Word Count Once I Libreoffice
Edit: Word count = 1235 words
I'm not sure about the implications of this color for a title it's been a long time since I paid attention to that.
Live and grow strong. How feeble such a sentiment seemed in the face of dire need.
I think your definition of dire need may be a bit skewed Lord Hunger. Considering the amount of metaresources and the condition you may or may not be getting out of this mess. You are the biggest heroic dumbass in the entire Voyaging Realm. Only Daylian farking Erranthus might exceed you if he was present, and he has the Crowning Curse of Hubris.
Headlong he rushed into the world, blur of speed evaporating into a tunnel of infinite blue, Procyon ahead his only guiding star as he leapt into realms beyond sight; momentary flash briefer than blink or heartbeat before he emerged again above his enemy's brow.
Considering Procyon is an actual real life star, I recognize that wordplay there. Still, as this update will show, Hunger is not able to back up the phrase "All the stars in heaven may be our enemy, but the sword above them is greater still". Not yet.
The Armament stood below him, fist cocked halfway through its next strike on the Walls, a hydraulic giant whose industrial lines and coat of gleaming blue stood starkly against the barren light of day. Five heartbeats to prepare his spell. Before it struck the Walls once more, he would be ready.
I guess Dr. Amarlt liked the Praxis blue enough that he decided to have Procyon painted in the color?
Procyon had not yet registered his appearance. Its arm seemed to accelerate as he watched: first, as if through molasses, then through water, then air, and then swiftly a blur past comprehension, the Refinement of Quickness dissipating as Hunger marshaled his energies.
Seriously, changing the genre to Gundam/Lancer/Mechwarrior/Gurren Lagann may be really farking interesting. And all the science potential. A superspeedy giant robot that can shoot Deathly Stars is a great substitute for Artful Thorn/Refinement of Quickness.
At the crescendo of that mustering he performed the Refinement again, then set forth with a blast of torrential destruction, sheer obliterating power amplified by Ruin and Praxis, the Cloak of Sky's best imitation of Augustine's penultimate strike.
Where's the what do you mean it's not symbolic cross shaped explosion though?
It was the mightiest blow he'd ever attempted, such force and terror as to expel the breath from his own throat, stop his own heart from beating. This was power enough to scour entire planets from the cosmos, a supernal atrocity that could tear through whole realms of the divine; and all of it thundered forth directly at Procyon, an assault along every parameter and axis, full-throated destruction like the end of the fucking world.
The gravitas behind this strike was well done. This is probably Exaton or Zettaton class in terms of sheer destructive power.
There was a sound like the primeval father to thunder, ripples in space spreading from the impact as reality itself shuddered and twisted beneath the significance of that blow, but Hunger did not wait to witness its results. In the slipstream of its passage he was already darting forward, invoking the Praxis again as he sped towards Procyon, sheer murderous speed and the uttermost blue of his blade-edge as he claimed the titan's - left hand.
I'm imagining BGM resembling Gilgamesh's Enuma Elish given the sheer power Deathly Star has. Can you imagine an Armament with Enuma Elish level weapons? I can. Also, I wonder if that was Artful Thorn or just a mundane strike?
Hunger frowned. He'd intended to strike its core. It had already regained enough presence of mind to block.
Seriously. Armaments are really goddamn badass, and with Gisena upgrades and the Evening signs, they go Even Further Beyond. Let's not forget that Armaments are somewhat sapient. What would the mind of the Apocryphal Armament be like?
Fatigue harried him, bone-deep but no further, as Adorie's presence ablated the worst of his excesses in employing the Praxis. But he could not stop yet. Before Procyon raised its Shroud, he had to inflict as much damage as remotely possible upon the Armament, bringing it down to a level where, bereft of the Praxis, he would still have a chance-
Always remember Lord Hunger. You never had to do this here.
But it was already too late. Even as Procyon reeled, sparks guttering along the breadth of its now-weathered surface, amputated hand vainly fending before it... its Shroud was beginning to materialize. Furiously he laid into the giant, lashing out with blade, fist and foot, drawing upon the Praxis to enhance every strike. Not enough.
I wonder what an Armament with Rank 10+ Rank would be like compared to an Armament capable of manifesting a shroud. Would our Blood Powers be boosted too?
Time for the second step. To overextend into the Shroud was pure folly. Instead he leapt back, in the direction of Republic forces, as he bore witness to Procyon's emerging domain.
Lord Hunger: The poster child for the smartest dumbass in existence.
First errant lines, like visual snow across the field of reality, then spanning faster and wider, arcs of impossible energy converging in a radius around it, the golds and blues of lightning, still jagged but made uniform, become a hedge against the world to demarcate the Armament's absolute dominion. He knew instinctively that to fight Procyon within the bounds of that radius would result in death.
So an Armament shroud is like TV static in reality. That's trippy and awesome. Also, Golds and Blues? Impossible Energy? Is this True quintessence/ISH elevated Findross effect caused by hyperconcentrated rank or is it actual lightning?
But Procyon's support staff - its command and reconnaissance kill-teams, its convoy of armored vehicles carrying valuable Republic mages - were not, and could not, be shielded against an Armament's peer-level threat.
Never forget that lesson Hunger. It'll be a long time if you aren't willing to invest in your party/holdings before you can protect them singlehandedly without fail. You probably won't have as much holdings as you could have had either.
Hunger landed upon them with spectacular force, weight of his power an avalanche that scattered and destroyed them with effortless disdain. The commander and mages he did not kill, but crippled, kept on the verge of life with the Ring of Blood, and set them about his body like grotesque armor, bound to him with lines of Edeldross.
Oh my god. *Cringes at the sheer mix of awesomeness and comical edgelordery of this plan*
All this he accomplished as he dashed through their ranks, grey swirl of motion carrying hostages forth like a cresting wave, then retreating to the very edge of Procyon's perception as its pilot decided whether to pursue him or assault the Walls.
How many seconds have passed here? Would a normal person recognize that anything has happened yet?
"You come for Duchess Artriez," Hunger said, voice booming across the field, weight of his Pressure carrying his intentions forward. "You will never find her without our aid, but worry not. You may have her."
Oh my god we turned Pressure into our own personal loudspeaker. We should totally research an ability to blast comically terrible singing at people with it. *Baka Mitai intensifies*
Procyon leapt towards them, and Hunger invoked the Refinement again to step back, slaying and discarding one magus as he did so.
This far from the Princess, it took all his focus not to drop the facade of invincibility. He'd already exerted himself severely; further Refinements would come at a cost.
If you weren't so utterly ridiculous about reckless and suicidal things, you wouldn't have to keep us this invincible facade so often Lord Hunger you hyperintelligent dumbass.
"I may not be your match in open combat," he continued, "but I am much faster than you. Continue this mindless aggression and I will slay not only your commanding officer and all your diviners, but those in Voyaging City as well. And then I will teleport to your home planet and destroy it as well. How well do you think your world would fare against the attack that struck you just now? Letrizia has told us much about you, Atven Varne."
Hardcore. I'm glad we didn't need to follow through on that threat though. I like Ring Lord Hunger trying to pretend he doesn't care about people more than wanton destruction Hunger.
"If you were willing to surrender Letrizia, you would have done so," Procyon boomed. "The Plenary makes my intentions absolutely clear, so you could have prevented my assault on your walls by yielding to its implicit demand. I have no desire to negotiate with a man who slaughtered my allies unprovoked. Stop wasting my time."
You believe in combat by champion so much? How odd. This is a war if we didn't want to surrender Letrezia and they were with you. Unfortunately for him he's also the Apocryphal curse's catspaw.
And yet he had stopped to talk. Hunger smiled slightly. "It was your convoy that attacked our Walls unprovoked, which are critical to the ecology of the Realm within. Even so, Nilfel is willing to give you Letrizia Artriez and Verschlengorge as well. But we are in the middle of an extremely delicate ritual in extracting the Armament's power. If botched, the destruction would be catastrophic. After two days, we will be happy to surrender them to your custody."
Bald-faced lying like that? Impressive audacity.
"A likely story." The Armament scoffed. "You think buying time will save you against me? No matter where you've hidden her, I will scour your entire nation in moments."
Seriously. The Apocryphal Armament will be stronger than this and Procyon was farking hardcore.
"Two-dimensional thinking," Hunger reprimanded. "If you wish to find the Armament, that will certainly be no issue for you, the ritual grounds are entirely obvious. Though they may well detonate at your approach, and I question whether mighty Procyon could escape that unscathed. But if you wish to find the Duchess and the wealth of information she holds, you will have to search not only the surface but the entire volume of the Realm of Myth, and perhaps even the Voyaging Realm. We can just as easily hide her thousands of kilometers underground or in the sky, and your Pressure will not avail you when it is opposed by mine."
Why is the theme from Paranoia Agent playing in my mind? With all the laughing people in the sky and underwater. I think the environments were a metaphor for the frayed psyches of the people in them.
"F-For someone who claims to have the overwhelming advantage, you sure do enjoy attempting to negotiate," Procyon said, but did not take a further step forward. Slowly its Shroud began to recede.
"That is because we have no quarrel with you," said Hunger evenly. "We care nothing for your wars of the Human Sphere. It is only the timing that is objectionable to us, else we can part ways amicably. And isn't peace much more appealing than mutual destruction? You could do great harm to Nilfel, just as I could do great harm to your people. But that would be a purposeless and meaningless tragedy. If we fought, at the very least you would be forced to slay your comrades, and thus have no hope of finding Letrizia until you return to the City for a new group of diviners. But everyone can live, even these mages and your commanding officer, if we simply come to an agreement right now."
The fundamental truth of the Rihakuverse. Misery gets visited on the less powerful as a byproduct of disputes between individuals with the power of demigods. Even the people who care can't help but visit misery as a byproduct of their attempts to get into a position to seriously help people.
The magus attached to his shoulder whimpered, and Hunger rendered him unconscious with the Ring of Blood.
Here was the great danger of the Plenary Brand, for Hunger was bluffing outrageously while keenly aware of his opponent's intentions. Even if Atven Varne was not conscious of the fact, he had already begun to waver, worn down by the compounding uncertainties of his current path. If Procyon tried to fight, could it catch Hunger? The best-case scenario was that the Champion of Nilfel's Refinement was limited-use, his god-slaying strike a one-off, and the claimed teleportation simply a bluff. But it could just as easily be the case that his Refinement could be invoked liberally - and Hunger had indeed so acted - and his other abilities similarly permissive.
We'd need some sign and/or Praxis upgrades to make the version of Hunger Hunger was pretending to be a reality.
"At the very least," Hunger sighed. "Let's say this much. Your commanding officers were unprepared. There is a reason you of the Human Sphere do not wander so deeply into the Voyaging Realm, and not just because of Astral interdiction. There are powers at play even greater than an Ereadhihr of the Foremost, and the favor on my shoulder originates from one of their number. Surely your Ereadhihr must recognize the sign of a Praehihr when it is thrust before them."
Are you pretending... not to be a cursebearer but just somebody a Cursebearer likes right now?
Hunger stilled his expression, exerting the power of Ruin to terminate any sign of weakness that his enemy could detect. At the very least this intermission had given him a chance to catch his breath.
Power of Ruin with presumably To Shatter Heaven is pretty farking hardcore it seems.
"I have no idea what the effect of that ribbon is," the pilot admitted, "But Procyon is telling me that... you... are a Praehihr. He says also that you're linked to Verschlengorge, so your story does not add up!"
Bluff Backfire? Bluff Zig-Zag?
"Even so," Hunger said brazenly, "In what universe does this lead to a beneficial outcome for you? You cannot catch me and I will not fight you directly. Shall we each raze the civilization of the other for no gain? And even if you did manage to reach me, Procyon would be so diminished by the ensuing battle that you would be trapped in the Voyaging Realm like Verschlengorge before you, entirely vulnerable to a passing monstrosity."
"I think your people will give up Letrizia once I've slain enough of them," said Procyon, and turned back to the Walls. Its Shroud snapped back into existence, a coruscating halo of lightning. "You, can do as you like."
Farking hell. I'm glad we won and this didn't turn into a giant war crimes extravaganza.
So be it. Perhaps age and treachery could not prevail every time.
Some contests, were the purview of might alone.
The Rihakuverse is like that. It happens.
Without the Refinement of Quickness Procyon's speed was far greater than his own. In scarce more than an eyeblink the Armament was once more hammering upon the Walls of Myth, and this time hairline fractures ruptured outwards with each fall of that titanic sledge, destruction a matter of minutes rather than hours. Likely it would have been seconds had the Armament been uninjured.
I'm picturing it going like Coop from Megas XLR in that imagine spot about the DMV to the wall. It's trying to pull a memetic Ronald Reagan smash or something.
The power of its Shroud was undeniable, yet Hunger was not yet out of cards of play. Swiftly he interposed his own body between fist and Walls, allowing Procyon's blow to crash against the Armor of Midnight that his Cloak of Sky had become. Even the vast fortitude of that Empyreal plate buckled beneath the onslaught, the blood and bone beneath a shattered ruin; but that was a moment's effort to fix with his Ring, and he would not yield until every atom was destroyed.
Because the Outer Shadow lets you do that, and because you are such an utterly suicidally reckless highly intelligent martyr.
It meant Procyon was foiled, at least momentarily, for it needed a concerted assault to break the Walls, and that was impossible with Hunger patching the breach. With superior speed it could shift the area of its assault such that he could not cover every strike, but so long as some fraction landed on him, the next phase of his plan could succeed.
It reminds me of a bullseye every time dartboard video I saw on youtube but Hunger is making himself into the bullseye.
Again the fist fell, Procyon attempting to simply slay him where he stood. Hunger smiled contentedly and invoked the Refinement of Quickness, intercepting the fist with his Blade within the Realm of Forms. Half its hand was claimed by that stroke, up and through the forearm as well - though Hunger now was on the last dregs of his own power, held up more by the rigidity of his armor than his remaining meagre strength.
*Sighs*
Naturally the hostages had all been pulverized, and Procyon broadcast its pilot's regret at that necessity, but also his frustrated determination to see the mission through. It was a bright and fearsome resolve, stoked by the vigor of youth, and the Armament responded to its Pilot's will in kind.
Are we an anime villain in this guy's super robot cartoon right now? We could get a better super robot though.
Now Procyon stood back and focused its Shroud, invoking a technique of its own. Wings of lambent blue sprouted from its limbs, the power of its Brand impressed like a seal upon mind and spirit, a shining beatific horror before which no escape or resistance was possible. A thousand-fold, a million-fold it asserted its primacy over the real, an assertion of such absolute conviction that it became an all-conquering declaration, bending all reality towards the rhythm of its purpose.
Is this the Plenary Brand's Ultimate that we're resistant to because cursebearer powers? It's beautiful even on a meta level. I want us to have our own thing like that.
Not merely its enemies, but the world itself quailed before the Plenary Armament: for whom power, and the majesty of power, were one and the same. This was Procyon, forged by Dr. Amarlt at the very dawn of the Human Sphere, the very Implement by which humanity had first leapt free of the terrestrial cradle, the spark that ignited the Astral Age.
And yet it still would pale in comparison to the Apocryphal Armament, should it ever be born.
The Armament now was not even a blur to his senses, appearing and striking with stop-motion swiftness, hurling him aside with world-shattering strength, the furious descent of his body carving a great trench into the Walls.
This was an Armament in truth, strength that could tear stars in twain and bleed singularities dry; and to resist it, even with the fortitude of the cosmos entire, was nothing short of futility. The Walls of Myth began to dissolve before that terrible magnificence, dissipating like morning dew before the heat of dawn.
So it's enough to peer pre-immortal Nameless. This is a weak armament.
Hunger climbed unsteadily to his feet.
The stars could yield, the sky could yield, the Walls could yield, the world could yield, but it was not within him to yield.
It was only within him, to do his uttermost.
Right now, I'm motivated too.
Once more he performed the Refinement of Quickness, and leapt up over the rapidly-thinning walls, grabbing Letrizia Artriez with one arm and Adorie Mirellyian with another. Then he turned and sprinted furiously forward, back out into the barren plains, away from Nilfel, away from the Walls, slowing only slightly while next to Procyon so that the Armament could identify his two passengers.
Ok. How many real world seconds have passed here? Really.
He performed the Refinement again as soon as it wore off. Procyon gave chase, but even its Shroud-enhanced quickness was not quite sufficient to overcome his own, so long as the Refinement was maintained.
They broke over the horizon, broadening the gap but only by inches, and only now were his companions starting to realize what had occurred, for the span of this battle occurred in the fractions between seconds imperceptible to the human mind.
Has this entire fight been happening in nanoseconds or something?
Adorie clung tight and channeled the might of her bloodline, while Letrizia mouthed some nonsense about sacrificing herself.
Hunger you are one to talk about calling such behavior nonsense you ginormous hypocrite.
Hunger performed the Refinement yet again, and could not suppress the wince that crossed his features. Each technique felt as if he were scraping against the threadbare linings of his soul, but what choice did he have? If Procyon's very presence was allowed to eradicate the Walls of Myth, what would happen to Nilfel and all the other nations in that Realm?
I don't know. Thankfully we didn't have to find out.
Procyon crested the horizon itself, now finally out of sight of the Walls, and Hunger shifted Letrizia slightly, adjusting his grip on the Blade.
The Armament shifted its stance in response, grim inevitability radiating from its Shroud. Hunger, with a confidence he did not feel, inclined his head in provocation.
Come have a go if you think your hard enough.
With a grunt of contempt Procyon charged, wings fully-flared and burning through the world, a numinous destroyer, all-conquering and invincible. With his off-hand Hunger performed the Refinement one final time, blood and essence leaking, evaporating from every pore.
Destiny awaits.
As the giant's fist descended, Hunger cocooned Letrizia in Edeldross and hurled her forward at it.
Ha ha ha-ha ha ha ha ha- ha ha!
The Armament halted abruptly, shifting to catch the Duchess, and Hunger pounced. Forward again, down that tunnel of infinite blue before which only death or glory lay. Again, Procyon made to interpose its other arm, but its stance was ungainly from the prior interruption. Missing that hand, it came up just a hair short.
Now the music from Iskanders final charge against Gilgamesh is playing in my head.
Hunger struck, not with the Cut of the Forebear, but with a thrust, his whole-hearted imitation of Vanreir Amarlt, whose ages-removed forefather had once forged the Plenary Armament. To his mind in that moment there was no edge but the point, no life but its ending, no direction but forward.
Pierce through. Even if it could not be pierced.
Forward, ever forward, past the tunnel of limitless blue and into the core of the Plenary Armament, then deeper through and forward still, through the infinities spiraling within, to unmake the works of the father by the technique of the son.
Thematic. Hardcore in spite of the sheer recklessness that led up to this moment.
Impact. The Refinement fell away, and Hunger returned to the material realm, his Blade plunged deep into the heart of Procyon, who had crumpled, and lay still. He had poured everything of himself into that strike, and the condition of his blade reflected it. A single gleaming crack had opened lengthwise across its face, and the Immanence within poured ceaselessly forth, infusing and dissipating within the firmament.
It's almost like that scene in Blood Rites where Harry Dresden is holding the line against vampires with flamethrowers, gets his hand cooked off from the convection getting through the shield his bracelet generates, and then for the next couple of books he has a problem with fire magic. Things like that happen to gritty protagonists with chronic hero syndrome.
Hunger fell to a knee and wavered, light-headed with exhaustion and loss, while Adorie quickly clambered off to tear strips from her dress, attempting to bind closed the wound on his sword. Letrizia landed harmlessly on the earth, padding unsteadily over, her very gait expressing disbelief.
I guess Adorie is in... shock? For all Adorie's intelligence her mind goes strange places sometimes.
"We won," she said, voice quiet with awe. "You beat an Armament. By throwing me at it! Not that I'm complaining, I was really ready to die, but how did you know it would react like that, trying to catch me? Capturing me would be a priority for them, but I'm sure they'd accept killing me as well."
For my next trick(hopefully) I'm going to make a new Armament. A Better Armament. With Blackjack tables.
Hunger turned blearily to regard her. "Two reasons. First, he was prideful and thought he had won, that there was nothing I could do to defy him. And second, he had a crush on you."
Twice the pride double the fall as I said all those updates ago in Even Further Beyond, and we got scammed by our own Extrusion in the next update.
"W-what!? H-how would you- But he never said any-"
"The Plenary Brand broadcasts one's intentions for all the world to see. He never had any intention of letting you die, or even of coming to harm. Not so for the rest of us."
Every curse is nasty in its own way like that. Giving people something to exploit.
Hunger shook his head, exhaling heavily. The leaden weight of his physical form seemed to multiply with every breath. He was so tired now, too tired even to be concerned with the silver light bleeding endlessly from his Blade. "Let this be, a lesson to you. Power isn't everything."
The Silver Light of the Realm of Ideals... also it is potentially a rebuke to our earlier approach of seeking immediate power for us at all costs as opposed to getting Skyward Claim or Veil of Grandeur for Gisena.
"Age," he pointed to himself.
"Treachery," he pointed at Letrizia. "These things, are more reliable, than force alone will ever be."
So he said, and fell to the earth, and knew no more.
Yeah. There's a reason why I tend to push for science stuff and intelligence/wisdom boosting projects. Without transcendent competence, Hunger will never see his vengeance through. He paid dearly for this from a metaresource and maybe a health standpoint depending on how precisely this vote turns out.
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