Kade was falling…or he was sinking; he couldn’t tell. His entire world was a single bright light, and then it was darkness. And then…then he was somewhere else.
AWAKEN.
Where was he? Had he been asleep? What was that voice?
AWAKEN, CHILD OR IROS. AWAKEN, CHILD OF THE CYCLE.
Karavash awoke from the endless Trance. How long had it been? He could sense that thousands of generations had passed as he slumbered beneath the ground, beneath his endless domain. He had gone to his rest truly victorious, as so few ever were. He’d conquered Iros, destroyed every rival, and rebuilt the world into a single, perfect Kingdom. A testament to his own magnificence and glory. And then he was finished. And then he had simply lingered.
It was unacceptable, and so he’d done the only thing left to do: he’d entered the Trance. He knew what would happen next, and his vast mind searched for the epiphany that would remake him. He would find ways for his power to grow as the new generations rose and fell. He would rewrite his very Soul, and reach new heights of strength, new echelons of existence, and then he would Emerge, a blight on this world beyond any who had come before.
Except he failed.
The epiphany was always just out of reach. It wasn’t a matter of strength, or of will, but of patience. What did the Great Karavash know of patience? He took what he wanted, and obliterated anything that stood in his way. What did he know of setbacks and loss, of surrendering himself to a need and abandoning his ego? He was Karavash. He was perfect. And so he couldn’t change, couldn’t grow. And so he was a failure.
His mind had slowly faded as the world left him behind, and eventually he was simply one more forgotten Elder buried and lost beneath the earth and stone of Iros, his once great Kingdom turned to dust.
Until he wasn’t. Until he heard the voice.
AWAKEN, KARAVASH. AWAKEN, FORGOTTEN KING. WE HAVE NEED OF YOU. BLASPHEMERS SEEK TO DESTROY ALL THAT IS IROS. BLASPHEMERS SEEK TO END THE CYCLE. YOU WILL STOP THEM. WE WILL REBUILD YOU. WE WILL GRANT YOU TRUE POWER.
Then Karavash knew pain. Pain beyond anything he’d experienced in his millions of years of life. His Soul was fire, and he could feel every part of himself being torn apart and rebuilt. The pain was endless, and he welcomed it. The time for the Trance was over, and his mind was his own once more. The pain only increased as power flowed through his limbs anew, and he felt strength beyond imagining. Strength enough that he could no longer understand how he’d managed to conquer this world when he’d been so weak. When he’d been nothing.
But now he was power. Now he was reforged, and he knew by whom. The Gods themselves were speaking to him, and they had given him a task, one he welcomed. At last he felt their work was done, and he flexed his Soul experimentally. The world exploded around him, and he saw light for the first time in eons. He bent his four powerful legs, and with a bound he launched himself from the enormous crater he’d made.
He landed on a forest that had grown over the ruins of his Kingdom, destroying it because he could. For a moment he simply bathed in his own glory, feeling the energy of Iros wash over him. Except…it was wrong; everything was wrong. This wasn’t his Iros. Even the sunlight felt foreign on his skin, and it made him furious. He looked inside himself, and felt out the limits of this new power.
He was pleasantly surprised to find that the power still felt like his own. It hadn’t been changed, just magnified to a level previously beyond imagining, and so he knew how to use it with intimate familiarity. He reached out, questing for minds to ravage, the weaker the better, and he wasn’t disappointed. He needed information. The Gods had given him much, but he was still ignorant of this time. He needed to understand.
***
Karavash sat on the throne he’d been forced to carve for himself. Why was this generation so frustratingly small? The throne was surrounded by the shattered and broken bodies of countless Children of Korthos–the most common generation of this time–and he held more in one hand, inspecting them as best he could. Fighting these miniscule creatures was like swatting at furious insects, and he was annoyed at the effort it took, but he had gotten what he needed from them. He understood this world now.
He gazed upward, marveling that the sun had managed to burn itself away as he slumbered. He could feel the rage from the one who burned in its stead now, and he drank it in, savoring the taste of Korthos’ impotent fury. Karavash couldn’t understand what had made the most powerful being of his generation give up everything for the sake of his Children of all things. For those who, more than anyone else, existed solely to destroy him.
‘Sacrifice’ the minds he’d stolen had called it. Something that had never existed before the ‘sons’ of Tyranos had conquered Iros a generation ago. Conquered it together, no less. Korthos had risen to King, it was true, but by all accounts his brothers had welcomed this. Disgusting, Karavash thought.
But impossibly, the Children of Korthos were worse. It was them that Karavash had been Awoken to destroy, and it was for them that he had arranged this unusual meeting. He could feel his two future allies approaching, and regretfully pulled his gaze back downward, casually crushing the irrelevant insects in his hand as he did so.
It wasn’t easy to gather beings of comparable power together, and that was more true than usual for these two. They would all be fighting an almost overpowering urge to destroy one another every moment, and Karavash needed them alive, though it pained him to admit it. He could allow no distractions.
The first to arrive flew through the air on leathery wings, reminding him of creatures he’d seen pulled from the depths of hellish dimensions long ago. The rest of ‘her’ body was nothing like those creatures, however. He understood she’d taken the form of some invaders from the stars, apparently enjoying the lithe fluidity of motion it granted. That the body she’d built was clearly ‘female’ however, was obviously a vain affectation. They were all born of Iros, and gender was a concept for lesser beings.
Altera Vil Lothra landed with barely a sound, a safe distance away. Respectful or fearful? He couldn’t tell, but she looked up at him with a smile that was certainly designed not to show neither. He nodded imperiously, then they both turned to observe the arrival of the final participant, and Karavash felt his will truly tested as Karthas Vil Karavash stepped slowly into the small circle of mountains that took the place of a true court.
Karavash stared at the child of his own blood, and saw the exact same struggle play out on the features that were so like his own, but also not. There was no impulse stronger than the need for parent to destroy child, unless it was that of a child’s need to destroy parent. The two stared at each other for a long moment, and by mutual unspoken agreement Karthas came no closer, lest this uneasy peace end spectacularly.
Karavash had mixed feelings knowing that one of his Children had survived. There was something akin to pride as he looked at the being with an appearance so much like his own, though smaller and with two legs instead of four. But this child had done what he could not. Karthas had entered the Trance, and awoken thousands of generations later, with power almost unequaled on Iros. Karavash had failed.
Unfortunately for the child, he had Emerged to an Iros ruled by the sons of Tyranos, and their power–Karavash was forced to admit–was staggering. Not only did they seem to possess Altera’s ability to shape and condense energy, but their own was flavored by the elements of all things, something previously unheard of, and the reason that Korthos was capable of burning like a sun even now.
Karavash had witnessed the battle inside the memories of one of his mind slaves. Karthas faced the Second Son, Caesarus Vil Tyranos, and had nearly been wiped from existence by blasts of lightning with enough power to level continents, and boil oceans. Karthas had escaped, and lived a pitiful existence in hiding ever since. Nonetheless, he and Altera ruled the only Kingdoms remaining on Iros that weren’t controlled by the Children of Korthos, and Karavash had need of their resources.
The three beings stared at one another for some time, before projecting their minds into equally proportioned avatars in the center of the ‘court’. It was an old tradition, designed to allow Children of Iros to communicate without triggering their need to destroy one another, and also to account for the often significant size differences that were so common among Children of different generations.
Karavash blinked, and suddenly he was standing directly in front of the avatars of Altera and Karthas, both watching him with appropriate suspicion. “I won’t waste time, merely being this close without destroying you is an insult to us all,” Karavash began, and the other two glanced at one another, but didn’t argue. They could sense his staggering power.
“I have been given the task of destroying the four Princes. The ‘sons’ of Korthos,” he spat. That Korthos had chosen to mate, like Tyranos before him, like the lesser beings, was nearly as bad at what his progeny were planning. Altera cocked her head in open confusion.
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“Who would dare to give you a task, Great One?” her respect was feigned, but appropriate. She was the weakest of the three gathered, her Kingdom only having survived by utilizing the mysterious powers of the invaders she’d conquered.
“The only ones worthy of such a command,” Karavash answered. “The Gods, themselves.” He let that declaration linger, understanding it would take a moment for the two to process such a thing. No one was foolish enough to deny the Gods’ existence, but claiming to do their bidding was something else, and only the overwhelming power that Karavash had emerged with lent any credence to his words.
It was Karthas who spoke at last, “Why?” he said simply, clearly struggling the urge to destroy his parent, thought lost for so long.
“I’ll show you,” Karavash replied, as he held out a hand glowing with energy. “My power allows me to corrupt minds, and even control those weak enough. Witness what I have seen, and know what they plan.”
***
The servant stayed perfectly still, as her master commanded. Her presence was hidden, but the illusion wasn’t perfect, and these men were terrifyingly powerful. She could just barely see the four as they gathered around a small table, but she could hear them clearly.
“The Cycle must end,” said the First Prince, his voice virtually quivering with dark power. The servant was grateful that she couldn’t see his eyes, blocked as he was by the Third; she knew it would have been too much for her.
“So we finally say it aloud,” replied the Second Prince. Taller than the rest, his long dark hair was gathered behind him, and flowed over a cloak. His famous staff and peaked hat were nowhere to be seen.
“You speak blasphemy,” came the deep voice of the Fourth Prince, his silver armor glistening, the symbol of the gods emblazoned across the chestplate.
“He speaks our hearts, brother, even yours,” said the Third Prince, his golden armor looking more practical and worn than his twin’s, despite its ostentatious coloring. “Tell me I’m wrong,” he challenged.
After a long pause the knight responded, “I won’t taint this sacred place with lies, but we must accept what we are saying for what it truly is.”
“If your Gods take issue with my will, brother, let them appear before me,” threatened the First Prince, and the servant thought she could feel the room shudder at the heresy.
“My Gods are not so foolish, brother,” replied the Fourth, as if the wrath of the Gods meant nothing to the Paladin. “But if we challenge them, there will be consequences.”
“They are not the Cycle–whatever they would have us believe–they are as trapped by it as we,” the Sorcerer said in reply.
“Is this more than academic?” asked the Third. “Every Child of Iros has lamented the Cycle, even if only as they fell victim to it. What’s changed?” There was a pause as the Second looked at his elder brother, who seemed to nod, though the servant still couldn’t clearly see his scarred face.
“Everything has changed. I’ve found the Lost Artifact; it’s returned. We–” the Sorcerer paused, and all four men began to look around hurriedly. Finally he spoke again, “We are not alone.”
The servant didn’t have time to scream as the four Princes turned to stare in her direction as one, and suddenly she was encased in metal, only her eyes and ears exposed and she was pulled toward the Fourth prince. “This is quite the oversight, and something of a mystery,” the Paladin said, as he deposited her behind him like so much luggage.
“We’ll dispose of her, but not in this room, not in father’s study,” the First Prince said softly, and the servant forced her eyes anywhere but his face. “Finish what you were saying, Sythkara.” The Sorcerer nodded, though his gaze lingered on the servant in suspicion.
“The World Shaper has returned,” the words hung in the air, as the Princes exchanged glances.
“Uncle used it to create Spiros,” the Third said. “What does it mean for them if it’s back?” The Sorcerer shrugged.
“We can’t know. Artifacts as powerful as the World Shaper don’t always follow the rules. All we can be sure of is the opportunity this presents…I’ve created a spell.” The two younger brothers laughed openly at the statement, and the Sorcerer smiled indulgently.
“You always have a new spell, Syth,” the Third said. “So what does this one do, exactly?” The Second’s smile faded.
“It kills a God,” he replied softly. The room grew very quiet, and the servant was so caught up in the discussion that she didn’t realize the First was looking in her direction until he spoke.
“Spy,” he said while raising a hand in her direction, and the connection to Karavash was severed.
***
Karthas and Altera exchanged looks as the vision abruptly ended. They could sense the authenticity of the memory; they were both far too powerful for simple illusions. Altera was the first to speak, “Can they really do what they say? I don’t know of this ‘World Shaper’.”
“Like many Artifacts it has likely had many names across the ages, but it doesn’t matter,” Karavash replied. “The Gods would only Awaken me if the threat was real, so we must assume the Princes can do as they claim.”
“Killing a God…” Karthas said contemplatively. “Would that truly end the Cycle, as they believe?”
“That, I don’t know,” Karavash answered honestly. “The Cycle is an undertaking beyond any of us, but I can only imagine that the coordination and balance of the Gods is paramount to the act. Regardless, it doesn’t change what we need to do. The Blasphemers must be destroyed.” Altera was nodding, a finger tapping her lips.
“And this is the time to do it. The Princes are young, and though their combined power is remarkable, they’re still nothing compared to Korthos and his brothers. We should strike immediately, while their uncles are on Spiros.” She smirked, something only really possible with her odd, soft features, “Unless Karthas is looking forward to a rematch with Caesarus?”
Karthas’ rage boiled over immediately, and his avatar flickered as his true body began to walk toward Altera. “ENOUGH!” Karavash Roared, the sound coming from both his avatar and true form. Karthas reluctantly froze in his tracks, and his avatar slowly solidified as he calmed himself.
“We’ve been together too long, so listen to what I need from you and then we can all depart before we tear one another to shreds.” The other two stared hatefully at each other for a long moment, but finally turned back to Karavash, neither ready to die after clinging to life for so long. “We need to trigger the Cycle. Your followers must converge on the largest population center you can find, and the Gods will provide us with our true army.” The two had bickered at that, neither wanting to give up the meager forces they’d amassed and hidden away, but ultimately a call to war was hard for a true Child of Iros to refuse under any circumstances, and this was a cause they couldn’t deny.
His new allies had reluctantly agreed on a target, then made hasty exits, each sensing that conflict was moments away if they stayed any longer. Karavash sat back, smiling as he watched them depart, one in the sky, one slowly plodding along the ground. He looked forward to killing them both when this was all over, but first he would use them, as was proper.
First he had to swat some arrogant insects.
***
Karavash couldn’t understand how it had all gone so wrong. He looked down at the ruins of the army that the Gods had granted him. Hundreds of thousands of copies of himself; Children so perfect he didn’t even feel the urge to destroy them, and yet they’d fallen in droves. The battlefield seemed to stretch on endlessly in every direction, but the wholesale slaughter of the Children of Korthos hadn’t happened, instead it was a close thing, with powers that Karavash couldn’t conceive of tearing through his ranks with deadly effectiveness.
He knew that the battle had truly turned against him when Karthas and Altera had both failed to arrive as arranged. Without their forces, and worse, without the two powerful beings themselves, a guaranteed victory had turned into a deadly give and take between comparable forces. Though he loathed to admit it, Karavash’s army was simply too large for any singular commander, and he’d been counting on his allies to help guide and direct his young Children.
Instead they’d fought as the young always did: they’d swarmed, and Children of Korthos had responded with devastating area attacks that had seen his copies die by the thousands. Perhaps he’d still be sure of his victory if the Princes themselves hadn’t surprised him as well. Even now the eldest of them was still harrying him, seemingly from every direction at once.
He’d been concentrating on directing his army when surprising pain shot through his center, and he’d looked down to see a tiny silver knight landing on the ground before him. A comparatively large hole through Karavash’s torso had shown him the trajectory the small warrior had followed, and he’d furiously stomped at the insignificant creature as it quickly leapt away.
He’d been ready to follow, so enraged by the surprise attack that his own army was forgotten for a moment, but before he’d taken a single step in pursuit he felt another attack land from the opposite direction. This time he’d stared in complete disbelief at a hand that simply ceased to exist, and he realized that the rumors of the First being capable of channeling Oblivion itself were only too real.
What came next was the most frustrating battle of his remarkably long life. The two Princes had worked dangerously well together, bitterly reminding Karavash that even basic teamwork in battle was still utterly foreign to him. Only his massive energy reserves kept him alive, and his Soul Core desperately fed lifeforce to a continually increasing number of wounds.
He desperately flailed his four massive arms, which had crushed the life out of untold thousands of his own generation, but couldn’t seem to catch the two tiny warriors. His eyes could barely register them at that size, and he was forced to rely on his energy sense to keep track of them at all. He sent blast after blast of enormous amounts of energy at them, but the knight hid behind some kind of shield, while the dark one simply obliterated the energy if it ever came near him.
Karavash’s only true high point had come when he felt his own healing begin to slow, and his rage had overtaken his judgment. He’d roared with fury and agony, and energy had poured out in every direction, even erupting from the ground beneath their feet, and the unexpected angle of attack had briefly knocked the knight off balance. The small opening had been enough for Karavash, and he’d slammed two immense open palms together, catching the knight between.
He’d ignored the panicked attacks of the First Prince, though it cost him dearly to do so, and instead focused entirely on crushing the small, irritating knight with all the strength he had. The satisfying crunch of metal and bones had been enough to reinvigorate Karavash as he tossed the lifeless body into the endless piles of dead, and turned his full attention to his remaining opponent.
He could feel himself slowing as the enraged little man escalated his assaults to new heights, his own safety ignored as blast after blast of oblivion tore through Karavash’s body. When an entire arm was severed from a particularly deadly strike, the ancient warrior knew that he’d run out of time. Ignoring the pain of a hundred wounds, Karavash repeated the maneuver that had captured the knight, and once more he caught a bug between two hands.
This one hadn’t broken immediately, so Karavarsh took great pleasure in closing his fingers around the deadly little creature, pulling the dying Prince close to revel in the ecstasy of victory as he watched the pitiful thing die. He realized his mistake too late as he felt the power build inside his closed fist.
He was sure that the tiny creature couldn’t possibly escape his grasp alive, and so he’d been far too confident in victory. But Karavash didn’t understand sacrifice. He hadn’t considered–couldn’t consider–that the First Prince would use the last of his power to save his people, rupturing his own Soul Core.
The last moments of the Elder that was touched by the Gods were spent watching an orb of Oblivion grow to impossible scale, devouring his entire upper body as nothing else could.