The void sleeps around you, as Sero eats his fill, and as a sinking feeling settles in your stomach.

Something was wrong.

“We need to move. Now.” You say, getting up from the floor. You glance at your hand, one blotch of greyish purple hasn’t faded from your skin, the area around it still tenderly red from the burns.

Sero turns from the horizon, clearly a little confused. “What’s wrong? I don’t sense anything.”

“I don’t know… Something is off, I don’t like it.” The duality of temperature that exists only in this place chills you, sending a shiver up your spine. “Something is coming.”

Sero looks skeptical, narrowing his eyes first at you and then at the distant, white horizon, but then, he places one last piece of food into his mouth and begins to get up. You proffer a hand to him, which he grasps firmly and pulls himself up. He stumbles as he gets his feet under him, falling onto your shoulder.

You support him, steadying him.

“You know what?”

“Thank you,” he stands up more, only using you for support occasionally as you two walk. He quickly seems to become more and more lively, “What is it, Nova? Travelspace can be so lonely, it is good to have a companion like-”

“You talk too much.” The words come out without too much humor, but Sero laughs anyway.

He looks more normal as he says, “Maybe I do…”

***

Tyrr’olni’nel’mul walks, he does not run, or Flicker, he walks. He does not need speed, for he knows that his quarry cannot escape him. And so he walks with a leisurely gait, mind going back to what he saw happen when his comrade failed to stop Sero.

Surely he was more powerful than the Allmother, he thinks to himself as he walks, he had bested her on a few occasions about territorial disputes, but the gap between them had never been of great magnitude.

“I will be able to do this. L’Oos wouldn’t have given me this task if I could not complete it.” The Aarkiel says to himself, his voice traveling across the expanse.

He is getting closer. Excitement, eager, primal excitement strikes itself aflame inside of the Aarkiel, he begins his pace anew, pushing and pulling himself closer and closer to his target. He reaches out as if to grasp the expanse and pull it closer.

The ground begins to slope upward, a small, white hill pushing its way toward the canvas heavens. He climbs over its height effortlessly, the world and way made easy for him in anticipation.

Down into the flat wastes again, the almost fog-shrouded distance revealing itself to the Aarkiel.

A hand extends, caving the ground ahead, and Tyrr’olni’nel’mul flickers ever closer. His eyeless grin grows.

***

By now Sero is mostly back to normal, you can no longer hear his breathing, he walks easily, only stumbling very occasionally, and he flickers for you.

The chasms before you seem small and puny compared to the ones you had previously experienced, Sero conserving his strength. You had offered to flicker, but he vehemently forced you not to, saying, “I know my limits, I don’t want you to accidentally hurt me,” with a cautious look at his hand and then the horizon.

You walk for ages, time feels so off here, with no warm sun on your skin, you feel weak, naked almost. You find yourself consistently looking over your shoulder, the feeling of paranoia never quite fading.

Occasionally, you hear Sero whispering to himself.

“I hate not being able to Compress, so much wasted time…” His sudden quiet statement breaks your concentration on the ball of light. It fades into golden dust and you give a silent sigh of annoyance as you glance at him. He walks quickly, but slower than you remember. Was he slowing down for you?

Another orb manifests itself before you, its pentagonal ridges flowing like waves along its surface. You grab it like a fruit throwing it up and away from you. It falls back into your hands silently, and you dismiss it with a shrug.

“How much longer?” you ask, your voice loud in your ears.

“Soon, I hope. He suddenly stops, eyes cloudy, distant, and rings spinning. “Yes, a few more uru.” He begins walking again.

You raise an eyebrow and look over your shoulder, following him, eager to be out of this place and under the light of L’Oos again.

***

Tyrr’olni’nel’mul runs. He shiveringly lopes across the white at speed, unable to contain himself. He hadn’t run in hundreds of years! Oh, how good it feels.

He runs like a human who only recently learned to walk, gracefully stumbling and staggering around, twitching and shivering in a way that mimics running. His imitation is frighteningly fast, carrying him faster than any normal human could do the same.

The signature of Sero was drawing ever nearer, he was so, so close now. That sent spikes of fearful excitement through his very soul. Why does he feel this way? He doesn’t know, another question to ponder over.

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The Aarkiel suddenly slows to a walk. “He is here.” He whispers to himself, his fingers twitching anxiously.

Another signature makes itself obvious to him, previously masked by the outsider’s unusually powerful sign.

Nova.

“Why would–? No matter, she will not interfere.” He steps into the metaphorical light, and toward a safer dawn.

***

“Come on, Nova, we are almost there!” Sero urges, waving you closer. Your paranoia has seemed to parasitically spread to him, the skin around his eyes taut with worry.

You scamper closer, squatting next to him as he does the same. “I need to open a bind point. This will be taxing, so I need you to be ready to save me.” You hold up an uneaten fruit, one that you stuffed into your pocket. He nods.

“I’m going to go slow, so I might be able to stop before–” His head snaps to your left, eyes wide and scared. You hear him breathe in sharply, and time seems to slow down.

You look, painfully, agonizingly slowly, fearful of what you will find.

Your Patron, Tyrr’olni’nel’mul, stands upright a little ways away. He looks at the two of you with that terrible, eyeless stare, his mouth a perpetual grin. He spreads his bone-white, slender arms like the wings of a bird, hands clawed and grasping. Those hands reach to his sides, crossing over one another, grasping at two inky pustules there. Like a gardener resolutely pulling weeds from his garden, he pulls a pair of arms, black as the night, from his torso.

Like some horrible insect, these new arms extend to their full length, the wings of death. He reaches up over his head, pulling a fifth, midnight arm from the small of his back.

Tyrr’olni’nel’mul stands before you, whole again. His arms fan out above him like the petals of some noir flower, fists clenching powerfully despite his apparent malnourishment.

“I have waited long enough, Outsider. Today, you meet your reckoning.” His voice echoes across the white expanse of Travelspace. The Aarkiel before you rolls his joints, creating an eerie symphony of cracks and pops. He suddenly punches with one black hand, launching a splashing, sable spear of liquid at Sero. It passes within a few inches of your face, and a drop of black flicks onto your cheek.

Sero’s hands flash, deflecting the spear past his shoulder, where it drops into a pool of the night.

“I meant and mean this world no harm! I will not fight you, this whole ordeal is beyond your understanding, Faen!” Sero yells back at him, rising from his knees to one foot. His hands are clenched into pale claws beside him.

“What is the meaning of this, Tyrr’olni’nel’mul?! Why are you here?!” You ask, rising yourself to your feet.

“Stay out of this Nova! This quarrel does not concern you!” Your patron shouts, waving one of his true hands almost dismissively. You feel a weight suddenly begin to push you away, an incredible wind but with no movement or chill. You stumble at first but quickly regain your footing, leaning against it like the wall that it is.

“I will not fight you, Faen! Cease this madness and withdraw!” Sero says, almost pleadingly, his hands relaxing a little. But your patron seems undeterred.

“I will free this world from the scourge of the outside! For it is what L’Oos has commanded me to do!” The Aarkiel bellows, stepping forward with malice. Sero suddenly flies toward your patron as if picked up by a giant, invisible hand. Tyrr’olni’nel’mul’s fist impacts Sero’s torso with so much force that rings of the sky appear from Sero’s back with an audible boom.

All you can do is watch, your voice taken away, as a mass of Sero’s blood flies from his open, pained mouth. He is launched backward, only to be “grabbed” again, flying back towards the Aarkiel’s waiting hands. He snags the man from the air, slamming him into the ground which shatters from the force like hammered glass.

Your patron starts savagely hammering the son of Eun with punches that might have felled the gods for all you know, each landing with so much force that the world seems to shy away. He punches, then grabs him with two of his unused hands, and punches him again, over and over again.

But then, Sero suddenly gets his feet under him. He stands up and begins to endure the onslaught. Your Patron appears surprised that the man is still alive, redoubling his efforts.

Sero blocks and dodges, spinning around as his adversary begins to Flicker, disappearing and appearing around him, looking for an opening. The alien man only defends, seldom counter-attacking, with such speed and power!

The Aarkiel continues attacking savagely, swinging his five arms wildly with no regard for his safety, trying to open Sero up. He beats on, his hands becoming a black-and-white blur as they impact ruthlessly into Sero’s weakening defenses. He stumbles, rocked back and forth by the titanic attacks that crack and boom in the silence.

You fruitlessly strain against your invisible bonds, struggling to free yourself and put an end to this madness before someone gets seriously hurt. As you strain, Tyrr’olni’nel’mul seems to make one final effort, landing a blow that sends Sero flying. The man tumbles through the air, head over heels, without a sound, landing in a sliding crouch.

“Sero!” You yell, the first words springing from your mouth as your bare feet slip on the smooth ground of Travelspace.

“Stay out of this, Nova! This isn’t your battle!” Sero’s eyes flick to his enemy, who stands impassively where he is. The Aarkiel’s brow is furrowed and he seems to inspect his five, white and black hands as if puzzled.

“The faen doesn’t want to let up, so I won’t either.” A hand wipes the side of his mouth, and he seems to briefly concentrate.

“What are you doing?” You ask, anxiety welling up in you as you feel the shadow of Sa’Bel looming.

“Just use your imagination.” His voice is eerily certain, the cheeriness gone like that dark man you have seen before. He doesn’t even seem to be talking to you, but instead to a person only seen by him.

There. A step, then another, and another. Sero’s entire body tenses, blasting toward Tyrr’olni’nel’mul in a full-tilt run. Left then right, he crosses the distance at speed. The Aarkiel barely has time to look up before Sero swarms over him, like maggots over rotten fruit. Sero seems to split, hundreds of himself wash over your patron, a spherical cage of infinite blows.

And while it only lasts an instant, Sero taking again only one body before him, Tyrr’olni’nel’mul roars. A primal, bestial sound of genuine pain erupts from his mouth. He steps forward, his whole upper body twisting, rotating at his hips like a propeller, swinging his five arms in vast, lightning-fast swaths of air.

Sero steps back, almost casually avoiding the blind counterattack. Sidestepping the next handful of heaven-shattering punches as the Aarkiel tries to retaliate.

A step to the side, backward, suddenly Sero rushes forward again, this time kicking the Aarkiel straight in the abdomen. He Flickers around the Aarkiel, landing more calculated blows across his body.

Another Flicker brings him before the pained Aarkiel, and with a speed unseen before, he grabs a hold of Tyrr’olni’nel’mul’s neck, lifting him in a powerful leap before slamming him into the pristine, white ground with an incredible thud. The ground cracks below him as your patron bounces off the ground, landing in a crouch.

There is suddenly silence again across the expanse. The Aarkiel and the alien man stare at each other, a look of mutual respect. As they stare, you are suddenly let free from your invisible bonds with a soft yelp.

You now stand between two titans, capable of things undreamable by your human mind.