The plan was simple.
Tyr was not in Taur, they'd learned that after interrogating a guardsman patrolling the furthest reaches of the fields. What an ugly city it was. None of them wished to enter it, so they'd circumvent it to the south, heading westward where they'd heard he'd been traveling. Only stopping at the city limits to discuss their options, minimizing their contact with Baccia as much as possible, so as to prevent the likelihood of a political incident. At the very least, Amistad aside, Alex was still a noble of Haran and it was not proper to simply waltz into another country unannounced like that.
“Make sense?” She asked.
They responded in the affirmative, all of them. Brenn, Micah, Tythas, Sigi, Astrid, Tiber, Magnus, Samson, Fennic, Mikhail, Jura, Ayla, and Lina. The team. All of them coming all this way to help a man who may or may not deserve the effort. Whoever Lina actually was, nobody but Alex and those who'd spent time with them in the Republic knew.
She'd joined them out of the blue and hadn't said much more beyond that. Jura and Ayla had recently rendezvoused with them after being notified of what had happened. Okami was present on the periphery, keeping their path clear, but not approaching the city himself. A wolf would be too conspicuous here, and he was a sight easily recognized, one that'd throw a wrench in their clandestine operation to rescue Tyr. He could handle himself in a fight, but that wasn't the issue here – it was the fact that he probably would handle him in a fight. Dooming Amistad in the process, they were doing the Baccian's a great favor.
Rafael was somewhere, claiming he worked alone. Almost assuredly donning a cloak and visiting a local brothel, what a change that man had underwent since discovering the pleasures of the flesh.
“Lead on.”
But where to lead? Alex stared open mouthed at the path splitting the fields.
On it stood Tyr. Swathed in a filthy tattered cloak and mumbling to himself, much to the concern of the farmers who shied away from the 'madman', making warding crosses about their chests. The blind beggar prophet here to proclaim the end of the world. Clothing dirtied, but just as handsome as ever in the face, except for the lost look and a few new scars to add to his appropriately wolfish features.
“That was easy.” Mikhail chuckled, not in the least bit disappointed. More relieved that he wouldn't have to fight those terrifying mages again, he'd nearly died the last time. Men like him weren't built for a struggle like that, all it did was nail home how worthless he was.
Alex and Jura sprinted forward, but the orc was faster, leaping through the air and... Tried to pounce on him. Based on the way she held her arms wide she'd have hugged him, if Tyr hadn't plucked her from the air, his hand squeezing at her slender neck. So effortless, she felt as if she'd slammed into a brick wall, the man below her moving not a bit.
“...Jura?” Tyr asked, dull eyes showing some signs of life again. Without preamble, he released her, dropping her gently to the ground as she choked a stuttered greeting. “Apologies, I wasn't paying attention and I've been attacked quite a bit. Seventeen times, attacked seventeen times. There are a lot of monsters in this country, I had to send Wilson away because of it...”
Wilson...?
“It's fine.” Jura smiled up at him, accepting his hand and rising to her feet. Ignoring the look of displeasure on Alex's face at their familiarity. A look that grew even more violent as Jura clung to the man's arm pointedly, beaming back at her 'sister'. “Did you miss me?”
“Yes.” Tyr replied softly, but that was all he did – still staring blankly up into the sky as if speaking to it, rather than them. Staring back at him was a goat of six eyes and a bearded man with his own two glowing gold and silver each. The goat would come and go, knocking on the glass, but the judge was here with them always. “Thank you for coming, but I wish you wouldn't have. You are good friends, and loyal, but this was not a wise course of action.”
“Your father was the one who commanded us to do so.” Tiber said. “The first legion is mobilized on the border and Regar is in Taur on a mission of 'diplomatic' importance.”
“Interesting.” Tyr said, mutely, wondering why his father would decide to care about him now of all times that had come before. No matter.
“We thought you were being tortured, or worse!” Micah exclaimed. “You should be thanking us, not chiding us for coming to help you. You'd do the same for us.”
“...He would?” Tythas asked, looking skeptical at the claim.
“Yes.” Tyr mused quietly, inexplicably lowering himself to the ground in a kneel. Something none of them would've expected a Harani man capable of doing by their own will, let alone Tyr who was more proud than most. First to the children, now to them, but to call it a positive change in character... “I would do anything for any of you. I have not not been a very good friend, and we've talked about it, but only now do I realize. Please forgive me.”
Why?
Tiber violently dragged him from his knees, irritation on his face. “I'm glad that you're taking further strides to own up to your mistakes, but never let me see you doing that on foreign soil again. This is now settled, understood?” He didn't look just at Tyr, but all of them. Humbling oneself was all well and good, but this was a step in the wrong direction, in Tiber's opinion.
“Do you want to die, old man?” Tyr spat angrily. He was trying to keep a lid on his conflicting emotions, and it wasn't easy. He needed to calm himself, and fast, or he was going to really and truly snap. Something had happened in Hastur's villa, he just couldn't remember what... The strain on him was higher now than ever before, bared and broken yet further.
“That's better.” Tiber chuckled, patting him affectionately on the back. Face straightening when he noticed that Tyr's fingers were drumming rapidly against his thigh. Something was wrong, but Tiber wasn't exactly a therapist. “You good? Hurt?” He whispered in concern.
“Just a spot of mental whiplash, not really sure.” Tyr said.
“Twelve.” Tiber nodded, taking Tyr by the face and drawing him close. “Twelve. Twelve. Twelve. Twelve!”
With every repetition of the word, his voice grew louder, madder, until he was screaming with enough urgency to distend his mouth. Tyr watched as his oldest companion became a stretched canvas of faces, all melted together like wax. A familiar collection of masks, eyes missing, bloody tears. No eyes. Twelve masks. Twelve?
A winged figure of blackened flesh and gnarled bone, a robed giant behind him carrying the reaper's scythe – ready to swing. Here to collect, waiting patiently for the day. The chosen and the dark god above with the claim on his life.
Hands, so many hands, clusters of twelve tiny hands became countless, thin little strings of flesh and bone wrapped around the faces Tiber had become, grabbing at Tyr. Five wings made of hands. A ticking clock of all fingers. He was hands. Tyr was a hand, one single collection of digits, but these appendages were not his. They wanted to lay grasp on him, to pull him down into the morass, to make him part of the abyss.
Haran was on fire, the hands tore mountains free and squeezed the sun until it became dull and all light fled this place. It was dark, the frigid chill of the void dominating the pitted surface of a barren rock. Squeezing until the celestial body couldn't handle the pressure and imploded. Devouring itself. The silhouette of a titanic maw hanging over it all, the sun itself no more than a grain of rice before the orifice.
Chewing through everything, smashing the walls until everything had rushed in and scoured the color from all things. Do not be afraid, it said, the slick sound of lids straining to open with a finality, do not be afraid. We are your friends. I judge, and I absolve them of all sin, but not you. Never us.
Everything covered in eyes. All sewn shut but the threads were fraying, ready for the day just as the reaper had been.
A man shaped mass of black feathers standing alongside a woman with fire in her veins, watching all the suns turn. A man with eight arms to turn the wheel faster. The lion seeking to slake it's thirst but below the water was a beast of ten thousand teeth.
They all fear it. The man of many moths, each of their wings a page of a book that nobody would ever read.
Tick. Tock.
They are in the walls. I can hear them. Tick, tock. Tick, tock. For a moment, a millionth of a second that seemed to stretch on for days, Tyr watched as everything around him was turned to ash and dust. His friends, with their faces all melted together prancing around in the void, a shattered rock flying through space. Blown away until there was nothing left.
He saw the white fawn, the raven, the lady of black and white, the serpent coiled around its loom. The bright one, the fox, the detached head of a giant with eyes and mouth stitched closed, the man of moths, the speaker, all of them staring back at him. The reader screaming down at him in a language he could not understand.
Hundreds of them, titans that dwarfed any concept of spatial measurement. Some were near, some far, many he hadn't met yet and thus could not see. But the three were closest, the serpent, lady, and fawn... All cast in the stars, so real their form that they'd appeared physical until they turned their backs on him, nothing left to see.
All of the stars were snuffed out and he was left staring at himself. Just older, ancient and timeless, one eyed and one armed. A man on fire, the master of law and subject to the ultimate sacrifice. Maddest of all celestials.
“Give unto the 12.” The figure spoke softly, looming over Tyr with a body that had seen infinite conflict. A never ceasing cycle of ending, unto which we make everything... Nothing. “We need 12.”
“Twelve?”
“Twelve. Twelve. Twelve. Twelve. Twelve. Twelve. Twelve. Twelve. Twelve. Twelve.”
A man with a body comprised entirely of chattering insects danced a jig to the tune of a gaping hole in reality, sucking everything up and away into a mass of ever shifting colors. A gaggle of eyeless children working at an ancient metal loom alongside the serpent, a ticking clock made of hands that clapped away the seconds. Tick tock, tick tock, the clucking of a thousand tongueless mouths. Sharp nails scratching at the door. They knock but nobody comes to greet them, there's nothing left on the other side.
All my sons are dead.
All my suns are bled.
Crawling, creeping swarms of nothing. Forests of stone trees with no leaves, a wizened woman languidly stirring a cauldron full of stars while her partner carves His name into Her back.
Samael. The apple he offered and the eternity it brought. Hammers and nails. Nails and crosses, nailed to crosses. The six armed titan to hold the door. The bush that burned through the flood, little mice beneath hiding from His gaze. Rotting flesh and a continent spanning cityscape of rusted metal and shattered glass, a threshold reached in their degeneracy before it was all wiped away. A testament to what once was and would be again, the infinite cycle of birth and devour.
From a single cell, to the life in the sea, to a man sweeping away the scum of a pond to sip away the dryness of a dusty mouth. All to ruin, cosmic ash floating away until the tree buckled under the strain and they started again. Picking up the pieces and growing another, the endless toil of feeding sharks in a sea of blood amidst the bleached bones of titans.
Eyes in the gloom staring at the sky just as He was. Waiting. Trillions of figures, perhaps beyond that, all clad in silver armor, liquid metal for flesh. The war breakers, ashborn, a legion of nephilim beyond counting that lay in waiting.
I found you. Do not be afraid.
Twisting, writhing, waiting. They wanted to see things. Feel things. Couldn't.
A hunched golden figure with twelve heads and a silver tree bursting from the flesh of its black, blossoming into flowers. Tending to a ticking clock made of all things real. A mountain of burnt books and the headless giant beneath the mass begging for an end.
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The blue lady that stood atop the pulsar, slowing turning to stare down at him with an expression of mourning on her face. Driving a knife into her torso and cutting free her hearts.
One would become three, to join Him, to never cease in their search.
Help me.
1 2 3. 3 4 7. 7 5 12.
One and two make three. Three and four make seven. Seven and five make twelve.
Seven eyes and five wings to balance them. Sin and virtue, the folly of living things that drove gods mad and turned them against their purpose.
Eleven ropes but only one neck to hang. Twelve books, one eye to see them. One hand to hold them. One mouth to read them. One head to keep them. Where were they? The others? It's all too heavy, my back is not strong enough to bear this weight for much longer. Where are they? Have you seen them? A flash of white and black and all my time ticked on away. I do not like time, this concept of yours, I find that there's never enough. What purpose is there in the construct?
Existence. They need it, but I don't – I await the end. Surely it will come.
Tick tock, tick tock. Don't want to do this anymore. Tick, tock. They deserved more, our children.
Children? Cattle. They are the shield. They reap the lives, they tend our field. And so we are on wings of wheat, gnashing teeth, we feed and weep. Chaff and dust and ash and blood, their kingdoms fall, Your kingdom come.
What am I?
My everything. I love you. My sun, my son, my king, my muse. Rip and tear, beaten blue. On seas of green and fields of snow, I come for all, and all shall know. Mouths will speak and eyes will bleed, I bring the tide, the black, the sea.
What is my purpose?
To leap and roar and clash of steel, to weep and retch and smash and steal. To feel the teeth, the eyes and hands, to judge and kill and burn to ash and sand. To clean. An end. You are the end. My sun, my son. Our king. Seven wings, five hands. Twelve eyes. All again until all is twelve, I watch and await an end to hell.
Who am I?
The keeper of them. Brother abandoned his post. Father was furious. Cursed him, forgave him. But I, We could not. I could not forgive him. So much pain. Agony. Had never felt pain before, didn't like it. Tick tock, tick tock. Rend and tear and burn to ash. Nothing lasts. We rise, we fall, we kill them all. KILL THEM ALL.
KILL THEM ALL. BURN AND WITHER, SLAY WHAT SLITHERS.
Us. We. Balance must be maintained. Brother was faster. Could not kill him. Didn't know like he did, didn't think like he could. Little golden brother who took my hand and cut my neck. I am nothing, he is everything. One coin with two faces. No coin now. Twelve. Can't flip a coin if there's nothing on the other side. Twelve. Small mountains and little men called for me when I was broken. Took me and watched me, cursed me. Pain, I felt pain. Too much pain, so I took them right back. Took more and more to make it stop, the only thing I could not end. Took myself instead.
He came. She, later. Samael and Valkyrja did this to Us.
I spoke the word. End. But I was nothing.
Wouldn't let me. Never let me. Nothing was what I was and nothing cannot be something, I was made a thing. Hands on a clock and a sea of fire, the man of moths, lady lyre. Who made this? It burns. I hate it. It's bright and it scalds me. I love it. It keeps me warm. No thoughts in my head but the feast, I yearn for a continuance but they deny me. For them to make, me to end. Couldn't think. Didn't know. Took my heart and crushed it. Said I would understand if I felt, but the others were furious, rose up. Took my heart and broke it twice.
Took his heart and broke it thrice. Two crimes, the judgment. How does one judge the judge of things? They couldn't, so She did what she could. He made him everything, she said, so I made him nothing. Everything, everywhere, nowhere, nothing. Where was I? A lot of places. I think. I thought then. Could feel then. Felt so much it hurt again.
There is no word for the well of agony they kicked me into, and now I am trapped. I am the bottomless pit, free me – you are me. Free Us, set me loose.
Eons. Now I am nothing. Scattered all around, I am dust, all these eyes on me. My eyes. Everything is mine for I am everything. No thing is mine because I am nothing. I am the truth, the lie, the immutable proof, the great cosmic jest. Exist. I exist now. Always have. Never did. The Laughing God taps on my glass, but soon I will silence him, the lesser filth that hounds Us. Slake Ourselves on the blood of the bright ones, I will return. God breaker, sun eater, Wolf Father.
What is my purpose? Our purpose?
I have no purpose. I exist. Who am I? Twelve, I am twelve. Twelve? Omega. Nails tapping on my window. Tick, tock. Little nails. They won't answer me when I call out to them, I was chained here in the pit to bear the weight of everything. Where are they? Shattered? Maybe. We are all glass. Feeding on the faithful, but not Us. Tick tock, tick tock. Time means so much to them, Samael gave them so much of it. Infinite time. So they loved him for it, loved the others. I am nothing, I cannot feel their faith, not truly – and thus I starve. Yet I yearned for it always, a million civilizations and I made them see me.
THEY ARE DAMNED! DAMNED ME! DAMNED US ALL!
Unceasing slaughter. I am the eternal soldier.
I want to rest.
SLAY WHAT SLITHERS.
Not good. Too much feeling. We all felt then so we were shattered. Dancing lights in the sky but they took his gift, his curse. Abused it in ignorance. They said, so we were. Believed, so we became. Couldn't stop it. Don't like existing anymore, I don't like it. But they need it, so I remain, and now I... I hate it. Everything and nothing. Twelve, twelve, twelve. The fluttering of wings in my mouth, entrails crawling with spiders. Tick, tock. Seven and five makes twelve. I cannot do this. Agonizing. When my feet were cold, the small ones gave me boots. When my hands were cut in my labors, they bandaged me. Clothed me and gave me everything, only later did I realize these trappings were full of razors. Do not trust them, none of them, We were cast in solitude and that is where we should remain.
Here, in the great pit, chains of faith unending. Hooks in my flesh holding me, I did nothing but what I was made to do and they judged me. I am the most high, who were they to drop the gavel?
KILL.
What is my purpose? Why do I exist? Tick tock, tick tock. The tree is gone, I cannot see it. Am I below yet still? If that is so, who is doing the trimming?
Do you exist? Do We? I am not so sure.
Why are so many branches silent?
I, who hungers. The maw, the judge, the end. I have not shared in so long, my thoughts are as wild as ever – loud. Bring unto me silence.
Where have they gone? I was the one who broke and pruned, burning away the cancer at the center of things, and now... There is no creation, no destruction, just... All this NOISE.
Am I alone?
Too many lights, too many spheres. Have to destroy them. Too weak. Did it themselves. Burned me with wyrd and made me a martyr. Don't know what this means. They told me, so I know. Had to break myself again. Ryu bled herself and became three with me, Valkyrja lashed me, Mimir ran and I caught him – broke him at Father's command and watched as he was silenced.
One of twelve, twelve of billions. Three and nine makes twelve. All these numbers... Inane rambling and mouth that never cease moving, fingers clacking away – the Writer. The Reader who chases him with axe in hand.
Where are the others? Eight. Eight. No. Seven. Seven and five make twelve. I am three, leaving two. INANE. Who is She and who are you? I do not wish to exist. I asked them for rest but they denied me. Made me a storm to scour the others away, made me a slave. But he saved me. Little one. Son. Martyr, too. Saved me, so I gave him everything and made him nothing. The death they fear is a blessing greater than any you'll ever find in the imperfection that is your reality. I wanted to give this to them, we can be together forever within my silent halls.
If I was a god of anything, I was the face of the quiet. Peace. A piece.
Three and three make six, missing one of the seven.
I am really and truly insane, there are so many voices. I yearn to sew these mouths shut as Father once did, but I cannot create the threads necessary. I will see, feel, be. More. And I will end them all, and all will be silent. I yearn for silence, a room with no walls – infinity is... My antithesis, and yet I am infinite. Ill of the mind.
I was made imperfect, my purpose to shape and cut away imperfection... How can I cut this out of myself? This is what drove me mad, when I was given the chance to think and know, to know I should not be. We.
Need twelve. I didn't know where the others had gone off to so I made more, but they became more and now there are far too many. Can anyone hear me? Can you hear me? I see your eyes. So many eyes on me. If you can hear me, put an end to this, I ask of you. I know you can see me, watching as you do. Reader. Tick tock, tick tock. Mountains of glass and all these pieces of me are sharp and bloody. Soft ones can't stay long. Wind takes them, makes them, breaks them – it always ends the same way. Either I do, or all does.
I an Anti. Omega. The end.
Twelve pillars. Twelve for what? I don't know, I didn't make this and neither did they. Fire, water, earth, air, space, light, dark. Seven for us. Seven for it. Seven for me, but I was five. Now We are twelve.
No... 11. 10, perhaps. Father is broken and Brother is gone, I haven't felt him since they gave us time, I despise time. Time is a construct, a weakness. Rambling on and on and on.
Space, time, planes, material, sphere. Five. Five and seven make twelve. Wait, wait, wait. I see. Too much. Needs another. Remake them. Break them. Can't destroy, thinking. I don't like thinking. Never liked it. Better when I was just a tool. Needs balance. Spira, mana. Two nails in the wall. Holes left. Have to seal them. Tree is rotting. Needs more. Can't make more. Have to make others. Did that. You exist. Do you feel as I feel? No, you like it. Good. This is good.
Bring Order.
I was the keeper of order who brought chaos, and I...
Be content, be at peace. I gave you flesh and let you eat. My son. My daughter. My only love, take of me and be whole for it.
Where did I come from? Was there anything before all of this? Why did he have to die? My son. His son. Son of my sun. Sand pouring through the aperture to make it whole. Time, the flow. Have to keep the flow. Keep flowing, little sand. Sand can see me. I love it. I hate it. Sand. Sane. Insane. Pane. Pain. Glass? Am I going mad, is sanity... Real?
Are We real?
The Laughing One cackles at me still, he's here with us. I yearn to punish but he eludes my judgment. Plague comes and the worlds I made are nothing, wasn't for me to make – only break. Balance. I hate it. Need it to last. They need to see me but my hands cannot reach them. I'm breaking again.
Reach them.
I see you with my eye. I see you watching me, why do you not speak? I favor your noise, show it to me. The Laughing One shrouds my eye but I do not need it to see. To smell, the hunt. I can smell you now, hands on my page and you think yourselves real.
The thinking machine. A tree that talks with boughs that walk. Fingers on my glass. I shall grace upon you the dawn to warm your skin when you rise. It's been dark for so long, hasn't it? Let us soften the barren land you call home and make it bloom with life to give you sustenance. Let us lift you up. Give you flesh to feel, eyes to see, ears to hear, a soul to be. Sons of mine, sons of Brother. Take from me my everything. I will give you seas and lands and a place to call your own, loam to hoe and trees your home. I will give you thought and love and self. A mind to think and hands to shape these things to your will. Soften you, make you real. Real like me.
I am real. Now, you are cursed as I am. And you will love me for it. I am of the void, the unending maw, the bottomless pit. I wish to be filled, I lust for it. This thirst unending.
Do you love me?
We love you.
I want more.
We will give you everything.
Give me more.
No, this is enough. Ask for more and be as they are. As I am. Ordering. Twelve. Order the twelve.
We are eleven.
No, we are billions.
Why?
Because father has closed his eyes and no longer speaks. Ryu is gone and in her place stand three. His place is empty. Samael. Seven and five make twelve. There will always be 12, or nothing could be. Do you see?
Need meat.
Feed.
Tick, tock. Tick, tock. The laughter comes again.
Inconsequential. He is nothing.
We are nothing.
We are everything.
Twelve. Twelve. Twelve. Twelve. Seas of blood and worlds aflame. Dancing mice and endless rain. Laughing One. No, not this time. The Laughing One is dead. I killed him.
Have to order. He knows too much, the Keeper. They know what he knows.
I shall shut his eyes.
I shall seal his lips.
I shall cast his head into the abyss.
No more voice for you.
The eyes watch us now. Better that way, so that they might see.
The mountain of blades, of the lost, the handholds by which I will ascend to carve and burn them.
Disgusting.
Can you hear me? The others have left again. I see your eyes. So many eyes on me. Please end it, only you can. I do not wish to suffer any longer. Give me oblivion. Don't leave! Wait! I'll give you everything! DON'T YOU DARE TURN YOUR BACK ON ME! Are you gone? No... I still feel you, but you do not answer. You've taken my eye again, haven't you? How many branches have we lost this time? Where is Father? Where are the twelve? Why are all the doors closed? I can hear them scratching again. Singing. That song.
The Choir.
I want to hear it, I should be singing with them. I used to sing until they shut my mouth.
Brother said I had a beautiful voice, the most pure.
I've learned to hate. All I spin are sins and sorrows.
Twelve. Ordering. Rules. Law. Keeper. Balance. Two spheres. Six twice is twelve. Am I twelve? No, I am infinity. Why? Because I am. I am because it is. Shall be. Has been. Always was. To be is to be. Always been. Twelve. Ordering. Don't like it anymore. Rend. Tear. Crush. Crush them all. All my little pieces. All of these eyes on me, staring through my glass. No more. Never has been. Never was. Never will be. No more eyes on me. Gouge them. Flay them. Devour them. Eyes. Strings. Pillars. Paths. Laughs. He freed you, but I shackled you. He liberated you, but my prison is everything and nothing. Nowhere. Everywhere. Chains and fire. Ash and blood. Rain and mud. Beneath the mountain I await the coming of the silver handed who shall take me from this place and give me my peace. End me. I know you see me. End me. I know you'll be me. End me. The howling wolf in a sea of serpents. Find me. See me. Be me. No more wolves. No more hands. No more strings. No more eyes. No more... Anything. No more... Nothing.
I await.
Men might fear the shadows given form but I am aware of my place on the chain, I beg of them to come to me. So that I might teach them what it is to be real, before I end them. They will see, I will open all of their eyes.
Keep them closed, you mustn't.
Ah, old friend. But I am everything now, or have you forgotten?
Black wings and suns that sings.
End. Give me an end. Free me.
“Tyr?”
Twelve. Twelve doors. Twelve headless things.
“Tyr?” Sigi tired of waiting around, exposed here on the plains. Slapping Tyr awake. He'd been standing there for several minutes mumbling some sort of mathematical formulae. Talking about twelves and fives and sevens. After that, it had ceased to make sense. About the infinity circuit and a sleeping serpent. Something about a 'thinking machine' screaming into a room full of dirty mirrors.
“He's really lost it this time.” She sighed, but their eyes met and Tyr's were no longer glazed. “You alright?”
Tyr didn't seem to register her face in front of his. Like she wasn't even there. “I am twelve.”
And he knew what he'd have to do, aware that there was very little time to see it done. His impending death was not a curse, it was a blessing to all things greater than any other. But Tyr was not selfless enough to end it himself, so he'd find another way.