Cross-legged, Harrow sat in his sanctum, waiting for his death. In front of him, a seemingly nonsensical diagram of dots and lines glowed faintly, yet this diagram was far from nonsensical, for this was the image of the Universe.
He did not have to wait long.
The dying cries of his disciples announced the arrival of his enemy. A man with red skin, the crimson of fresh blood, clad in armour of midnight. A blade almost as long and just as broad as Harrow was hefted on his shoulder, its metal the colour of bleached bone. Each step he took cracked the marble of the sanctum floor.
Even now, Harrow could still respect Jeders’ sense of style. He’d never admit it, but he’d always liked the colour scheme of the Aspect of Strife. Yes, red and black was a bit cliché, but it always seemed like a nice match to him nonetheless. Better than his own whites and greys, at least, but he supposed being the Aspect of Peace meant wearing boring colours till the end of time. Jeders’ physique was large and bulky, easily twice Harrows’ width, and he was stood easily two metres tall, but still Harrow towered over him by several heads thanks to his disproportionately long, skeletal limbs. After visiting the origin point of Azorabe, Harrow had always compared himself to a stick insect with four limbs, a product of the lower gravity of his own origin point.
Well, better to get it over with. “Tell Wu Tian that I’m very impressed,” Harrow’s voice sounded, surprisingly deep and resonant. “The scripts he used to overcome my boundaries and bind my brethren were most impressive. I look forward to studying them when I’m done with you.”
Jeder’s face split into a grin to reveal rows of sharpened canines, and when he spoke, it was a whisper that tore at the soul yet carried across battlefields. “We both know you’re not getting out of this alive, Harrow. Now stop stalling and face your death.” Bending his knees slightly, he grasped his sword tightly and swung it in a cleaving arc, the blade rending apart Space itself as it sliced through the air before disappearing into Harrows’ hastily constructed pocket dimension. As Jeder dispelled the dimension, Harrow performed several quick gestures and formed a runic circle directly over the head of Jeder, a high-pitched whine cutting through the air as it fired a bright beam of scorching light. Even as the light abated, revealing an angry Strife in smoking armour, Harrow was going through the motions for his next technique. He never finished it.
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The knife slid through his ribs and he let out a wheezing cough, stumbling away to face this new intruder. Unlike his companion, the Aspect of Greed was not bedecked in full plate, instead opting for long, flowing robes and a large tome buckled to his waist. A goatee hung from the chin of Wu Tian, and his pale white skin stood in stark contrast from Harrows’ own grey skin. On his origin point, Wu Tian was said to have been a great warrior, but upon Ascension he had chosen to forego his tools of war and take up the tools of the scholar, for reasons he had never disclosed. Even then, the man was a much better combatant than Harrow. And his arrival crushed whatever dregs of hope Harrow still had.
His wound was seeping his strength rapidly, Harrow noted. The blade was definitely poisoned, and a poison even he was not familiar with. A spectacular feat, given how he knew almost all the poisons of the several million origin points they sought to guide. He groaned as he collapsed onto the floor, his hand pressed against his side. Wu Tian was saying something, but his voice sounded blurry and far away.
It didn’t matter. Of every Aspect, Harrow had always been the one who understood Time the most. He had enveloped himself in its flow, had teased apart its intricacies and had woven it. He had seen the many paths, he had chosen, and he had prepared. Using the last vestiges of his strength, he went through the motions for his own modified Sanctuary Enclosure, focusing his technique on origin point two hundred and seventy-one and channeling it through the diagram. Wu Tians’ own origin point. How nice, that his own replacement may one day come from his killers’ home.
He felt his hand sliced off at the wrist to shouts of alarm, but the deed was done. Harrow closed his eyes for the last time and joined the Cycle.
Wu Tian grunted with disgust. Even before he died, that damnable Aspect of Peace had managed to spit in his face one last time before death. His own companion, the Aspect of Strife, had proven to be close to useless in this whole endeavor. Glaring at Jeder, he studied the diagram and examined the boundary field now enclosing his own origin point. It was an intricate, complex script, and one that would take even him years to break.
But it would still be broken. All Harrow had done was buy them time.
Harrows’ final act may have been to seal off the origin point to the Aspects, but their influence could still go where their physical selves could not. He nodded to Jeder, who strode over and began preparing for the next stage of their plan. Wu Tian was not young, but even by standards of the Aspects Jeder was old. Old enough to have been there when his origin point was created. Old enough to plant a few nasty surprises that had long since been forgotten even during Wu Tians’ own time.
Surprises they would now unleash.
They both knew the enemy Aspects would arrive soon, so Jeder worked quickly. Forcing his will through the minute cracks of the field, ancient creatures stirred, and the land prepared to be roused to war.