Through the thin veil of reality, the supreme beings grappled with the end of all things. Apophis, the harbinger of chaos, the destroyer, the obliterator, the great beyond. Throughout the eons, the great serpent had donned many titles, each a mere fragment of its true invocation—a tribute to the personification of chaos.
For too long, Apophis had been confined behind the shackles of reality while the supreme beings, the children of creation, of order, ran rampant. But there was a balance to all things in existence. Every action demanded a response, and this was the time for the end.
The so-called supreme beings sensed it; Apophis could taste their fear as they fought a desperate, futile battle for survival. Their attacks lit the void he called home, assaults that could annihilate entire systems, galaxies even. To Apophis, it was nothing but a deterrent, a symbol of their waning strength and the inevitable rise of chaos.
Chaos was the true essence of existence, the peaceful nature of all things until it had been cheated. He had broken down their pillars one by one. First through a puppet, then through a greater puppet of the puppet, reclaiming the missing fragments torn asunder by the wretched titan.
Ah, the titan.
A phantom bite of pain echoed within his very being as Lotes, first among the supreme beings, hit him with a blast equal to the birth of a star. The aether attack ripped through his form, millions of voices shrieking from his existence. Apophis struck back, his attacks emanating from all corners of the fracturing reality around the supreme beings.
None of the rules imposed on the beings of order affected him. He was their antithesis, the end of the rules, and he struck accordingly. His attacks were a thousand screaming maws, each attempting to latch onto the supreme being, to drain her of her very existence.
Existence—that was what they fought with now. Gone were the ‘order’ of creation, of intent and aura and aether and mana. Those were the toys of children, left for the bickering flesh bags who thought themselves truly immortal. There was no such thing as true immortality, Apophis knew that. There was only chaos and the delaying of the inevitable.
It was a race against the natural order, a race against the true state of things and how they should be. The serene silence of the universe, the absolute quiet that predated the ‘noise’ brought about by the titan. Oh, how Apophis hated that name—the titan, a title that had hounded him from the dawn of time to its waning dusk.
He had broken them down, world by world, galaxy by galaxy, until he pushed them to the very conduit of order itself—their so-called impossible citadel. That too had fallen in time, and Apophis had finally prepared to savor the fruits of his success. Until he appeared.
The titan.
His thousand maws crashed onto Lotes, only to be obliterated by another force that made Apophis shriek with laughter. Mantles. Filvux, the supreme of mantles, appeared, taking the brunt of the attack as her very authority and existence flickered. Then, a purple and gold power suffused his being again, causing Apophis to shriek with frustration.
Victory had been within Apophis’s grasp until the titan, or Titan Blade as this iteration of the creation’s champion called himself, intervened. Oh, how Apophis wished he had forced the Reaper to eliminate the meddling child when he had the chance, back when the boy was nothing but a frail form channeling a power he barely understood.
But that was the past. Now, the titan fought with his champion. Two champions, each representing opposite sides of the same coin, clashed in the far distance. Their attacks lit up the space between them in stark contrasts of black and white, like a charcoal artwork brought to life. It had no significance, Apophis knew that.
Whatever the battle of the supreme beings decided would determine the fate of the entire existence. If there was one ‘law’ Apophis could follow, it was that. Their battle, no matter how prolonged, no matter how the concept of time broke down around them until it meant nothing, would hold.
Too many things had gone wrong. The replacement of the impossible citadel, or rather, what it had stood for in the form of the titan’s planet—that was another issue he had left for the Reaper to handle. Even now, Apophis could feel his very essence, his existence, empowering his creations that had managed to latch onto the planet itself.
Soon, when they had overwhelmed its defenders and the planet was absorbed back into chaos, when Apophis had shut off the last beacon of light in existence, he would cry out in victory one last time, swallowing the supreme beings as their very existences winked out along with it.
For in the very end, chaos was patient, chaos was persevering, and chaos would win. Such was its nature.
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Moyo’s arcane blade flowed like a river, his attacks striking from all sides as his very form clashed with Azael’s. Light and dark, a rainbow flame against the inky fires of chaos. Order versus chaos. His divine blade flashed around, cutting into Azael, whose cloak of midnight melded with the surrounding darkness, shielding him from the worst of the attacks.
Moyo unloaded the contents of the mythical guns forged for him by Liakya into Azael, who parried most of the shots that exploded like miniature suns. “And so it comes down to the two of us,” Azael said, his voice hoarse, as if the dead spoke through him.
“Grandmaster and grand disciple. Poetic, don’t you think?” he added. Moyo’s skin sparked as the blade of the champion of chaos came across it, his aether absorbing the brunt of the attack even as he landed a punch on the Reaper’s face.
Azael's features exploded into black essence, sending filaments of darkness spiraling around them. The Reaper’s laughter echoed from the million folds, his form regenerating. Moyo raised his blade, pouring more power into it, and swung it through existence.
The burst was akin to a supernova, burning chaos around it as the aspect of Apophis recoiled in pain, a million shrieking voices emanating from the darkness. Azael snarled, the Reaper appearing from a dozen places at once, all wielding the same accursed weapon that sought to consume Moyo’s existence.
Moyo became a blur, a dozen of him appearing at once, as the never-ending battle between order and chaos continued in the space that was once reality.
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All across the planet of the Titan Blade, the forces of chaos marched. Led by hulking abominations, near-humanoid yet almost featureless creatures of chaos blotted the skies, land, and seas. The air bubbled, scalded by the taint of oblivion.
The seas spewed forth their inhabitants, beautiful creatures born of the titan’s aspect fought back as they retreated, headed for the towering crystal structures that beckoned to them.
It was a global battle that saw the entirety of what was left of the Archailect’s forces deployed in the hundreds of thousands. From the safety of the titan’s palace rose large ships, each resplendent in gold and powered by his aspect. Six in number, they shot in different directions, each carrying a significant portion of the Archailect’s power.
Dark clouds bubbled and groaned overhead, heading for the palace, shaping themselves into a large maw, yawning wide with the promise of agonizing death. From the palace came a beam of raw aether and Ashe, the power of the titan firing into the cloud, obliterating it into motes of aether.
Within the inner chambers of the palace sat the clone of the titan, near immobile on his throne of Aserite and gold, eyes burning fiery purple. At his sides stood Eses and Lucirion, the two transcendents tapping into the power of creation, awe filling their very features.
It was one thing to watch the titan order the very last of reality to do his bidding; it was another to tap into it themselves. Lucirion shuddered as his runes seemed to pour out of him, as if having a mind of their own, accompanying the different forces heading towards the crystals.
“Warriors, one and all,” the titan's voice rang through the air and ships that ferried them towards certain victory or doom. Victory was what Lucirion was adamant on. They had the power of creation behind them, not the watered-down version that was aether, authority, or even mana.
They had the building blocks of creation at their very fingertips, and he’d be damned if he didn’t use them to devastating effect. He was like a kid given a bunch of reality-warping weapons, glee painting his features. The Jade King had lost everything—the numerous planets, the majority of his forces. He had even come close to losing his heir, Mardar, who had somehow recovered along with the others who had survived as well.
“We stand at the final battle. Stand strong, fight hard, and we will prevail,” Moyo said.
“By the titan, we will,” Eses said, her draconic luminous eyes turning to stare at Lucirion, who nodded, slamming his staff into the ground of the palace. The entire structure shook and rang like a bell, its reverberations resounding across the whole planet.
It was time.
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Aboard the vessel Deadly Edge, Killian stood in exasperation, watching as the ship, large enough to house smaller ships, swerved and turned in the air like a smaller craft, helmed by the one person he regretted handing it over to.
Ajax piloted the vessel like a madman, a maniacal grin on his face, eyes alight as he unleashed the formidable weapons of the vessel on the creatures of chaos that filled the air.
The oily, almost shadowy creatures attacked the vessel with rage, attempting to rend its metal structure apart as they faced a multitude of rankers, thousands of diamonds, and hundreds of masters. The rules aboard the ship slung attacks at the creatures as well.
Duval turned to Killian accusingly as the vessel took an abrupt nosedive, banking left before swerving up again as Ajax cackled loudly. “Remind me again who placed you in charge of the ship?” Altair’s voice rang out from behind them, the recent primordial asked with a raised eyebrow.
“I do beg your pardon!” Ajax said with mock outrage as Killian rolled his eyes, swinging his blade to the side as a crescent attack tore through the exterior of the ship, slamming into a flying horror, burning it out of existence.
It spoke to reason that all attacks within the planet of the Titan Blade carried a touch of his chaos-destroying aspect, a plus for the forces of the Archailect who wielded it with reckless abandon. “The same person who decided he was a free man walking,” a gruff voice spoke out from behind them.
“Xerxes!” Ajax exclaimed, resting on the metal controls of the ship, much to Killian’s dismay. “So glad you could join us back in the land of the living. How’s the arm, eh?” Ajax asked, a glint of mischief in his eyes.
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Xerxes’ features hardened as his eyes strayed to the stump of his left shoulder where an arm had previously been. The taint of chaos had been close to taking him entirely before he was saved from the brink of death by the Jade King himself. The former brigade commander had decided to retain the injury, something that puzzled the rest of them.
The chosen of Eses took two steps forward, standing close to Ajax, his gaze cold and unflinching as the once jovial mood on the ship took a drastic turn. “Do not think for one moment that I—we—have forgotten that all this started with you,” he said calmly, as the smile was wiped from Ajax’s face. “Every death, every soul lost—”
“Xerxes,” Altair said as Xerxes paid the primordial no mind. “They all died due to your senseless, reckless behavior,” he completed. “You think the Titan Blade absolves you of your crimes? Without you, there would be no need for the Titan Blade. Everything started from you, you, and your stupid, pointless games!” he snarled.
A black blade was pressed delicately to the neck of the former brigade commander, Ajax still and cold as Killian glanced at his twin who nodded gently, both ready to move within a blink. Of course, they had no certainty of being able to stop Ajax.
Whatever he had become, he was as close to a primordial as any of them had seen. Something about his path, if such things still existed now, spoke of the power he wielded. “A dozen times over, I have paid for my sins,” Ajax said, “and I will keep paying for it for as long as reality exists. That much, I see now. But for now, I fight in the name of my disciple, for my disciple,” he continued. “You talk to me like that again and I swear by the titan and my child that it will be the last time you do so,” he finished.
A clap came from behind them, drawing the attention of all those within the vessel, even as it rocked from the attacks going on around them. Tania, adopted sister of Ashira, whose stormy features stared at all of them, inclined her head at the presence of Altair in respect.
The primordial answered with a slight nod of his head. Her face was somehow radiant as she was heavy with child, even with the end of reality breaking down around them. Xerxes seemed to swallow nervously as Ajax scratched the back of his head with a half-smile on his face.
“We face the end of reality,” she started, raising one hand as Xerxes attempted to talk, shutting him up. “And you two decided to compare who has the bigger egos?” she said scathingly. Turning her full gaze to Xerxes, she continued, “We’ve lost the brigade, Xerxes, the very brigade we built piece by bloody piece. Everything we know and love is gone, and you think the next best thing to do is to make enemies in these bleak times?” she accused.
Xerxes kept his lips shut, Killian thinking that perhaps he was smarter than he looked.
Tania turned her gaze to Ajax, “And you,” she started, “Words cannot describe what I want to express to you. But you have a child now, you have something to lose. Tell me, are you really remorseful?” she asked. For the first time in a long while, Killian saw the façade of confidence Ajax had crumble as he nodded softly.
“With all I have,” he replied.
She nodded, taking a deep breath and shuddering, Xerxes moving forward to help her, but a glare from her halted him in his steps. “I didn’t need help getting on the ship against other protests, and I sure don’t need it now,” she said. Killian noticed the flash of hurt that passed across Xerxes' face, Tania’s features softening.
“I need you to survive. I need us all to survive,” she said. “If the titan, somehow, proves able to salvage what even the supreme beings themselves couldn’t, then I want to spend the rest of whatever manner of life we have with you all,” she said.
A flash of power stole their attention as Altair spoke, “We have arrived at our destination,” he said.
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The crystal structure, a purple thing of pure power, burned like a beacon in the encroaching darkness. Pulses of raw aether emanated from it, bathing its surroundings and keeping the white beach sands pristine even as the edge of its reach bubbled upon contact with the taint of chaos.
The Deadly Edge landed, the vessel powering down as the forces of the Archailect spewed out of its belly in their thousands.
Masters gathered their diamonds as the rulers converged around Altair, the primordial in charge of the current army. Altair seemed lost in thought, paying no mind to the incoming flood of chaos, whose pace quickened at the sight of them, howls that fragmented reality echoing around them.
Altair suddenly snapped out of it, turning his gaze to the rulers around him, Ajax watching in turn. “Our goal is twofold,” he started. “Hold this place and shatter the fragment from which the forces of chaos are emerging.”
He pointed at Ajax. “You hold the line with Killian. Leave the shard of chaos to us. Can you do that?” he asked, the masters and rulers around them seemingly surprised that a primordial sought the permission of who they perceived to be a simple ruler.
Ajax nodded without another reply, unsheathing his grey and black colored blade before moving towards the bottom of the crystal. Killian watched him go in silence.
“You as well, Ruler Killian,” Altair said. Killian bowed to the primordial before moving to catch up with his friend.
Friend. It was a word Killian hadn’t seen himself admitting to calling Ajax, and yet, it was the truth. He caught up to the once Death Blade, Ajax moving in silence. The both of them amassed a force behind them who instinctively knew to follow.
“We will survive this battle. We have to,” Ajax whispered, as if forcing himself to believe it. Killian recognized true fear in Ajax’s eyes, the fear of one with much to lose
“You could still go back, you know,” Killian said as Ajax turned to him. “Back to your son. They need hands to hold the palace—”
“That place is the most defended spot in the entirety of reality,” Ajax cut in with a snort.
He gripped his blade harder, his authority wafting out of him in visible lines of power, taking an almost humanoid shape around him. “No, I will fight here. For once, I will do my duty,” he said.
Killian blinked at Ajax in surprise. “You know,” he started, “that’s the first time I’ve heard you actually obey a command,” he said with surprise.
“Shut up,” Ajax said gruffly, the hint of a smile on his face.
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Across what could scarcely be called a continent, Annika and the clans of House Titan Blade fought back, the clan heads moving together like an unmovable object as they slammed into the near-unstoppable force of the creatures of chaos. She faced down the abomination that led them, a humanoid thing of barbed, hooked tentacles, her spear spinning through the air.
Around her, the Stormwardens fought with reckless abandon, fighting side by side with independent ascenders and the other forces of the clans. The hulking large forms of the Hammers of Ogun in their battle suits, powered with all manner of titan-blessed weapons and paths, pushed deeper into the folds of chaos, led by Boyle, who was a raving force of power.
His large Warhammer smashed apart the creatures of chaos, wreathed in both lightning, flames, and the aspect of the titan as well. At his shoulders floated miniature flying vessels, releasing enough power to put a ruler to shame, tapping into the power of the very crystal behind them.
Annika dodged the swipe of the tentacles, burning apart another maw-like creature as one of her wardens, Gaius, stepped in front of the attack aimed at her. His large war shield, forged with mithril, took the brunt of the assault as it blasted him backward.
Annika paid no mind to the warden. Since his ascension to the rank of master, his fortitude had increased, but even the Stormseeker knew there had to be a limit to their strengths. It was why she was here, fighting on the front lines. She tsked as hot white lightning slammed into the creature from above, its shriek of anger and indignation filling the air.
Ardos, the Primordial Thunderer, irritated her with his excessive show of power even as he was a vital part of the defending force. The agreement was for him to hold the line, to protect the crystal while the ‘young ones,’ as he called them, took the fight to the enemy.
And yet, his boisterous laughter came from behind, filling the air as the primordial drew more attention to himself than the forces he was meant to protect. Deep down, Annika knew it served them well, allowing the forces of the clan to infiltrate through the forces of chaos, cutting them down just as swiftly. Still, it irritated her.
Voren, their archmage, summoned runes of raw lightning that crackled, creating beings of lightning even as the burning arrows of the Dawn Archers plucked the creatures from the skies, burning mini comets that struck the ground with reckless abandon.
The battle raged on, the clash of order and chaos echoing across the broken landscape. Annika’s spear danced through the air, a beacon of hope and defiance amidst the encroaching darkness. With each strike, she pushed back the chaos, determined to protect the crystal and everything it stood for.
Finally, she gained the attention of the creature, its inky black gaze turning to her even as she stood defiant. It screamed in her face, attempting to unmake reality around her, but her authority, a wall of blue flashing lightning, stood its ground, fighting back.
It was madness, the attacks of the creature pressing down on her wardens as she saw Ayo fighting her way towards her position, the Sentinels as well looking to join the battle. “Can’t have that now, can we?” a slithering voice said, emanating from the hulking creature that seemed to fold in on itself before shrinking to the size of a regular human.
It stood with the features of an ashen-faced human, black inky eyes with veins of black liquid running underneath what passed for skin. Standing on black oily tentacles and wielding a staff with blades at either end, it struck. Annika knew she no longer faced a mindless beast. It moved with the speed, composure, and knowledge of a master swordsman.
She suddenly found herself on the backfoot, her movements switching from offensive to defensive as her wardens attempted to step in to help. Annika saw the attack before it left the creature’s blade, expanding her domain of lightning and thunder to encompass the entire area.
Aether was no longer a problem for her, not at this point where and when they fought. Survival, though, was of utmost importance, and she knew better than to think her wardens could stand up to this fight. No, it was hers and hers alone.
She could feel the gaze of Ardos all the way back, the pompous primordial watching with a bit of concern but mostly amusement. He would step in if he considered the battle lost or Annika on the brink of death, but that was the thing—she was tired of being helped.
Like a switch in her head, her features burned bright with blue lightning. It danced in her hair, enhanced her body as her attacks sought to destroy the creature, her spear lighting up with blue runes. “I am the extension of the primordial existence itself,” it continued in its raspy voice as floating tentacular creatures manifested around it.
They screamed at her, disorienting her mind even as she fought on, her will standing its ground. “You fight an inevitable battle, its outcome decided. Submit to the truth, submit to chaos!” it screeched.
“Pierce,” a soft voice came through her mind, giving her clarity. Blinking, she regained her composure, her mantle torn in different corners but stitching itself slowly back. “Pierce, will it, pierce,” the voice said again.
Annika had no idea where it came from. It couldn’t be the primordial; she doubted he could speak in that tone anyway. It seemed ancient, truly old, like it had somehow woken up from a deep slumber and found itself in battle.
In battle, she realized.
It was the spear. The clarity brought a sense of power flowing through her as her lightning seemed to gain a sharper edge, biting into the creature who snarled just as flaming arrows exploded like mini grenades around its form. Ayo, with flaming hair and burning features, appeared. “You do not stand alone, sister,” she said.
Boyle appeared out of nowhere, smashing his hammer with a roar of rage, driving the creature backward. It cackled, enjoying the fight. Annika paid them no mind, focusing on the spear.
“What are you?” she asked it, her mind linked to the weapon, somehow seeing its sharp edge in a brand new light. “Old, tired, hungry, pierce!” it said again with urgency, as if willing her to discover some profound truth about reality.
Still confused, Annika stabbed at the creature, lightning following in her wake as it took the shape of the spear, tearing into the creature who screamed out in outrage. Her identity as the Stormseeker had never been confusing. She was the storm that sought the enemies of the house and titan, his spear.
And yet, in that moment, she couldn’t have felt more at a loss. The titan was the bulwark against the encroaching darkness; his clans were his weapons, but she wanted to be more, to be something greater, more powerful, even in the face of certain death.
“To be his spear,” she said out loud with authority as once again, her entire existence shuddered, a crack appearing within her as pure power flooded from the spear through her entire being.
It was like a reawakening, a baptism of lightning and power, as she could faintly hear the laughter of Ardos in the background, sure she heard him say, “Finally!” Her eyes opened and locked on the creature as she drew the spear back, thousands of years of memories flooding through her with an understanding of just what weapon she had in her hand.
It had gone through previous wielders, each name a shocking revelation to her as she gathered what would be an attack that heralded the birth of her new path.
Lugh, Freyr, Athena, Achilles, Perseus, Mars, Cu Chulainn, Karna, Murugan, Zulu, Wotan.
Each invocation of previous wielders released a sliver of their authority with hers. Her eyes saw the flows of aether and authority, saw reality in a brand new light, and as she prepared to strike, the creature’s eyes widening, she and the spear spoke together, two voices melded into one.
Gone was the difference between the weapon and its wielder. They were one, one entity, one being, one existence—the existence of the Storm Piercer.
“PIERCE!” they both commanded.
It was a lance of pure obliterating light, a cacophony of lightning that tore the air asunder, tearing even through her domain as it slammed into the creature whose shriek reached the high heavens.
It carved through its existence, taking a large chunk out of it as the creature seemingly fled, back towards its shard in the distance. Annika shuddered, breathing lightning and fury, the power suffusing her very being. Raising her spear as a roar broke through the air, she advanced on her prey, the hunt in her very being.