What happened in the precious few moments following Ain's words was something the surviving humans would never forget. It was the kind of thing they all strived for, but never knew what it was that they strived for.
Anyone can learn to swing a sword and cleave mountains apart, but this was different. It was something else; inconceivable in their minds. It was tyrannical.
Agon had a title he was known for in the Civilized Realms -- Holocaust King -- and it was a well-deserved title. Agon's inexorable brutality had made waves as he slaughtered innocent children across the Fae Realms. However, Agon's mission was approved by the Conclave -- to slaughter the Abyssalized, and all who practiced Methods without clear ties to the governing structure that was the Conclave.
However, Ain also had a title, but it was only known to those in the exo-planes. Calamity God Ain.
Avarice exploded into a million glittering fragments, each fragment shining as if they caught a glimpse of the sun. The expanding cloud of storm-like debris occupied a large swathe of space around Ain, Sigurd and Senon, and before it could reach anyone else, it blinked out of existence.
For a moment, it seemed as if nothing would happen.
Color disappeared from Latela's face as she fell to her knees, her gaze fixed at the center where the sphere once was. "It is an angel..." she pushed a whisper through her vocal cords, barely audible. "His sword... is..."
Sigurd's eyes gleamed, enchanted by the same thing Latela saw. He was proud, happy and terrified at the same time. No one else understood what the two of them saw or why it was important.
"Supreme Galaxy Extermination Sword," Ain said coldly, naming the Method that created the constellations of swords. "Fractal."
The Sword is One Body, One Mind. Even Divided, it is One. Each Fragment is a Star, and each Star is a Sword, and each Sword is a Galaxy of annihilation. My burning voice is the Light of those Galaxies, and it guides all things of stardust to the beginning. Ashes to ashes. Dust to dust. May all have mercy.
Avarice's voice echoed in the minds of the humans and demons, and it could be heard all the way back in the Demon Realm capital. It wasn't so much as something one heard, but rather felt in their spirit. It was as if being bathed in the light of a cold sun, and the freezing warmth crawled up the spine, but the sensation itself was the singing, androgynous voice of an angel; sweet and light and melodic and beautiful. And inconceivably oppressive.
The Abyssalized human closest to Ain snapped his head to the left side, and no one else could see it but him. He saw an impossible sword, infinitely long and black, carve through the Pattern towards him from one end of the galaxy to where he stood. The sword he saw traversed the infinite distance in an instant.
Everyone else saw the human stand there, one moment, and the next moment, there was black and red mist. Nothing was left of him, except for that mist. And within a moment, the mist coalesced and hovered towards Ain, like a thin snaking line, approaching a point right above his head, and disappearing, as if falling into a black hole.
Ain inhaled, his eyelids dropping to half-closed, his once neutral expression shifting towards cold and distant. "May all have mercy," he echoed Avarice's voice, and a burst of fire appeared above his head, turning from orange-red to purple-black within seconds. The fire flattened out, forming a disc of liquid plasma above his head, with jagged edges as if it was a flattened crown.
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Not all the Abyssalized exploded into mist. In fact, only a few became tribute to Excidium, which powered the Method Ain used. The mist itself was their Source and Concept reduced to primal principles and absorbed -- exchanged -- for Avarice's autonomy.
Others were shredded to pieces, splatted into paste and then burnt to ashes. Whatever they were struck with, it was not just a sword -- it was a Galaxy of Hatred and Annihilation. Those who did not become Abyssalized could only stare in wonder as their comrades fell for no apparent reason.
Except for one person. Rale. He saw what killed the Abyssalized Humans, and his heart was full of trepidation as he helplessly waited for his turn. He had given up. His soul had given up. He could not muster a single thought towards self-defense. There was no point.
Rale thought he had reached the pinnacle; he thought that he had become the most powerful creature in the Human Realm. With the Will of Humanity, if he could obtain it, who knows what kind of heights he could reach? Or so he thought.
Now he understood how wrong he was. He was not a speck of dust in Ain's eyes. He was so small, Ain would not even remember his name an hour from now. He embraced death, and made peace with his regret.
But no sword came for Rale. Ain glanced at the man, glared at him, and a region of collapsing space-time reduced Rale to atoms.
"You used me," Ain said, glancing at Rale next.
Sigurd de Veir offered an apologetic, but insincere, smile. "It is nothing personal, you understand?"
The distant screaming of soldiers howled in the air, clearly audible in the dead-silent feast hall. Most of them were screaming for help, or alerting everyone that they were under attack.
"I am not your tool," Ain said, tone low and foreboding. "This one time, I will forgive you. The way you do things -- it is not the way of Humanity. You should be ashamed of yourself."
Sigurd considered Ain's words. "You shouldn't be one to speak of shame or what Humanity's way is. I know what you've done in the previous era; you gave up fighting, and left us all to die. It was the Eternal Empress that saved us, before your miserable death drove her to her own demise."
Ain glared at Sigurd, his gaze freezing cold and with his magical power fully released, he could not even hold it back. His breath alone caused tremors in the heart, and a fraying of the psyche, but his hateful glare caused the heart to skip beats, and the psyche to unravel. But Sigurd stood tall, despite these manifestations. "What do you know of that era? Have you reincarnated with your memories intact?" A pause. "Of course not," Ain said, tone rebuking. "You are welcome to your convictions and opinions, but do not twist me with your shallow ideals. My patience is not limitless. There won't be a next time."
Sigurd narrowed his eyes, but then nodded and took a step back. "Your assistance is much appreciated, Lord Ain. The Human Realm is in your debt."
Ain left the hall without a word. Deep in his heart, he felt empty. For a long time, he wandered the streets, drowned in cries for help and tears. Many of the Abyssalized were friends, brothers, sisters, fathers and mothers. In Ain's view, doing the right thing was not enough justification for what he had just done. Even though it was necessary, even though those people were not people anymore, even despite all that, it did not matter.
Ain's heart was heavy. The guilt was crushing him. How could he look another human in the eye and consider himself their Savior? All he had done was bring ruin. He was the incarnation of all Humanity fought against. This was not the salvation he wanted to bring them. He didn't want to be the one that had to burn the field to eliminate the symptoms of a deeper problem, he wanted to be the one to treat the disease.
Perdition.
The inexorable fate of Humanity to cease to exist -- to be eradicated after eons of struggle.
Ain's hands balled into fists, as he once more swore in his heart to uphold the core ideals of Humanity, and find a way to overcome destiny.
Senon bit her lower lip, and hugged Ain's arm, leaning her head against his shoulder. She obviously wanted to say something to him -- some words of comfort -- but how could she possibly know what it was like to desire to save one's own race, but always end up being its executioner? But there was nothing she could say. Comforting him, in that way, was all she could do. Her eyes filled with tears, as she realized that there was nothing she could do for him.