"The Last Sacrament"

In the stillness of the eye of the storm, where the pale blue atmosphere of the gas giant Kaeth’Ahn swirled in ghostly, gentle eddies, two titanic figures hung in silent opposition. Their forms, impossibly beautiful and grotesque in equal measure, gleamed with an alien elegance that belied the destructive power hidden within them. They were Ælythirras, the name given to the Mech-Knights that moved like living gods—machines of liquid metal and synthetic flesh, each muscle rippling beneath ever-shifting armor, each sinew bound to a force beyond mortal understanding. 

Above them, suspended on invisible currents of gravity and dark matter, floated Kahlan Veir, the Cathedral of Silent Voices. It was a massive structure, its towers piercing the atmosphere, adorned with countless statues of alien angels, their wings folded in eternal prayer. Stained glass, woven from threads of energy and light, depicted the lost gods of old—their faces twisted in grief, perhaps foretelling the battle now brewing beneath their watchful eyes. From within the cathedral, the sound of chants hummed faintly through the storm, a chorus of prayer for the brothers about to clash.

Seihtaal'ek Thraun—the younger of the two—stood tall within his Ælythirra, Vokhaal-Inir. The Mech-Knight was a sight to behold, a towering figure of silver and black, its liquid metal armor shifting with every breath, tendrils of synthetic muscle writhing beneath the surface. Vokhaal’s face was angelic in its design, smooth and featureless save for glowing, inhuman eyes. The dark matter that infused its body whispered in Seihtaal's mind, urging him forward, yet he held back, staring across the vast sky at his brother.

On the other side, suspended in the same tranquil air, hovered Aseir'ithan Thrakuun, his elder sibling, his Ælythirra a mirror of his soul. Vaeleth-Shuun was a creature of crimson and gold, its liquid metal wings arcing out like blades, its armor shimmering with a light that seemed almost holy. But beneath its shining exterior, the same dark sinews pulsed, the same power roiled. Aseir'ithan's mind was one with his Mech-Knight, their thoughts indistinguishable. Every gesture, every movement, a silent communion. 

They had been brothers once. Now they were something else. 

"You don't have to do this, Seihtaal." Aseir’ithan’s voice entered his brother’s mind through the shared link, carrying with it the weight of a thousand unspoken words. His voice was calm, like the eye of the storm, but underneath was the crackle of a storm’s edge.

"This isn’t about what I want, brother," Seihtaal responded, his thoughts dark, laced with the power of Vokhaal-Inir. The Ælythirra's own whispers intermingled with his own, urging him forward. "You know why I’m here. Kahlan Veir must fall. It has to end."

Aseir'ithan sighed, his Mech-Knight shifting slightly in the air, its crimson wings rippling as if in agreement. "You think by destroying it, you’ll break their hold over us? That you’ll free yourself from what we’ve become?"

"Not just me," Seihtaal growled, anger rising in his chest. "All of us. The entire galaxy. The cathedral… it’s a lie, Aseir'ithan. They’ve twisted our faith, twisted our very existence. We’re slaves to a dead order. Look at what they’ve made us—angels of death, chained to a purpose we never chose."

A long silence stretched between them. For a moment, the only sound was the distant roar of the storm walls, crashing far above, but the eye itself remained serene.

"You’ve always been the idealist," Aseir'ithan’s voice was soft, a note of regret. "But even if what you say is true, even if the Cathedral’s purpose has been corrupted… it’s still all that holds us together. It’s the last thread binding us to something greater than ourselves."

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"Greater?" Seihtaal’s thoughts flared, his connection with Vokhaal-Inir pulsing with dark energy. "You call this greater? This endless cycle of war, of destruction? We're killing worlds in the name of a forgotten god."

"We’re protecting them," Aseir’ithan countered. "You don’t understand what will happen if you sever that thread, Seihtaal. If Kahlan Veir falls, the balance will shatter. The dark matter that flows through us… it will consume everything."

The moment stretched again, brittle and ready to break. Neither moved. Both knew the cost.

And then, in the blink of an eye, they struck.

Vaeleth-Shuun moved first, its wings slicing through the atmosphere as it soared toward Vokhaal-Inir. Plasma blades ignited, casting twin beams of golden light across the battlefield. Aseir’ithan’s mind was sharp, focused, as he commanded his Ælythirra to strike.

Seihtaal was ready. Vokhaal-Inir shifted, its body phasing out of reality, folding into the dark dimension between worlds. For a moment, it vanished, leaving nothing but a ripple of black smoke. When it reappeared, it was behind Vaeleth-Shuun, its own plasma sword roaring to life—a blade of violet flame that crackled with destructive energy.

The swords met with a clash of light and sound that tore through the stillness, a shockwave rippling outward through the pale blue air. Plasma flared, sparking with unholy power as the two Ælythirra locked weapons. The force of their strike reverberated up into the cathedral above, causing the stained-glass windows to tremble.

"You're blinded, brother!" Aseir’ithan growled through the link, his voice laced with frustration as their blades ground against one another. "Kahlan Veir is the only thing that keeps the dark matter in check!"

"And it’s the same thing that binds us to this endless war!" Seihtaal shouted back. With a surge of mental effort, he twisted Vokhaal-Inir's blade, disengaging and sending a pulse of dark matter toward his brother.

The energy rippled outward like a black tidal wave, bending the very fabric of space as it raced toward Vaeleth-Shuun. But Aseir'ithan was quick, his mind calling upon the Ælythirra's dimensional power. He flickered, disappearing for a heartbeat, reappearing just outside the wave’s reach, launching a barrage of rockets from the hidden turrets along his Mech-Knight’s wings.

The missiles screamed through the air, tracing spirals of fire as they closed in on Vokhaal-Inir. Seihtaal raised his hand, and the liquid metal of his Mech-Knight flowed like quicksilver, forming a shield. The rockets exploded against it, sending ripples through the atmosphere, but Vokhaal-Inir stood firm.

"You’re still holding back, Aseir'ithan," Seihtaal’s voice was cold, a dagger between them. "You don’t believe in this, do you? You’re just afraid of what comes after."

"I'm afraid of losing you," Aseir'ithan's voice trembled, pain seeping into the link. His Mech-Knight’s wings unfurled fully, its plasma blades humming with renewed light. "But I won’t let you destroy everything because you’ve lost faith."

And then, as if on cue, the final surge began. The brothers rushed each other, their Ælythirra moving in perfect sync with their thoughts. Swords clashed again, metal and flesh intertwining, their titanic forms a blur of energy and violence. Dark matter swirled around them, distorting reality as they faded in and out of dimensions, reappearing in flashes of light and shadow.

It was a deadly dance, an intimate battle that only they could understand. For each move one made, the other anticipated. Every strike was met with equal force, every defense with equal cunning. They were mirrors of each other, bound by blood and purpose, yet torn apart by belief.

And then, the final strike came.

In a single, blinding moment, Seihtaal forced his blade through Aseir’ithan’s defenses. Vokhaal-Inir's plasma sword drove deep into the core of Vaeleth-Shuun, piercing its heart. Aseir'ithan’s voice gasped through the link, a shock of pain flooding through the mental connection.

"I’m sorry, brother," Seihtaal whispered, his heart breaking even as the blade twisted deeper.

But in that same instant, Aseir’ithan moved. With one final, desperate surge of strength, he drove Vaeleth-Shuun’s blade into Vokhaal-Inir’s chest, the golden light searing through flesh and metal alike. Seihtaal felt the fire of the strike rip through his mind.

The two Ælythirra stood locked together, their swords buried in each other’s cores, the storm’s pale blue eye spinning in silent witness. Above, the Cathedral of Silent Voices trembled, the prayers of the faithful echoing into the void.

Both brothers fell, together.

And the light faded, leaving only the storm.