The Worldeater Saga, Part III: Monomachy

Setting the whole of His power against His star-forged forever-foe, Varian began His assault immediately, heedless of the mortal audience lurking far below Him. Waves upon waves of silvered radiance flew forward at His behest, its manifestation searing through Prime’s fabric with every inch of space it travelled. With a mere turn of Its hand, however, the Eschaton dispersed this wild rancour, Its will immediately turned towards a cataclysmic counterstrike. Exerting Its mastery over Its contested domain, the Cosmic Creator of Aetolia called upon the ylem lurking within the veins of the world entire, Its command shaping this unthinkable tide into a monstrous tsunami meant to drown the Celestine in a barrage of star-studded essence.

With this rapid displacement came colossal collateral damage – an inevitable loss in the struggle for survival and supremacy both, with Neither able to spare Their attention to avert these oncoming catastrophes. With a terrible groan, the ley shuddered at its sudden emptiness. What remained within Aetolia’s framework bubbled upward as an innumerable number of foci, their bounties of power left untouched as the world stood in abject awe at the monomachy overhead.

As the sudden shift in the ley set the world to a shudder, shapeshifters throughout the realm found themselves plunged into bloodthirsty madness. Rampaging throughout the world in packs and murderous droves, Sapience saw no other option than to put them down even as reality shifted and cast mortal adventurers aside into random, remote regions of the world in phenomenon alike to Numerological direcalling. With all of its primordial power yielded at the command of the Eschaton, the Spiral screeched, its panic drawing the attention of its belaboured warden: Odravh, the Abyssal. Mortals and Divine around the world felt the movements of this ancient deity as Its charge faced obliterating danger, their minds flooded with the harmonic music – a music that the Archivium swiftly recognised as that of the sevenfold spheres that underpin all of reality.

With immense haste bespeaking the terrible catastrophe it sought to avoid, Odravh drew upon all arcana accumulated in the world, draining all existence of its mental reserves in a desperate bid to prop up the cosmos in response to Its Creator’s riposte. In the wake of this unprecedented mending, elemental energy seeped through to the Prime, bathing Yggdrasil’s base

Not to be outdone, the Celestine turned this tide back upon Its originator, Their rivalled wills holding it between Them as a canvas for Their next exchange of blows. Armies arose from the primordial soup captured within Their empyreal arena, Their handpicked generals calling upon miracles in the names of their respective Lords. Dying screams echoed throughout the realm as these twin civilisations played out their crude purpose: to live, to fight, to die in a feud beyond their knowing, one and all destined to be naught but a footnote in the annals of a conflict sparked in an age beyond recollection.

Then, the Artificer emerged.

Standing atop Mejev Nider Nesve wo Ti, Matati wo Eja sota Aran wo Aransa, Severn the Manipulator observed the celestial conflict overhead. Gathering the scraps of essence cast aside in the titanic struggle between His Father and His Counterpart, the bovine God set to the task of drawing the curtain back, the whole of Umbrael unravelled and cast heavensward in the making of an act of Artifice. Though His inky gambit soon obfuscated the battle overhead, Severn’s Twin – Damariel, Lanos, Lord of Truth and Light – made His objection known.

Unleashing a cataclysm of righteous alabaster fire, Damariel mot Lanosaryon set fire to the concealment that hid the truth from this world. Though the deity left His Twin’s protective film in place, Truth told the world that He would ensure they were not kept in the dark – a declaration unanswered beyond a callous shrug from His retreating Brother.

With great haste, the Warlord burst forth from His fortress to inspect the invading growth sprouting mere feet from His courtyard, His disgust for the Eschaton’s Creative act writ clear upon His otherwise stoic mien. Ignoring most of the mortals aligned as an audience, the Favoured Son took up Caelestis in both hands, its edge acting as channel for the immense Divine power welled within the its wielder. The land quivered in response to His might’s unveiling, imposing a nauseating tension upon the world as Immortal War mustered all He could bring to bear. Though He turned argent fire and oppressive mastery upon the Eschatonic tree, the arboreal titan stood tall, its serenity unblemished by Bamathis’ brutal assault.

Before His departure, Strife Incarnate made His will clear to the Voice of Duiran: He demanded that she alert the Hunter, passing on a message that Bamathis expected Haern to ‘make His move’. Addressing the gathered crowds, He mandated that they must soon make their choice: support His Father or stand against their own Creator. With His proclamation known, the Warlord marched back into His stronghold to bide His time and plan His next move.

In the wake of this titanic struggle, the Maelstrom conveyed Their final thoughts to Their Order before retreating to the domain of Denan Arloi, claiming a need to think upon the uncertainty of these times before casting Their lot with either side of this catstrophic duel.

And far off in the skies, at the edges of Prime, an eclipse of moths gathers…

Penned by my hand on Kinsday, the 2nd of Arios, in the year 511 MA.