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The Chronicles - Printable Version

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The Chronicles - deific - 07-21-2016

The Chronicles

[Potential Walk-in]

[Image: S6SNJSX.jpg]

A series of universes intertwined, bringing together that which was previously thought impossible.

Chapter 1: An Age of Darkness.

RE: The Chronicles - deific - 07-23-2016



The throne felt cold. Leon's entire estate had an icy chill to its air, that which crept and clung upon anything adjacent. Windows glowed from the somber flames of green braziers. It was gloomy, yet enchanting. Years had passed since the link was shattered, yet Leon still managed to cling to life. Time did not ail him, nor did he waver in the face of Death. Order over Telara had been usurped by him, the Inquisition tucked in Sanctum and away on a separate continent while the reign of Mannus extended forth from Moonshade. The highlands were not the same as they were before. Perhaps they resembled more of what Stillmoor used to be- a land for the dead. Clouds hung in the sky, blotted wherever the sun may attempt to peek. Permanently overcast, yet a tinge of ominous green gave them a hue fit for the afterlife. A series of crusades embedded the deathly wail of Leon's army into the heart of Telara, twisting it into a haven unfit for anyone he did not look upon kindly. With a kingdom at his grasp Leon should have felt whole, however a certain emptiness bit at him. The throne felt cold.

It was an Age of Darkness.

He did not know where she was- alive or dead. Constantly he convinced himself that she wasn't worthy of thought, but in the back of his head she remained. It was a bitterness more than love that lingered in his core. An anger swelled. Not a grudge, but inability to detach himself from the past that brought him to where he currently was. That wasn't all that kept persistent in Leon's life, evident as his fingertips brushed over the black, veined scar that started from his left eye. Not only had it spread, but it sapped at the master necromancer more harshly now. Ever since the link had been broken Leon suffered a state of weakness, as if a fraction of his life had been stolen away from him. No one within the kingdom knew why Leon and Pfifer had gone their separate ways. The ritual was the only thing they remembered from that time years ago. How many lives had been sacrificed? They were all cultists, thorough believers ready to lay themselves down. Leon did not have ill feelings toward their sacrifice. He had given them purpose. There was a chance that she had survived the separation as well, that her dark elder gods had granted her salvation in wake of her worship. It had taken time, but eventually Leon saw through her ploy. The revivification of that which she desired would have rendered their world, and many others to dust. He was not looked at as a lover, but as a tool. So he broke their bond, forcibly separated their bodies and souls. He thought that over time that emptiness would wane. Still, the throne felt cold.

The air sparked and fizzed in front of Leon and soon a lich came into view, crawling forth from green fire. Already it kneeled before him, bright, undead eyes locked upon Leon's boots. "Reporting, sire," came its voice, a ghastly tone similar to the macabre appearance it held. The Elf's eyes directed themselves to his vassal, clear and blue as ever- as if nothing had aged him. It was rare for Leon to ever be truly alone anymore. As Supreme Hierarch he had assistants ready at a moments notice, both living and dead. Though the long halls and corridors of the Mannus estate seemed empty, they never were. Stern and commanding were both good ways to describe the way Leon spoke to his underlings, understanding the exalted position he possessed. "What news do you have for me?" He expected good. No. Satisfactory. Failure was not taken to lightly. With potential, absolute victory just out of grasp there was no room for error. Usually he could tell what tone the news was going to be by how long the hesitating pause endured after the same initial question. Immediately the lich spoke up, voice sounding strained but likely due to its undead state, not the nature of its news.

Obedient, the lich did not stir from its position. It only spoke. "Sire, our armies have begun to amass along what borders still remain of the living. The conquest over the land of Stillmoor is ongoing- but the tide is in our favor, my Lord. I would inquire to ask why we are fighting fellow undead, but-" A position of power was forgotten for but a moment, and like a predator Leon seized the opportunity. "But you know better than to question my judgment. That is correct, Commander Jerekt? We fight the undead of Stillmoor because they do not bow before me. Because they hold allegiance elsewhere." As Leon's lips came to a pursed close his brows furrowed, blonde like the locks that draped over his shoulders. "Understood, Sire.." Jerekt's voice had dropped several decibels. If he could have swallowed hardly, he would have. "Continue," was all that Leon said afterward. Though pressured, Jerekt did so, "Sire, Scarlet Gorge and Scarwood are now under our complete control. The borders have expanded and we've begun the terraforming transformation. Soon they will glow like Moonshade. Gloamwood is already under complete reign and our forces extend to the borders of Stonefield and the Whitesand Desert. They seek guidance from that point."

Conquest grew tiresome at times.

Arms pushed against the rests as Leon rose to his feet, stepping down from his throne. "Come here," the Elf commanded, gesturing lazily with a jeweled hand. He stopped at a large, barren table with Jerekt by his side. Palm down, energy circulated through his veins and emitted onto the surface in front of them. As the green haze spread along the tabletop a topographical map of Telara as a whole came into view, with regions labeled along with borders. From there he carried out the next segment of orders, "Silverwood is still not completely my domain, as the Vigil and Inquisition cleanse from the safety of Sanctum. Due to the geographic placement of the city we will save an invasion of it for a later date. For now, increase pressure within Silverwood. Twist the land and make the corruption creep closer to their holy city. Soon, they will be completely trapped." Next his fingers dragged along the map, a sizzling flare of green at the tip of his index. The pointer stopped at the city of Meridian. "Although not with the Inquisition or the Vigil, the Defiants have lived up to their name. Their armies prevent us from expanding over the South side of Stonefield and into Freemarch. Their city is well fortified. Make sure they stay there. I want surgical reconnaissance in a horseshoe around their capital. Monitor their movements- report if they attempt anything drastic. Freemarch will be mine in time. Those are my orders." Leon left the map standing for a minute longer or so as Jerekt translated the orders, writing them down on what could have been a stitched and sewn scroll of dried out human skin. As the minutes elapsed, the map faded.

Age didn't effect Leon, but strain on his soul did. As he collapsed back into his throne a long exhale pushed its way out of his chest, eyes closed as if collecting himself. Comfort was not measurable to him any longer. Emotion and devotion were wrought and almost void with Leon, torn apart just like the bond he once harbored with another being. He was different now. Oculars looked upon the lich, who turned to him once again.

"Commander Jerekt."

"Yes, sire?"

"You are dismissed." With that, Jerekt became swathed with flames once more, disappearing against the smooth, shiny black tile that lined Leon's throne room. Once again Leon was 'alone', the light of the braziers all that accompanied him. Still, the throne felt cold.

RE: The Chronicles - deific - 07-23-2016

Could the ship go any faster? Had the limits already been pushed? Demagol strained, angry in the cockpit of his prized Starfire. "WHY?" He screamed out against the glass, fist smashing against a panel in front of him. Buttons flashed, some of them turning into repetitive blips. His head was a storm, mind a mess and body potent with fury-induced adrenaline. The unbelievable had happened. The planet's gravity well was becoming a memory of the past already, the vast emptiness of space there for the Mandalorian's taking. That's not what he wanted, though. Through orbital debris he maneuvered, ancient broken vessels that very well could make him join their graveyard. Demagol was acting rash- reckless. Another shout, LOUDER, it echoed off the walls of his ship. "Why would she do that?!" rang out, as if expecting the AI in his ship to answer the question for him. It couldn't tell often what was rhetorical and what wasn't. All that he could think of was getting as far away as possible as quickly as his ship would allow. Still in his armor, the only missing piece the helmet which rolled across the floor of the hull as the ship turned and whipped through space. "It must be a trick- some sort of plan she has in the back of her head. Why- why would she just up and leave?" The Mandalorian's body fumed, hot like magma. There was no reason to be had in the wake of recent events.

Abandonment was always ever-looming.

Alone, again. Just like that. In a split second they were separated and almost without a fight. To meet her brother seemed like a doable option, something that they could work around. In the back of Demagol's head he thought it would help strengthen the bonds they already had. That she would make a choice and that he would be it. A mistake. Is that what he was to her? All that pent up emotion released in the worst of ways, taken out on the operational panel of Starfire's dash. Was he crying? What was fueling those tears? Demagol had never been the type to run away from his problems, so why now? Was he afraid? Afraid of the vulnerability that he had given up? Hand forward on the ship's thrusters, he refused to sit idly. Whatever this was, he had to get away from it. Had he family anymore? Was there an actual home for him to go to like there was for her? Unlikely. This ship had always been his home. It would likely be his grave.

The further Demagol got from Grezik's gravity well the more he thought he'd feel better. That wasn't the case. Instead, the anger ate at him voraciously, like a starved canine. Their journey together had been short, but was that their crutch? That they relied on so much so early on? In the face of a split path she had chosen her brother over him. It wasn't expected, and that's what made the ache in Demagol's chest hurt all that much more. That confidence he bolstered, that false bravado toward something he thought was surely in his favor. It was all for not, a portion of his world swept up and away from him in an instant. Try as he may, he couldn't make sense of it. The sickness in his stomach was due to his emotional distraught more than the ship's weaves and barrel rolls. He didn't know where he was going, broken fragments of rock quickly jetting past while he boosted in the opposite direction. Harsh instability had made Demagol foolish, his situational awareness completely nonexistent as he took his anger out on his ship and himself. Obliviousness was about him as blips came up on his radar, closing in on the rear flank of his ship. The Mandalorian flew with his eyes wide shut.

Only when the sound of pulsar blasts shot past his ship did he awaken from his coma of volatile. Immediately he was in action-mode, hands all about the controls of the ship to triangulate where all of the attacks were coming from. Judging by their formation and flight patterns he was able to distinguish what they were as he had dealt with them on numerous occasions before. "Fuckin' pirates." Teeth bared, a growl forcing its way through whatever openness could be found. Everything was red. Everything bled the same blood. That killer in him that he held moderated came forth, a beast that controlled his consciousness. Aerial acrobatics ensued as Demagol slammed on the decelerator and turned his ship on a dime, whirling and spinning straight toward the face of death. It was three on one. Fair odds. More pulsar shots rang out toward him and he returned in kind, evasively turning the ship so that no hits were taken on his end. A direct retaliation was likely unexpected by the pirates who assaulted the Mandalorian, quickly demonstrated as Demagol's first volley of shots ripped through the hull and cockpit of the centermost vessel. In moments of extreme adrenaline it was said that time seems to slow down. No. It was the opposite. Everything raced. Nothing was ever standing still. This meant that split seconds were even more important than previously anticipated.

"I am NOT in the mood to be FUCKED WITH right now."

The shot fighter pirate's vessel divebombed downward with thrusters on full blast, rendering it incapacitated while Demagol maneuvered his ship to bisect the remaining marauder vessels. They arced and split, which meant that they would both be temporarily on their own for the time being. Something that they should have avoided. Already the Mandalorian was seizing the moment, calibrating his ship's momentum to maneuver around and intercept one of the pirates as it was turning. Like a T-bone, but with lasers. There was little the pirate could do other than watch his shields go offline from an EMP shot and rail guns tear through his engine compartment like pieces of paper. Fire erupted from the back of the ship's hull, engulfing its mass until it reached the fuel reservoir and became the catalyst to a large explosion. Two down, one to go. Reckless abandon caught up with Demagol quickly unfortunately as the final stray pirate caught one of his rear thrusters with a lucky shot. The entire mass heaved forward, slamming Demagol's face up against the dash and spreading a laceration along his brow, the Mandalorian's helmet ricocheting off the inner walls of the ship. He was surprised it hadn't cracked him in the skull yet at this point. Blood trickled down his face, welling at the bottom of his respective eye. Again his voice roared forth, "I'm not fuckin' dying yet!" came in cadence with the ship performing a hard pivot with only one thruster active. It was now or never.

"Starfire! Boost shields! We're going in hot!" Punched forward, the ship lurched, inevitably tilted due to unequal engine thrust. That was all he needed though, rushing against death's blade as he fired off another volley of rail cannons and laser blasts. It was a scatter shot, but it found its home along the center-front of the oncoming ship. This time the explosion was immediate, but due to that Demagol was unable to see the debris and shrapnel that came straight for him like the detonation of a massive grenade. A last second yank of the directional stick stopped him from taking a full collision, but remedial shred was unavoidable as metal scraps hit his shields. More rocking ensued, the engagement thought to have been over until an entire loose door broke through his ship's shields and tore along the canopy. "FUCK!" A harsh yank in the opposing direction sent the ship spiraling out of control, motion sickness making Demagol feel nauseous. Suddenly there was more of a formal pull, the ship being dragged in a definite direction as the Mandalorian attempted to regain his space legs. He was being pulled into another planet's gravity well. It didn't look very urbanized- lots of forest on the surface. Would he survive the burn in? A bloodied face looked out the front. "..So this is it, 'eh?" This ship had always been his home. It would likely be his grave.

RE: The Chronicles - deific - 07-24-2016

The ground shook. Seismic vibrations rocked the infrastructure of the lab. They were coming. He had to hurry. Scientists were running amok, attempting to gather all of the valuable intel they could carry. It seemed like a hopeless endeavor. Where would they go? The enemy was already upon them, breached and through the gates of the facility. It would be impossible for even a fraction of them to escape at this point. Were the underground tunnels blocked off? Had they caved in already? Another explosion shook the walls of the building, beakers and bottles falling onto the ground and shattering, spilling whatever contents all over the floor. The experiment had to stay out of their hands. There was no other option. Within the impending chaos was one of the testers, Valerius. He preferred the term 'prototype' over anything else, having a lot of disdain for the term 'guinea pig'. He wasn't helpless. He was a volunteer embodiment for the future. The front-most blast doors were seared off by the corners by a shaping charge, another explosion spreading fire and debris into the main entrance of the lab. The screams were loud, panicked and everywhere. Within the facility Valerius did his best to maintain his composure, entering the unlock sequence to their latest experiment- the one the R'tuuk were after. The Serum had to remain intact.

"Valerius! Go! You have to escape with the sample!" came a familiar voice. Gerard usually was the scientist who helped administer the tests on Valerius, monitor and run them to prevent things from going haywire. Were it not for Gerard's expertise in his field Valerius would probably have been a pile of sludge long ago. Gunfire began to fill the entire facility with deafening sound, deathly howls of coworkers wailed in harmony. Valerius' hands were shaky, fidgeting all over the locking mechanism in attempt to undo it. His nervousness was getting the better of him. Most of their research would get plundered no matter what, but the least they could do is save their latest creation. It hadn't even been formally tested yet, but there was no time for morality in this disaster. With the massacre ongoing time was a crucial factor, hopefully in Valerius' favor as he finally got through all of the locking mechanisms. The chamber opened, clouds of cool mist billowing outward and spilling down the pylon. No time to waste, the man reached in and took the entire kit out and under his arm. "Gerard! We have to go now!"

If at least two of them could survive they could compile their data and flee to another one of the more protected facilities, maybe one of the underground ones. It begged the question; was this the only facility being hit right now? Did the R'tuuk assault multiple installations at the same time? Questions to think more on when death wasn't nipping at the heels. Within the box tucked underneath Valerius' left arm was the entire experimental kit, resistant to most forms of damage. This experiment was some sort of mutagen strain, a biological alteration. No hands-on testing had been conducted thusfar, but that didn't make the contents any less valuable than they were. This is what the R'tuuk wanted to get their hands on. Smog spread throughout the facility, sending Valerius into a daze as he saw the chaos unfolding. How had everything fallen apart so quickly? Today was supposed to be a breakthrough day. What used to be white walls, clean desks and orderly screens was now a mess of bodies, blood, and broken machines. If the R'tuuk were after their research why were they killing so indiscriminately?

"What are you staring at, Vale, let's go!" Gerard's hands pushed Vale in the opposite direction, forcibly moving him toward what looked like a standard wall. Tiles shifted as Gerard pushed his palm against a select one and input a digital code, two doors swinging inward to reveal as secret passageway. It wasn't very tall, just barely below six foot. Vale slipped inside of the passage, but not very long before he heard voices shouting in their direction. "HEY! Over there! They're trying to escape!" Something in his chest tightened, like air was struggling to make its way to his lungs. Immediately he looked to Gerard, who pushed both of the doors back together with all of his might, bracing his back against them afterward. There was a look on his countenance. It might have been sadness. Maybe it was acceptance. Vale didn't have much time to think before Gerard forced him back into the world of the coherent.

"GO VALE! GO NOW! I'LL HOLD THEM HERE AS LONG AS I CAN!" The doors were already being rammed against, Gerard struggling to keep them completely together.

"But- what about y-" Vale grimaced and shook his head, cut off by his coworker in a quick manner.

"NO! GET OUT OF HERE! YOU HAVE TO LEAVE ME!"

Vale's legs seemed to work against his heart, forcing him to run down the escape tunnel as the R'tuuk breached the entrance. He ran as fast as he could manage in the narrow corridor. If there was another way he would have taken it in a heartbeat, but they both knew the situation. Just as Vale disappeared from view down the tunnel his colleague released a sigh of relief, as if in acceptance of his fate. A hand raised with the smallest smile to accompany it, "It was a pleasure working with you, Valerius.. make us proud. This is Doctor Bryan Gerard, signi-" A breach charge ripped through the center of the door, creating an open cavity the size of a volleyball in Gerard, who collapsed forward with the rubble of the doors in the tunnel. The shock blast of the charge echoed throughout the tunnel, causing Vale to stumble and fall onto his front roughly. 'No!' screamed out in his head as the wind was knocked out of him, the man scrambling to his feet with the box in hand, desperate to escape. The R'tuuk were likely closing in on him fast. Would he make it to the end of the tunnel in time? Fear was beginning to set in, terror even. Up just around the bend he could make out what looked like the exit. He was almost there!

"Come on! Come on! COME ON!" Vale raced, the sound of footsteps belonging to someone else catching up to him. Box in hand, Vale sprinted as fast as his legs could carry him, thankful that he had a medium build and not one of the more heavy set ones some of the other scientists possessed. Cardio was not part of his daily routine unfortunately, already struggling to breathe as he neared the end of his potential escape. The footsteps were getting louder, closer. Just when Vale thought salvation was within his grasp and the doors ahead swung open he could feel himself crash forward while being tackled from behind. Taken by surprise, the box flew out from under his arm and skittered across the ground. Hands attempted to keep Vale pinned to the ground, who then sent an elbow directly into the stomach of whoever was on top of him. A groan and hacking noise ensued as a R'tuuk agent rolled onto his side. Perhaps it was the sheer irrationality that caught up with Vale as he impulsively opened up the box containing the experiment with the precious seconds earned by him. Several clicks followed one another as it swung open, revealing a container with dark blue liquid and several pre-filled syringes inside. Meters away from him the agent fumbled to remove his sidearm from its holster.

"Human trial test begins now- I've got nothing else to lose!" Quickly Vale grasped onto one of the syringes and slapped the ends of his fingers on the inner crease of his left elbow. The mutagen was thick as he pushed the strain directly into his bloodstream, reminding him of the consistency of penicillin. Effects took hold immediately as his veins already began to darken and spiderweb out near the point of insertion, Vale's muscles tightening and then convulsing just as the final drop in the syringe was injected. Instantly his entire body was ravaged by severe spasms, causing him to roll all over the place as he screamed in dismay. Electricity arced between his teeth as he shrieked, his body involuntarily moving. Just next to him the agent had finally managed to bring his sidearm to the ready up position, five rounds fired at Vale from close range. Was this it? Was all of their effort in vain? Vale's eyes, now a vibrant, luminescent blue stared at the gun's barrel as he was fired upon. Energy surged throughout his body, skin tingling and fuzzy. Something was burning. What was it?

A flash of bright, blue light.

As if short circuiting, Vale's body released a series of pulse charges in every direction, bolts of electricity violently reaching out toward anything in reach. All of the bullets seemed to strike a barrier and bounce off as the R'tuuk agent ignited, channeled lightning overcharging his body and exploding his innards. The air felt heavy, static. Try as he may, Vale couldn't control the electrical impulses that made his muscles spasm. It was almost as horrifying as the sight of the agent nearby, who was steaming, flesh cooked and almost falling off of the bone. Had Vale done this? What was this mutagen? No time to think. Spastic hands gathered up everything inside of the experimental crate and closed it, shakily wrapping an arm around it before Vale escaped out into a deserted alleyway. It was raining outside, a torrential downpour soaking the man seemingly immediately. Into the darkness of the city he stumbled, body still giving off occasional shock bursts even after being discharged.

"M-M-Must make it, make it- MAKE IT to the Cepea facility.. first t-t-t-trial.. non-lethal." Above the clouds mumbled to each other, streaks of lightning across the sky similar to the man on the ground below.

The human trials had just begun.

RE: The Chronicles - deific - 07-25-2016

Chaos always reaped the cosmos. It was a necessary balance to uphold. At the heart of this pinnacle there were stars, and from them spawned transcendent beings known as the Vaalen. Reciprocates of fate, Avatars of Creation, they accepted the responsibility of which power had bestowed upon them. Their presence went unnoticed by most sentient and transient beings. Like flickers in time, they acted as chronometers to all that dwell within space itself. The very creators of the Vaalen would also be the source of their power, which inevitably, would consume them. Star-eaters. Several echelons existed within the species' ranks, often prescribed in accordance to the name structure that the individuals had been given. In some ways these names acted like dynamic families, constantly changing in size due to the progression of the inhabitants within the cohorts. One simply did not stay in a single family forever, less they be a doomed spawn, a Rurokai, known as The Stagnant. Fate, as it stood, was a constant task to be adhered to. Blips on the radar that blossomed as out-liars were to be dealt with accordingly.

"I should have you demoted for this failure, Serono Verokai, Taskmaster of the Fifth Realm. How do you expect to reason yourself out of letting the Abaasy escape?" From his kneeled state, Serono took the foreseen lecture he knew he would receive upon returning empty handed. It was not like him to fail a mission, even in his several millennia of existing. The mission had he had been tasked with had its complications, many of which he chose not to divulge for a variety of reasons. Vaalen were a species purely of the cosmos, missions taken just as seriously as the transcendence they had attained. While in his true form Serono looked intimidating, terrifying even. The Vaalen's skin appeared black, scaled over several times with tiles of sleek black. Claws curled backward toward his wrists, spaced just enough to slot the limb between the middle-most ones. Great horns adorned the crown of his skull, his shoulders and elbows. In some lore he would be regarded as a demon, but as a symbol of fate he ensured that all actions committed were out of duty and respect to the equilibrium of the universe. A long tail lashed from side to side on the ground, scaled and reptilian with an onyx appearance. These beings were not soft. They were not fair in appearance like many others who considered themselves 'immortal' as well. Vaalen outlived all- even the stars trembled in their presence.

The Verokai raised his chin, bright white eyes looking upon the Hiero counsel that questioned him. "Although not in my hands, I do have the Abaasy constantly tracked. I know where she is at any given moment. Finding her would not be much of a problem." When he spoke his long fangs came into view, sharp and serrated on the backends. A long, ashen cloak and robe covered the rest of the Vaalen's appearance, draped along the ground all around him. Here, within the home planet of the Vaalen was the only location where his kind were allowed to resemble their true form. Still, there were others much more powerful than he and much, much more frightening. Serono knew his place.

"Yet you let her go? Why? She was just a demon." said Titus from his gilded throne. Massive wings shifted and fidgeted from the Elder Vaalen's shoulderblades, black and dragon-like. "Not only is the Abaasy at large, but now there are other disturbances in the galaxy piling up in a rapid manner. Our attention is required in multiple locations- as it always is."

It was not possible to explain the truths behind why Serono was no longer pursuing the demon anymore. The counsel would rip him apart if he spoke upon the interactions that took place. "While the Abaasy is tagged I can temporarily divert my duty to these newfound locations. Direct me. I will see to the mission of fate." Bress, the Abaasy, was not a topic that Serono wanted to linger on for very long. The fewer questions asked, the better. Back in time, the reality of the situation was that Serono hadn't let her go because he had to, but because he wanted to. The deal between the demon and himself was that she lie low for a while. If she did, she would have time to rest. However, were Bress to start dismantling the order of the universe again it would be unavoidable that Serono find her again. He wasn't lying when he said she was tagged. The nature of how he tagged her is what he wanted to keep secret.

"For now," another voice chimed in, Q'tai. "You will be weaving several dimensions together. Fate has decreed that certain beings must.. cross paths. Do not take lives and do not imprison anyone in a negative-space nexus." The look Serono received afterward was a hard one, as if he had gotten in trouble for doing such a thing before. Another surveillance mission? Working the wheels of fate without directly inserting oneself into the action was tedious and unrewarding most of the time. Even with that, Serono knew better than to question the commands of the counsel considering the predicament he was in. A deep nod followed, white eyes covered by black lids.

"It will be done."

"Your first destination will be on an isolated planet belonging to an undead cohort. I believe they call themselves La Sombra. The vampires are not what we have interest in- but the superhuman who is mid-mission on the planet's surface. His name is Arcinax. You are to retrieve him from the planet and transport him via wormhole. The final destination of this being will be determined by the time you find him. Go now."

"He will be retrieved and transported as ordered. I will go immediately." There was no need to ask about conflict concerning the mission. Serono was convinced that nothing could stand up against him as he was. So far, nothing proved him wrong. This superhuman was still just a human. A final nod was given as Serono's body became consumed by light, dissipating to bolt away at light-speed.

"Do not fail us, Serono. You have lived and done far too much to lose what you have earned."

Fate was with him. No. He was fate.

RE: The Chronicles - deific - 07-25-2016

The estate was much more than it had been in the beginning. When Leon and Pfifer initially escaped to the secluded location it was completely hidden, a shroud among the highlands. With its cover blown it had grown exponentially, great walls spanning around the entire perimeter. Several levels spread down over the cliff that it was perched upon. The home resembled a gothic castle more than it did a simple estate these days. Towers stood tall, deathly energies hanging in the atmosphere. A centralized tower- the tallest one, was where Leon often chose to overlook his ongoing conquest. Telara seemed smaller from up there. The summit tower conveniently happened to be the closest place to where the warp flux was. It was not easy to prolong his life after Pfifer had been separated from him. Dark energies constantly circulated through his body, using that spiderwebbed vein scar to steal away his energy. Tug-of-war was constant, Leon fighting to keep himself intact while also drawing energy from the endless ocean of the warp. It was a dangerous game no less, but he had to play it that way.

If she were dead, then Pfifer was most definitely a ghost- and surely haunting him. Being the possessor of a stubborn streak, Leon refused to believe that the woman was dead, however. It didn't feel like it. The cawing of circling ravens was enough to stir Leon away from such thoughts, one of them landing on the mage's extended forearm. Most of the wildlife within Leon's domain had been twisted by the necrotic corruption which spread like a plague. Reanimation was extremely common. Forests of ents awoke, no longer a neutral force. Everything undead in the realm existed to snuff out what still survived, then turn it to their cause. With the power of the warp at his fingertips, Leon felt invincible. It had saved him from certain death, prolonging his vitality. Yearn to feel more power was frequent. Followers of the necromancer knew what the true purpose of his visitations to the summit was. To gain power.

Hunger never waned, even when Leon stopped eating food like a regular, sentient being.

Fingertips attempted to grasp at the sky, like there was something there that no one else could see. Eventually necrotic energy bursted from his fingertips, rushing upwards until something appeared to cease its path. From there it spread out, forcing the warp's flux into an open state. Suddenly, the stream evolved into a roaring river. Energy swirled back downward to Leon's figure, engulfing him as he pulled it from the separate dimension. A massive green luminescence colored the lands and sky for miles on end, painting the world in its color. The first time Leon was exposed to the warp, which resembled the endless chaos of space, it permanently scarred him. The growing spiderweb scar was the only blemish on his perfect skin. Now the exposure was different. Instead of Leon being controlled by the warp of chaos, he controlled it. "It is too late to save me. I cannot be saved from myself." Power expanded, now being sent across the domain of Telara in massive, necrotic shockwaves. Use of the energy in this fashion forced corruption over the lands and invigorated the undead of Leon's armies at the same time. It was not wholly consumed by himself, lest he be destroyed by his own greed for power prematurely. Enough was stored to prolong his life in a comfortable manner, the rest devoted to his conquest. It seemed like devotion, but Leon was just trying to ensure his survival.

A final shockwave expanded outward in all directions as Leon drew in the last portion of energy from this occasion. The after-effect was one of the only times he felt anything anymore. Skin tingled. Hair stood on end as if potent with static electricity. Even Leon's eyes had a certain glow to them while staring off into the distant lands of Telara. It would all be his. When his conquest of Telara was complete he would move on to Brevane and Dusken. No land would be safe from him. What was it like to be alive? It wasn't perfection that Leon sought, more so satisfaction. An ironic goal, as both were nearly as impossible to truly achieve as the other. There was always something more. Something he wanted. Lands had to expand. Control had to remain unwavering. Deep in his consciousness Leon wanted to know Pfifer's fate, whether she be alive or dead. His bitterness laid with the world, the placebo cure to take control of it and bend it to his will. If he controlled the world it could not turn against him. Time was a pressing factor, a motivator if anything. To manipulate the power before it could manipulate him. Leon was already an Ascended- but was there a possibility of ascending further past ascension as it was? If he restored his vitality and trained his vessel could he truly become godlike? Such a quest was a dangerous one. Was it worth it?

"As fate would have it, I am destined to rule these lands. Even the sky heeds my call." Digits extended, whirling with the respective hand. Many miles out above the city of Meridian the clouds rumbled angrily. Darkness grew more potent as green streaks of lightning began to storm onto the landscape below. Rain was torrential, a supernatural inclement with the purpose to destroy. In a circle the clouds turned, centralizing around the city itself. Leon knew the Defiants had mages of their own, but could they stand up to him? Could they protect themselves from the storm that was beginning to rip their precious city to pieces? Leon tested fate. He would become its harbinger if such a thing was possible. Both arms spread wide, tornados meeting the ground in several locations across Telara at the same time.

"Nagash was weak.. witness true power!"

RE: The Chronicles - deific - 07-26-2016

It didn't take long for terminal velocity to be reached upon burning into the planet's atmosphere. Drop by drop blood fell, spattering onto the glass of the cockpit. The wound was deep even if it was just a laceration, Demagol's left eye closed up a bit so that blood wouldn't get into the socket. Sensors were going erratic, multiple lights flashing inside of the hull like a series of emergency triggers. His body felt heavy. Just the task of getting himself secured into his pilot's seat was a chore, nausea and lightheadedness fogging over his head slowly but surely. "Fuck.. this can't be it. Not yet.. not now.." Stubborn as ever, the Mandalorian refused to accept the possibility of death. Even when fire pushed along the nose of the vessel from burning into the atmosphere there was no way he could just give up. Ship tilted, Demagol's helmet came flying by his head, perhaps the only stroke of luck he experienced in the wake of recent events. A small omen, maybe? It didn't even smash against the glass and cause premature damage. With all the strength he could muster the helmet was taken into his grasp, secured onto his head and reattached to the suit. The ground was approaching quickly. Through the trees he cut through, colliding with the ground, bouncing and skidding along mossy soil. What was left of Starfire's shields dissipated upon impact, power within the ship rapidly beginning to wane as it came to a grinding stop.

A cough. He was shell-shocked, but alive.

As soon as he undid the bindings to the chair he immediately collapsed onto the floor of the ship. His visor was cracked, split and spiderwebbed vertically. Why did he feel so weak right now? Fatigued muscles dragged him across to where his miniature armory was in the ship. The door to his personal cabin was open, ajar. A series of memories flooded over him, renewing his heartbreak as soon as he lifted his chin up from the floor to look at his room. Some of Rhailo's things were still in there. The clothing that he had bought her upon landing on Grezik. There were small touches to the design, womanly ones. This was their home at one point. No longer. She was gone. It was hard to accept. When they split up they weren't face to face. Rhailo's brother spoke with him one on one. Could it be that some sort of mind trick was used on him? Would Brax go to such lengths to separate the two of them? Imaginations surely went wild when stress was at an all-time high. "It's too fuckin' late now.." The words were muddled, blood trickled down enough to be running over the Mandalorian's lips. "Even if this all was just a ruse by her brother.. it worked." Triceps flexed, Demagol pushing himself up to a wobbly standing position. Electrical functions of the inner ship were beginning to power off one by one. Soon enough Starfire would be a dead ship.

"It's not fucking fair." An armored gauntlet shattered through the glass of Demagol's armory, shards scattered all over the floor around him. Thereafter he broke the fragments that clung to the edges of the frame. His assault rifle was retrieved, along with his blaster pistol and beskad. They seemed heavier than before. Had he exhausted himself with all that rage pumping through his veins beforehand? The inside of the ship began to darken, emergency lights slowly dimming. What was left of his survival rations were stored in the arm slots of his suit, liquid nutrients. It'd keep him going for about a week, at least. A shuffling motion, how the Mandalorian practically struggled to put one foot in front of the other at this point. Fingers grasped at nearby objects and walls as means of temporary support. It was depressing how his world was dissolving around him. The ship he put so much money into was totaled, one of the engines completely inoperable while an entire wing barely held on due to shrapnel and impact damage. It was extensive. There was no way he was getting off this planet by himself. After what seemed like an eternity the rear blast door was reached, the last bit of Starfire's power core being put into making it be able to open up and crash onto the soil outside of the ship. Light flooded into the ship as Demagol tiredly stepped out and into the foreign landscape. Morning, maybe?

The planet didn't seem outright hostile, almost like Alderaan in immediate appearance. Still, Demagol knew he was hopelessly lost. The air felt heavy, but that was likely due to how worn down the Mandalorian was. Passion was how he survived up until now. There just wasn't much left anymore. Everything in his life had been taken so quickly. To endure the oncoming shock would prove to be a harder task than previously anticipated. Even his ship, his beloved Starfire, his only home- was rendered useless. Again Demagol felt alone, now more than ever. He had never trembled like this before, how his body shook uncontrollably. A breakdown of sorts.

Where was she?

"I don't know where you are right now, Rhailo. Probably home with your people. I'm not sure if you actually even care.- Hah." Demagol felt like he was offering up some sort of prayer to the gods, talking to an imaginary friend that wasn't actually there. Was this different? Was he just going insane already? "But I'm not dead. Not yet." His eyes were looking at the sky, the landscape around him as if she was going to pop out from behind a tree and suddenly be there. Demagol felt sick to his stomach again. "If you're out there, listening somehow- just know this wasn't my choice." Depravity was a shattering thing to deal with. With himself, and only himself, the Mandalorian felt very small in a very big universe. He didn't like what he felt. 'A man can have anything if he is willing to sacrifice.' Was it true? What had he gained from all the sacrifice he made? He was left with nothing. A certain feeling was impending as Demagol spoke out once again, so very softly this time.

"Rhailo.. I'm afraid.."

RE: The Chronicles - deific - 07-30-2016

Valerius didn't know what was happening to his body. The spread of convulsions wasn't able to be repressed, spasms forcibly flexing his muscles predominantly in his forearms. Another discharge, like his body was constantly surging with energy until there was no place for it to go but out. His screams were distorted, changing in tone at a rapid rate. Every few feet was a task in itself with how he collapsed over and over again. It seemed impossible to make any real ground with this mutagen making its home in his body. Veins distended, extremely visible whilst they pressed against his flesh. Discoloration spiderwebbed along his skin, painted a dark blue. Vale's body felt hot, like it was constantly short circuiting. What had he gotten himself into? What if this mutagen killed him? Better than getting into their hands at least. No, he wasn't safe yet. There were still other samples that he had to get to safety first. This late into Fall it was extremely dark while storming, the only light provided the artificial sort. The flash of lightning outlined Vale's silhouette, his drenched body which fought to retain a standing position. Every few seconds he failed to stay upright, just collapsing with his palms braced against the cold, wet pavement.

He had to fight it.

Another series of unexpected convulsions wrenched Vale's body across the ground. There was a sensation most uncomfortable, like something was crawling underneath his skin. No one came to see the source of the screams, streets deserted as if a modern ghost town. Part of him wanted someone to come help him, but the smarter side knew that could be disastrous. If they saw what was happening to him they might try to get him shipped to a hospital or worse, notify the authorities. Vale could not risk being taken into custody. While WDGR was a well-known organization, they kept most of their 'experiments' hidden from the public and law. Human genetic experimentation was extremely illegal. Were Vale captured, they would trace him back to the organization and their rate of research would come to a grinding halt. On top of that he would either be imprisoned for life or executed. There were no other choices. If he wanted to make it to facility Cepea, he had to do it alone.

A grip like iron kept that sample box close and clutched to Vale's body, luminescent blue eyes scrutinizing everything around him. Dark alleyways were hard to navigate because of the lack of light, but they were the safest. Step by step he trudged forward, not exhausted by any means- rather, it was the complete opposite. Every fiber of his being felt supercharged, although unstable at the same time. The rate of exertion was heavily overshadowed by the production of electrical impulses and charges that had spread throughout his entire body by now. Yet another uncontrolled discharge of electricity exploded from Vale's body, turning the secluded alleyway into a light show. This time when he collapsed it was only onto a knee, a single hand against the pavement while bolts of electricity arced around his frame. At that point he actually looked at himself again, how the sleeve that belonged to his lab coat was singed and torn to pieces. Curious eyes drew back to take another glance at the entirety of his coat, which looked like it went through a burn barrel and paper shredder combination. Most of the expulsion happened around his torso area, where he presumed most of this newfound energy was storing itself. In a shaky manner Vale brought his free palm to be against his chest, eyes widening at what he felt.

Vale's heart rate had more than quadrupled, thrashing inside of his chest like a drummer on speed. Why had he not felt it? Surely something like this was hugely noticeable. Sparks fizzed and popped at Vale's hand as he pressed against the ground and resumed an upright position. He examined his hand as water streaked down it, how his veins had expanded and how rigid his muscles were. Could it be that all of these electrical impulses fried the nerve receptors in his body? Had he no feeling anymore? It was a plausible assumption that this mutagen was substituting- maybe even mimicking the intense effects of stress-induced adrenaline. If this was true, then the breakthrough they had achieved was far more significant than they ever could have predicted. While the trials were still in the early, unprecedented stages, Vale would be the 'prototype' for this mutagen. It wasn't like he had a choice. Still, it was worth testing to a greater extent. To try and calm himself down was futile, so Vale took the opposite route.

He ran.

While not exactly out of shape, Vale never considered himself to be a runner. The act of sprinting down the lab's passageway to the double doors had been enough to wind him, but now? His muscles reacted like never before, as if unaffected by his running completely. Now Vale was weaving between alleyways beneath the storm which lit up the sky. There was no sign of the inclement letting up as the downpour became more horrendous. Weightless was the best way to describe how he felt. There was no fatigue, no short of breath. Tiredness was not a factor anymore. It had been replaced by constant power, a sensation that drove Vale into a full-on sprint. The instability that wrecked his body before was waning, as if being channeled instead. Muscles worked in overdrive, propelling the mutagen's prototype in a manner unlike any other. Cepea was miles upon miles away, but at this rate would it be an acceptable goal to make it in time?

He had to try.

To Vale's dismay, he was not as bonded to the mutagen as he thought. In the middle of his sprint another discharge struck without warning, rendering his body stiff as a board while he smashed forward. His head bounced off of the ground and his body skipped across the pavement like a rock on a pond. He felt no pain, but his muscles were completely locked up. It was a feeling akin to paralysis. Thoughts raced. Would the stiffness go away? Was there anything he could even do? The side effects of this mutagen were incredible in both a good and bad way. Wet pavement felt cold, or at least, it should have? Vale couldn't distinguish the feeling of the ground against his skin, how his cheek flattened against it. There was nothing. No hot, no cold, no in between. It just was. He couldn't move his mouth, muscles along his jawline keeping it locked in place. These unexplained phenomena were driving his mind mad. Thoughts raced through his head.

"What do I do now? What can I do?" It repeated over and over again, this questioning conscience. Copy and paste, the questions overlapped again and again as Vale waited for something to happen.

"My body is alive- but I can't feel it."

RE: The Chronicles - deific - 08-06-2016

Time was a fickle thing. Within the palm of his hand, there was no such thing as speed. There was only time. To bend it- to control it was within his power when in his realm. Such an ability was required in order to ascend to the topmost tier of the Hierarchy. The final echelon withheld the strongest of the Vaalen and although Serono was at the third tier, he was a power unrivaled by other beings. Not fresh to the rank, Serono had worn it for centuries on end. A few more stars consumed, a few more planets altered and ascension may have been possible once more. Were he to rise to Tsunotai, his power would increase exponentially. It was only a matter of time. This entity he finally had his grasp on would be his key to the title of Hierarch. Even if it took him several more millennia it would not matter. Time was a fickle thing.

At the summit of his planet Serono stood before the beacon. It was a door, a webway to an infinite number of dimensions. As their power increased Vaalen expanded the potential of dimensions they could travel to, or rather, tether together as a means of instant transport to and fro. A spacial flux opened in front of the Vaalen, slowly consuming him as his real appearance dissolved away. Only the home world could see him as he was. Through the warp he went, shot across the vast gulf of time and space in an instant. This Arcinax character was the person of interest, a superhuman of some sort. Analysis suggested that he was part of a large Empire governed by a power known as the Inquisition. With the awakening of technology and genetic experimentation they were more progressed than many other sentient beings in the galaxy. One thing held a ceiling above them, they were still human.

Smog and decay met Serono as he breathed in the atmosphere of this new planet. There was no wind. Light was scarce. It seemed dead, forlorn, a home to those who are lost. Something dwelled underneath the surface of the planet, something ancient. The elders may not have known of it yet, but Serono could feel it. True evil was present, but that wasn't the reason Serono had arrived at this planet. White eyes slowly filled in with bright green irises. Though unnatural, it was the only feature that differentiated the Vaalen from a standard human being other than his seven foot height. His black cloak wrapped around his figure, hood draped over his crown to obscure the entirety of his face save for his glowing eyes. To hunt a human was a much more simple task than an Abaasy. Even a superhuman couldn't travel through dimensions at a rapid rate. A simple step turned into a massive leap which carried the Vaalen high up into the sky, gliding through the air like a predatory bird, a figure of blackness which blended in with the starless sky. On a rooftop he landed, without a sound, without a mark. Curious eyes scanned the landscape, looking for tracks. BOOM! An explosion lit a nearby area with orange and yellow, fire roaring upward until it was smothered by the toxic atmosphere of the planet. The marker was present long enough for Serono to pinpoint the location, immediately appearing on another rooftop above the scene. Another scan was given as several heavily armed soldiers moved along a vacant street, a pale female in tow. Directly in front of her stood a towering human, clad in gilded armor and crests. Serono noticed the several ribbons and lanyards that were hung on and pinned to the man's thick armor. Whoever this was, he was decorated.

"That must be him.."

It did not matter. Vaalen were eons ahead of Humans. An interaction had to be made with this person of interest no matter what ensued. In the next moment Serono disappeared from his previous position and reappeared within Arcinax's formation. What Serono's superiors forgot to tell him was how prone to violence these creatures were. Words could not be uttered before one of the armored soldiers was wheeling around and leaping at the Vaalen. The sound of jetpack thrusters directed Serono's attention to his right flank as chainswords loudly swung at him. It was a cute attempt at an attack. Unparalleled speed accompanied the Vaalen as he pivoted on his heel, arm extended with an onyx luster. The very surface of his body shifted in form, taking the appearance of a large black blade which was connected directly to him. Though the collision didn't seem strong at first, the impact of Serono's blade against the soldier's sent the Vaalen's opposition in the opposite direction at terminal velocity. Force alone was enough to punch the soldier through wall after wall of every building in his path until he met a crashing end over four hundred meters away. The power Serono demonstrated was only a taste of his capabilities. Bright eyes locked onto Arcinax, black cloak billowing on its own.

"Arcinax Grimnar.. You are to come with me, now." Despite being surrounded by Imperium soldiers Serono did not waver. He was fully aware of his power's potential, how easy it would be to incapacitate all of these 'superhumans'. The onyx blade dropped down by the Vaalen's side. As the tip struck the ground it caved inward until the sword melded back into Serono's body. A current of its own began to whirl around the Vaalen, kicking up dust and sediment as he spoke again.

"Do not fight me- resistance is futile. You are my sole interest. Do not make this harder than it has to be.." Onyx claws extended forth on both of Serono's hands, curved like talons. "It would be within your best intentions."

RE: The Chronicles - deific - 08-09-2016

Everything was going according to plan. The mission moved smoothly, slight hiccups in its execution but steady overall. Arcinax had a hostage- a valuable one. Behind him a vampire was kept in tow, Kitja. Bindings kept her wrists together while a gag muffled whatever noises she may make. Already his dominance had been asserted over the female who followed him, head hung and watching the ground. The pieces were falling into place. Arcinax had managed to regroup with his entire troop, a feat he had not expected to come to fruition. A full squad was a deadly force no matter where they were. Through rough persuasion the space marine had managed to get a location out of the royal vampire. He didn't care if her people damned her for her actions. As far as he was concerned, she was his at the moment, proven by how he chose to drag her along with him rather than kill her. Whenever there was too much slack he yanked her forward just hard enough to not swing her through the air. Arcinax was in a good place.

Suddenly it appeared. What was it? Cloaked, shrouded. It hid its identity!

Before Arcinax could speak one of his soldiers was already assaulting this strange new entity. Aelius was a fearsome soldier, prideful in the dual chainswords he wielded. What the commander expected to see was this stranger to be cleaved into several pieces, a macabre example for jumping a unit of the Inquisition. What ensued in actuality sent rage and confusion down the space marine's spine. This creature moved like nothing he had seen before, faster than even the Eldar. In one swift motion Aelius was deflected away through a line of buildings, presumably incapacitated from that single strike. Questions poured into Arcinax's head immediately, even more when the creature recited the space marine's name. How did it know him? Why did it hide itself? It was freakishly tall, though appeared to be somewhat lanky underneath the cloak it chose to obscure itself with. Sharpened canines came into view as Arcinax audibly growled, veils along his throat thick. Rage was overtaking him. The other soldiers hadn't moved yet, not after seeing how easily Aelius was dispatched. They awaited commands.

"You dare act as if you can give me orders.. Xeno!" Arcinax roared, unsheathing his power sword from its holster. Energy lit the blade up, vibrant as the tip came to rest against the ground. This wasn't going to be a one on one fight. No, Arcinax had almost his entire squad present and would likely need them to take this alien down. What angered the space marine the most was how it refused to show its face, only those bright eyes visible behind the hood. Space marines were proud warriors. They wore their colors bright, their badges and banners covered their uniforms. They had nothing to hide from, nothing to fear. Until now? Under no circumstances had Arcinax ever simply given up. War had a way of changing people, especially when they were forced to endure it for over a hundred years. In retrospect, Arcinax thought himself as being old, completely oblivious to the real identity this stranger possessed in front of him. Surrender was never an option.

"I don't know where you came from, Xeno, but I am going to send you back there," For the first time since it was put on, Arcinax released the rope which kept him and Kitja tethered to one another. For now he left her to her own devices. No distractions could be risked in the incoming fight that was bound to happen. Regardless of the true differences in strength, Arcinax possessed fierce pride. Even in the face of death he would fight until his body failed to move. There was no other way. It was fight- cling to life, or despair, and embrace death.

It was not his time to die yet.

"Be it in pieces, or pulverized mulch.. it matters not. If you want to take me with you.. you're going to have to kill me first." A stance was assumed, aggressive in nature. Simple looks gave soldiers orders on where to position themselves. Though no sudden movements were made, a circle had been created around the Vaalen who sought to yank Arcinax straight from this dimension. They lived for the Emperor- they would die for the Emperor.

Faith shall not falter.

RE: The Chronicles - deific - 08-10-2016

Data crept across the diagnostic, numbers repeating themselves over and over again. Encryption failed, red blotted. A familiar voice cursed in the background as another troubleshoot was engaged. For a moment the HUD cleared and kicked up again, Demagol attempting to speak. Record was put on, visuals reset and calibrated through the device in the Mandalorian's visor. The words were distorted, scratchy and broken at first. Through the robotic distortion an audible sigh could be heard. WHACK! The visor was struck, diagnostic restored and systems green across the board. Demagol had smacked his helmet. Now his voice came clear now, despite the fact there was a large crack still running vertical down his visor. "Fuckin' bullshit."

So it began.

"Day one. I am Demagol Sento, recording from an unknown location. This may be the end of my journey as far as I know it- might as well give some closure to my last days. I have burned in to what appears to be a planet devoid of urbanization." The view panned, a glimpse of the now deadlined Starfire in view. "After an unexpected engagement with a small band of marauders my ship was rendered incapable of maneuver. The planet's gravity well sucked me in and I somehow survived the crash- I believe I'm within jump distance of Grezik. I could be mistaken. My trajectory wasn't logged so I can't backtrack my pathing coordinates." Again the visor panned, doing a three-sixty so as to show the scenery around the Mandalorian. Demagol was surrounded by forest, temperate it seemed, neither dense nor sparse. "My assumption is that I am alone on this planet aside from the wildlife that inhabit it. Even with my distress beacon I feel I have no one to contact with it.. I'll keep it on me anyway." Demagol began his trek through the forest, still a little dazed from the crash he suffered beforehand.

A warm, metallic taste ran over the Mandalorian's lips. Familiar with it, he detached his helmet from his suit and placed it on a stump in front of him so that he could look at his reflection in the visor. So soon his journey had been slowed. Confusion overtook Demagol's mind as he saw the laceration on his face, still bleeding fresh. He didn't remember what caused it. Had he suffered a concussion? Without any extra clothes on hand there was only one option to remedy the situation at hand. "It would seem I got a deep gash on my face- I don't remember how it happened. More than likely occurred while I was burning into this deserted shithole of a planet." There was evident irritation in Demagol's voice, frustration toward the breaks he could never seem to obtain. Tired hands undid the fastenings which kept the torso section of the Mandalorian's suit attached to him. "Shoulda' refilled on medical supplies while I was on Grezik.. stupid." Left with only one option, Demagol took a large knife off of his side and cut off the sleeve of the spandex-like clothing he wore underneath his armor. A hiss and growl came in tandem as he pressed the cloth up against the cut, soaking up as much blood as possible. "Go figure, up shit creek without a paddle." When the cloth was completely soaked the Mandalorian ringed it out. Droplets of blood coated the vegetation in front of him. Had the combination of Rhailo and trauma from the crash made him stupid? Blood on the ground would be a goldmine of a trail if some predator began to stalk him in these woods. Brought to a grinding halt already, Demagol kept soaking up the blood and applying pressure to the wound until fresh blood ceased to leak from it. The last thing he needed right now was weakness from blood loss, or even worse, an infection.

Who knew what lurked among the foliage? What deserved to be feared here?

After seemingly an eternity Demagol found himself able to put his helmet back on. There was no guarantee that the wound wouldn't open up again, but that didn't matter at the moment. He had to make ground. "From what I can see it appears to be morning. Lucky for me- I can get a grasp of what I'm dealing with before darkness comes."

Would she come back? Would the mark be rightfully placed?

"Rhailo, I hope you make me crosshatch this." Shortly after Demagol had put his armor back on and situated his suit he picked his blade back up. The blade's tip was directed at his chest, forcibly dragged down as yet another notch was carved into it. Another loss of someone close to him. Though it was not by death, it felt like it. He would give her that respect. She deserved it.

Into the forest Demagol trekked deeper, tracking his path traveled with a GPS. If nothing else he could retrace his steps back to Starfire and start from square one. Logic put the idea on the guillotine quickly, dismembering it as Demagol came to a realization. Nothing stated that this place was safe. A ship burning in through the atmosphere and crash landing would gather attention from everything adjacent quickly. If he was caught in the open unsuspecting, it could cost him his life. Demagol needed to return to the way he used to think. That softness had to go. Rhailo wasn't there and the Mandalorian had to stop acting like she was. Sounds became important. Small details were taken into regard. One never truly stopped being a hunter.

"Continue mission."

RE: The Chronicles - deific - 08-11-2016

To control chaos or be controlled by it. Leon refused to accept there was one single being who stood on even ground with him. The skies thickened, roaring above as they punished the city of Meridian. Chunks of stone were ripped forth from the ground and city, pummeling the terrified inhabitants without mercy. Such power was intoxicating. Light feet left the ground as Leon lifted upward, hovering in thin air. Arms swept about, mimicking the lead of an orchestra while the necromancer enacted destruction. There was a certain beauty about it, how frighteningly powerful nature could be when manipulated. Entire foundations were destroyed. Walls shook and broke apart from the deadly winds which were strong enough to cut skin if caught in it. Meridian would fall. Not today, nor tomorrow. The sole purpose of this demonstration of power was to show the difference between the Defiants and Leon. They would attempt to resist just like everyone else. Even as they worked together to create a barrier to block the storm above, one thing became evident.

There was no stopping this storm.

Pronged fingers gripped and twisted while aimed at the black clouds, slashing downward as an opening came through the obscurity. Bright green, a massive bolt of lightning shrieked all the way from the sky to the Defiant's magic barrier. With their power combined they still could not match Leon's potential, the center of their beloved city suffering a massive crater when the lightning pierced their shield. People were flung from walls and ramparts through the air, ragdolls, helpless. Many were crushed and pulverized by the explosive debris, pasted along the courtyard like a sanguine painting. Leon did not care how many people he killed. He didn't care about their lives, their stories and families. They were insignificant in the face of his quest. If they would not willingly join his army he would force them to join the undead ranks. Part of Leon wanted to see the Defiants react to his assault, for them to desperately lash out at his developing empire. War had become an insatiable thirst. If power was endless then so was his hunger. So long as there was living there could be dead. All of the dead would rise. All of the dead would serve the Mannus dominion.

"See what I've become!"

Leon roared, blonde locks lifting in the air with him. The storms merged. Tornado borders melded together until one massive twister was centralized around the Defiant capital. In the heart of the inclement they were safe, or so it seemed. Outer edges of the gust tore the ground apart around their capital, removing trees by their roots and tilling the ground up as if fresh. Before long a ring began to etch itself around the perimeter of the city, dug deep like a deadly trench. Leon was trapping them in their last bastion of defense. Their beloved home was lost inside it, obscured from the world around. On the front lines Leon's undead armies jeered and gave warcries while watching the event take place. They were insatiable, just like him. They knew no fear. They did not tire. To serve was their single purpose in this second life and they did it well. That was not all that Leon had to fight his wars with. With Gloamwood completely corrupted it had become a breeding ground for great beasts. Horrific creatures stalked the tainted forests, waiting to be unleashed, waiting to feast on the flesh of the living.

"Telara will bow to me. The Inquisition shall fall.. and my revenge will come to fruition!" Long exiled from the once prestigious order because of Pfifer, Leon held a hatred stronger than anything else. They had treated him like an outcast for consorting with an evil creature. Torn between the righteous path and the desire for power, Leon became a blank slate. Pfifer had rebuilt him, honed him and directed him. For a time he was his beloved's instrument of discord. He knew no better. For so long he wanted to crush the Inquisition for how they cast him aside and marred him with white fire. At that time he didn't possess the power to be capable. That had changed. It was an endless cycle Leon wrapped himself in. From the Inquisition, to Pfifer, to the wanton powers of chaos- he was being manipulated without even knowing it. Pulses thrummed. Not like a heartbeat, but more violent. With every occasion that Leon drew power from the chaos nexus he obliviously weathered the barrier between this world and that plane thinner than before. In his arrogance and thirst for power he had lost himself, or perhaps he was always lost.

Leon could not save anyone, for Leon could not save himself.

The winds began to calm in tandem with Leon's body slowly lowering back to the tower he perched upon. Arms came to hang at his sides when heels met the surface of the summit, locks fallen messily along his shoulders. Dissipation of the inclement left a fractured and damaged city in its wake. Bodies were scattered across the streets, some trapped under fallen pillars and wall fragments. No vegetation was bound to the ground within four hundred meters of the capital. The city had not collapsed, but the infliction upon it was enough to leave an unforgettable mark. Soon it would not matter. Soon they would all be serving among his cohorts. Even in his post surge state the necromancer stood tall, stoic and cold to the world around him. Every time Leon yanked on the tethers of chaos he felt his vessel grow even stronger. It was an addictive feeling he wanted no freedom from.

Power did not last forever, even when stolen from an infinite plane. Leon was becoming corrupted just like the lands he controlled. The image of his scarred face mirrored that of Telara. It was not the same as it was before. All of the Rifts were of death these days. No fire or water, air or life. No earth. There was only death. For this was an age of darkness and Leon the occupant of a throne too cold.

Chaos always beckoned.

RE: The Chronicles - deific - 09-01-2016

A sense of helplessness enveloped him. How long had he been laying there? He couldn't feel the heat of his body, the warmth of his skin contrasted to the cold rain that drenched his entire being. What if he developed hypothermia? Could such a thing happen with this mutagen forcibly rewriting the inner codes of his cell structure? So many questions, they lingered in empty air among his conscience. At least he wasn't in agonizing pain. Something to be thankful for, even if Valerius didn't feel grateful. He could only imagine what the constant flexing of the entirety of his muscles was doing to his bones. Like an inanimate object he laid there and listened to the rain and thunder overhead. Booms resonated from the clouds, flashes of lightning the only time he saw the world around him. Grim as it was, Valerius began to come to a state of acceptance. He had lived a fair life, one full of newfound discoveries and mysteries. There were things he had seen that were still kept away from the world, tucked away in a small box of knowledge. Humans were a bleak race. Always humans were hellbent on destruction- they never thought of how to restore. Everything cycled back to an innate desire to innovate means of intimidation. Valerius could not judge too harshly, a war agent mixed with his body that very moment.

Grey static began to cloud in from the edges of Valerius' peripherals. The numbness- was he going unconscious? Pocks of the rain bombarding the world around him was loud. It masked the sounds of footsteps which approached Valerius from his blind side. All he could think about at that point was how long he had been laying there. It felt like days. Dazed and steadily losing his grasp on the material world, Valerius slowly slipped away as the static blotted over more of his vision. Maybe that's what he wanted. To die while completely numb seemed like a pleasant concept. There would be no pain. Regrets? There were always regrets, but would he still have them after he was gone? Unable to close his eyes, Valerius stared out at the concrete as the static crept toward the center of his vision.

Another flash of lightning streaked across the sky. In Valerius' vision there was suddenly a face.

Was he imagining it? Had hypothermia set in and he was seeing hallucinations? That's what he thought until the face spoke.

"What'cha doin' down there?" Even if the voice was soft, it startled him beyond belief. Suddenly his muscles were alive again, electricity releasing from his locked ligaments in the form of a discharge. It arced along his body and into the air around him while also putting his innards back into overdrive. His lungs collapsed momentarily, only to draw in a massive audible breath of air. Everything began to move without him telling it to. Hands braced against the wet pavement and pushed with strength to send Valerius backward into an awkward seated position. He couldn't see the figure very well in the darkness. Valerius blinked several times. After the fourth blink his eyes illuminated, bright like cobalt. The glow was enough to create a silhouette around the person. They hadn't run away? That fact was both relieving and alarming at the same time. Were they not afraid?

"Who are you?" Valerius spoke up suddenly, his curiosity had gotten the best of him. There wasn't much distinguishable about the person because of the rain gear they wore. A soaked hood obscured all but the bottom-most of their face because of how dark it was already. Their stature didn't look broad, nor very tall. Luckily Valerius didn't have to wait very long to get confirmation of his assumptions as the stranger responded.

"Oh, me? I'm just a stranger passin' through. Name's Stella. You alright?" Her voice was smooth, light as if genuine. Valerius didn't know what her intentions were. What if she knew who he was and where he was from? Was she with the R'tuuk? Dozens of unanswered questions piled up as the man forced himself to a shaky but upright position.

Like a possessive hoarder Valerius snatched up the box that withheld the experiment in it, tucked underneath his arm protectively. "I'm fine- Just fell down. I'm kind of in the middle of something." It was unavoidable that he sound defensive. The worst case scenario was that he come across somebody in the alleyways while on his way to the next facility. It couldn't be helped that he was suspicious of her. Rain continued to pour on the two of them, bits of Valerius' body brightening as bolts of electricity zipped along his frame and fizzed out. Still, she didn't try to distance herself from him. He wondered why she was so comfortable.

"Just fell? You've been layin' down there for quite some time now. Part of me thought that you might be dead or on your way." She approached Valerius as nonchalantly as possible, circles made around him in the mean time as if she were inspecting him. Wary eyes watched her, a sense of alarm made the man's heartbeat pick up feverishly. Time was ticking against him and he couldn't waste any more of it idling here with this stranger. He had to go. Who knew how far the R'tuuk were behind him. If they seized the sample it would be a catastrophic problem.

"It is what it is- I can't stay here right now. I have to go somewhere. It was nice meeting you, Stella, but I don't have the time to sit here and chat." Valerius' sentences were spoken in a nervous tone. He forced his body to move around the female and in the direction toward Cepea facility. It wasn't long before he heard the footsteps following him, ever persistent. Over his shoulder he could see that she was close, a smile on her face. Was it sinister or genuine?

"Mind if I come with ya'?"

RE: The Chronicles - deific - 10-03-2016

If there was one thing that Serono could be thankful for, it was the durability of these humans. A single order repeated in the Vaalen's mind, 'Do not take lives'. For a moment he had forgotten. A line of rubble and debris followed the straight line that was the space marine's flight path. Smoke and dust had begun to settle while broken buildings caved in on their own infrastructure. Heavy boots were loud as they approached from the line of destruction and eventually Aelius emerged, unscathed except for a laceration that had almost pierced his armored chest plate. Both the space marine and Serono were surprised, but for different reasons. Serono thought that his strike had skewered the space marine clean in half diagonally. Aelius was shocked that a slight swing had been enough to do such damage to his armor in the first place. The Vaalen lingered in the center of the soldier's circular formation languidly. Serono's stare was unstinting, how it bore into the heart of his target. There was no feeling; not of despair or excitement. His kind weren't created with emotions. A slate face devoid of compassion looked onward, its only concern the accomplishment of the task it was given. It was as if they were waiting for something, for the Vaalen to make a move. Tension was in the air-- the soldiers didn't desire to share the same endstate that their comrade had. Who would be the first to break the stillness?

A gruff and irritated voice came from the soldier who had returned just then, "Something's off about this Xeno.. Be careful. He won't go down easy." Aelius brought both of his chain swords back up and joined the formation of soldiers.

Serono gave a passive glance to those around him, "It would seem.. It is time," was uttered in a flat tone. Sharp canines protruded over the Vaalen's lip as the swell of a current around him dispersed into thin air.

"Essence of Firokai: Twin Blast." The words were said in tandem with Serono's lifted hands. Currents of extremely condensed air shot out from the Vaalen's palms and impacted two of the space marines before they could react. Their bodies were thrown afar, buried in the collapsed rubble of the buildings they collided into, out of sight. The command was repeated once again just as the remainder of fighters closed in. Two more found themselves cast like stones into the far distance, dispatched with a quickness. Eventually Aelius remained as the last standing in his position, the only one who hadn't moved. Not to accept the risk, Serono pointed at the space marine and uttered a phrase, "Reverse gravity." A separate airspace, perhaps a dimension centered itself around Aelius, who then flew directly toward the top of the dome at terminal velocity. Loudly Aelius smashed against the dome that covered the planet's entirety, flattened out and stuck to it like a fly on a web. All that remained thereafter was the target, Arcinax.

It seemed his target had surprises up his sleeve.

A bright blue flash overtook Serono's vision before his face was struck by a bolt of electricity. The thin membrane of white skin that covered the Vaalen's face was shown to be craggy and cracked in the aftermath, especially the cheek where Serono had been hit. Slowly he turned his features to look back at Arcinax. Pale skin fell off in pieces to reveal the onyx surface which resided underneath, unnatural and crystal-like. Immediately the Vaalen's face began to rebuild itself, stitches of white woven over another like cloth until they melded together to create the appearance of skin on Serono's exterior. Long, black locks fell over Serono's face as he brought a hand up to inspect where the electrical bolt hit him. When he spoke he always seemed to be uninterested, "They didn't tell me you had Psyker blood," the tone didn't match the apparent surprise. By the time Serono's hand dropped back down to his side the false wound had already healed over completely. There was no blemish, not even a burn mark.

"You're not making this easy, Arcinax." Serono spoke as if out of exasperation. Distortion took place around the Vaalen's left arm in which a large onyx blade emerged. It glistened against the dim, somber glow of street lights. It was by necessity that Serono move fast while the other soldiers were temporarily incapacitated. The ground underneath the Vaalen's feet caved in the same moment he burst toward Arcinax at extreme speeds. By reflex the space marine was capable of meeting Serono's blade with his own, but the force of the charge made him skid back along the ground. Every pace Serono was upon him, already poised with his blade to send a second strike. Before Arcinax could parry the next Serono moved with unparalleled speed. At the marine's flank, Serono dealt a strong blow to his side which sent Arcinax into a series of barrel rolls which ended with him collided sideways into a building. No time was given to recover. Once again the Vaalen was upon Arcinax, hand on the man's skull to forcibly pry him from the structure's wall. In an apathetic manner he tossed him back onto the middle of the street.

"I've said it before and I'll say it again. You cannot fight me, Arcinax. We are eons apart." Onyx clawed digits curled through the space marine's armor and lifted him so that the two were face to face. Out of desperation Arcinax swung his power sword at Serono in hope that he would be caught off guard. The hope was in vain, shown as Serono caught the blade between two onyx digits from his other hand. No one was allowed to be killed. The command repeated in Serono's mind again and again. If he wanted to he could have broken the power sword into pieces with his hand alone. There was no need to be rash as the opportune moment had arrived.

"Do not ask where we are going- for even I do not know yet." Serono spoke the truth in disdain as his claws unfurled themselves from the marine's armor. Flatly his palm spread along the man's chest and a conduit was opened around the duo. Only the sound of the still-bound female in the background could be heard as the dimensional flux swallowed up Serono and Arcinax. No remains of the two were left behind.

Words whispered and echoed into the gloomy streets. "Fret not, Kitja. Someday I may come for you."

RE: The Chronicles - deific - 10-03-2016

In the middle of Demagol's movement he felt it, like a shock in his brain. Unexpected, it had brought him to his knees, suddenly covered in a cold sweat. Heavily his chest heaved, unsure if it was from the atmosphere or what he just experienced. It was as if a link had been made, temporary, but he was sure of it. There was no other explanation present. Aftershocks hit him as Demagol collapsed down onto his forearms. He wasn't built to sustain such things, even when his helmet was on. His equipment had the capability to lessen the effects, but not enough to render them completely null. In agony Demagol screamed out. Similar to a headache, though much worse, the Mandalorian reeled on the ground. Had she heard him? Did she see him? Just a glimpse? Food for thought while Demagol tried to regain his composure. Already she filled his mind again as if there was a mutual pull between the two. Had they been played? Completely out of it, Demagol laughed in a shaky manner.

"Are we just waiting between worlds?" Spoken softly, raspy and gravely. How far away from one another were they by now?

Demagol couldn't see to the other side of the link. Not enough time had been spent with Rhailo for him to pick up the ability. He was receptive toward her so far, but that seemed to be the limit at the moment. More smacks were issued to the side of his helmet, some superstitious notion that it would take the edge off the sensation. Sweaty and shaken he was, more intense than when he was transported through that ether-space with Rhailo. He forced himself to stand, legs wobbly like a newborn deer. The equilibrium setting in the Mandalorian's suit did its best to bring Demagol's body back to a state of stability. Animal sounds and nature around him seemed like background noise compared to the flow of thoughts in his consciousness. Instinctively he picked his assault rifle back up and did a three-sixty look of his surroundings. Nothing stirred nearby. One could never be too careful.

In one moment there was blackness, then Demagol was flying through the air. Lost in a daze, the Mandalorian had no clue what was happening even when he struck the ground and rolled to a stop. A warm wetness streaked down the man's face as he forced himself to an upright position. The wound had opened up again. In front of Demagol a creature approached. It walked on four legs and possessed a slender body. At the end of each limb was a pad with long, black claws. Wings adorned the creature's long back, tucked inward but probably capable of a massive span. The colors were surprising, with mainly a bright green merged into touches of black and brown. What really caught Demagol's attention was the massive, sleek tail the creature had. At least ten feet in length, it was likely what had been used to send Demagol sailing.

"Quite a brute you are, 'eh?" Demagol groaned while he brought the butt of his assault rifle into the pocket of his shoulder. The creature roared, mouth full of long, rear-curved teeth. A whip-like sound ensued when it lashed its tail and charged the Mandalorian. Demagol stood his ground with his rifle raised but didn't fire any shots. Just before the creature reached the Mandalorian it stretched its neck out and roared in the man's face a second time. The charge was stopped in place and Demagol and the creature stared at one another. He had called its bluff. Seconds seemed like years as they both remained where they were. Demagol could feel the violent thrash of his heart inside his chest. Adrenaline pumped. One wrong move and chaos could start all over again. He couldn't afford a slip-up. Not now. The face of death was all too familiar to the Mandalorian at this point. To run was not an option, not when in this deep.

What happened next was unexpected. Slowly the creature's mouth closed up until sharp, upper teeth were left to be revealed. Its eyes narrowed as if to read the Mandalorian. He wondered if it was the first time the natural inhabitants of this planet had seen a human in a long time. As far as he knew humans were completely foreign to this place. It was hesitant and more than likely a dangerously suicidal motion, but Demagol slowly placed his non-firing hand on the top of the creature's long muzzle. The creature stirred, then relaxed against his hand. A rush of emotions and senses made their way into Demagol, but they weren't his. They belonged to the creature. Somehow a link had been made. Was it some passive ability he had been granted by Rhailo? His thoughts went to the Auroun immediately, not like she wasn't all over them anyway. Matters circled back to the beast in front of him.

"I'm gonna call you Erotos. Remember that," Demagol spoke as he rubbed his palm along the beast's muzzle. It lowered its head in compliance and shifted its wings, as if it wanted him to saddle it. "Well," a chuckle ensued, "I don't think Rhailo would be able to find me if I was flyin' around all over the place." The Mandalorian started to move his hand off of the creature's head until it nudged him with the front of its muzzle. It was evident that the beast was going to be persistent. Soon after Demagol gave in, another chuckle as he gripped onto its neck, "Alright. Alright. You're gonna have me going full tribal, 'eh?"

"Just don't do anything too crazy."

With a grunt and heave Demagol pulled himself to be on the back of the beast, which was too wide for him to straddle. He hadn't any rope or bindings to directly tether himself to the creature so he settled with his arms wrapped around its neck. Even then, Demagol wasn't sure of the situation. Massive wings spread and Erotos wheeled itself around. In just a few bounds it leaped upward and flapped its wings, altitude increased rapidly. The Mandalorian held on for dear life, head tucked against Erotos' back while they flew. After thirty seconds or so they flattened out and Erotos began to glide. Though still hesitant, Demagol slowly sat upright until he could see the lands underneath them. Forest stretched for miles on end in every direction. No civilization could be spotted from where they were. Still, it was better than to witness it from the ground level. Demagol took what small victories he could. For now they sailed for destinations unknown.

"I have to stay alive now. I'll survive for you, Rhailo.. Just don't get too worried if you end up seeing this." Erotos grunted underneath him and he patted its back assuredly to continue with their flight.

"I know you can feel my presence."