Chapitre 334: Above One's Bend
The sprawling engravings etched upon the ground stir with a sinister Ether. Even from a distance, as the pale light spreads, my heart sinks, and Aniwye cries out in shock. The scripts written in such ancient language, dormant since the dawn of this whole battle from Tonyun's artistry, begin to writhe and pulse with an otherworldly life of their own. Each character and symbol dances in a macabre symphony, resonating with a malevolent intent.
They wobble, squirm, and quiver along the ground, spreading out like the wings of some long-ignored being. Aniwye shudders for the first time since the battle began, her skin crawling as she backpedals with genuine fear.
"He—he—Why?"
Quickly, I ask her what's happening as the lights spread more while Leviathan and Ytern back off Vincent, the former delivering a warning with a sharp tone.
"Vincent. Tell us the ways. If not, we will put you down. It is for the good of the whole world, after all."
Aniwye trembles, a tear falling from her cheek and onto the inscriptions below that now surround us. Her heart palpitates as she delivers me an answer to a question I didn't even have time to fully form in thought.
"They're calling a God. The inscriptions... they are old Enochian. Most of these words are long-forgotten pieces of history... Leviathan and Tonuyn must have been planning this. But which God? And who can handle the consequences? I underestimated how far they were willing to go for the information to the last stair. It's not merely their lives they are risking. It is all of ours."
Her words stun me, leaving me without a way to respond as I struggle to fathom its meaning. More? A more powerful figure than these will emerge? A God?! They are threatening Vincent with a fucking GOD!?
Leviathan hurtles with a speed that prompts an explosion in the air, landing beside Tonuyn as she places a hand on the Pygmy's back. Again, she shouts into the air, her words leaving echoes in the winds.
"VINCENT! Don't be stubborn! We are not asking for your life! This is unneeded! Have we not proven ourselves, you madman!? How prideful are you! Tell us how to become Gods! And we can work together! We can protect this world as one! I do not wish for all the beings in the world to die!"
The sands respond to her with words, deep baritone grumbles that exit from each granule as the shadowed figure within the mountains and mountains of sand rears back, his arms stretching behind him in effort. The man beneath it all stumbles back, the pain and struggle shown underneath the strength to lift the world on his back. He nearly collapses as he rears backward, but the man recovers, lurching forward with all his might.
"You wish for a world where none have free will. Behemoth wishes for a world where all exist underneath his boot. Tonuyn craves for a reality where only one's intelligence matters. Even Ytern, as quiet as he is, desires a realm where there is only calm and ice. Our very natures differ. All that will occur if I aid you all is our wars will become greater. The scales will rise. From the little ones and their few Angels to true Gods waging oblivion upon each other."
A silence reigns for a moment as the sands pause. Aniwye's eyes catch a subtle transfer between Leviathan and Behemoth with the former's Ether, but she can't pick up on the meaning. Behemoth, despite being close to Vincent's true body, retreats back toward the other three. As he backpedals, literal rivers and lakes of dark red blood fall from his gigantic form, crashing into the earth and leaving a spiraling river.
My mind halts on the sight for a second, remembering what caused the creation of Tornridge. The river of blood. A land dyed with red after a brutal fight between my father and demons. Did my father fight Behemoth?
The thought can't even remain in my mind for over a second as Vincent follows through with the sand, his words echoing across the region once more.
"The Mother Below is the grand threat. This, I know. This, you all judge me for doing what I do. However, I must say, if I am to choose between two evils, regardless of their severity, I would much rather crush them all. I am Vincent Harvey. I do not make deals with demons, Gods, or Otherplanars. I do not make concessions. I do not surrender. I do not retreat. I have never once lost a fight. I have seen empires fall and continents sink beyond the fog. I will overcome anything that comes my way. Call Hurakan. I am excited to see how the weakest God fares against my Wastes."
Vincent's declaration into the night sky is the most arrogant thing ever said. I can even feel Aniwye's heart—furnace—churn in anticipation of his arrogance. Leviathan scoffs, Behemoth laughs, and Tonuyn shakes his head in response. I do notice, though, that Ytern only sighs, his head sinking low as if in a grim acceptance of an unknown fate.
They look down on this human, even now. But... I can't help but believe him. His words are the very definition of human arrogance. The deadliest sin is blatant. No, it's paramount within the Prime.
Yet, he's not wrong.
Unchallenged, undefeated, invincible, inhuman—those are all words that describe the man's life. He's never had a true equal. There are those who have stood against him, but none who have stood alongside him. Not even against the demons thousands of years older than him. Underneath his pride and desire to save the world, though, I sense an even greater need.
He wants a challenge.
And I think he's about to get one.
Aniwye shifts back even further, not even caring to gaze back anymore as she runs for her life. Vast lines of sand fade with her every step, but no matter how far she runs, there is more sand to follow. The wastes go as far as the eye can see and even beyond that.
As she runs, however, I bolster her with every skill I can manage within this frame of mind. The only Sigil skills that I can't push into motion are Liberation and Burdenless. I think they are either impossible, or I'm not yet practiced enough with them to do so.
While the Alliance retreats, preparing to conjure Hurakan, the Tempest, the Storm's Eye, and the Wings Of Air, Vincent simply continues his rising sands, spreading them further and further in his grand act. Without having to defend himself, the Waste infects the world even faster, jumping into the air.
Aniwye's breath hitches as portions of the very air turn to dust, forcing her to cover her mouth with a skill that filters the air. It's no longer a simple skill propagated by a solid or liquid vein of Ether. It's moving on its own via some... some concept. I don't know how it works, but it gives me pause, especially as some of the air in Aniwye's lungs turns to sand.
Moments of preparation from the Alliance pass until the ground rumbles beneath our feet. Sinister wisps of dark energy emerge from the engravings, coiling and spiraling into the night sky. An eerie chorus of whispers echo through the air, carrying an ancient, foreboding message.
I can't decipher the meaning of the whispers that sound more like whistling air, and before I can listen to even a few, Aniwye shouts at me.
"Ignore whatever you hear! Hurakan was corrupted by the one below long ago! He was one of the first to be taken by her, and he's a shell of his former self! Don't listen! Don't look!"
I endeavor to block out the noise, but it's not easy. The whispers burrow deep, straining to have me listen. Only due to my past with the Bloody Palm can I hear but not listen to the madness.
The anticipation builds like a storm on the horizon, and a shiver runs down my spine as I sense the impending arrival of a being beyond mortal comprehension. The very atmosphere thickens with tense electricity as the writhing tendrils of dark energy converge at a single point in the heavens, moving at a speed beyond that of even Aniwye's awareness.
Those dark tendrils enter the sky, crashing into the heavens with a reverberating screech as Vincent continues to let them do as they please. His sand continues unperturbed as a crack in the sky opens from the tendrils, stabbing into it and wrenching it open.
Sparks of vibrant black peek out from the hole as if testing the limits. I can't not look. My senses, using Aniwye's as a medium, are honed onto the fissure.
Slowly, almost agonizingly, the form of Hurakan begins to take shape above those tendrils. It starts as a shadowy silhouette, a vague outline in the night sky. His wings, countless in number, extend outward as he forces himself through the opening, blotting out the stars as they unfurl with a grotesque grace.
Behind him in that opening is a long strip of land, forming out from the edge of some continent, stretching out over the ocean like a cliff. Yet, the being, despite his enormous size, is paltry compared to the construct of earth behind him. None of it matters as the God fully enters the sandy air.
Leathery appendages, like gnarled branches of some accursed tree, hang from each accursed wing, swaying ominously in the tumultuous air. Dark black lightning with hints of silver stretches from each appendage, striking anything that comes near, whether cloud or speck of dust.
The once-majestic deity, now corrupted beyond recognition, continues to coalesce. His form twists and contorts with each passing moment, evolving into an abomination that defies all natural laws. A thousand wings, mottled and grotesque, stretch across the heavens, casting an inky shroud over the earth below.
The moon is covered as if never to be seen again. Darkness reigns without any hint of light. The only color that exists is black and sandy brown as Hurakan descends from the sky. Aniwye pauses, slowly turning around to face the God as winds of sand curl around her, the dust all heading toward Vincent.
The tendrils that hang from his wings writhe and twitch in an awful dance as Leviathan finally acts. She reaches out with her arm as Ether leaves her body, forming a visible psychic connection, similar to a bridge, between her and the God. Instantly, she falls to her knees in pain, but she doesn't relent.
Hurakan, upon being touched by the Demigod, roars at reality. Lightning sparks in every possible direction for miles, and arcs of darkness reach out toward even Aniwye. She throws her arms up, forming a shield with her mind and Ether before being sent tumbling away from a single bolt.
My vision swims and shakes as the sights of Hurakan boil their way into my mind. The way his leathery and pallid skin stretches taut over a writhing mass of tendrils that squirm and curl embed themselves into my skull. Where eyes should be, there are only empty sockets, black voids that seem to consume all light around them. Those black voids eat into my mind.
But Aniwye recovers first, wiping her head with her hand as the sights disappear, allowing me to see the happenings far away.
"Better now? That bolt just sent us nearly a mile away. I took the brunt of it, but I need a few seconds to heal. Probably about time I start using artifacts, huh? A bit risky and costly, but better than dying."
Hurakan's presence is suffocating, and the air is charged with an otherworldly electricity that pricks at my skin. As he hovers above the ground, his form seems to shift and contort, as if he exists simultaneously in multiple dimensions. And while he hovers, bound by Leviathan, Tonuyn and Ytern make their moves.
The former has countless steel links emerge from the ground from the remaining inscriptions that hurtle into the sky, wrapping around Hurakan's every limb. There must be millions of tons of steel in the sky as Ytern climbs onto one, and rides it up, spreading chill as he meets the God. The Pale Cavity in his hand threatens reality with each beat.
Hurakan trembles; even shortly after awakening from centuries of slumber, the being is still beyond compare. Yet, he's not beyond the power of the Alliance to manipulate minorly. With those chains, psychic binds, and the ice that covers Hurakan, Behemoth steps forth and holds onto the steel.
And with one furious roar, he pulls the many links, forcing the God to come to earth. Destination?
Vincent Harvey.
Time seems to slow as Hurakan hurtles through the air, a writhing mass of wings and tendrils. The Wastelander, perhaps sensing the impending cataclysm, reacts instinctively, contorting his towering spires of sand to shield himself from the oncoming force. Islands of mass are placed between him and the God that is cities in length.
The impact is cataclysmic, as for a moment, it is day once more. Hurakan collides with the barricade of sand, and the world erupts into an explosion of elemental fury. Thunderous roars of wind and lightning clash with the relentless fury of the sand, creating a maelstrom of devastation. The lightning, while black, has its hints of silver bloom explosively as it digs into the sand, shining like that of a silvery sun in the sky.
A shattering roar comes from Vincent as the sand around him vanishes from its speed, leaving the Demigod alone and unprotected as he surrounds the God with so much earth that I worry there won't be any left to stand on. Around Aniwye's feet, there is no more dust, only stone, but the ground is lower. Several feet lower than it once was, and I can already see the sand returning from the rock, replacing what has left.
His Wasteland is almost done. I don't know how I know, but I do. My eyes return to the continent of sand high in the sky as it sparks with silver lightning, the arcs breaking through the dust as glass falls to the ground from the heat. Hurakan rages, his cries growing louder and louder, but Vincent doesn't retreat. The lone man strides forward, his efforts enough to temper a God.
But then, a moment of awe-inspiring recklessness occurs. The Alliance of Demigods releases all restrictions placed on the God, realizing that a chained God is not enough to defeat the strongest man.
The chains fall, the bridge of psychic energy fades, and Ytern, who was upon the fetters, leaps to the ground with a slide of frosty ground. Before the Warmaster even touches the soil, however, an even more tremendous explosion of electricity emerges alongside a veritable tornado.
It's as if they've uncaged a primal force of nature, unbridled and untamed. No. That's precisely what he is. Born from the earliest Sigils in this world, forged from nothing but Ether—that is what the old Gods are—primeval forces of nature.
Hurakan, now unleashed, becomes a tempest of unfathomable proportions. It is a storm visible until the end of the horizon forms, threatening all that live under the night sky. His wings and tendrils lash out in every direction, tearing through the very fabric of reality. Lightning crackles and dances across his form, the only source of light in this darkness.
The Executioner Of Dust, who once exuded confidence, is now obviously placed into a battle for survival. The once endless pillars of sand that defined his domain begin to crumble and dissipate in the face of Hurakan's unrelenting onslaught. Vincent is sent tumbling back from Hurakan as the God rushes for him, the winds too much for the eldest man to bear.
My heart, or at least Aniwye's heart, accelerates with an unbridled concern. What happens if Vincent loses? The Gods were all asleep, or those that were awake were too far and corrupted to make a move. But now, Hurakan is in the center of Mari. Can the Alliance bring him down? Maybe. Tonuyn is said to specialize in sealing, but I don't think it will be enough.
The earth trembles beneath their titanic clash, and the sky itself seems to weep as rain pours down in torrents. As I watch this cataclysmic battle unfold, I can't help but feel the insignificance of humanity in the face of such divine power.
But I have to remind myself of one fact. Even as Vincent is forced against a mountain of rock, his sand whirling in the tempest that Aniwye, miles away, struggles not to be tossed into, that being? That being is a human. He is made of flesh and bone, just as I and all the others.
Slammed into the earth from the momentum pushed against him, Vincent shakes his head wearily, glancing up at the unimaginable horror above him. His arms splay outward as his fingers and palms turn to a fine grain of sand, one with an incarnadine tint.
So much brown and yellow suffuse the sky that the planet itself seems filled by a sandstorm. The Waste is no longer controlled by Vincent. Now, another God owns it.
Lightning bears down on Vincent, threatening to end his life as it suffuses him, shrouding the man in silvery darkness. Vast swathes of wind compress into blade that slice toward him, the feeble sands around him barely guarding his form.
Yet the old man doesn't falter. His now-young flesh stretches in effort as the once-feathered-serpent of old dives for him, a thousand open maws and a million empty sockets. With a short stumble forward, Vincent sputters a mouthful of blood as the man gradually fades into his very element, leaving behind not even the tattered clothing covering him.
"I expected you to be strong, Hurakan. I expected you to be stronger than any I've ever faced. But... The Endless Devours All."
État de l’alimentation hebdomadaire
-- Classement
Power Stone 
-- Power
stone