at last beginning to fully understand the purpose behind the Omegas. A true purpose, a horrifyingly blasphemous one to mortal eyes and appalling failure to her own. Her time in Azarath was a set of hazy impressions and half-formed and deformed memories, though the discovery of the dark fortress where these monsters had been forged on a genetic template was not. Then she'd been foolish enough to see it as a mere bodyguard concept but now she was wondering if beneath the maddened frenzies that made up so much of her sister's life there wasn't some higher-order level of cunning. 

When not meditating she had fought ordinary mortals, mostly the higher-level metanormals in this planet's civil war. Some of them seemed drawn to her like moths to flames and as the moths they were consumed with rather trivial efforts. The Chi and Psi classes tended to last somewhat longer but they were merely a slightly different category of annoyance. Vincent had waded through battlefields accounting for entire regiments and by now at least a division of soldiers on his own, merrily exploiting the tremendous power at his disposal. Hands tore apart tanks or hurled them aside with a side-glancing blow with a clenched fist, the hurled machine smashing through lines of soldiers, smearing blood and corpses. 

Metanormals that decided to eschew challenging her and chose to challenge him found that he was perfectly capable of striking them with blows sufficient to shatter their armor and break bones and force them to their knees, and then to unleash singularity weapons that left only pieces of corpses and not even intact bodies behind them. She was satisfied that he'd already begun to build a reputation of fear matching her own kind, and interested in the kind of parallelism with Vizornii, the confirmed Omega. 

Both unleashed killing in somewhat similar styles but Vizornii had elements of the showboating brutality her sister was infamous for, the glorious destruction and chaos that rivaled itself and spiraled in on itself in a destructive and hellish frenzy. Vincent, however, was a wading force of destruction capable of precision and wanton brutality that meant that his mere arrival turned an organized force and a battlefield strewn with artillery into a charnel house of reeking soil and broken and bloodied corpses, bones and organs and shit and fractured metal across the place. 

Yes, battlefields were ugly places but she was unsentimental about this. From the time she'd fallen on that ship and scattered the flesh-takers with impunity to now, she'd seen more horror than Vincent could inflict. She had in actual fact inflicted no small amount of that herself. Vincent would wade through a battlefield, she needed only stride into it in her battle-armor with a staff, raise it up, and smash it on the ground and watch the shockwave disintegrate entire formations with impact. 

See Metanormals rising up against her and smashing them down with thoughts or if they wished a fight fist to fist, blow to blow, smashing them down with precisely struck kills that left no doubt that the plummeting or ascending targets were as dead as dead could get. Her sister's monster had only faced her for a short time on the second day, barreling through its own side in a mirror of Vincent's, her techniques in hand to hand oddly in one way and entirely predictably in another a perfect mirror of Vizornii's until the creature had bloated in size and changed to an almost simian form, creating a wave-like effect of flung corpses as she lunge for Deborah. 

Deborah had simply opened a clenched fist and the being was suspended in mid-air before summoning one of her weapons from the Fortress. Holding the firearm over her left arm while preparing to fire with her right, she'd spoken a single phrase: 

To take my technology does not mean you understand wielding it. 

The creature's eyes had glared, and it had hissed in a frenzied madness unable to move otherwise: 

You are not like your sister, but you are two sides of the same filthy coin. 


The Lightdancer's eyes merely narrowed and the blast hurled the creature skyward and then a sudden assertion of will smashed it into a mountain, carving out a vast new cave with the impact and creating a spider-web around the impact crater. 

She meditated serenely on the third day thus far, even as Vincent merrily and with little incentive to do otherwise stormed forward, carrying with him first hundreds and then thousands, his firepower incinerating what his hands did not crush or throw out of the way. To her came easily the feeling of all that was in the planet, the deep fires beneath its surface, the awe-inspiring depth and life-charged potency of its oceans, the icy calmness and storminess interspersed with the life of flesh and the machine that was its skies. 

Her meditation complete, she then stood, her feet hovering on thin air, the effect visibly disorienting the Metanormals near her, some of them hissing with distaste at so casual a display of tremendous power. Her cape billowing with an unnatural wind, she gazed across the battlefield, seeing her foe preparing to charge, and decided to avert the dramatic scenes of the prior day by making a few gestures as a tremendous column of light formed overhead, shaped in a quadrilateral spear-like guise. With a light and singular motion of a finger she cast her hand forward and the light-spear struck her target with a cataclysmic impact that created another massive crater and completely disintegrated those within twenty miles of the blast zone and left others half-vaporized, the bodies falling with whimpering sighs from half-formed lungs and mouths. 

Suvacel had only the time to perceive the light and was left unconscious after it hit, but then heard the voice echoing in her head: 

I warned you about the consequence of failure. 


An image briefly formed of the same entity, still clad in vast armor and now wielding a tremendous sword, seated on a lake of blood that steamed, a throne of skulls and bones and ribcages that seemed to ever grow leaning forward. 

The entity then changed again becoming a multi-faceted many-angled.....thing...that simultaneously stood still, moved, and moved at angles impossible to do with the kind of body the being appeared to have. It was this form that animated her body back to consciousness, an echoing rumble of her breath drawing the smile of the Lightdancer as she suddenly saw that entity exert its own influence. 

Instead of a tall and eeriely pallid many-eyed thing, she saw a being of towering presence whose form existed at multiple levels of geometry, glowing light that seared eyes and made her groan in pain at the sight, wreathed in lightning-infused stormclouds of a bizarrely symmetrical elemental darkness. The being gazed at the multi-faceted thing that seemed to form a second head perpetually biting at the throat of the first, and then an open palm clenched and she screamed, feeling her very soul subjected to the power of Gods. 

The entity then hissed and withdrew for a time and the Lightdancer smiled, even as she calmly walked on thin air over the battlefield. Three Monarchist airships tried to unleash a hellish set of experimental plasma attacks on her, and as she walked over the battlefield without a second thought, a sudden sweep of the Black Smoke disintegrated them all without any trace left behind. Vizornii, rocked by the Psychic abilities manifested in the sudden clash with the Azar, looked over at her cousin. Yerzhin had been knocked unconscious, drool pouring from his mouth. 

Watching an immensely tall and robust figure calmly striding on thin air over a battlefield, callously destroying anything that came in its path, the battlefield beneath cleared by the half-metal Barane named Vincent, she was struck with a fundamental awe and then realized a strange similarity between Lightdancer and the Imperishable Flame. Vizornii growled, the latent power that the Lightdancer had calmly awoken surging to the surface, and then she felt the glorious clarity of the Omega Program sinking into place. 

Slinking away slightly that she not risk that the transformation erroneously identify friends as foes, she failed to see her father, relieved at this, yielding to anger born of fear and worry and adopting a tremendously oversized form that relied purely on anger, hoping that the Beast, together with the Omega, would permit the defeat of Suvacel and the redemption of the Pass lest the Lightdancer and her ally decide that enough was enough and simply terminate the Imperial Throneworld for the annoyance. 
 

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