A Journey of Black and Red-Novel

Light. Pain. I am pushed back.

Not the sun. Too red and angry, like blood on warm sand. Too dim… for now. I still live.

Nirari rises in the air, laughing, arms spread in the beatitude of pure abandon. An incandescent red sphere has appeared on his back like a giant halo, the regalia of an ancient sky god. He is so joyful and relaxed. Gravity has lost its hold on him. He rises and his light spreads everywhere, ghastly yet so very powerful. His presence casts shadows on fallen trees, splintered rocks, and the wrecks of the conflict. The closest masters die before I can react. Far in the valley, a bird sings to greet the defective sunrise. It is the only noise to break the oppressive, numbing silence and pressure of his presence. No one challenges his ascent and no one strikes him. I cannot even consider doing it. He is a sun, bathing us with his merciless radiance to reveal our flaws and the inherent weakness of our nature. I can already taste ash at the back of my throat.

The last dawn of Babylon is upon us.

A forest of thorns covers my allies before more can die, cover me as well. The light hurts me through the Aurora. It can stop fire but this is different. Nirari is our anathema and our hope at the same time, the hope that one day we can escape the vengeance of the sun purifier. I cannot face the light. No, I must. He cannot go uncontested.

Roots cover us, cover me. I am out of the rays.

Immediately, the awe and despair leave me, pushed back by my own outraged ego. Wow. He certainly has some gall presenting himself as a savior. My forest shivers now that the men inside have started to recover. I extend my protection to enemies as well, if only because it costs me no effort to offer a unified defense. The battle has stopped anyway. With my own power extended, I realize we were winning quite handily, not that numbers will make any difference now. Nirari steps on thin air towards me. The nearest roots recoil from the damage his very presence inflicts.

Cadiz did warn me that merely looking upon him would be difficult but I never expected this crushing might. I cannot even stand in front of him without losing my focus. Was the blood of the Old One truly not enough to bridge the abyss between us?

My only salvation will be in the ace I brought. If only I had not left it behind…

“Skipper, talk to me,” I whisper in my earring.

“This is Ollie, I’m acting as relay. The Fury is diving into the portal now. ETA one minute.”

Well, I need to hold on for a minute.

I have to do it. I have to stand up to him, now, or he will be unopposed. He cannot have the field. If he does, then all is lost. The ritual is gaining in intensity, I can tell. We only need to contain him for a little longer.

He is going to kill me.

He is going to kill me.

With the bloody SUN at his back. THE SUN. THE SUN. THE—

Quiet, my instincts. This is a ploy.

Nirari merely laughs.

A mass crashes into the forest and only the strange effect I have on space allows me to be somewhere else as it lands. Roots are crushed, tendrils are burned. Shattered thorns return to dust. The first vampire only has to walk and all but my stoutest roots can’t even resist his presence. I try to bat at him a few times. He slaps the roots away. I call upon statues but they are instantly destroyed without accomplishing anything. I have to get out and—

I freeze in my tracks while Nirari turns with ponderous majesty. I feel the forest shift in answer to one I am protecting. Roots peel off to reveal the glittering form of Constantine’s golem.

A wave of power expands outward with the challenge. I can feel Constantine falter in my sphere, see the rictus of terror on his traits. I… I need time that he can buy. I must help him. A twitch of the roots wakes him up from his fright. Nirari waits, expectant. He is so certain of his victory.

I distinctly see Nirari’s surprise turn to shock then annoyance when Constantine lifts his extremely hefty machine gun, which he proceeds to empty on his target. The first vampire raises a massive shield of blood to stop the onslaught and it works… to a degree. Nirari might be a pagan god but every bullet spat at him was carefully carved by a master enchanter and there are a lot of them. I can see when arrogance turns to doubt, then focus.

The armor golem’s second arm sputters, then spits a thick liquid. I can feel the heat from here, hundreds of yards away. Nirari’s shield expands, bubbles and hisses, poorly matched blood struggling to keep the fire at bay. Nevertheless, he is not without recourse.

I close roots over Constantine the moment I expect Nirari to move. His thrown glaive pierces through my strongest defense and reaches the cockpit… only to ping off Constantine’s own monstrous defenses. Chains whip out to join the double assault.

Nirari huffs and teleports to the side, his glaive returned.

The fire he left behind suddenly roars then rushes at him to our surprise.

That harridan upstages me at my own final battle! Unbelievable.

Nirari gestures and a torrent of blood washes over the flame in a tidal wave, drowning them with a cacophonous hiss. He chuckles and gestures.

A field of crimson blades erupts in every direction, slamming into my forest with devastating effect. I attempt to shield the two and fail. Constantine’s golem loses the flamethrower arm. Melusine loses a leg. They are forced back.

Nirari flinches and moves his hand. I do not—

A loud bang spreads a shockwave that flattens the nearest tendrils. Nirari is pushed back, his feet digging a furrow in the ground. When he stops moving, we are boh surprised to see an arrow planted through his forearm, the obsidian vambrace shattered. I recognize that one. It belongs to Slava.

Something shifts. We have all resisted him little by little and the effects of our wakening auras are compounding to force his own back. Oh, I am still afraid as are the others but now we can at least function. The time was granted by Nirari himself. He could not resist gloating after all. The Myrddin is next to act. He activates a scepter with an amber stone at its tip.

This time, true light hits a blood shield and pierces through it almost immediately. Nirari is forced to move and I use a tendril to guide the mage’s aim since he cannot follow by himself. I sadly fail but Nirari is forced to sacrifice many precious seconds. I close the roots around my ally just before Nirari strikes him and he is now somewhere else.

There was never a doubt in my mind that he would execute me. Others may be useful tools, I have grown too much to tolerate. Fortunately, the distraction has lasted long enough. I hear the Fury’s engines roaring overhead.

“Package away,” a voice says in my ear piece.

I perceive the Fury roaring at the edge of my spheres, all engines at maximum. A heavy silver box slams down at some distance without Nirari noticing or caring.

With one step, the box appears next to me while Nirari destroys an entire copse with a swing of his glaive. I may have lost people here. I find focusing on both tasks a little difficult.

The box surrenders its content and I attach a second layer over the Aurora. Piece by piece, the armor lodges itself over the powerful set. I feel a pang of outrage and ignore it.

Hoarfrost spreads as spider webs on the new addition. Pah. Temperamental garments, the bane of all ladies of the world.

With a last strap, I am ready.

I barely feel the pressure of his sun. My eyes are of no use under the thick faceplate and that is fine. I can feel Nirari in my sphere.

I swing Rose. I feel… better. Back to being myself.

I deflect the first blow and am still sent like a puppet against the nearest tree. So… so very strong. I deflect the next one by cutting upward with my extended whip. It feels like hitting a wall, the kind I cannot break. Such stupid strength! The false sun at his back bubbles and in the recess of that disk, I perceive the emerging forms of screaming faces before they are subsumed under the surface once more. He is powered by death and there has been a lot of it. A short exchange ends with me slammed into the ground, forcing me to use my last Dragonslayer bullets to keep him at bay. I… am running out of options. Jumping up, I use the forest to impede his movement. It barely slows him down. The light burns my roots.

Nirari lunges as I disappear under a hedge. His body just smashes roots aside and he finds himself nose to nose with the second item contained in the silver box: my own repeater gun.

The weapon vomits a torrent of enchanted silver. A few score more marks on his armor then most of them are blocked by yet another blood shield of immense power. Nevertheless, he is pushed back.

I dodge under a monstrous blow. He might, in fact, crush me. The follow up blow comes too fast for me to dodge. A mirage spell gives me a moment to recover my balance. I deflect another, jump over a third and catch the fourth with Rose before it caves my chest in. I am sent tumbling on a pillow of roots. The Aurora protects me for now but I can already hear creaks, weaknesses in the mirrors.

I cannot stop him at his full power. I can barely even slow him down.

Not good.

***

“We are losing,” Urchin whispered.

It hurt to admit. The bosswoman knew her business and she had prepared for a long time. Didn’t matter in the end. Power was power.

General Stiglitz stood by his side. The man had rushed here at the head of an armored column and was now busy placing bullets in his service pistol. He didn’t seem worried.

“I don’t think that will faze him. You might as well pray,” the Vanheim said with more bitterness than he expected. He wanted the boss woman to win. To prove the young and cunning could surpass the old and entrenched. It mattered to him a lot.

“Herr vampire, do you perhaps know the parable of the three ships and the drowning man?”

“Can’t say I do.”

“A drowning man prays for God to save him from the sea’s embrace. Three boats come, one after another, and offer him rescue but he says God will answer his call. He eventually dies and when he faces the pearly gates, he asks God, why did you not help me? And what does God answer?”

“I sent you three boats.”

The general nodded gravely while the tanks spread out around him. More soldiers, mages, and allied vampires were pouring in by the minute under the protective canopy of the thorn forest.

“Ja. When you pray to Him to deliver you from evil, do not expect an angel with a fiery sword. Expect to find a gun. And we already have that gun.”

“You are right,” Urchin replied.

He looked at the form-changing blade. It would not make much of a difference. He would certainly die.

He would fight anyway.

“Warten Sie einen Moment. Wait a moment, Herr vampire. You misunderstand. I will not throw us in the meat grinder. You said your mistress draws strength from the living while her sire draws strength from those who died by his hand, correct?”

“Yes?”

“And she drinks essence from her thorns?”

“... yes? Oh.”

Stiglitz smiled and calmly grabbed a nearby root. The thorns bit into his flesh. Crimson liquid dripped down his glove but he never lost his smile.

“Then we shall provide it.”

“I did not think of that.”

“And that is why, mein freund, I am the general. For the Queen of Thorn and Hunger.”

“For the Queen of Thorn and Hunger,” Urchin agreed.

He grabbed a tendril.

A shiver ran through the forest.

***

Naminata pulled her spear back and spared a glance at the Vanheim master a little further. Ariane’s man. He and a few others had grabbed roots and were now offering their blood to her little cupcake. The ritual aspect of the offering was turning it into a massive blood sacrifice of a proportion she had never seen before, while more and more creatures of all sorts joined.

***

The Cadiz line stopped and regrouped. The field was theirs as the last foe had surrendered. Ceron and Suarez felt the change overtaking the forest. They heard the call of the improvised ritual and its raw, primal power. It was almost ‘alive’.

The two exchanged a glance.

They chuckled and grabbed the nearest branch, soon followed by the others.

***

“You know, we slept together, her and I.” Isaac mentioned.

He was not sure why he felt like mentioning that.

“Is this the right time to boast about your romantic life, sir?” the mercenary captain by his side asked.

“No better time.”

He grabbed the offered branch. The captain eyed the thorns with distrust.

“Must we really?”

“I cannot pay you if we are all dead.”

“A fair point, sir.”

***

Commenus of the Dvor winced.

The two pondered the similarities.

***

Octave considered the branch. Torran stood at a distance, wounded but still very much a danger. The long wound down his own chest served as a reminder of the soul smith’s mastery of the blade.

The old knight looked at his feet. He felt… empty. Even revenge had lost its meaning. It had done so long ago.

The two men stood on opposite sides of a clearing, unmoving. They did not speak for a while.

***

Constantine called for the liana. It snaked along his suit’s arm and then through the tiny hole in his cockpit. Thorns caressed his skin. He flexed his arm and they bit. It didn’t hurt as much as he expected.

He wondered if the request was perhaps too formal.

***

The Myrddin glared. Ollie didn’t mind much. He’d been glared at before.

“Young man, you have no idea what you are getting yourself into. Vampires cannot be trusted. You are selling your soul to one who is undeserving. Her reign could be even worse than his own.”

Ollie grabbed the branch tighter and lifted it so the blood would trickle down his arm. He maintained eye contact with the old man.

“Pussy.”

The Myrddin seethed in silence for a good ten seconds, then he grabbed the damn liana.

***

“How many damn times do ah need to pull yer arse out of the damn fire with my red stuff, lass? I’m not a bloody dispensary!”

***

***

Jeffrey didn’t enjoy the hybrid form very much at this moment. He felt the urge to speak but his instincts insisted he should howl to signal the attack instead. It was a historical occasion too! He couldn’t wait to tell June.

In the meanwhile, had to help the boss woman win. His paw descended on an exposed root. He had to try and say at least something! Mark the occasion.

“Arf!”

For shame.

***

So.

Much.

So much essence, so much life force. So much! I am going to explode!

I block Nirari’s strike. Not deflect. Block. My feet dig grooves on the ground but I arrest his momentum.

Our eyes meet.

I punch him in the face.

I think he was not expecting that.

Nirari smashes into a tree, which I am now powerful enough to twist into another tree, and another three before energy explodes out, undoing them. They have regrown before he is fully standing. Nirari roars and the light blasts out.

“Nu Sharran.”

My first spell, the darkness one, surges forward like a bolt of shadow, fighting his light for dominance. Its power shields me and from this protective aegis, I strike… and so does Slava. Nirari blocks the arrow but not my blade, which smashes through the weakened armor on his flank and… stops.

Nirari is still pushed back by the violence of the blow and for one fugacious moment, I spot the ominous glint of old scale. Of course he would have made dragon armor for himself.

I will just have to dismember him then, and before my followers inevitably run out of energy. I rush ahead and unleash a flurry of blows. He blocks and parries, then counter-attacks. Our dance is one of finely tuned chaos. I clip him with the end of the whip, body so close to the ground I barely reach his knee. He slams the glaive down and the ground explodes out. I kick a stone. He uses a spell to fan the rest at me. We fight through a blur of dust, now used to each other’s style. Easy, when we almost mirror one another. He ignores a mirage spell and believes he catches me off guard. In the distance, the beat of a music begins. Nirari’s body jerks while I dance with it. I stab him in the leg in that brief instant before he understands.

He must have never met Nami. I push him back in the path of Jarek’s titan arms which he has to block, giving me another opening. I score another gash on his arm. He is slowing down a little. He attacks and I hide behind the armor-clad form of a Roland lord. Nirari smirks, then slams his glaive into the armor.

It fails to pierce at all.

Another wound joins the others. Behind us, the lord swears with all his breath but I knew he would make it, after all, his Magna Arqa makes him temporarily invincible so long as he does not move.

As we weave through the forest, I coordinate with more and more people to overwhelm Nirari. Constantine’s chains, Melusine’s fires, other powers of European allies, I use them all. I even find one on the verge of blooming and I smile in anticipation.

***

Urchin watched the first of his kind fight and it frustrated him. He had worked really hard to overcome his nature and yet, despite his best efforts, there was a gap between him and the Babyonian royal that no effort would ever bridge. He was still, and would always be, an urchin.

And that was fine.

The right urchin only needed a single opportunity to make a kingdom fall.

Urchin extended his arm forward. He flexed his finger and felt a weight settling in his palm.

It was damn heavy.

His eyes settled on the long, deadly form of Heartseeker, Nirari’s glaive.

The old monster would claim it back in a few seconds. It was still a symbolic victory.

***

Nirari jumps up and up and… just flies, out of the range of my sphere. The rays of his light now bathe the entire valley in blood-tinged colors.

He glares at me, from his unattainable position.

An orb forms over him, a dark red planetoid that grows with every second, gathering power. I can feel the hunger and power it gathers from down here and watch, shocked by the spell and the decision behind it.

And truly, he is too used to looking down on everybody.

Until that moment, Nirari had been a blur of unstoppable destruction so that the majority of my allies could do little but to support me with their offering. I suspect they might be feeling powerless, outmatched and at the mercy of forces beyond their ability to fight. I feel a lot of silent rage and fuming resentment from those who have joined their fate with mine, and until this moment, I could do nothing for them.

Nirari, however, has decided to parade like a peacock over a battlefield of tens of thousands of annoyed warriors.

And after that, he made the most peculiar decision he could come up with.

He made himself a stationary target.

There is no need for me to give any orders. They know what to do. Intents flow from their blood to the spines. The tendrils grasp and pull at machine guns, tilt cannons back, and lift the front of tanks. Soldiers find their arms supported, their aims adjusted. I enjoy watching doubt wipe the rictus off Nirari’s face the moment he faces tens of thousands of muzzles, arrows, spears, spells, shells, everything everyone can throw at him.

Everyone fires at once. The single, coordinated volley is absolutely cataclysmic. Since Nirari is far above us, I watch with fascination the tracers form a pyramid of light, a pyrotechnical show that only the earlier atomic bomb could have matched. The blast is deafening. After the relative silence, the single boom makes the ground shake under my feet, rattling my teeth. They all land on either Nirari, his hastily rising shield, or the expanding sphere of hungering blood above him in a fury of fire and steel. They disappear under the onslaught. I manage to find my own machine gun and bring it to me, joining my voice to the chorus. And it does not let up. Men only stop to slot fresh magazines or shove another shell in their cannons. For the first time since Nirari called his sun upon them, people can let go. And so, they do. The cumulative weight of all races unleash their pent up frustration on his still unmoving form. I know he could let go and return to fight me, possibly hold on until my support is exhausted… and I know he will not. He cannot. He might be shrewd but once provoked, he is as unbending as iron. And like iron, he is brittle.

Nirari’s insults are drowned under the torrent of detonations, he whose voice had silenced a whole army is in turn swallowed by a flood of defiance. I watch his shield crumble, the sphere scatter. Again, I feel this strange disconnect I experienced when facing the dragon. His adversaries were scattered and so he was a monolith. Now they are united in a single blade aimed at his heart and he cannot discount them anymore. Through me, they exist in the thread of destiny. We are but droplets but with enough droplets, one can swallow a continent.

Nirari gives up. His roaring form descends on us like a falling star trailing the debris of his spell like the tail of a comet, still dangerous but broken. I… I could do anything, and I can see the perfect end. Of course, it could only be this way. With a monumental effort, the forest rises to form a bowl, a recess with the limits of my sphere as walls. He plunges into that waiting maw while still peppered by projectiles. I watch him, his purple eyes, his fury, his failing belief in his own invincibility and I smile at him just because I can, just because I am no longer that scared little girl he thought he could break a hundred years and an eternity ago. His maddened anger redoubles while the armor shatters, revealing the scales underneath. Wounds cover his arms and legs. He is still bleeding from his cheek.

His glaive lands on Rose. My feet plunge into the ground from the titanic impact but I do not fall. Instead, I drop my sword and catch his hands. We are locked.

Nirari’s sun blazes. I am slowly, slowly pushed down. We stand face to face, him in the ruins of his helm, the crown broken, and me under the mirror patiently crafted by Loth.

Behind us, a man screams and jumps at slow, human speed over a root, descending on Nirari’s back. I watch the utter confusion on the face of a monster who has always known his place in the world and the incomprehension in the face of the unexpected, because my ace is entirely human. At first glance.

Because he is human, the light of the false sun does not stop him and because he is human, Nirari still cannot believe this man would be a threat. I can see him very well in my sphere. He wears the uniform of the British forces. He wields the dragon tooth sword. On his chest, a single line reads his name.

Andrew Bingle.

I would have it no other way.

Nirari struggles to escape but it is too late. The sword bites into his back, shearing the scales and the flesh underneath like paper. I hear his gasp of pain and feel his strength failing so I allow the mirror to fall and bite down, blinded but victorious. At the last moment, there is a magical trigger of sorts but the dragon scale armor under my arms is still there and so, I taste Devourer essence.

***

Wait a moment.

No that… is impossible!

No!

I pull back, furious and confused into the face of Malakim. They… they swapped? Runes on the armor still shine from a remote activation. Malakim is heavily wounded. He is disintegrating into ash.

No. No no no no no this cannot be.

The armor disappears from his body before it, too, is ruined. Urchin stands next to me with the set in his hands. He looks uncertain. They… they swapped places? The twinned armor allow them to swap places? Was it his plan from the beginning?

By the Watcher, please no.

“Ariane!” a voice screams in my ear.

“Constance?”

“Ariane! Aintza is dead! She… she just died!”

Ah.

***

One minute earlier.

Jimena’s focus was absolute. Malakim was the most dangerous opponent she had ever faced and any mistake would spell disaster. Deflect low. Step back. Counter. Deflect right. Wait for Diego’s hit to distract to lunge. He was always just a little late. That was fine. They did not need to win.

Malakim pulled back once again this time without new wounds. They didn’t matter. Malakim was a bear trap of spite and mutual destruction. Committing against him meant death. He wanted it, wanted people to attack his protected heart. Ariane told her. Ariane trained her in his style. Jimena would not let up. Her focus was absolute.

Then, Diego made a mistake. He overextended. Jimena pulled the lord aside but their formation was in disarray. John was to her back. She had to hold him.

That was fine. She still had an ace.

“Magna Arqa.”

Behind them, Semiramis cried out. A burst of power distracted Malakim long enough to push him back but she still needed to fend him off. Semiramis was ascending right now. She was becoming a goddess. They had almost won.

Jimena pointed her sword, Justice, at Malakim.

Power, intoxicating and rightful filled her veins. She felt like living thunder as she rushed him. It was great to fight with the perfect knowledge that one’s cause was just.

Malakim smirked.

He stole her thunder. He cut her wings. His sword aimed for her heart.

She lightly deflected it then stabbed him in the jaw. She almost beheaded him but he twisted away at the last moment, face a mangled wreck. His baleful gaze was still on her but it was clouded, confused. Thick black blood dripped down the dragon scale armor. She had hit something important. Diego and John were in position. She attacked. Malakim stumbled. She had him.

And then, the runes on his armor shone and Jimena was facing death itself.

There was no time to react. No time to curse her fate.

One strike.

Power like no other. One lunge, one perfect movement to close the distance. The red sun of Nirari’s might was already eating at her skin. Nirari was weakened, hurt. Still taking his bearings. Her gaze met his. He roared, an expression of rage, pain, and anguish. Jimena’s blade bit deeply into the flesh of his hand but he did stop her, the tip of Justice only a finger away from his eye. She saw terror, there.

She had shed the blood of the first.

Then he killed her.

With a series of furious strikes, Nirari cut down the entire squad before they could react just as his Magna Arqa failed, power buckling under the strain. He dragged himself forward to the circle. The cave’s enchantments turned his spilled blood to ash but it would not be enough. Even on his last leg, he was still the first.

Only John remained to watch the old queen’s last moments.

Nirari moved inside of the circle to the hovering form of his mother. Her dark eyes shone like magma as she glanced upward, lost in the felicity of apotheosis. She was blind to the world while the secrets of the universe were finally revealed, so she could not react when Nirari embraced her one last time.

Nirari bit down. It took a while for the power to transfer to him, for the ritual to change direction but eventually, it did. It was his turn to ascend.

John pulled himself towards the side of the cavern.

The dying god had come. He had killed Diego and Jimena with a gesture. He had tried to kill John as well but Miss Ari’s chest protector had stopped the first blow and the helmet, most of the second one. He was still terribly hurt. Pain. That was a familiar companion.

He kept dragging himself forward.

In the center of the circle, the wounded god finished killing his mother. He was a broken thing. Miss Ari had done a good job.

Now it was his turn.

Nothing changed at first glance, though the god turned to him. He was struggling with all that power he kept trying to grab. It fought with his broken frame, his defeated persona, refused him, and yet, he was still a god. Still immeasurably stronger than John. It wouldn’t change anything.

John never wanted to be the strongest. He only wanted to be strong enough to do what mattered to him. To do what must be done.

A moan of pain interrupted the wounded god. John stood, in agony but his body whole again. He grabbed for his massive duffle bag and pulled it open. Inside, there was a very large metal case. He opened the lid.

There were keys to turn and codes to enter but John had memorized it and his hands went through the gesture with quiet competence. He did not spare the wounded god even a glance.

Spells tore through John’s form and through the casing but they both returned to their original form after the spell was through. The damage was simply denied.

John was finished. The countdown read five seconds, then four. It was done. He finally met the wounded god’s glare. They both shared the same purple gaze now but John knew his was serene. At peace.

It had been, John decided, a very good life.

Atomic fire devoured them both.

***

The mountain has turned into a volcano. It roars, bathing us in the light of genuine fire this time. The explosion is much less than expected because, I suspect, it occurred in the Warrens. They are surely destroyed by now but whatever power leaked through now blazes with a rare intensity. The problem is that… I can still perceive Nirari’s new, godlike aura. It lacks the raw intensity of before but it still struggles… and I cannot get in there to finish him off.

John. Jimena…

He walked to Urchin and grabbed the pilfered set of dragon armor, shedding his own to put it on with slow, deliberate movements. The runes engraved in the surface had cooled but now that Slava wore it, their intensity increased again.

Slava does not reply. With soft gestures, he embraces me, then places my mouth against his collarbone. I do not understand? Another hand on my neck forces me to open my mouth. My fangs touch his skin though they do not pierce yet. He wants me to… what?

The runes activate once again.

I am suddenly no longer hugging Slava. There is a void between my hands, an emptiness filled with nothing but raw power and the burning form of mangled dragon scales. The incredible heat fights against the Aurora which pushes back with a furious hiss of metal on ice. There is nothing under my fangs but superheated air, then ash, then flesh. Then power.

Nirari reforms, screaming under my fangs and I drink him just as he does. Power fills me in a burning wave but this time, I do not lose my senses as I did with the dragon blood. The energy fills me as if I were a receptacle meant to receive it. I am merely… being completed. The rush is still incredible. I let it swallow me.

***

The weave. The song of the world. The song of the other spheres in the distance. This sphere is mine. It is waiting to be claimed. It can be claimed now. To claim a sphere is to be the center and keep the music alive. I do so now. I have challenged and won. It is done.

I will mourn those I have lost later. For now, it is done.