It’s a rhythm that rocks the ear.
The willful sort of defiance to wake up to a field of stars.
Annihilation raging below, and above.
Emet-Selch watches it all too, the dead clambering and hanging from his shoulders.
Then he turns.
“No… it can’t be…”
He wilts, those same dead dragging him down to the deep. He wavers, a sort of unbelieving trill to his voice. Out goes an arm, swinging in front of him as though trying to cast you aside.
But he knows better. Should know better.
So does Otolin, as he stands, ready to begin once again, for this last battle to start.
So does Ardbert, as he stands, kept close at the heart.
“Bah, you are a trick of the light! A broken husk! How can you hope to stand against me alone?”
A good question, but one answered…
“We stand together!”
… easily…
“How did-?! I’m surprised you could stand at all!”
… of course.
“I could not well leave matters half-finished.”
So does G’raha Tia, as he raises his staff and pulls on the strands of universe like one might those of a violin. Playing, strumming, an easy enough task for a practiced hand.
“LET EXPANSE CONTRACT. LET EON BECOME INSTANT.”
No more wilting. No more wavering.
There is only wrath in Emet-Selch’s glare, and it carries from his tired eyes down to his wizened lips as he stomps forward, dark energy gathering in one of his gloved hands.
“NO… NO, NO…”
The energy shifts into something sinister, a wicked scythe that threatens to cut down a comrade, and the Ascian begins to close the gap.
“CHAMPIONS FROM BEYOND THE RIFT…”
“NO, YOU DON’T…. NO. YOU. FUCKING-”
This is the moment.
This is the minute.
The combined voices of Ascian and Exarch ring out in a wretched sort of unison that barely carries a hint of unity:
“HEED MY CALL!”
“NO, NO, NO, NO, YOU WILL NOT-”
No wilting. No wavering. No distance, small or large, will stop them.
A scythe. A swing.
A pair of shattered souls sing.
There is sound and fury…
And there is Otolin Stone, the Warrior of Light. Of Darkness.
Both will do. Both will have to.
The conjured weapon catches right against Otolin’s forehead and is stopped mid-swing. There is the sound of steel on steel, tougher than any stone, and a ring sounds throughout the void.
Then there is an unbelieving cry, almost a sob, accompanied by the sounds of pillars of light springing around them, strong, emblazoned:
“WHY WON’T YOU EVER JUST MOVE OUT OF THE DAMN WAY?”
Emet-Selch asks.
And Otolin Stone answers:
“… because the rest of them won’t… won’t either. And besides, Hades…”
Fear on the features of an Ascian.
It truly doesn’t get old.
“… you are already dead.”
“… this isn’t your story.”
Dead men truly tell no tales, do they?
“This is ours.”
(Azem, you…)
(… he really is you.)
(How do I know?)
(… because you were always a tenacious sort.)
“Fine, then.”
