Throne Room:
Trodius, his muscular frog legs contracting and relaxing, jumps away single mindedly with only his Sire's words occupying his head. Landing on the final slab on the entrance of the throne he takes a quick peek behind, but having been unable to see his Sire from down here, he hops out of the throne room.
Exiting through the large intricate throne doors he takes a sharp right turn to a halt-in-your-tracks view of the expanse laden in front of him.
Trodius has been under his Sire's employment for at least a few hundred millennia, and altogether been spawned into this vast expanse of both nothing, and everything, for about a few hundred more than that but he'd always been completely gobsmacked at the Eagle-eyed view of Hell he'd seen from outside of the throne room from the very first day. The throne of the 'Grand Overseer of Hell' had, since its near instant existence, sat atop the highest mountain of Hell, both metaphorically–and quite literally–representing the peak. Picking up his metaphorical skirts, Trodius began his arduous descent down Mount Asura.
Side stepping another of the traps set to keep away demons unworthy of pestering The Throne, Trodius takes notice of a patrolling unit of their Surveillance Corps heading his way. They take notice of Trodius just as he takes notice of them, and they redirect their flight path his way, accelerating towards him.
"Ah, Butler Trodius, how may we be of service to you today?" asks the head of the patrol unit; an amebic looking creature, floating in the air as if it were a viscous fluid medium. Cocking his head in mild curiosity, Trodius marvels–yet again–at how much like a water droplet the creatures look like. 'How can there be such beauty in something so lethal,' Trodius thinks to himself.
"I require for you to reabsorb into the Surveillance Headquarters and relay my orders,” the amoeba gurgles an okay sound and Trodius continues. “Compile all the information regarding the creatures that escaped through the Gates and have it delivered to me with haste upon completion." The floating ameba pulses twice, and begins ramping itself into its unit, absorbing them. Once sufficiently large, it whizzes away faster than it came. With the task successfully delegated to more capable entities, Trodius resumes his descent, sparing the already distant whizzing creature not another glance.
Midway in his long and arduous descent Trodius reaches his first destination. Stationed at the halfway height on Mount Asuras was the base of Lokius, the Chief–and only–Strategist. One of the only two Commanders of the Army of Asura, Lokius was titled Grandmaster Strategist, the best of the best, the only Undefeated in the War of the Sixteen. The rumors hailed him beyond imagination, but Trodius being Trodius, knew the truth of it. Grandmaster Lokius was no faultless being, none of them were. Lokius, like all of them, had risen from the lowest of the low, clawed his way through adversity after adversity, each more ferocious than the last. Yes, he was a bit different, in the sense that he had a purpose to strive for. He, unlike countless others, was no longer just existing. He had purpose, and that had pushed him beyond mere basic survival.
Also, among the intel that only Trodius was privy to, was that, before being a grandmaster, or even a chief strategist, Lokius was a friend to his Sire, just like his companion Commander, Gargantuous. It was an unlikely bond, more rare than the rarest of artifacts.
Pausing his contemplation, Trodius enters through the dark cavernous mouth of the cave. He comes face to face with a harrowing sight of War, but he is not alarmed in the slightest. "Please, mind the threshold. Do not cross it." A guard holds him back by the arm. Trodius looks at his feet and nods at the guard, a beetle like creature with six limbs jutting out from its front-sides; it utilizes two of them to stand, two of them to hold the shafts of two spears, and lets the remaining one dangle at his side. Satisfied at getting his message across, the guard lets go of Trodius' hand and nods at someone behind Trodius.
"Hear hear, Butler Trodius of The Throne is here," heralds a booming voice. "Wait a minute please, Butler Trodius, Grandmaster Lokius will see you shortly."
Nodding to himself, Trodius kicks back his feet and backs up against the wall, leaning on it. He's content with just watching the spectacle on show in front of him.
Before Trodius, lay the spectacle of an ongoing war. About thirty feet in front of him, on a miniature sized patch of built terrain, ran three large legions of raging infantry, and above them, flew thousands of sparsely populated groups of aerial combatants. Some of the aerial combatants were having skirmishes among themselves, and some were aiding the ground troops below them. And supporting them all were massive machines of war at the backlines, accurately flinging large projectiles, and whatnot. "It looks to be a stalemate," comments Trodius, and as if triggered by his comment, the decisive play starts.
Entropies of light start gathering on the far side of the terrain. The entropies infuse into one another, forming a ball that progressively swells in size. Troops bearing the red–the Commander's miniature army–retreat through the gaps. At roughly the size of a pea, the ball of light begins its fall into the battlefield, catching on fire midway in its descent. It falls almost gracefully upon the blue populated half of the terrain, but after landing it erupts into a brilliant spiral tower of fire that almost reaches the ceiling of the cavern itself, and upon reaching this maximum height, it pours luminescing lava out from its tip, resembling an umbrella, a massive ass umbrella.
BOOM.
The shockwave that follows bounces off of the shimmering shield in front of Trodius, the shield that was invisible just a moment ago. Hitting the shield it echoes back with a renewed fervor, and on reflecting back, it begins to seep through the damaged nooks and crannies it had created in its first impact. The miniscule seeping waves hit Trodius in waves, waves of intense force, like a whirlwind. The guards rush to stand in front of him with their backs turned outwards, shielding him from the after blasts.
"Oh sorry, sorry lads, my bad, my bad. I got a little carried away there," rattled a smooth hollow voice, a slithering-rattling sound, like a snake. "No harm done, Grandmaster, we shielded off your after-blasts."
"Ah, Lokius, you sly bastard, I almost got you there," says a robust cheery voice. "Not even in your wildest nightmare, Baland." retorts the slithering voice. "Ah, whatever, I'll defeat you in our next challenge, just you wait." And with that said, the robed robust voice whisps out of the cavern with a whoosh.
The beetle guards finally part, allowing Trodius to see the figure beyond–Commander Lokius. Garbed in a Velvet Emerald robe stood a scaled figure distinctly snake-like in appearance, colored Moss Green. The robe was a little tattered and the splayed fringes were glowing with remnants of snuffed out embers, but that's besides the point. The form was still magnificent to behold, especially with the golden crown sitting on his cone-like snake head.
"Why if it isn't Butler Trodius, a truly delightful sight to behold." Striding across to Trodius, Commander Lokius holds out a robed arm, and they jovially shake hands. "Always a pleasure seeing you, Trodius." Trodius returns the smile as best he can. "Tell me, what brings you here?"
"Sire has instructed me to escort both Commander Gargantuous and you–Commander Lokius–to the throne room." Scaled brows knit in confusion at the abrupt summons, Lokius opens his mouth to enquire but shuts it back up, shooting a glance beyond Trodius. You never know who might be listening, and from where.
"Then go we shall," declares Lokius, "I'm guessing you haven't fetched my lovely friend, Gargantuous, yet." And so they head out of the cavern, after Lokius supplies his staff with orders to follow in his absence.
They descend the rest of Mount Asuras, the remainder of the descent easy for Trodius as he basically just sat on the trailing robe of the towering Lokius. Landing on the base of the mountain, they traverse through another hour of the whispering deadlands – an expanse of flat, gray deserted lands – before they hear voices not their own. Far off in the distance sounds cries of roars, blows of fists, and a shower of dust that obscures the view. "Commander Gargantuous," points out Trodius, now sitting atop Lokius' shoulder. "Hah, yes, that's Gargan alright." chuckles Lokius.
"Yaa! Com-''
Smash
"Commander Gargantuous, leave my foot alone, Sir." shouts a demon who was actively being thrown away. "Never! We, the Asuran army, win by any means necessary." Rumbles a booming voice. A loud booming sound echoes around right after, and the showering dust begins to settle.
A form slowly emerges from the bellowing dust. Two red furred, massively disproportioned, arms swing back and forth as they hit on an off white–unfurred–chest. With a towering height just shy of Commander Lokius's and a gerth that exponentially surpasses his, stands tall Commander Gangantuous. Lokius calls his name and he turns, showcasing his round ape-like face, complete with ape-like ears and jutting out black spikes that border his round face. He waves at them but wastes not another glance at them, returning to the battle at hand.
"Yaaaa!" the opposing demon leaps out of the hazy smog, hoping to take the Commander by surprise, but the Commander is the Commander for a reason. Gargantuous begins to unwind his wound-up feet and shifts his stance to ready a kick. He raises up one of his massive tree trunk sized legs into the air in anticipation of the body flying at it, and his mid-air opponent, with only a few seconds to spare, tries his hardest to alter the trajectory of his hurtling body but fails to do so. The following hit hits so hard that a shockwave follows in its wake. And obviously the customary dust flies all over, but it flies not long and settles down quickly enough to allow the spectators a splendid view of the battlefield.
A wide ring of bones decorated a massive ring, and right in the center of that ring lay the end result of an arduous five-day long battle. Commander Gargantuous stood tall, with his opponent splayed on the ground. Eliminating the distance between the two, Commander Gargantuous offers his opponent his hand, and following along his good sportsmanship, his opponent takes his hand and flings himself upon his feet, immediately bending to his side and cupping his sore side with his opposite hand.
"Congratulations Commander, you have finally defeated me in the only field I had somewhat of a confidence in." says Alanxian, one of the best hand-to-hand combat experts amongst the Sixteen Armies, and the second in the chain of command right after the Battle Commander himself.
"Don't worry Al, you suck just as much as you did before," shouts Galactia, a four armed, four eyed, muscled demon. "Hah, your elegant words hurt just as much as the Commander's kicks, Galac." winces Alan.
"Nah, don't beat yourself up kid. It took this Multi-Millennial, war hardened fighter more than ten five-day fights to defeat you. And more than that, it was exactly because of your refined skills that I chose you as my sparring partner. If nothing, have pride in that." Clapping his defeated opponent on the back, Gargantuous walks towards his old friend, Lokius.
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"Aha, I see you still resharpen your toolset, you old damn muscle head," says Lokius. Trodius jumps out of Lokius's shoulder as Gargantuous grabs Lokius by the head and claps it underneath his grime mixed armpit, and rubs it vigorously with his hand.
"And I see you still have a sharp little head, my sly-tongued friend," says Gargantuous as he booms with laughter, and his slimy friend squirms underneath his vice-like grip, trying and failing to slither out of it. His trailing eyes land on the loitering Trodius and he slackens his grip with surprise. Lokius takes this opening to pinch at his bare-chested nips and it works. Gargantuous yelps in pain as he grabs at his thumping chest. "We win by any means necessary," says Lokius, a wide grin plastered across his green scaled face.
A small laugh croaks out of Trodius at the scene ahead, and both the Commander's faces swish at him. All of them break into laughter, one of the rarest scenes in this land of the perpetual dead and living. Once calm, Gargantuous addresses his rarely seen guest, "Trodius, my loyal little friend, what brings you down here?"
Clearing his throat for a louder voice in this vast expanse, Trodius repeats himself, "Sire has instructed me to escort both you and Commander Lokius to the Throne Room." Gargantuous scratches his chin a little at this, looking over at Lokius.
"You resemble a great thinking Ape, my friend," snarks Lokius. Gargan smirks at this, and scratches his head, "Nah, it's nothing like that, it's just very sudden is all. But it'll be good to see him again after all this while," says Gargan. He then turns and provides the audience, his direct chain of command sub-commanders, with orders to follow in his absence. And with that taken care of, all three of them begin their ascent up Mount Asura. It only takes them a few minutes to leap-climb up the side of the Mount, and once at the peak, Gargan too marvels – for the gazillionth time – at the legendary view layden in front of him.
Seeing this, Lokius speaks up, the gushing wind flapping his robes violently. "Ah, my friend, I suggest you ask for a base closer to the peak like I have. I see this magnificence every day.”
"Nah, I'll get bored of it if I see it everyday, I'd rather see this view once a decade so that It hits me with this much awe," replies Gargan as he follows close behind Lokius as they both enter through the Throne Room gates. Trodius follows them, after taking the case report he requested from the Surveillance Corps.
Emerging into the throne room, Trodius sees Lokius and Gargantuous taking a knee at the dais. Seconds trickle down into minutes and the both of them remain in their kneeled position without a hint of a complaint. Trodius swells with pride and joy at their loyalty. In a land where demons would kill each other over the most minor disagreements and discontentment, having the complete loyalty of another truly was a priceless commodity. Trodius keeps looking on with joy as a body from the rear end of the throne room pushes past him, heading straight for the dais. The body kneels down on the dais with the two Commanders, cozily taking the knee between them. Gargan grunts in uncomfortable annoyance but doesn't move.
"So, who exactly are we kneeling to, mate?" asks a familiar voice. Both the Commanders turn towards the sound, their faces painted with vivid annoyance, that is until they see who it is that's jammed in between them.
"Asoka!" Shouts Gargan. That's the real name of the one they call Asura, "you sneaky bastard." Gargan yells again as he hugs his friend vehemently, Lokius bellows with laughter from Asoka's side, which is something he does rarely. The three friends stand up after Gargan and Asoka break apart, and Lokius takes this chance to offer a robed hand to Asoka but he gets yanked into a hug. "It's been so long, my friend." says Asoka as a grin stretches across his face, all his worries instantly evaporating into thin air in the presence of his companions.
"It's been a little over a decade, old friend." Lokius says as they break away from the hug, but Asoka holds him at arm's length a little longer as he examines his friend up and down. With that done, he turns his head, and examines Gargan who's standing behind him with his hands on his hips.
"And you two haven't changed at all." Asoka says, seemingly happy with the fact. He then ushers the both of them to take seats. They all sit together three way style on the ground with velvet cushions placed beneath their asses, while the exquisite sofas lay abandoned to their side.
Trodius brings them refreshments. Even though demons don't need to eat to survive, they still feel the profound crave of hunger. With chalices of wine firmly grasped with hands of different sizes, they begin their meeting.
"Look Westwards," says Asoka. Gargan tilts his head, he's having a hard time telling if anything is out of the ordinary, but Lokius–being a Grandmaster Bowman too–had a vision powerful enough to match the title. Add that to the fact that he was an exceptional observer who observed the Land of the Passages every morning from his high up base, enabled him to spot the differences almost immediately. So while Gargan scratched his spiky head in mild confusion Lokius let out a hiss in horror.
"Asoka, don't tell me, is that really what I think it is?" Asks Lokius. Asoka doesn't answer for a while. Trodius discreetly slides in the intel lists he received into the empty space between their three-way seating set up. With the scene seen, they all turn back towards each other, and Gargan, seeing the list of numbers before him, dives into deeper confusion, but before he begins to ask, Asoka speaks up.
"A little while back, while I was testing the limits of the Eye of Darkness," both the Commanders perk up at this name, but Asoka hushes down their premature outburst, signaling that he'll explain it all, "the eye retaliated in an attempt to reverse the control, and in my attempts to re-establish my dominance, I unleashed a tenth of my backup reserves."
"Impossible, I would have felt it. Heck, Lokius here is closer to you, he would have felt something before I did." Says Gargan. Lokius looks at Gargan wide eyed, astonished at how intelligent his dumb friend has grown over the years. But he objects with a theory of his own. "Yes, I would have,” says Lokius. “Only that I probably was in the Void Map when it happened. I had my monthly duel with one of the Sixteen Army Strategists.”
"Still doesn't explain why I, with my heightened battle sense, didn't feel it," says Gargan, offering his rebuttal. Asoka claps Gargan on the back, clearly he too is impressed by his friend's hard earned wisdom. Back in the day, Gargan would have just blindly nodded along to whatever Lokius said. So Asoka too now looks at Lokius, passing on the responsibility of explaining to him. Shrugging at Asoka, Lokius sighs.
"Asoka has already briefed us on this, but it was very long ago, so it's okay that you don't remember," says Lokius. Gargan subconsciously scoots over a little closer. “When Asoka is in this room, this Throne Room and its owner, Asoka’s, internal core become tightly connected to the gates. So, when his core began shaking with an outpour of his reserves, the gates started reacting to it, or rather, shaking with it. And because of the Throne Room's absorptive capabilities, it absorbed most–if not all–of the escaped energy, so you did not feel anything even with your maxed out senses."
Satisfied with the explanation, Gargan settles back comfortably into his cushioned pillow. "Asoka, these numbers are staggering," says Lokius, his voice trembling a little. Concerned, both Asoka and Gargan look down at the list in front of them.
----------------------------------------
[ Disaster Report ]
Number of passages broken : 2
1) Tellurian Gate:
Low Tier: 700 000
Mid Tier: 7
High Tier: 3
Supreme Tier: 1
2) Munandane Gate:
Low Tier: 300 000
Mid Tier: 3
High Tier: 2
Supreme Tier: 0
----------------------------------------
"Holy hell, that's a lot," says Gargan, "a million Low Tier demons, ten Mid Tier, five High Tier, and even a freaking Supreme Tier, this is a complete disaster." Asoka opens his mouth to interject, but Gargan continues, "Hold on, what's with the difference in the amounts though?" asks Gargan. Both Asoka and Trodius begin to answer, but Lokius beats them to it.
"The passages probably broke with a differing number of gates flinging open. That would be the most probable explanation for the numerical discrepancies." says Lokius, as he looks towards Asoka for confirmation, which he does by the way of a nod.
"So this is a disaster management meeting?" asks Gargan, a little saddened that their reunion had an agenda behind it. Asoka nods to Gargans conclusions, sharing his unspoken sentiment.
Snapping his fingers, Ashoka sends a mental command to Trodius–and as Trodius hops away–Asoka begins.
"I've actually thought up a few ideas, I just need your input on them." he explains.
"The residents of these worlds won't be able to handle this, Asoka, not unaided at least," says Lokius, his scaly brows knitted in deep contemplation.
"I know Lokius, that's why I'm going to them," says Asoka, and both of them nod at this like it's an everyday occurrence, but then Lokius takes a double take, finally registering what Asoka said, his eyeballs almost pop open.
Nodding his head Gargan takes a gulp of his wine, and hearing Lokius's squeezed out gasp for air he looks at him, confused at his expression. He looks over at Asoka who's looking back at him with one eyebrow raised. Mildly confused, Gargan begins to gulp down his drink to ask Asoka what it is, when realization hits, and his drink chokes him on its way down. Reflexively, he sprays it out in front of him, at Asoka's face.
"What. You. There. But HOW?" bellows Gargan, and Lokius continues his thread, "we aren't allowed to pass through the Passages, Asoka.”
Just then, Trodius returns with the item Asoka mentally ordered him to fetch from the Hall of Artifacts. Asoka comments on his perfect timing before rolling the item into the space between them.
Laid out in front of them, upon a wheeled wooden plank, is a large silver basin.
"I need some of your energy," says Asoka, as he places a hand on Lokius and Gargan's thigh. With sufficient warning given, Asoka exhales completely. This helps him mentally, to create a void space amongst his reserves to place the siphoned energy in. Energy transfer is a rare skill that not many poses, but those who do, have achieved much with it. Most of them are members of the Royal Court, The Council of Sixteen. With sufficient energy siphoned, Asoka releases his tight grasp on them and finally exhales. Within him, the parting of his reserves like the parting of the sea clashes back into each other, the waves of foreign energy mixing into the ocean of his.
"That should be enough,” says Asoka, “let me know if you start feeling queasy." They both scoff at his jab. Their own reserves, although not matching Asoka’s, were still vast enough to fill oceans of condensed pure dark grade energy.
Raising his right hand in front of him, Asoka focuses intently on the tip of his index finger. Nothing happens at first, but suddenly a small orb of pure dark energy jumps out of his finger and levitates above it, rotating in a helical orbit. Then, much more slowly this time, a silver fluid, almost the color of mercury, begins to ooze out of the tip of his index finger. Once completely oozed out, it forms a tiny orb that initially rests upon his finger–but with an additional burst of focus–it also begins to levitate, and slowly settles into its own helical orbit. The pathways of the orbiting orbs start to shift from its inclined angles, towards a more horizontal plane, and the orbs start speeding up. By the time the orbs come close to a complete horizontal plane, the orbs are spinning at such high speeds that they only leave a streak of their colors behind.
VDUM.
A moderate decibel pitched blast happens, and a mid-sized pulse exudes from the fusion reaction, any excess byproduct energy getting absorbed by the walls of the Throne Room. Above his index finger now floats an orb the size of a US dollar coin, its color an ethereal darkness with pools mercury-white patches covering its surface. Whips of white and black energy radiate from it. Dipping that ball into the basin Asoka exhales out, letting go of some of the pressure he'd built up, which is followed by the surface of the ball beginning to peel out and flop onto the floor of the basin. Slowly that peeled out surface layer expands and absorbs into the basin floor. Above, with the covering surface completely peeled off, a truly extraordinary sight is revealed. Pulsing with expanding and contracting radiance, is the core of the fusion.
Focusing harder now, Asoka stabilizes the morphing ball and simultaneously begins to mold it into an obsidian pointed needle. With the needle completely formed, Asoka wastes no time as he slashes in the middle of the depressed basin, and a line appears along the cut. "I'm cutting into the two realities," explains Asoka as he writes out Tellurian and Munandane on the floor of the basin on the opposite sides of the cut. Suddenly the basin fills with a transparent fluid that slowly takes on vibrant colors. “They are little gateways into the two worlds,” explains Asoka.
"You never fail to impress me, old friend," says Lokius, a marvelous awe prominent in his trembling voice.
"I'm not done impressing you, my friend," says Asoka, building the hype, "I've discovered plenty more functions of the Throne Room in the decade we've been apart." As he says this, Asoka instantly multiplies the needle from one to ten, one for each finger, and albeit the multiplied needles are much shorter, they are no less magnificent. He dips his hands into the two sides of the divided basin and fans out his hands. The needles from his fingers web out and stick to the invisible walls of the Throne Room and the splashing water from the divided basin follow the webs and absorb into the walls of the Throne Room, leaving the basin half filled. The walls once invisible, now glow with the vibrant colors from the two realities.
"I'm going to bypass the restriction by projection-sensing myself into both worlds," explains Asoka.
"But for that to happen, you'll need appropriate hosts from both worlds," counters Lokius.
"And that's considering you can take the load of fracturing your consciousness into three fractals," adds Gargan, "I can barely do two, and that too for the briefest of moments when I need them in the heat of battle."
"No, my friend, it gets better the more you work on it," says Lokius, "I can maintain mine for upwards of ten days, and it gives me a massive edge when we're at war. The other Strategists, especially Baland, ask me how I do it. But I've learnt the value of binding a good ace up your sleeve. And it's better to just keep it to myself if they don't know it."
Asoka pats at Gargans wide back, "Don't worry, have a little faith in your old friend.” With a sly grin, he adds, “I've grown unimaginably stronger since our last spar, my friend.” Gargan scoffs with a ‘we'll have to see about that’ face. Asura hums, contemplating something. Nodding he says, “My exponential growth had frightened me initially, but now I think I see why it happened. I had to be capable enough to handle this mess."
"Ain't it your excessive greed for power the cause of this whole mess?" Counters Lokius. Hiding a curse behind a cough, Asoka says, "It's all predestined, my friend." Lokius continues to stare at him with slitted eyes.
Asoka pulls out two threads from the two sides of his temples and dips them into the two realities within the basin. "I've already threaded my conscious mind into these threads. Once we choose the appropriate hosts, I will fractal my mind into them."
"What's your criteria for hosts?" Asks Gargan, and Asoka rests his chin on his palm, contemplating before answering.
"You resemble a great thinking Ape, my friend," says Gargan. Asoka stares at him in confusion.
"That only works for you Gargan," corrects Lokius, and Asoka buckles with laughter. Turning red with embarrassment, Gargan speaks aloud, "Your criteria?"
Wheezing out the laughter, Asoka wipes away the tears, and tries to calm down enough to answer. "For Telluria, the host has to be someone who's reasonably healthy, at their physical prime years, but not someone who has depleted their potential for growth. Most importantly, someone who has emptied his mind of the desires of life, and has accepted death, especially if it's in the selfless sacrifice for another."
"Basically, a young martyr in his last moments," states Lokius. Asoka nods.
"And for Munandane?" Gargan asks.
"I've already got someone in mind," says Asoka.
And then ensues a marathon of searching, admits which, two messenger troops travel up and down Mount Asura, carrying more orders from Lokius and Gargan for their subordinates, in case they stay holed up in the Throne Room for a longer duration of time. The enthusiasm of the search dims down, but then Lokius suddenly perks up, yells out.
"Got 'em."