Sending a request through his network of Shadows, Malan had them search for similar cases Bronduff stumbled upon.
Informed of the phenomenon, and asked to investigate populated areas. It didn’t take long before sights came flooding in. From small villages, to established strongholds, Malan saw children stuck in dreams, while their bodies slowly distorted. Some became misshapen, their heads growing too large on one side; the same for limbs. Those truly deformed grew new pincer like limbs, along with the other deformations. The sights were causing wide spread panic, and he was certain Wargain’s Pantheon, Cycure, and especially her superior Lisoe, were informed of the situation.
The changes couldn’t be ignored, not with how many were being affected.
“The maker of monsters has revealed himself once more,” screamed a priest that a Shadow was watching. “He seeks to convert our children to his own ends. Know, brothers and sisters, this cannot be allowed. Cast them into the fire, free them from his clutches.” A great blaze burned behind the man, godly empowered, and bones already scattered within.
“It’s the only way to save them, so says Cycure herself, for the Ruiner refuses to end his corruption.”
The priest bowed his head, his long ears drooping behind his shoulders. With a hand placed over his chest, he wore the picture of a man in mourning. “I know how hard this is for all of you, sickening in every way. Know this act will not bloody your hands, it’s the Ruiner’s fault, and like every wicked deed he brings forth. He alone will face judgement.”
The priest lifted his head, gazed directly at the Shadow watching from a roof. “Tell your god apparition,” he said, eyes glowing with etheric power. “He will pay for this; his end is fast approaching,” hands raised towards the sky. “So says Wargain,” power bloomed, and Malan felt his Shadows be casted out of the stronghold.
Moving his awareness through his dead followers, he saw similar occurrences taking place. Strongholds, with at least two hundred souls, were being warded.
Sighing, and shaking his head, Malan began doling out portions of Devotion to those who’d lent their aid. “They really think I’m behind this.” How maddening, as if he would target the innocent, or waste his buildup power on something so ineffective. “They’re using me as an excuse again,” he voiced to himself, and stared at the high ceiling of stone work; all of it done by him.
Standing alone within the center of a shrine, one of his oldest and most developed; Malan paced back and forth. “Was it an empty threat?” He pondered aloud. Perhaps overactive zealotry from a priest boasting above his station. “Besides I can’t end, nor would he devote the-
Malan went still, his awareness broadening as he felt a wave of authority spread across the land. It swept over his shrines, the force attempting to claim the land within, but ultimately unable to. Moments later, he felt heretics entering said shrines. Dozens were being encroached upon at once, most small and deliberately designed to blend in with the environment. But others had been around for decades, left unbothered, or at the heart of villages aligned with him.
He watched through shrines, felt the intent of the intruders, as they invaded his hallowed grounds. All of them Blazors—armor suits encasing divine fire, and a willing Soul. Wargain was spending Devotion to allow his forever warriors to materialize, and interact with the physical realm.
“Not an empty threat then.”
He did not reveal himself to the warriors of polished steel, bodies glowing with the same heat and brightness of a furnace.
“Did you think your actions would go unpunished?” Spoke one of them at a larger shrine. “That you, falling so low as to desecrate the unborn, would be tolerated?” Weapons formed in their hands, light and flame shaping into axes, and maces.
“That, after fortifying his dominion over this continent, he would permit you to remain.” Together they laughed: “It’s time that you meet your end Ruiner, like all the other gods of chaos.”
Malan scowled, such an annoying slight, always people mocking him when they knew nothing, save for what they were told. The temptation to act gnawed at him. With all the power he’d saved, he could inflict damage that would make even Wargain flinch. But then what? What would change? Save for him being spent for a time.
He took a deep breath, the pattern calming him. Their words meant nothing, for they were nothing. Just a long, endless line, of enemies ignorant of the truth.
He is no god of chaos, or of order, he is the last divine of Wonder.
But that fact didn’t matter. As long as his rivals had millions spreading their word, praising them as the devout, the pure. The truth will remain buried under leagues of rotting lies.
“It will not always be this way.” He told himself, as he had done so many times before. For he is eternal, time his ally. One day, perhaps forever from now, Wargain would be defeated, or betrayed, and his Pantheon crumbling down like those before.
“Are you afraid?” Asked an Ascendant, mirth in his flame-crackling voice, while he, and his ilk, spread around the shrine. “Dare not come and face us? Typical, your lot only hunt mortals, only fight those weaker than themselves.” Malan watched them passively, along with his other shrines being dismantled. From each he pulled his power away, making the task easier. There was no point in fighting, Wargain’s Blazors would continue, till they were either dispersed back into an afterlife, or their task complete.
“It’s disgusting,” said the Ascendant, his axe raised high, and sent striking the stone floor. Runes flickered but held. “It’s what I hate most about you, god of Ruin, you’re a coward.”
Malan smiled at the words: “How upset they are, that I’m smart enough not to stride out and get my head caved in. How inconsiderate of me.” He muttered as Wargain’s lackeys went to work. He pulled away power, runes dimming, then flickering out. The sight had warriors stop; he could feel their disappointment and rage.
“Face us!” The Ascendant screamed. “At least show some spine at your end.” Malan answered the words born from a fool, by removing his claim from the area; the ground returning to mundane rock, and woodlands. With it, his sight of the place left, as it did with all the other locations.
“It’s going to be lean times ahead,” he commented, while walking around his underground chamber. He sent warnings to his champions, and those staying within the bounds of shrines. Many of whom didn’t need it. They were already fleeing from Blazors appearing everywhere. To those yet to be affected, he showed them visions of what was taking place, and the locations of the lost shrines.
“Scatter as best you can,” he told everyone in a soothing tone, just as he felt more enemies enter his domains.
“This isn’t good.” Dozens more shrines became assaulted, many in places considered safe. Followers were found, only just beginning to ready themselves to flee.
Skirmishes started up, followers of his, performing miracles of their own. Manifestations of the elements formed and fired upon Blazors, miracles that would have easily slain mortals. But for beings made of Devotion, powered by a god ruling over a continent.
They were annoying delays at best.
Sighing, he began sending small tokens worth of power to those freshly killed. Enough that the Glen’s pull would be diluted, and his slain followers wouldn’t be bothered by the urge to reincarnate.
Hands behind his back, and eyes glancing over the elaborate stone carvings. He walked leisurely, and commented: “If I were any other god Wargain, I would be afraid right now. Shivering in the dark as your burning light drew nearer,” he smiled. “But I’m not such a god.” All that he was losing could be rebuilt, and Wargain’s Pantheon would eventually grow weary of ending him. As before, their eyes would turn to other foes.
The dance would continue anew for some time but once—
Malan stopped. “Even here?” he voiced in surprise. The ground around him shook, and cracks webbed through the chamber; ruining the lovely art. He turned just in time to see half of the cavern shatter apart.
Emerging from the opening, was life. Foliage sprouted randomly from, and over, the stone as Cycure strode in. Taking the form of a bipedal monster made of bark, vines, and plant life, it emitted—from its makeshift chest cavity—a green hue.
A great deal of power had been coalesced into the Avatar.
Twisting about, vines and bark shaped into a grin on the animalistic head it bore. “There you are Malan,” Cycure said.
“Typical of you, ruining enlightened forms of art.” He commented, a hand motioning to the destroyed murals of stone.
She laughed, and purposely sent spikes of chanted bark smashing into his hobby. “I do take pride in ending your creations,” she remarked before charging forward. She jumped into the air, her fists forming together, ready to smash him into pulp.
He rolled his eyes.
One moment he was there, the next his manifested form ceased to be, and Cycure’s attack smashed into runes that refused to give. He reappeared a distance away. “Do you honestly think I’m going to fight you Cycure? What could there possibly be for either of us to gain, indulging in such an act?”
“Entertainment,” she said, arm twisting oddly, and firing a javelin of bark. It would have taken almost nothing to turn it into ash, he was a Lifeweaver after all. Instead, he simply turned, and let the attack pass by him. “I’m not finding this very entertaining, more befuddling than anything.”
“To bad,” she said with a laugh, repeating the attack, and slowly drawing closer.
He dispersed his form again, reemerging at a safe location. Something that was becoming increasingly difficult to achieve, for the cave continued filling up with life under her sway. At some point, he would have to start wasting power counteracting her.
“You’re going to have to fight eventually Malan, there’s no more hiding for you.” She said, casually walking towards him, and Devotion still pooling into the Avatar. “Not after your latest stunt.”
For the first time since the start of this intrusion, he showed anger, muzzle flexing, and fangs bared. “You know full well what’s happening to the infants isn’t my doing.” Did they really think so little of him? That he would do something so cruel, wasteful, and poorly done.
She laughed, its volume shaking rock. “I know Malan, you have a soft spot for them, yet it doesn’t matter. Someone has to take the blame, and it might as well be you. They had your end scheduled anyways, so it’s a neat fit.”
He huffed. “Till it doesn’t work, and children continue to be deformed, and trapped in a dream.”
She shook her head, her smile distorting more of it. “You have no idea how strong we’ve become. This new contender will be crushed like everyone else, same with you,” she stalked closer. “You literally can’t hide anymore, he can feel your shrines, your domains within his own.”
Alarming, but not as much as it should be. Other gods would cower, he only gave her a passive look.
“Don’t you get it!” She spat. “The continent is his, there’s no one else left to hide behind.”
She laughed, and laughed. “It’s over Malan, no matter what you do, how deep you try to burrow. We will find you.” All around him her roots slithered closer. “I’m finally going to have my revenge.”
He smirked. “I’ll survive this Cycure, like I survived your Pantheon, and I,” he took a step forward, “will play a part in ending all of you.”
“You’re delusional, you’ve been losing for centuries, you don’t even have the strength to fight back anymore.” She looked upon his ruined chamber, her roots covering everything. “How long do you really have before you wither to nothing?” Malan remained silent, didn’t gloat, or laugh at how wrong she was, instead, his shrine dimmed as he drained power from it. “This is a mercy,” Cycure continued, all the while watching him. “So just fight, and entertain me. It’s the least you can do, after all the grief you’ve caused me over the centuries.”
The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
“And I’ll continue to do so Cycure,” he said factually. “I’ll make you suffer till the very end of your existence,” showing her his own smile; all pointed teeth. “Just like I did to your husband.”
Her patience snapped, and nature’s fury came out. Thickly barbed vines burst through stone, rushed towards him, as her Avatar did the same. Both passed through empty air as he dispersed, leaving behind the dying shrine for another.
“I will find you!” She yelled, certainty in her voice. “I will be the one to end you, just like I was for your father.”
His hate for her burned bright, but he’d been humbled one to many times to let it take him. Her time would come, but it wasn’t now. Instead, he sent visions to every follower. Warning them not to come near a shrine, or create them, without a pressing need. He showed the Blazors hunting his shrines, how Cycure herself was actively searching for him. They are to hide, to scatter, and survive as best they could.
To his champions he gave a different order. Burning into their minds, he showed a location in the northern mountains; a place for them to gather, and wait.
They sent back their own understandings, and vows of vigilance. While, in turn, he promised the time for his grand work would be ready when they all arrived.
It was in fact ready now. But he needed all his champions together, and in a secluded place. That, and he had another matter to attend to.
Linking with one of his oldest shrines, and the deepest within the crust of the realm. Malan manifested, and neared a smaller shrine not aligned with him.
“I wanted a full scope of the situation,” he said to himself. “But time is short for the moment.” Cycure’s threat wasn’t an empty boast, more shrines were being found and destroyed, even those never visited by another Soul. Wargain truly knew where all his domains were at. Which meant, it wouldn’t be long before he would have guests here as well.
Reaching out, he touched the shrine of Madness, began calling out to the god of forgotten lore.
The realm around him rippled, then warped apart, and he found himself in a plane shrouded in darkness. Torches and small candles were everywhere, lining a seemingly endless expanse of shelves. All of them filled with scrolls, and books; a library the size of a kingdom.
“Madness,” he called out, urgency in his voice. He didn’t know how long he had. “Madness,” he said again, looking about.
“Malan,” said a multitude of voices behind him.
Turning, he gazed at his friend, a feeble looking creature hidden in a ragged cloak. At the hood, where a face was to be, there was only blackness, accompanied by two spheres of light. “What is the matter?” asked Madness. Its voices shifting, dozens of them mixing together. “No, don’t answer,” it said. “I know, I know,” it appeared next to him, and wrapped him into a hug.
“You have come to check on me, heard how Wargain is on the war path again; how he is snuffing out all my alters.”
Malan returned the hug. “He’s doing the same to me Madness, I had an altercation with Cycure.” Rather than explaining with words, he sent the memories to his friend.
The creature took them in without effort.
It giggled, and pulled away as a set of chairs and a table appeared next to them. “She can’t help but spill secrets, but that is nature’s way. And probably what Wargain wanted.” It motioned to him to take a seat.
“Get you to worry, and make mistakes. At least, that is what they think, and hope.”
He sat, sets of liquor and glasses forming at their side.
“Is it?” Asked his friend, as it leaned closer.
“It’s not them that troubles me.” He answered, pouring himself, and Madness a drink. “Have you heard of infants falling into a dream; one they don’t wake from, and a nightmare that slowly distorts their bodies.”
Madness hummed pleased. “Something new,” it said, most of the voices he heard effeminate. “Care to share the sights?” It asked innocently.
He sighed: “So you don’t.” But he offered the memories anyway. All those his Shadows and champions had collected. Even the sight of him gazing upon the being, or beings, that appeared to be the source of the curse.
The shattering of glass echoed the hall, as Madness went still, and its ruined cup spread across the floor.
Malan carefully put his back on the table, leaned close to his frozen friend, and placed his hands on its shoulders. Madness didn’t react, it remained motionless, its awareness fixed on the last sight he’d bestowed it.
Slowly, rising from the lowest of whispers. Malan heard it giggle, then laugh, its entire frame shaking. Madness began stomping its clawed feet on the stone floor, as its mirth echoed through the endless halls.
“It can’t be, it can’t be,” it shouted through its laughter. Grabbing his hands, Madness bolted up right, leaving its seat, and taking him with it. There Madness bounced about, full of energy, himself the only reason his friend wasn’t flying into the air.
“Madness,” he kept repeating, trying desperately to gain the attention of his cohort. “Could you please explain your bout of merriment.”
It laughed louder: “Don’t you know?” It asked smartly, then stopped. “Oh right, no you don’t.” It shook with mirth, delighted by some personal joke.
He sighed.
“Oh, none of that,” Madness responded, moving its grip to his shoulders, and promptly shaking him. “This is a momentous outcome, maybe,” it stilled, and the scene around them shifted. Gone was the library, replaced with them on a high mountain top; the heavens beautifully clear.
They both stared up at it.
“It’s technically allowed,” Madness mumbled to itself, separating from him, and chewing on one of its claws. “But so soon, ha,” it shouted, then danced and hopped about.
Malan let out a long sigh, and rubbed his temples. “Madness please, some insight for me.”
It stopped dead, its head jolting in his direction so fast any mortal would have snapped their neck. “The end,” it screamed, arms whipping outward.
“Maybe,” it added lower. “We won’t know till the Light of Lights reaches its outer limit.”
“Sun is tied to an end?” He asked.
“The End,” Madness corrected. “And it’s not the cause, not completely. It plays a part, and is the most assured way to know that the Session is coming to a close.”
Malan tightly smiled. “Ah, I see. This is about the realm being a game again, isn’t it?” A mad idea from a mad god, one he’d been forced to accept, given how Madness was right about most matters pertaining to the realm.
“You know it’s true Malan,” Madness said, the being finally calming down. “Our Sovereign cores prove it, and the limitations they bring.”
“I could say that is just the way creation is Madness, balanced.” Malan said out of habit.
It chuckled. “Beautifully balanced, because it is a game,” it shook its head. “Why is this so hard for you to accept. Why does it make you fear so much?
“It’s not fear,” he retorted. “And I do accept it. It’s just, a cruel concept.” Looking out at the great plane before him, he added: “All this, the wars, trials, the hardship. I’m troubled by the fact, that mortals suffer for the entertainment of others.
“Suffer?” Madness said baffled. “None of us can feel that. Pain was never worked into this creation,” It chuckled. “Suffer, you have no concept of what suffering is; we made sure of that.” Madness gazed at him, and though the face never changed, he still felt an impression of care. “We’re not monsters Malan, unlike so many other Sovereigns out there. Crulief was designed from the very beginning to be a place all could enjoy, and learn from. A place none would find themselves tortured, and abused.”
“You’re babbling again Madness,” Malan said softly, used to the phenomenon.
His friend scoffed: “Babble, babble, it’s not my fault you don’t understand, that the words ring hollow in your ears. Your Sovereign stripped its Shards of knowledge, cast them out like the rest of us, so the game would have its followers.”
“Madness,” he spoke again, the sound stopping the cloaked figure from entering into a rant.
It shrugged, and gazed towards Sun, the light far off into the distance. “Fine, stay ignorant, but it won’t last forever. Once you see the end of a Session, all will be made clear.”
“And when will that be?” he asked.
“Weren’t you listening?” Madness responded, pointing towards Sun. “Once the Light of Lights breaks its cycle, doesn’t return inward. Then it will be clear to all with eyes and the mind to understand, that The End has started.
“Doesn’t return inward?” Malan said alarmed. That would mean most of the lands would remain in winter. “For how long?” Even a short delay of a month would have nature’s pattern falling apart.
Madness threw its hands up in the air. “The End Malan, The End. What don’t you get?”
Turning to look back at him it spoke: “The Light of Lights doesn’t return; it keeps circling out further and further. Eventually it will reach the ice wall that marks the edge of the frozen ocean, and even then, it continues its path. Only when it reaches the center of that frozen waste will it stop.”
Malan stared at his friend, waiting for it to laugh, to show its words were a joke. It didn’t. He neared, and grabbed hold of Madness. “You’re telling me, all lands are going to be plunged into eternal night, and winter?”
It nodded: “Good you’re seeing,” it said pleased. “And that’s only the beginning part,” it added excitedly. “The true threat will begin to show itself after a few months in the dark.”
“The true threat?” Malan asked, while letting go of his friend. “The loss of Sun is enough to end everything.” Some pantheons might last, those with gods of light, warmth, and life. But not forever, Sun provided so much freely, the loss of it. He struggled to wrap his mind around the concept.
Madness hummed: “True, but that’s boring, and it would take too long. There needs to be more, and the entity you came across, well. I believe that it might be the true foe we are to face.”
Malan rubbed his eyes, ‘What a day,’ he thought. ‘First I’m losing most of my domains, now a threat on the horizon to end what little remains.’ Looking at his friend, his curiosity peeked, even though it would bring ill, he asked: “What will the entity do?”
“Kill,” Madness answered. “That’s its only purpose, remove as many followers as possible, weakening the pantheons. As for how?” Madness shrugged again. “I haven’t encountered this entity before.”
It began to dance about, and spin in circles. “This is going to be so exciting Malan, if it is in fact The End.” Hopping from foot to foot it added. “If it is, then this ending is going to take place one thousand three hundred and forty-two years earlier than the last one.” It let out a loud laugh. “These pantheons are going to be slaughtered.”
Malan pulled at his droopy ears, concern taking him as he paced about.
“You’ve been through this before?” He asked, and Madness nodded gleefully. “Then it doesn’t matter if your right or wrong. Everyone is going to be slaughtered, the end comes at some point.”
“So true,” Madness said cheerfully. “You should be happy Malan,” it added, as if it was wrong of him not to be sharing in its mirth. “You’re going to get your revenge, to see all those that have destroyed your dreams, be destroyed in turn.”
“Not like this,” he said. “I don’t want everyone to die, only those responsible.”
“Oh, young one,” Madness spoke softly. “Nothing is ever so clean; the innocent always die when war arrives.”
Malan forced himself still, took calming breaths, mind spinning with ideas to try and save as many as he could.
Somehow.
“How long does the end last? Is there ways t-
Malan felt a distortion, his connection to Madness’s domain weakening. “They’ve found my shrine housing yours.” Time was almost up. Quickly, he sent visions of areas that would make for decent places to hide. Places, where they could unite their shrines again, so they could talk more.
“So rude of them,” Madness said, consuming the provided knowledge. “But that’s how they are, dimwitted lot, uncaring of the exchanging of insights.” The scene shifted; the library returned. “I have much more to share, but it can wait. Once we know The End has begun, we can plan for the show.”
“You mean survive,” Malan corrected.
Madness shook its head as it neared, and gave a parting hug. “We survive by default Malan, our Cores ensure it, like it was for me in Sessions before.” Pulling from him, and slowly receding into the darkness. “We get to have fun Malan, to watch, and cheer on those we wish to win.”
Confusion marked his face, questions in need of answering, but Madness was gone, and he would never find it unless it wished to be found. Instead he pulled back his essence, leaving the domain and returning to his own.
Stone shivered, and sections of the outer parts of the great cave crumbled. Many of the large statues depicting him had fallen over, shattering apart on the floor, which was falling into a similar state of disrepair. Only at the center, where his runes laid woven into rock, was the realm calm.
He could feel it, a great beast tunneling towards him; one the size of a city. “I see, Lisoe let out one of her pets.” For even the goddess of life to be taking part, meant they were serious. They really wanted him gone for good. “Are they truly so worried; the opposition they face east that troubling?”
Or was it pride?
“Can’t stand the fact a foe of yours still remains in your land Wargain?” The answer he got was the beast smashing into the cavern.
Lizard like in appearance, its body covered in thick scales, and rippling with muscles. From the shape of the legs, and hip, it could walk upright if needed. But for now, it remained on all fours, its long head swirling towards his location. It had four eyes, two for seeing the material plane, and the others for the etheric.
All four glowed as it approached.
“Malan,” Lisoe said through the beast, her voice serene. “Your acts of chaos are at an end. Embrace what is to come, for there is no escaping it.”
He chuckled, the cluelessness of his foes always a joy to behold. “I will escape, as I have done numerous times before. So have your small victories, it changes nothing.”
A motherly sigh left the beast before him. “It could be quick, not this drawn-out ordeal.”
“You would like that, wouldn’t you?” Malan responded with a sneer, already at work pulling the stored power out of the shrine and into another. “Would make things simple. But it won’t, our fight will go on forever, if it must.”
The creature shook its head, the light leaving its eyes. It was only a beast now, no higher thinking. It snarled, revealing hundreds of teeth. Muscles bulging, it charged, its every step cracking stone.
He gazed at it passively, observing the structure as the bones and muscles worked together. He saw within it the extra set of enlarged organs providing the power needed to sustain such a monster. It would be so easy to end it. Perhaps healing a section too much that it caused a tumor, or thinning a major artery so it would bleed internally; so many possibilities. However, for Lisoe to leave the monster undefended, meant she wanted him to waste power killing it. Or believed he no longer had the Devotion needed to do so.
The thing leapt, high enough it almost touched the roof of the cave. It planned to use its mass to crush him. A simple, insulting means, to end his Avatar.
“May the fall kill you, mindless pest.” In the blink of an eye he was gone, the cavern going dark as the last of his power was whisked away, leaving the beast to smash through simple rock, and down into a large pit.