May. 24th, 2016

halialkers: (Default)
Chapter XXI: 

 IX Tezelnakazu: 

The monstrous Starspawn of Dread R'lyeh, though a pitiful shade of the entity that was father and maker to them all, still towered a full mile in height. Its wings were vast enough to blot out Shuhar's light and cast the Pass of Gold into shade. Deborah's lancing form of light was dismissed by the enraged wrath of the youthful-seeming female of R'lyeh until two fists collided into the left side of its monstrous tentacle-adorned face. A shrieking howl like the murder of Shuhar combined with the whine of a radio echoed, pulverizing both sides indiscrimnately. The monster staggered back, two echoing footsteps following, as Deborah hovered, eyes glowing with a terrible light. 

You are in the wrong space and time, Starspawn. The Stars are wrong for your kind. 


The creature turned a deep crimson and its eyes focused on her, grasping onto mountains as it leaned forward. Its voice burbled with the malignance and ancient power of Something from the far-off days of the Beyond: 

Wrong for all but one of us, little white thing. You are a cast-off of a warlord, vainly seeking to adhere to a cycle even as you believe you subvert it. My father stormed the gates of the Heavens and the price paid is my perpetual endurance. I do not appreciate little children's temper tantrums seeking to kill my host. 


Deborah snarled in turn and then smiled as she said: 

Your  host chose poorly in taking something not hers to take. 

The Starspawn's eyes blazed hotter and a sudden assertion of the entity's will struck Deborah like a sledgehammer, the entity dismissing the hammer-blows of the Beast that created sonic booms and the rays of Vincent with the greatest of ease. 

Its eyes remained focused on the growing light and many-angled aspect of the form rising before it, a creature of such power that even a Starspawn was as to it as a mere mortal was to the Starspawn. Fascinated at the sight of a forming piece of the entities its dread father had worshiped and conquered existence in the name of in its lifetime the creature some worlds dubbed Cthylla, youngest of the dreadful spawn of Dread Cthulhu, waited with expectancy and desire. 

Deborah fell headlong but righted herself in mid-air. Growling as the entity's claws dragged into the mountain-side, carving weeping wounds that brought rocks and an eerie substance of glistening light down with them, and the entity seemed to either be bowing or preparing to attack, she called to herself the most dreadful of all of her powers, the Black Smoke. Not the whisps that formed automatically as a part of her honed reflexes in combat, the unleashed power of the darkest and most gruesome aspects of what the would-be healer and redeemer aspired to. 

For a wonder the Starspawn's gaze was diverted. It seemed almost amused at the sight of a growing cloud of darkness enveloped by crackling blue lighting, the effects creating weird and eerie aspects. The entity's will casually unleashed a massacre of all save a very few in the Valley beyond its power to protect, including the Generals, who it spared to see the ruin of both sides brought by a God. By tens and hundreds of thousands had both sides fought. By tens and hundreds of thousands did both sides die, a harvest wrought by the unleashed power of the Ancient Ones, whose tombs marked the contours of all that was or would ever be, entire wings of existence dedicated to pinning them off, the fell cycle of dying and rising the melody to lull the dreaming Gods to endless dreaming Death. 

The power that had caused stars to burn or that had struck entire universes in darkness of smothering Void that had naught but nothingness within it. Entire peoples and weapons and lesser forms of life stood rigidly still, machines suspended in mid-air or even in mid-points of frantic blind loading and firing. Then a wave of tremendous and corrupt power seared forth and as one they died, leaving a valley strewn with the burning husks of crashed and exploded machines, with armor that shielded against the dreadful rays of the Imperial Army's lightning or plasma firearms and at least partially against the sheer raw power of the metanormal for those not born or shaped thus, be they children of the harshest military discipline or metanormals of great and dreadful power themselves, capable of fracturing worlds in death-throes if killed violently. Death consumed them all with the methodical ease of a farmer's scythe. 

The rolling wave coursed around and struck Deborah and she screamed with a terrible and rending sound that was accompanied by the wrathful laughter of the Starspawn, its hands extended in a blasphemous gesture of beneficence, its echoing sonic/psychic/mystical overtones smashing Vincent and those shielded by the entity that lurked within Vizornii Hezhatin around like ragdolls. The power that led her to scream led the awakened child of the Silver Key, the Umr' at Tawil known in other times and cycles as the Yog-Sothoth, simultaneously existence and the key to manipulating it to stop in its tracks.

The madness of uncontrolled death roiled upward, assailing the Psychopomp veiled by her own cloud with such overpowering force that as she screamed her eyes glowed with an eerie hell-light and her muscles began to rasp with the sheer force that had been unleashed. The Starspawn in its ancient malevolence leaned forward again, its body now a silver of supreme arrogance and confidence. All it took to unbalance the New Ones was a mere massacre? The jest of the Outer Gods to the Ancient Ones was one in poor taste indeed, and she looked forward to her father's rising and the resumption of his imperium with new goals directed at the ones who'd betrayed him. 

The scream stopped and a monster fell from the cloud, clad in an oversized variant of its own armor, still wearing the cape and loincloth without. Its face now resembled that of a fanged Ceratopsid, the same nine golden suns that blazed on a white face torn in pain and agony blazing still hotter, a brilliant and terrible blue light searing from them. What disconcerted the Starspawn was that while still immensely shorter than itself, the entity stood some hundreds of meters tall and it was looking at it with not the eyes of serene confidence expected from the Lightdancer but with the rasping muscles and rumbling breath of something much more dreadful. 

A Worldbreaker, a figure of towering fury and dread sufficient to make even a Starspawn pause in its arrogance and assumptions, and as Cthylla looked, the very furthest tip of the entity's claw lovingly brushed the unconscious Vincent, relieved to see that its love was shaken but unharmed. Then the entity lunged upward at the Starspawn, a mountainous bulk moving with the swiftness of light itself hurling amidst the immensity of the outer abysses. 

The impact scattered corpses in a cyclonic wind and the Starspawn flexed its tremendous wings and hurled itself into the sky as the Worldbreaker's claws rent into it in a primordial and savage fury. Roaring echoes spoke into the brain of the Starspawn. The very dangers of slipping control of a psychopomp whose very heroism was as much a means to forestall its own pain as otherwise, and the rather difficult problem that something completely indestructible was now extremely furious and in direct wrath at it. 

The child of the Silver Key transformed back into Vizornii Hezhatin. It had one task first, to ensure all left alive were removed from the ruined Pass that would soon be redubbed in reflection of the horrors that had been unleashed there, to purge their minds of the horrors that had been witnessed and felt. And then if needed to force the Worldbreaker and the Starspawn back into their cages with brutal force, if necessary. The unconscious, some bleeding, some raving with eyes closed and swatting at invisible foes and screaming at eyes that would not close and gnashing oozing mouths, felt peace as dark green hands closed around them and they vanished in weightlessness to peace, to awaken days later in an Imperial infirmary. 

The Citadel of the Temple Azarath: 

Zezhelanzanai gazed into her pool in shock. The very nature of what was seen on that world, the unleashing of the most dreadful sides of the one truly heroic of their whole brood, going back to their titan Godlike Father had jarred the Azar so much that for a moment she was lucid again, but flush with the power of millennia. It was a rare chance to aid and not to harm, and Zezhelanzanai sought to make the best of it. As Azarath briefly flexed and for a moment within time across countless worlds lived up to the soiled promises of decency and honor therein, the green armor of the Azar vanished in a cloud not of sickly smoke but a flashing of brilliant neon-green light. 
halialkers: (Default)
 Chapter XXII: 

IX Tezelnakazu: 

The Worldbreaker's roars were not those of the silver-armored figure, the juggernaut who casually floored Gods and Monsters alike as was the will of the Outer Gods, their sole condescending recognition that some level of mortality served an unfathomable to it place in the omniverse. They were the bellowing and monstrous echoes of madness, of an entity steeped in death as a means to aid the dying overwhelmed by too much death in too short a time. The Starspawn roared in itself, its monstrous hands smashing into the armored form of the Worldbreaker, the gelatinous tissue splattering and reforming and doing no harm but only serving to make the Worldbreaker still more angry. The collision had driven them over the Pass of Gold to the coast of the immense sea by it. With a sudden overpowering dive, the Worldbreaker hurled the Starspawn down, the impact creating a colossal crater and permanently scarring the coast of the Imperial Bizjarran Throneworld. Registered globally on Richter scales, the impact and the awakened forces led psychics to shriek for years about the burning star that fell from heaven holding the concentrated might and malevolence of unfathomably long-lost eras. 

The oceans balked and broiled around the impact, waves rattled and storming along the coast of the islands of Hataria beyond, the Starspawn growling in pain and agony as its body lay before the entity that in spite of the almost absurd size-difference held it in a grip of iron. The claws resumed their butcher's work, and the Starspawn assailed the Worldbreaker with waves of force that would have annihilated many lesser things. The very invulnerability that made the Worldbreaker wielder of the deadly lightning-infused clouds meant the blows registered with pain but did not scratch the surface. Instead the Smoke roiled out in clouds, searing open entire parts of the Starspawn. Nine suns glowed a terrible blue light, glowing with a deep and deadly hate. 

A monstrous hand lunged forth to grasp the Worldbreaker, whose rumbling howl followed with a vicious squelching sound as the gelatinous hand was thrown beyond in the Valley, smearing itself across a mountain even as it sought to reform. The Starspawn spoke a Word ancient even to its kind, a Word of last resort that was supposed to destroy anything that heard it. Yet even here the invulnerable power of the Worldbreaker held, though the entity briefly stopped and hacked up blood, the hatred growing and blazing with still more power. 

Above them the skies turned to constellations of the sky around the Citadel of Temple Azarath, dreams and visions seared through the mind of those not already affected by the terrible clash in the Pass of Gold, by repeated world-wide seismic patterns, by the realization that entire military forces of millions had been wiped out in a single terrible instant. A figure formed in the wake of the visions, blonde hair whipping as did the billowing light blue cape, the sonic howl of the Starspawn followed by its reassembled hand smashing the Worldbreaker's face down briefly as it reattached to its body, the entity's raw brute strength finally permitting it to jostle the briefly-shaken Worldbreaker. 

Then it paused and gazed in wonder at Zezhelanzanai who formed an Elder Sign known to the entity's rivals and with a sudden twisting and malforming howl of denied vengeance the entity began to shrink and dissolve in a terrible foetid odor as the Worldbreaker's aggrieved bellows continued. As Suvacel fell, green hands grasped her and weightlessness took her, along with a sad and lingering: 

"What have we done to ourselves?" She never understood the question until years later. 

The Worldbreaker's mindless howls echoed as Zezhelanzanai stood before it with Vincent on her right, recognizing in wonder the Witch-Queen of Domdaniel. As the entity glared at her with an even more intense and almost palpable hatred, the Witch-Queen spoke an ancient incantation: 

That is not dead which can eternal lie, and with strange aeons, even death shall die. 

The death-madness fled and Deborah stood once more in thin-air, hovering with her eyes closed, tears falling down her face. It had been centuries since last the madness took her and each time it struck with deadlier and deadlier force. 

She felt Vincent's metallic flesh enclose her and the chalky-white skin of the Goddess faded into the light brown skin of the human woman, and then she looked with those same eyes for a window in time at not the maddened wrath of the Azar, a terrible and mindless flame that flailed and absorbed ever more into itself but what the Azar could have been. Her own sister, speaking only: 

Forgive me for whatever I do when I do not remember.....
her hand waved to encompass all around them....the beauty of family, of friendship, and of love. You have nothing to forgive yourself, it was an act of hubris on the part of an Elder God. 

She smiled and said: 

I'll be seeing you. 

The flame of Domdaniel vanished with light already infused by a growing odor and a darker and duller shade of green and as Igna landed in the Citadel, the familiar pattern reasserted itself with an agonized howl as the Azar of Azarath rose triumphant, but saddened in ways never easy to understand. Flashes of memories that never fully formed, but one that haunted it and made it madder and wish to destroy that which was seen: 

a very human light brown face with wavy black hair smiling through a tear-strewn face and saying: Thank you. If there is ever a means to do for you as you have done for me.....

The entity howled and raged and stormed through its citadel, its anger reflected across its dimension in storms of blood and fire and pillars of smoke, things that made its pieces and servants quake and hide. Its anger blazed with heat for a month as the painful memories clawed into its head and it beat its head upon the floor. 

The Pass of the Dead: 

Xaderavcal's eyes were wide with a horror that shook others for the sight that the invulnerable and unconquerable warlord could be so....normal. So frankly terrified out of her wits. An entire Pass strewn with corpses, the wreckage of machinery scattered in helter-skelter fashion. Mountains leveled with casual and brutal ease, and that immense crater that formed a half-moon shape to a degree with aspects like the wings of an enormous flying furry creature from the planet Tamir III. 

She spoke telepathically to the one survivor of the other side, catatonic with horror, shock, and guilt, and to those of her side. Including Vizornii Hezhatin, who stared blankly into space enfolded by the arms of her love, the youthful green-furred Meremi, whose eyes were wide with concern and fear for her loved one. 

You who have withstood the terror of what was once the Pass of Gold shall be honored above others. You have entered into the Valley of the Shadow of Death, and thus this is now the Pass of the Dead. You have survived a terrible Wrath from Beyond unleashed by something dreadful and horrible. Regardless of cause, this is no little feat in itself. 

She remained silent for two more hours. A total of fifty million soldiers from both sides committed to what should have been a decisive moment, and upon the awakening of That Thing within the clone, each struck down with but six survivors. She whistled tonelessly and began laments echoing in voice and mind. 

For as terrifying as what had ensued was, the war was still in full flame, and those who'd drunk deeply of horror would glut themselves more fully still. 
halialkers: (Default)
 Epilogue: 

Shanar Hezhatin stood in the crater left by the brawling Gods. He had seen the entity that had made the Crater as a sheer display of strength but once. A being of seemingly unstoppable force and serenity in silver armor who'd appeared with a tall Barane of an alternate Tamir III,the species'  characteristic brown skin, black hair, and brown eyes overlaid with skin that in parts gleamed with a metallic hue of remote and strange hues from other dimensions. Humans. Such a strange race. 

He stooped down, looking at stones where the monstrous Starspawn had collided. These might be valuable in his researches. Known as Shadows, these rocks were touched by the essences of the Beyond, infused with marvelous and mysterious powers testament to the Gods that made them. His pursuit of a greater and more terrible weapon was still ongoing, but looking at the aftereffects of his Omegas successfully withstanding a blow from the kind of entity that spawned them Shanar had an uncharacteristic melancholy thought. 

Supposing his Kesheli concept did come to fruition, blending the genetics of the template of the Omega-1 with the strange material he found in the wake of explorations of the Pharaoh Nephren-Ka, the creation of a God among Gods. Holiest of holy relics, pieces of the Soul and Messenger of the Outer God, The first model had easily shown a power of dreadful nature, capable of acting on a multiversal scale. Only a worst-case scenario, his creations entirely victorious in this bloodbath and assuming the role of God-Emperors and Empresses over the whole of the Imperial dimension could motivate it. 

He still took the stones, the melancholy growing. What price success for one who mastered one of the fundamental forces of a universe if the price was these vast craters, bleeding mountains that weeped multi-colored ichor, and rumbling rasping after-echoes that kept percolating into eternity. At times he seemed to catch flashes of the immense green and clawed and silver form of the maddened Worldbreaker, at one point scraping residue that proved promising after an initial scan into a tube. 

He'd looked up and he'd seen the colossal form towering over him, fanged mouth leering straight down at him and he'd raised his hands to shield himself, a glowing sphere of nuclear energy forming by default and dissipating with glass blasted from dust in a circular pattern around him when the illusion vanished. Yes......only at the worst possible case for the would-be master of the New Gods would this happen. In fact, if he could will it at all, there would never be such another abomination birthed in his laboratories again. 

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