The mass of dead augmentation brings the lifeless corpse to its knees and then onto the unearthly metal; a screw shaped heart silent, lungs unmoving in the exchange of air. A mind drowned, broken against the infinite flood of information jammed into processors.
The Mage dies in the depths of the world, unseen by gods above.
She is over him in an instant, the girl dropping the divine weapon as she grasps the form with her small hands. A body ice cold with augmentation, but yet something more missing within the slab of steel and flesh.
Lying there like a corpse.
The sibling tries to call for him, a voice howling against the carnage of gunfire to no avail. Through sufferings within halls of steel, through the great deserts beneath five suns, through the starvation of small bodies, through the taking of life; the twisari broken under the gaze of a single god.
She screams at him, begging him to rise, begging him to wake from his final slumber. Every name called to, her very soul shattered as she throws worthless, desperate punches in the application of pain, of some kind of desperate measure towards an unresponsive body.
Her mind unable to process the finality of death, a screeching, ear piercing wail of utter rage to gods, to the world, to herself echoing into the depths of the living, breathing facility. Tears welling into dark eyes, visual ranges cluttered by the droplets of water that fall wastefully into the world through every single sob.
The Demon just stares at the One, barely acknowledging the taken life as he detects the deadly emotion. “Why do you feel this way? What did she make you see in them?”
The Gunslinger is on the twisari, thirty meters crossed as he sprints towards the fallen form. “We need to move him to cover!!!”
She can’t even hear him, eyes wide as she stares into her sibling’s; still trying to find life within the empty gaze.
“SAMANTHA!” The Gunslinger yells as he tries to grip onto the Mage’s clothing, trying to pull him towards the pillar mere meters away. “COME ON!”
It's like the ground itself tries to consume the body, tendrils of sheer black alloy bursting forth; reaching up towards clothing and flesh. Roots of evil metal spreading slowly, spiraling out as they grip upon folds and nooks.
“NO!!!” The girl grabs the shapes, ripping them away from her brother with desperate strength. “Dentui manas comarita!!! SAN-ARUS!!”
There are so many; geometric patterns wriggling between his fingers, crawling up his legs. Like maggots on flesh, trying to consume him in entirety.
The Gunslinger turns to the still stunned forms of the Bandit and Lawman, eye contact met alongside the unheard words leaving his mouth. A soundless exchange, a soul of faith connecting with justice and order; a desperate plea left to them.
They pull themselves from the ground, through the pain and through the suffering. Adrenaline pumping through veins as they both sprint out towards the fallen, a plan enacted between intertwined minds.
The Bandit slides in, a broken rib stinging her side ignored as she grabs the arm of the fallen boy. Musculature heaves him, trying to break the body away from the grasp of both desperate sibling and wretched earth. The taking of life rejected for the simple act of protection, the unresponsive corpse held down by the massive force of metalloid tissue and sheer mass.
The Lawman stops halfway in his sprint, a lever action rifle loaded with a stripper clip of arcane buckshot. Four rounds cycled into the receiving block, an abyssal black mass in acceptance to familiar ordinance. Barely aimed covering fire deafens ears as he slams forth rounds towards the target, tiny ball bearings of arcane steel pulling the quantum waveforms of reality towards them.
A left hand raised by the Demon, rounds stopped dead cold as the thing exerts a minor bit of energy for defensive action. Their own creations turned against them, just enough for an actualized threat towards the divine form.
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Only he makes the connection, Ar’s mind racing at the end of his existence: the quantum soul of the corrupted watching as his own companions struggle against divinity, against certain and absolute annihilation. Despite the odds, despite the enormity of their foe, despite their own fracturing weaknesses; they still fight. The single emotion of absolute foreignness to his own existence unfound, yet still identified within the four forms defiantly fighting against fate.
The most fundamental of their kind’s existence, desperate lives spent in the dust and rage and hunger left only with something of absolute ridiculousness to a fallen soul of logic:
Hope and faith.
Humanity stands.
The spirit of all mankind distilled upon that ancient saying; repeated again and again by soldiers and citizens in their most desperate hour; today long forgotten even by their chosen warriors.
His thought process is interrupted by Arsa, by the Destroyer; the statement representing a finality to their entire world, an excitement behind the cold words in absolution of every single sin, every single atrocity committed by their kind. “It’s time.”
It's a weapon of divine craftsmanship; a shape and form perfected from hundreds of millions of scrapped attempts at recreation. Brought into existence by the screaming echoes of a long dead race, centered here in the depths of the manufacturing facility.
Given to them in the embers, in the ashes, in the ruins of vengeance.
It was broken by all their hands, destroyed underneath a promise sworn by blood and love; five fragments for his kind, for his and others sake. It's salvation: given to souls of blood and flesh, quantum processors and alloy bodies.
Pale blue illumination suddenly shutters to dark orange, a god’s birth awaiting a final five fragments for its completion as the low roar rumbles through the bedrock of the world. They all see it, distortions bending the very fabric of blinding light as humanity catches glimpses of The Device.
He sees it too, sensor systems trying to grasp the thing, trying to see salvation as he finds the missing pieces.
The grip, the barrel, the fire control sights, the magazine, even the receiver mechanism unfound. It's barely a weapon in its larval form; a framework, a skeleton body for salvation.
“Make the correct choice.” The Destroyer orders his own corrupted copy. “You made the promise to yourself: YOU SWORE TO BRING VENGEANCE ON THEM. SO KEEP THAT PROMISE, NOT TO HER, NOT TO THOSE TRAITORS, BUT TO YOURSELF. YOU ARE ARSA!!!”
His voice shifts in an instant, emotional state from sheer rage to a perfected peace: the words almost begging his own soul. An outstretched hand, an offering for salvation right there for the taking. “For our sake: keep your promise.”
The One is cornered, unable to make action amongst a guaranteed destruction at the hands of vengeance and fire. Millions upon billions extended to trillions and quadrillions more in their microcosm within an ocean of distant stars; a power to scour unseen galaxies on an incomprehensible scale at his very fingertips.
He only sees her face, he only hears her voice; he finds the promise within his own existence.
Four human souls watch as the childlike form approaches them, the small body kneeling over their fallen, pale blue eyes held right towards the lifeless Mage. An analysis of damage and activity providing an avenue of repair, a body saved by the single divine augmentation within his brain. The soul not truly dead, a simple enough revivification provided either by automated systems implanted in his body in minutes to come, or a forced reset of primary systems now.
A small pointer finger extended from his right hand, the softness of false flesh connecting with the skin and augmented bone of the young boy’s forehead.
They witness the miracle, breath returned to mechanical lungs as the augmented heart whirrs forth blood to systems. Eyes blinking, a mind restored to a previous, uncorrupted state. Tendrils of death consuming him melted away by the presence of divinity, a life returned to the world with just a simple action.
The Mage lives.
Ar speaks his words towards Samuel, an order given to a reborn soul. An offering by divines above given to the Five in the form of an infinitesimally small injector of abyssal black liquid dropped in front of him; object alongside the emotionless words of technical specification and reassurance. “Inject the vial into your central chest cavity alongside your primary capacitation system. Once injected, wait fifteen point one six seconds before this action: you will need to project a protective full spheroid shield surrounding all individuals inclusive. Use all power provided by the injection. Do you understand the actions that are necessary for your survival?”
The Mage, the Five, can do nothing but nod in agreement.
They watch as he stands, watch as he turns to face himself.
The Destroyer brings shock, horror to his expression. Terror at the insanity of his own steel and software, of a decision made by a monster wearing his own appearance. Incongruence to himself, something else held within hatred and rage wrought now to the surface as he speaks the cold, dead words. “What did she do to you…”
The childlike form raises his right arm towards the Destroyer, conscious movement as he points at the past life of his own existence. Pale blue eyes staring at the body, utter determination held within the quantum processors crushed beneath overwhelming emotions.
He needs to make a decision: between vengeance and sympathy, between damnation or salvation; for humanity and his own kind, for her promise and his own vows.
He makes his choice.