Godclads

Chapter 28-12 Lover’s Quarrel (II)

So sounds a new act,

Heralding the Ladder’s come.

The monster, the lover, the daughter, the mother bound by fate and pact,

This clash bringing the world to collapse, another beat on reality’s drum.

And now, the Great Sleeper shifts and stirs, the faintness of itself there,

And by its will, a Sparrow takes the stage,

Her banners as wings, and in her hands flies true, the spear named the Crimson Hare…

-Lines Overheard from the Stormsparrow’s Chorus of Eternity

28-12

Zein's glaive bit deep into the High Seraph's skull, but from the wounds spilled time, wrapping around the weapon in coalescing golden currents. At once, the High Seraph's avatar came undone, its body dissolving in flows of gold, its miracles tumbling back like a current returning to the sea.

But escape was impossible, for Akusande, the dragon-glaive, carried the fated blow onward, chasing the golden tides and carving a bridge through Veylis’ paths. The High Seraph altered the world within her at a whim. Calamities of impossible portions manifested with each passing second — samplings of devastation harvested from across history. Veylis unleashed fusion bombs, thoughtwave detonations, ruptures, hurricanes, firestorms, spatial wounds, and collapsing singularities upon the intruders within her ontology. The sheer power she outputted in less than a second would have seen a mundane world hollowed to its core and shattered like a shell.

But even if she could bring enough power to extinguish stars and snuff out systems, even if she could create a cataclysm the scope of existence itself, even if her constant waves that sundered thought kept her inner world barren of the Dreamer’s presence, all that was force and violence were mere suggestions to the Chief Paladin of New Vultun, and he had but one response to his former lover’s onslaught.

+No.+

A constant stream of continent-winnowing force crashed against a halting palm of dense vapor. Avo and his gestalt were joined in a moment of awe as they beheld ceaseless surges of destruction crash against the Force-Breaker—and part as if trickling steams circling around a mountain.

And through it all, the group just continued onward, Zein carving a route through Veylis’ paths.

The High Seraph might be a master of chronology itself, but not even she was beyond the laws of symmetry. Just as wind could clash with wind, flames consumed flames, and water could clash and meld, time could strike across time.

The blow would find it. It was only a matter of when.

But that was ultimately the problem: Veylis still had time.

***

Back in the real, a trickle of blood ran down the High Seraph's forehead. Her face softened in a look of surprise as she reached out with a finger, dipping her tip in the wound. Surprised gasps and widening eyes characterized the Guilders watching. Cala’s thoughtcast lobby exceeded maximum capacity, and she had to rent another just to maintain her stream.

Across the city, over five hundred billion people stood witness to this historic instant in Scale. The declaration of a new power, the arrival of the High Seraph, Voidwatch's declaration of war, the unsealing of the fallen Heaven of Love, and finally, the bleeding of Highflame's master. Disbelief, euphoria, and a building sense of change flowed through the Nether.

Across No-Dragon districts, Avo felt the birthing of new dragons, this moment a zeitgeist captured—a snapshot portraying the last days before the Ladders arrival.

"Before we begin,"Veylis said, sounding more uncertain than she'd ever been, "before this war between us begins in truth… I want to know something. I want to know if my mother's words are true. I heard the Gatekeeper… But I wish to hear it from you. The Chronicler… could his reappearance truly be nothing but plain chance? Just a breach in the paths?"

"He found us," Avo answered. "He found us. Weren’t expecting him either. But nothing is plain chance. Not anymore. Every future led tot his point. And he is fused to time. Bound to history until destined death. He is already dead in the future. So he cannot be dead now."

A flash of understanding passed behind Veylis's eyes. "Ah. His death — a packaged paradox. Yesterday’s tomorrow. What a loathsome achievement.” For all Alysim accomplished, Veylis still scorned him openly. This, more than anything else about the High Seraph, Avo understood.

“You two now share an end. He has been cut down by your mother. And so have you.”

No longer did the wound on her head trickle. Now it bled properly. Now it gushed. But still, Veylis only laughed. "Please, Dreamer, do not insult me. I have faced my mother's pet dragon time and time again. This is not the first time she's cut me. It will not be the last. Even without my Heaven, I am beyond blood and tissue. Humanity is but a fading echo to me, and this face is between symbol and memory for who I once was. Lest my mother wishes to accept her end by way of backlash, it will take more than this to end our dalliance, Avo.”

The cut continued down the bridge of her nose as she spoke, exposing severed tissue and splitting bone. Slowly, it was traveling toward the singularity at the core of her being. The wound was traveling. The wound was seeking. The wound was destiny.

“And what happens when the cut sinks into the place where your consciousness resides?” Avo asked. “You must know the consequence of dying before me. Your other cyclers will only delay the inevitable. I will claim your Frame. I will inflict upon you a final end.”

“You will try. Nothing more.” A ripple of power blossomed out from the High Seraph, and golden pathways extended outwards, each one layered over another. Taking in the court, Veylis infused her voice with strength, but before she spoke, she turned, stared at the Gatekeeper, let out a quiet snort of scorn. "You think this will be enough for me to vent my Rend and flee? You think I will allow you to keep my father's bastard—to claim truth as your weapon against me, against Highflame, against the future I wish to see?"

"Yes," Avo said, without hesitation, without doubt.

Veylis swept her gaze across all who were gathered. Crushing power flowed out from each of her paths as her head was fully split in two. Though her face parted in two flaps, though her tongue was little more than two strips of dangling flesh, Veylis spoke, and everyone heard.

"All paths are to converge upon Scale, here a nexus of destiny brewing, here, a nest for players battling to shape their desired future. But there is only one path in the end, one that leads to me. You are recognized today, Dreamer. Claim this trial as your symbol of philosophical triumph. Your statement is heard, recognition given. You stand against the Voiders; you stand against the Guilds. A new master is born for the FATELESS masses to feed their lives in spite of their betters. But this theater is at its end, and what follows—”

“—Is but prologue!" Stormsparrow sang out, her voice high, a chorus of three melodies. A building beat intruded upon the High Seraph's speech.

“Not you,” Veylis said, annoyance clear in her voice. “Not now. I have no mood to play with you, insolent, degenerate, violent, cretin. This has nothing to do with you. Why can't you just—"

"It has everything to do with me," Stormsparrow said. Threading forward in the cosmic plane of truth, the Sang Fallwalker held her many arms wide as her left and right faces began to burn with Soulfire. A building symphony rose within the court thereafter, and the Heaven of Truth began to tremor. At once, strange Domains began to form as myriad patterns wove around the Stormsparrow in tightening knots.

Avo regarded the Fallwalker’s sudden intrusion with fascination. Several other mind’s connected to his gestalt had other reactions.

***

—[Green River]—

Green River directed her true self into her shadows as her human sheath felt dormant. There was nowhere really to go in the Plane of Truth, but still, she had lived through one of the Stormsparrow’s performances before.

It was not an experience she wanted to suffer again.

+AVO! AVO! YOU GHOUL FUCK! GET ME OUT OF HERE!+

Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.

***

—[Shotin]—

“Well. We’re all going to die,” Shotin sighed.

Nothing for it now. All he could do was do his best to make sure those with him survived. This trial was going to be a mess in the first godsdamned place—but it turned out even more chaotic than he could have possibly imagined.

Who knew the Fifth Guild War would fully kick off between a some post-ghoul turned mind-eating over-god and the High Cuntess herself.

Fuck. High Cuntess. Now he was saying it too. Too much of that Chambers half-strand was bleeding over.

“Get ready for planeshift,” he said, speaking to the rest of his group. +Kare?+

+I’ll be fine, uncle,+ she said. +We were prepared for this.+

Shotin wanted to say: “No, the fuck you aren’t,” but seeing as she was part of the ghoul’s brain party before he ever was…

+Keep yourself safe, kid.+

+Right. You too. And watch out for dad for me.+

Shotin gave his bond brother a brief glance and found the man uncharacteristically gawking at the scene. Any other time, and Shotin would have given Valhu all the shit he could. Now? This was just understandable.

“When you shift, leave me,” Fatalist Maharata said. Lights along the torso of his Rendskin battle armor blinked twice, and a trickle of entropy began to leak. “An opening has been offered to me. I must take it.”

The Seeker just stared. “You know you’re not even going to get close, right?”

+He might,+ Avo said, interrupting Shotin’s dialogue. +Will give you your desired opportunity. Strike at the High Seraph.+

The Fatalist let out a satisfied sigh that was borderline inappropriate. “Let there be an end.”

Shotin just stared. “Well. I’m glad all you fucking freaks are happy.”

***

—[Vator]—

Vator had never been more excited in his entire life.

This moment was beyond art, beyond history, beyond anything he could have ever hoped for. The High Seraph! She was here. And she was facing the enigma that was the Burning Dreamer—a failed specimen of flesh and violence remolded into a god.

“The moment is almost upon us,” Osjon said, slight furrows wrinkling his brows. “Authority. Instrument. I understand that these are trying times, but will you be prepared to answer when the High Seraph calls upon you.”

“Yes,” Vator said with barely bated breath. “I must see them. I must see how they war, how they face each other.”

Osjon regarded Vator for a moment and frowned.

“We are ready,” Uthred said. But though his statement was clear, the hollowness in his voice hinted otherwise. His eyes were locked to Abrel, weeping alone and unnoticed by the crowd. This was to be her trial, but she, along with the Elder, had been no more than anything but bait. Pawns in someone else’s game.

Pawns.

“Do not fear, Uthred,” Osjon said, offering the man a genial smile. “High Seraph is merciful and deems your daughter to be worthy, then she will survive. And I am certain that Instrument Vator will honor his sister’s memory and redeem your House of its failings should the even the worst future come to pass.”

“Failings,” Uthred said. His sentence ended there. He stared at the Speaker, thoughtstuff almost unmoving.

Whatever else they had to say was interrupted as the Plane of Truth collapsed, and they found themselves back in their viewing pods. Scale was trembling. Limbs of golden radiance stretched out and splashed against the walls, pried open the wounds on the Gatekeeper. The Heaven of Truth screamed, but its pain was drowned out by a rising chorus of voices — singers in an opera.

…the Great Sleeper shifts and stirs, the faintness of itself there,

And by its will, a Sparrow takes the stage…

***

—[Mercy]—

The Hungers were calling, but the Famine of Mercy did not heed them. In their stead, the lesser nodes of Wahakten assembled. Gathering across the veil between the Nether and the real, the last forces of Noloth watched the moment unfolding with rapt attention. The battle between the High Seraph and the Dreamer would leave openings to exploit, and with the Infacer returning to their master’s side, the Priests of Noloth could come forth and strike their own blows against the Guilds.

Or such was their desired future.

They had their warminds gathered—what remained of Noloth’s arsenal all staked on this very moment. But though Mercy promised the liberation of his master and the subjugation of the ghoul, his desired outcome different drastically from his masters’.

Right now, the Hungers were preparing to reach across. When the war formally began, with the Chief Paladin no longer present, they intended to reach into the Paladins and Guilders present—use them to shatter the Heaven of Truth.

But that was an unnecessary outcome. And a pointless loss inflicted upon the world. Though the Gatekeeper belonged to the Traitor, it would still serve well in the war to come—and the Hungers would regret its loss.

Especially once Mercy saw them joined to the Dreamer.

The Heaven of Truth need not be destroyed. No. For a few moments, it simply needed to be Forgotten by everyone.

Including itself.

And so, the Famines of Mercy waited for the right moment to expend a warmind of their own.

***

—[Avo]—

"I despise you, Sparrow,” Veylis said, speaking with all the bluntness she could muster. “I want you to know that should I win, I will erase every record of your existence and make sure you are unremembered and consigned to oblivion. And those damnable birds you so enjoy.”

"Now that would make for quite the tragedy," the Stormsparrow snickered. Standing just below Avo, she looked up and gave him a wink before raising her arms. +The chorus calls me to help you now. This should be fun.+ Then, she spoke, addressing everyone at once. "Citizens and subjects of New Vultun and Idheim, I bid you welcome!”

Welcome

Welcome

Welcome

The chorus sang with her.

"Welcome to the prologue to the end. So begins the Fifth and final Guild War. With shadows left behind, and the spotlight falling upon all our key players, the days of deception are past, and the days of war boom on the future. But do not fear death nor desolation, for death and cessation have been usurped. And the usurper's shape comes as a rising ladder to determine all there is to come. But who will be victorious? Who will reign? Who will claim the role of hero? Who the clown? Who the knave? Who the villain? Hear me now, as the stage is set, for I, Storm Sparrow, offer you this first verse."

At once, the building chorus exploded into a full opera as burnings began to peel from the Stormsparrow’s head. Slowly, Avo could feel her Heaven manifesting, its power arising in full. While this continued, Veylis’ throat split open as Zein’s stab glided down closer to her torso. A faint hiss of mist leaked from her paths as Naeko repelled another one of her attempts at dislodging him and Zein. But Avo could feel something building inside her—gold was beginning to percolate across all her districts, within every Highflame Godclad.

Just as well. Avo had his own riposte pre-planned as well.

She needed to defeat him, Naeko, Zein, the Sparrow, Alysim, and every last mind in the gestalt on top of the Paladins.

They just needed harry her until Zein’s cut finally arrived and Avo could reach into her death anchor. Already, things were going far better than expected.

+So. Do we have a plan?+ the Stormsparrow.

+We?+

+Quite. Reality wants to keep you alive. Here.+ A face flew out from her and splashed upon the Strix’s face. A mask of red and white formed, and Avo felt the patterns of existence shift and coil around his very being like armor.

DRAMATIS PERSONAE ASSIGNED: HERO OF WISDOM

GRANTS YOU PERFECT AWARENESS OF EVERY DANCER ON THE STAGE AND ALLOWS YOU TO DECIDE THE PACE OF THE SCENE

SCENE ONE: THE STRIX AND THE SERAPH

+Kae,+ Avo asked, +what did she just do?+

[I… have no idea.]

+What did you just do?+ Avo asked the Stormsparrow.

+Made you the Hero of this story. Also, I have no idea. Every tale is different. Be this one a comedy, drama, or tragedy?+

He tried peering into her mind using his Hysteria, but heard only a howling maelstrom of voices as more masks began to circulate around her. Another mask colored black and blue shot off toward Veylis, but she simply drew one of her Godclads through her paths and used him to intercept the miracle on her behalf.

DRAMATIS PERSONAE ASSIGNED: VILLAIN OF DECEIT

FAILURE TO BETRAY YOUR ALLIES WILL RESULT IN EXISTENTIAL CONSEQUENCES DURING INTERMISSION

The groaning form of a Sphere Five Godclad tumbled between Avo and Veylis.

“Rude,” the Stormsparrow said. “That was such a good role.”

“The time is upon us, Dreamer,” Veylis said. “Care to meet my blows?”

Avo prepared his Pattern-Nullification and focused his intent on targeting time. “Stand and deliver.”

“Well said. Infacer! To me!”

At once, a static crown formed over the vertically bifurcated skull of the High Seraph as she manifested her Heaven in full before Avo for the very first time. At once, the paths ceased to be streams and hardened into tangible limbs. Clawing hands tightened into fists and gripped the causal fabric of existence.

The spun in rows, nine layers in total, tearing, ripping, and distorting all reality while interlacing with other hands within. At the core, a singularity materialized, but its turning slowed and inverted. Slowly, the wormhole of fathomless darkness filled with light as it expanded, its collapse undone, its lifespan reverting backward. Its form swelled in a staggering instant as a sun formed—and then shattered like an egg.

Golden droplets spilled down and painted the shape of a titan. In the same moment, the spinning hands and the broken dawn rose, rising above forming humanoid’s head like a burning crown. More steams passed through the giant, and her being shifted, layers unto layers, but the fullness of shape never formed. Rather, the titan was constantly dissolving, countless strands compromising possible futures becoming as if grains of sand across the progression of time.

But even so, the titan sprouted more fists from its body, and the fabric of existence itself capitulated to the dominance of Veylis Avandaer’s might. Avo tried to act, but time ground against him—Veylis’ form drawing every droplet of progression unto herself, leaving the rest of existence slowed.

There were no words to describe the size of her being or the dominance of her control. She was the ever-coming future. She was destiny’s herald. She was the DEMIURGE OF FATE’S END, THE FIST OF RECURSION [EST. 999999990 THAUM/c].

“Come!” Veylis’ voice echoed across all of Idheim, across the void, across every patch of reality that time could still flow. “Come and despair before my inevitability!”

In that very instant, the droplets she pulled in detonated outward as smashing fists as billions perished before tides of chronology reshaped into calamity.

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