A Simple Transaction I

[Rihaku]

Defiance

I was the Forebear.

Hunger stilled momentarily at that revelation, unsure of how much to disclose to his companions. Certainly he trusted them with his life and his workings, but the matter of his identity was a personal one, with little bearing on present circumstances. If he preferred his privacy, surely he was entitled to it? At least until he himself decided what he thought of the whole thing. Gladdened? Fearful? Perhaps even proud? Who could deny the Forebear's might, his unfailing obduracy?

With the truth of his identity did not come a flood of memories, extrapolation from the sea of context that would have properly accompanied knowledge of such import. For the moment there was simply no time for reality to sink in, the implications to be fully processed - not when Dien still lingered, and their days in the Realm were finite. First and foremost he had to procure or produce a means to deal with the Foremost. There would be the luxury of self-reflection - navel-gazing - later, when the Apocryphal lulled or presented less grotesque an enemy.

Would he start his own dynasty here, some inescapable echo of the Forebear's fundamental nature? It would certainly ensure continuity of rule... assuming his descendants were not afflicted with the Apocryphal Curse. But that, especially was a concern for well into the future.

"It worked," was all Hunger said, Ring flaring briefly violet; the velvet dark of the Evening Sky itself, as he absorbed and subsumed its counterpart.

He lowered... his... Blade and turned to the others. "Thank you all. With this outrageously potent and flexible capacity, it's the first time I feel like we have better than even odds against Dien."

"Of course it worked," Gisena preened. "How could you expect anything less? That so-called Hero isn't going to know what hit him!"

"Don't underestimate Dien," Hunger countered. "He'll know. He just won't be able to do anything about it..."

Evenings passed. Interminably and relentlessly their time in the Realm ticked down, as Hunger explored the depths of his newfound capabilities, while the rest of the party strived to complete every force multiplier they could remotely conceive to add to its strength. It was an optimistic time, filled with confidence for all that the Damocles'-sword urgency of their opponent loomed over them. Not even Procyon had commanded their attention so totally, and driven them to such desperate lengths.

At last the day had come. Their final hours in the Realm swiftly approached, and the latest-state prototype of Hunger's first grand countermeasure was ready for testing.

At his command a wraithly Hunger appeared, an unconscious but autonomous clone possessing bare fraction of his power and intelligence; though still more than capable of felling an Armament on its own given sufficient support. Support would come in the form of his Rank, for which fame now could substitute for effective proximity, as well as in the myriad enhancements and other effects that their party would lay upon his clones.

The wraith-Hunger stared blankly ahead, its eyes not devoid of intelligence, but of volition. He could issue commands telepathically, though the wraiths were unable to reply; the fruits of any reconnaissance conducted by such clones would have to be delivered or transmitted via conventional means.

Still, once given a task they would pursue their objective with independence and prudent judgement; more than enough to fell Dien's local forces given the relatively overwhelming power each could bring to bear.

"How stoic," Letrizia remarked, waving a hand before the clone's face. She glanced at Hunger, then returned her attention to the clone. "Remind me again - which is the real one?"

"Very funny," Hunger said, spawning in ten more. Letrizia yelped and jumped back, momentarily startled.

"Ah! They really just - pop into being with no preamble, huh! Could be convenient in a duel, if they weren't so much weaker than you."

She frowned. "And yet, a single one of these is probably more than a match for me or Aeira... maybe Aobaru could put up a fight."

"Entirely your fault," Hunger scoffed, chopping her on the head. "Just advance at the same rate as a Progression-type Cursebearer, it's not that difficult. Gisena does it all the time."

"Unfair," Letrizia pouted. "She's a princess, I'm only a duchess! Maybe if you had promoted me, I would be bestriding the cosmos alongside you even now."

"Oh? The princess of a splinter faction outranks a proper duchess of Empire?" Hunger raised an eyebrow. "I'll keep that in mind."

"Hmph!" She tossed her hair. "T-that's enough out of you, mister! W-we're supposed to be testing your clones right now, so have your copy do a trick!"

"Well," Hunger rubbed his chin, "If someone as important as this dispossessed duchess asks it of me, how can this king disobey?"

The first clone in line darted forward, lashing out once, twice with its phantasmal Blade: the hum of its passage a chord in the air, bi-directional rending wholly invisible to the mortal eye. A wave of Rank outthrust accompanied the strike, tidal wave of Pressure that punctured heaven and cloud, spanning to the horizon in a single liminal burst. Were they on a curved planet of Earthly size, the cutting force would have followed the contours of the land to return from behind; and, unimpeded, would have had strength enough to make that journey several times. It was power enough to sunder continents and subjugate worlds, though so tightly controlled as not to perturb even the hairs on the Duchess' head.

For a moment he was stricken by a passing disorientation, as the sheer ludicrous pace, the utter insanity, of Progression overcame him briefly. Not five months ago he had been nearly powerless; a decade before he had toiled and strived to eke out even a fraction of the Tyrant's power. And now, this one copy of which he could manifest a thousand million could overthrow that Tyrant as easily as drawing its blade. It was dizzying to think about, and far easier to just accept and proceed, but he forced himself to contemplate it so as not to under-value the magnitude of the Accursed's gift. Perhaps in a billion years he would regret that exchange of burden for Lathe, but without such an implement as Progression he would never reach such venerable age at all. Despite his Curse of interesting times, he was still unutterably grateful.

"Hmm," Letrizia examined the miles-deep gouge with an affected air of unconcern. "Show-off. How many of these guys are you planning to make?"

"I thought I'd start with a billion," Hunger said evenly, gazing up at the stars. "Enough to secure the Human Sphere, with a few million left over to track down each and every one of Dien's contingencies. I only hope that they're clever enough to actually do so, when it comes down to it..."

"A b-billion," Letrizia said, going pale. "That's rather a-ambitious of you. No need to overstrain yourself, the Human Sphere only has about ten thousand relevant systems. And from what you've shown me, ten clones per system should be plenty, maybe a thousand for the sector capitals. That's not even a million."

"Under normal circumstances, yes." Hunger agreed readily. "But with Dien occupying so many systems... we'd best match his weight of numbers, with our own. My hope is to overpower him in each and every system, or at least buy enough to time to further develop lateral capabilities with my Soul Evocation. If I give these clones any greater portion of my fractional essence they may begin to qualify as 'me' to the degree that they'd start suffering my Curses, which would be unacceptable for any number of reasons. So sheer overwhelming quantity is our only course."

Letrizia shook her head. "And these guys are really less than one millionth of your full power, each... that's absolutely crazy. I've been following you this whole time and even I don't have a good understanding of your current strength!"

Hunger held up a hand. "Stop, you're embarrassing me. I preferred the abusive Letrizia; her efforts were futile but cuter!"

"So you're that kind of deviant, huh? Well too bad, such beneficence must be earned, and ought not be given freely!"

He laughed. "Don't take after Gisena too broadly. She's the very worst kind of influence. One that makes bad habits look good."

The last few hours passed without incident, his horde of Hungers unremarkably passing every test thrown at them; the rest of the crew stopped observing and instead said their tearful, overly theatrical goodbyes to Adorie, who would be 'imprisoned' within the Realm of Evening - only able to depart for three-fourths of the day in order to maintain his status as nominal warden. The enormity of the sacrifice they'd taken to awaken his Soul Evocation had granted them a great deal of leeway, but the foundational integrity of the Realm as a true, if comfortable prison plane had to be maintained at all times.

Temporally it appeared that Adorie would not benefit from the Realm's timeless nature unless Hunger was in the Realm himself. Therefore she would spend a great deal of her 'term' asleep or reading, enjoying the (carefully regimented, as befit a prisoner) outrageous opulence of the Realm's accommodations and cuisine. As was appropriate for a prisoner of Royal status, he supposed.

They departed the Realm; unfeeling legions of Hunger clones in serried ranks spanned the length and breadth of their deployment field, bone-white simulacra in endless rows as far as the naked eye could witness, a forest of grim-faced blade-bearing warlords.

Hunger frowned. Did he really look like that all the time?

Then again, only a fool would expect anything less from the Forebear.

As the gate to Evening opened the clones boiled forth, unrelenting as the tide and unstoppable as the ocean entire: seething outwards into the unsuspecting universe like the froth and churn of a wave so high and so fierce that it threatened to drown the Sphere itself.

Second among Hunger's many Imprisoner-priorities had been the development of spatial magics; with an effort of will and a pulse from his Ring the legions were one-by-one sent off to the various systems of the Sphere: overrunning the worlds that Dien had claimed, reinforcing those he had besieged. And then it was their turn; not content merely to stay and withstand whatever traps Dien had positioned at their location, Hunger and his party disappeared in a wink and a wrinkle of spacetime.

---

Something was wrong.

Minutes ago Hunger had slain near the totality of his forces at his locality. Afterwards for an instant it appeared as though he had departed to some other Realm; but that was merely a trick of time, for immediately following had a swarm of ghostly Hungers materialized at that location: too many for Dien's crippled nearby assets to reliably count! And then they had mustered in force, teleporting away in million-man swathes to strategic points across the entirety of the galaxy.

Like a house of cardboard his positions collapsed, neural-nets feeding into consecutive implosions so as not to contaminate the entirety of his network from Hunger's follow-up, some form of Rank-based memetic attack. And even his outlying systems began to report viability failures at eradication pace, some distillation of primal Winter emanating from the border of Empire space.

One blow after another, by which Etrynome seemed paltry in comparison. Had Lord Hunger simply been holding back, toying with Dien?

Of course not.

This was Heaven's Lathe, the ceaseless churning that destroyed the world and remade it anew, Progression and annihilation in axial unity: Yang and Yin, Being and Void, the wheel of elements and the procession of the seasons, the primal rotation from which sprung all things! What mattered the specific form of his advancement, how exactly Lord Hunger had achieved these impossible efforts? Dien already knew the real answer. Did the shape of the vessel matter, when the essence it contained was nothing less than Progression?

This was a Praehihr, herald of the End of Stories, before which Heroes and Empires alike could only topple or submit. What was a mere Foremost to do, against an agent of Progression himself, for which unbound growth was its natural remit, and power beyond reason its birthright?

Despite his apparent oncoming doom, Dien couldn't help but smile. Soon his chuckling became a laugh of exorbitant, full-throated glee -

At last, Lord Hunger; at long, long last! You have become a worthy enemy - not merely on the battlefield, but in the greater game! Begun, this war of clones has!

And what a war indeed. There was little time now for schemes and trickery on Dien's part, the slow calculated accumulation of overwhelming might. That safe and certain strategy would lead to inescapable peril against Hunger's newfound esoteric might. To win - to even grasp a sliver of the chance at victory - Dien would have to do his uttermost. Take every risk, seize every fire; and with treachery, prowess and valor achieve the unthinkable and impossible - toppling this master of magics, this avatar of Progression, with only his mind and his implements of science.

Only one could be worthy. The other would be cast down, compost for the great empirical winnower of all people and things. Power was required to resist the natural order; and in the face of a true opponent, no power could be spared. Thus from deathly conflict arose the unquestionable test, and the final ordering of worth.

Every asset pulled back and consolidated, mustering for one singular push. Hunger had seized the logistical advantage; now, with tables turned, it fell to Dien to cut off the head. What an adroit reversal, an elegant ordering of events! As if the turning of lives had been arranged to produce this most interesting outcome...

Help me along, O interesting times. I'm only the underdog now.

Emergency measures were to be taken. A threat such as this had to be confronted before he was out-scaled into irrelevance. Yes: if he was to be burned out, let the flames of that confrontation burn bright enough to sear the face of the cosmos, and blind all who were foolish enough to witness the war of their wrath!

One last set of preparations. Then, the Hero Dien Bravo, would make his final stand.

Come, Lord Hunger. With all your Ruin, and all your legions. You will have to extinguish everything that I am! For the night is always darkest, before the Hero prevails at last.

---

The winner was [X] War Among the Stars with [X] Spark of Prowess. Hunger has also acquired [X] Ascendancy Halo, upgrading his Rank, stats, November Sky and Progression!

If you'd like to discuss the quest in real-time or just chat, you're welcome to join the AST Discord!

A huge thanks to all my subscribers on Patreon! The amount of support has been truly incredible! Subscribers receive access to patron-exclusive content, such as the Blurb Library, early updates, Discord roles, Wishes, commissions, and bonus chapters.

 

[Rihaku]

Vote update time! It is finally the opportune moment to talk about mitigation for the Geas of Indenture! You have two stages of mitigation from Gisena's Grand Nullification; what shall they be spent on?

[ ] Companion I - Allows you to take one companion with you across Geas worlds. Note that without this mitigation, you won't be able to take anyone with you; though, not being cursed themselves, they may be able to travel to your destination worlds under their own power, should they be sufficiently capable. However this is extremely unlikely, given the immense possible space of Geas worlds, and the potential ontological distance between. There is also the matter of survival to consider, in both the traversal and target destination, should either contain exotic physics. By default: Gisena is taken

[ ] Companions II - Allows you to take two companions with you across Geas worlds. Note that you will require a character imprisoned within the Realm to make use of Archmage; Adorie has the highest metaphysical resonance with the role but most others can substitute (poorly) in a pinch. By default: Gisena, Adorie are taken

[ ] Task Leeway, Moderate - Causes task definitions to be less punishing and narrow. Relevant to Hunger, he won't instantly lose if the Human Sphere is destroyed; only if it is destroyed beyond the reasonable possibility of recovery. Could be useful against this and future Apocryphal procs. Also makes 'holding' '90%' of the 'Human Sphere' easier, in that one may use reasonably charitable, rather than highly strict, definitions of the terms in question. Costs both stages of Mitigation.

[ ] Task Difficulty, Moderate - Causes tasks to be about 20% easier overall. Affects the current task as well as all future. Rather than holding 90% of the Human Sphere for fifty contiguous years, perhaps he only needs to hold 72% of the Sphere, or perhaps he only needs to hold it for 40 years, or for 200 years but they need not be contiguous, etc... Costs both stages of Mitigation.

[ ] Reduced Duration - Almost no one takes this at first, but it reduces the total duration of the Geas by 1/8th per mitigation stage. Can be taken as many times as one has mitigation stages.

[ ] Longer Vacations I - Doubles vacation length. Very useful for training up to confront future Geas worlds with less time pressure.
[ ] Longer Vacations II - Quadruples vacation length and stacks with, but requires, Longer Vacations I.

[ ] Permissive Vacations - While on vacation, you can depart your current Geas realm to travel under your own power, though without any especial protections or metaphysical compatibility with foreign universes. Potentially outrageous power is at one's fingertips, should one already possess a comprehensive and versatile means of inter-dimensional transit - at least, as much as would be available to a Cursebearer without Indenture! Costs both stages of Mitigation.

Archmage Developments - Hunger used the +Progression from Ascendancy Halo to acquire great powers of spatial transit alongside his great army of clones, but he will have some further time before Dien's attack arrives.

Currently Hunger is stationed at the Empire-Republic border, near the heavy concentration of forces commanded by the Shogun Shard and shepherded by the Emissary's. Naturally, forces of such insignificant power cannot be relied on to contribute much against Dien's final, desperate evolution - but perhaps one of the Foremost Shards will find some way to vex him at a timely moment, or otherwise prove a useful distraction. But the weight of Dien's assault, and the task of finally putting paid to this epochal monster, will fall squarely upon Hunger's shoulders. It would behoove our tyrant to make one uttermost effort more, preparing for a battle that will shake the cosmos.

Cut through, even if it cannot be cut. But what will be the implement, that fateful blade which shall assure the hero's downfall?

[ ] Spatial Mastery - Acquire broader mastery of space itself; as his control over space is already somewhat advanced, he may gain access to more refined or potent applications of the Space domain overall. Spatial twisting and warping, attack redirection, creation of subrealms, 'inventory' functions, trapping opponents within space, spatial interposition, effective expansion / shrinking of beings by altering their spatial parameters, cloning one's attacks or presence across space, and so on.

[ ] Foundational Syncretism - Focus on those aspects of Archmage which most effectively enhance Hunger's existing power set. Amplify his own essence, the force of his strikes, his movement in time, etc while diminishing the overall effectiveness of his enemies. It's not as flashy, but it is crushingly effective, and certainly pertinent if Dien wishes to challenge Hunger to one final contest of direct capabilities.

+0.1 OaF II ISH combat bonus, +0.3 Rank after multipliers, +++++All Stats, +50% All Stats in Combat, enemies suffer symmetrical penalties within close range, half within long (>5 miles) range.

[ ] Grand Seal Achieved - Focus on improving the power and practicality of Seal of Ruin, with an eye towards comprehensively countering Dien's exotic capabilities and those of his proxies.

Seal of Ruin is now instant cast with a single gesture for targets within close range. +500% to Might for purposes of calculating the Power of Ruin. This applies to non-Seal applications of Ruin as well. Using Seal of Ruin only halves, rather than removes, the defensive capabilities of All-Defeating Stance. Up to three Seals can be maintained at full strength at one time, with no additional effective cost.

[ ] Heavy Weapons Array - Augments Novakhron so that all Praxis techniques currently known by Hunger can be employed at full strength while Hunger is in Totality within. Novakhron with the Attainment of Quickness and Refinement of War... does anything more need to be said?

Pierce Through may be applied to Novakhron's Arm Cannon.

[ ] Train the Kids - While Hunger is reasonably certain he can protect them, it may be best to ensure that Dien's doesn't pull out a win by taking valued comrades hostage, or otherwise turning them against Hunger. Gisena should be defended by her Nullity, and Adorie can be safely sheltered by the Realm of Evening, but Verschlengorge is sadly not potent enough to serve as infallible defense against an opponent of Dien's caliber.

A variety of wards, amplifications, and accelerated training regimes gives Letrizia, Aobaru and Aeira a good chance of defending or escaping from Dien's efforts should he turn the main focus of his attention towards them. Could also be relevant against Aobaru's Chains of Fate opponent!

 

[Rihaku]

Ragnarok

Novakhron groaned under the weight of its burdens.

Hunger had not taken much time with his Armament of legend, the spell-forged behemoth he had conjured into being at the apex of his mastery of Myth. It had served him well as steed and protector for the lesser members of his party - for though they lacked in power, they were no less crucial to the project overall, and their potential demise no less harrowing.

Briefly he frowned. That, was the coldly analytical evaluation that the Hero of old (or, more appropriately, Catherine) might have assayed, when appraising his forces for survival against the Tyrant. Now he was that Tyrant in full - infinitely greater along every avenue of measure, even - and sought also to quell a Hero with utter finality.

Dien Bravo had suborned a great part of the Human Sphere with fetters of technology and flesh; Hunger had broken it to his will through brute power and supernatural command.

For a society that lived and died on the backs of its smattering handful of Armaments, a billion Armament-level combatants was a Biblical deluge; such overwhelming force that it might as well have been an outside-context problem, and equally as decisive. The probability-smoothing aspects of Rank only further served to enforce that hegemony.

Each of Hunger's echoes was but the cloud-shadow of his true might, but even that passing oppression could smother whole worlds beneath the obliterating press of his will. Much less when multiplied a billionfold! Had his intentions been ill, it would have been a cataclysm of desolation unimaginable: what resistance was possible, or even thinkable, in the face of a world that flowed only and ever towards the purpose of a single master, the merest quantum fluctuation snapping unerringly to attention beneath his incidental regard?

The Forebear had commanded power such as this: power of such indestructible totality that even the preconditions of opposition spoiled and withered away. Hunger wielded not even an infinitesimal speck of his prior self's might; and could only hope he would possess more than a speck of its wisdom, if he should survive the eons ahead.

And in matters of survival, the chief implement was strength. Dien would not permit any other means; he would not sit back and allow Hunger's billion-man armada to blanket the cosmos like a tide and drown him beneath its weight. Nor had negotiation in good faith ever been possible or desirable: Hunger would not deign to speak to the monster who had so callously 'liquidated' trillions, and the Hero was constrained to opposition by his fundamental nature.

Dien Bravo would strike - was preparing already to mount his attempt, a single monumental deathblow - before Hunger could fully master the reality manipulation afforded by his Soul Evocation. Already the threads of Dien's cosmic spider-web were turning inwards: resources quantized and funneled back to their origin, assets converted into raw potentiality to forge a god-beast that could rival the Imprisoner's might.

Hunger's echoes were tracking his efforts, of course, but the Foremost had conjured contingencies like signal flares: a bewildering array of contagions, incubators, constructs and simple oddities each of which might have been a crucial component of some precipitous scheme, sprinkled like dizzying shrapnel across ten dozen galaxies and sub-dimensions.

Not even with Gisena's aid could they hope to unravel the true thread in time; the Surgeon had been producing his grand array of complications since the very moment of his inception, while Gisena had focused all her efforts on perfecting Hunger's Soul Evocation.

In many ways her strategy had succeeded: with regards to density of power, they were unassailable, far beyond even the mightiest of Dien's deployed horrors, and that Soul Evocation itself had helped Hunger project his power across the galaxy entire. But if Dien in his desperation pulled out every stop, took every desperate risk and burned every resource, counting on the Apocryphal Curse to support his reckless drive... would the gulf between their powers be unassailable still?

Hunger had no inclination to underestimate his Crowning Curse, and so endeavored always to climb higher. Novakhron was the swiftest instrument of that ascent, its reality-bending might supreme among manifest Armaments, with power and speed that eclipsed even the fiercest of its kin. If it could be modified to become compatible with his Sword Praxis, even the Foremost Shards combined would pose little threat in direct battle.

But that was no trivial task.

The etchings of the Praxis in cramped microscopic script covered every panel and crevice of the towering Armament, each rune and sigil painstakingly carved by Hunger and Gisena with the full support of Evening's Realm; yet according to Verschlengorge this was but the first in an interminable list of components necessary to achieve full compatibility. The Devouring Armament had been smugly laconic as usual, offering mere tidbits after continuous prodding from Letrizia.

But he did not resent the thing; Hunger had a sense that the monumental difficulty of the task, its will-denuding immensity, was itself an step along the Praxis. An offering to, and meditation on its deepest principles. There were arts where efficiency was a matter of formalism, and every shortcut existed to be wholly exploited - and arts where the toil itself was the process of true actualization.

Verschlengorge had confirmed that it was definitively possible, given their tools on hand: in honesty, that had been more generous than Hunger's wilder dreams.

Novakhron listed again, swaying as if in a breeze, and fell from its support frame to one knee. It was currently being subjected to a process of mythic re-forging beneath the harshest and most transcendental of Aobaru's Vigorflames: its very essence spooled and folded and unmercifully hammered by the Realm of Evening to draw out and eradicate every trace of impurity. Afterwards it would be doused in waves of conceptual Nullity, compressed and scoured bare of even abstract imperfection before Hunger would attempt Totality again - hoping it could withstand merger, even temporary, with the Forebear's Blade.

Hoping it could become his implement, his cosmic sword, his murder-weapon in truth.

Hunger sighed. All this, merely to cement their already-colossal lead over Dien. Was it worth it, such iron certainty?

But the Apocryphal Curse demanded no less diligence than this. Victory each and every time, with such consistency as to rival the inevitability of the Forebear; nothing less would produce vengeance against the Hidden Ones.

It was a cruel and fearsome tempering, which the Armament bore with stoic resolve, constraining its moans of pain as form and soul alike were relentlessly smelted down and remade. Time, however, marched with equal relentlessness. Before Dien arrived, Novakhron had to be made ready, else all it had endured would be for naught. There was no chance for respite nor room for hesitation. Only the Work.

---

Dien was out of time.

Under-prepared, ill-equipped, outgunned and even outnumbered, now that he had consolidated the majority of his forces into himself. He bestrode the cosmos like a primeval nightmare; doom of country and civilization both, endless flesh compressed yet refracted outwards, tendrils like the roots of a methuselah pine. Burrowed so deep into the fabric of this reality, and the countless textural layers above and below, that he simply could not be torn loose; each gradient reinforcing the others such that harm on one level would be wiped away by reinforcement from its kin. Ten thousand magics in a faultless feedback loop sufficed to power the inordinate requirements of that superstructure, though even together they were feeble rejoinder to the enemy's Imperial Praxis.

Nonetheless it was a miracle of engineering, some of his finest work: he had always operated well under pressure! And yet before the foe that he went to confront, it was little and lacking, almost nothing at all. There was meagre room for growth left in him; all had been truncated, repurposed to the end of this single confrontation, this single moment in time where Lord Hunger would be - relatively - vulnerable still. He had sacrificed so much, burned away entire horizons and vistas of possibility, only to grasp this moment.

A moment before Progression left Dien behind, as it had every one of 'they who had presumed to defy Lord Hunger.'

A Cursebearer, is a King. It can be no other way. Struggle all you like, Praehihr. Not even you can fight your intrinsic nature.

For Kings were not heroes, but what heroes became, when they allowed their ideals to twist them into imposing their will upon the world. And why should the world yield to will, merely because its vessel possessed strength?

To engender what you prefer. To abolish what you despise. Enacted on a great enough scale, these were nothing more than the actions of a Tyrant, well-meaning or not.

Dien readied himself. It is the fate of Heroes to die, that a grander world may be born, or a grander purpose fulfilled.

And what purpose could be greater, than the toppling of such a King as this?

This was the end, one way or another. If by miraculous advent he survived what came, in all likelihood he would be little more than a blasted ruin of his self, a shattered husk bearing slight resemblance to the Hero-that-had-been. He had awakened as a Shard and would return to that state, should he persist at all.

It was not that he underestimated Lord Hunger. By calculated reckoning his chance of victory was minuscule, but what did that matter in the end? It would not change his path; all he could do, all he had ever done, was give his absolute effort no matter the odds.

It had not been a full life, nor a long one. But it had been good; filled with invention, observation, dominion and adversity, never a dull moment in the months that he'd had. He had conquered much of the known universe, nearly brought humankind to heel, before Progression had reduced his works to ash.

A good life, deserved a glorious death. He was but a shard still, but he would endeavor to present a defiance, worthy of the Foremost.

Dien smiled, inasmuch as his horror-body could, and prepared his first volley. Thus always to Tyrants.

He struck through the sun of Hunger's present system, where his incubator-parasites allowed a pinhole stream of data from the otherwise impenetrable domain of Hunger's Soul Evocation. Livid white cracks erupted across the surface of that sun, wounds that dwarfed planets: through which extruded a single titanic tendril, splayed like forked lightning, overturning and destroying, star-body rupturing like a pulped pumpkin as it yielded to that horrible emergence.

The tendril's glow was blinding, a terrible light that out shined the now-eviscerated star, a ghastly radiance like every painful truth, every grotesque revelation, impossibly combined. Marshaling strength, Dien's tendril became a proper Limb, enormous against the sun of its birth, an implement with the outside chance of actually harming Lord Hunger.

Every moment he placed himself in his opponent's presence cost him, untold spillage of essence to counter the all-subduing aura of... Winter? the man exuded. Interesting! The Tyrant had not been idle, nor complacent in further developing his faculties. Had Dien not consolidated so rapidly, or quantized all his subordinates, perhaps he would have been better informed of this development.

The Praehihr was, curiously, in his actual Armament for once, a colossus of green and gold whose every surface had been re-patterned with runes of Praxis blue. It blazed with glory ineffable, enough not merely to subdue but overrule lesser minds. A curious electricity played across its surface, static keening and hum of delusion that stretched all reality about it to contain its mere heft.

Dien chuckled. So you've created an abomination, just as I have.

As if in answer to that thought the Armament howled, more blast wave than roar, sheer distortion that whipped and roiled the cosmos like an unquiet sea; all-burying thunder which stilled even the tempest of Dien's own thoughts, and then - vanished.

Simultaneously, Dien's emergent Limb splintered, split in twain by an all-piercing bolt, then smashed into glittering residue by the wake of Ruin that accompanied it. Ghostly Hungers began to corporealize, winking into existence by the tens of millions, pursuing him along the path of emergence to pare his tendrils and strike at his core. With swiftness he manifested another tendril, spasm of destruction butchering the contingent of echoes, but their numbers swelled even greater in response, a seemingly endless provocation of forms. The full billion were swiftly present, pruning his extrusions with eerie coordination.

It was foolish to invest heavily, so early, especially as he had failed to track Hunger's main body, but Dien had no choice. A small infinity of tendrils now deployed, inundating the system entirely, destroying and harvesting the swarm of clones in full.

The morass of their carnage, he hoped, would conceal or distract from his first serious contingency: a three-pronged effort to assimilate Shogun, Emissary, and Arcanist at once. He merely had to hold Hunger's attention here for a few long moments, before his efforts in the Voyaging Realm would come to fruition. Loath as he was to dilute his Heroism, Dien could not afford the luxury of ontological coherence anymore!

Already his extrusions were breaking into the Arcanist's lair, while Hunger's clones prepared a valiant but meaningless offensive against his in-system tendrils. But Dien could not shake a feeling of unease, the anxiousness of a worthy opponent's regard: what exactly was his foe doing, if he wasn't here? The Ereadhihr was swift enough that Dien could barely react, yet had only struck but once...

Am I so far beneath you, Lord Hunger, that you won't even kill me yourself?!

---

Yes, what exactly is Hunger doing, while his clones and allied Shards are fighting for their lives? How irresponsible, allowing Dien to simply overrun the Shogun's system like that! Is he preparing a tremendous counterattack, or was he distracted by other affairs?

Vote update tomorrow!

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[Rihaku]

The winner was [X] Heavy Weapons Array with [X] Companions II.

What exactly was Hunger doing after his initial shot at Dien? You have enough Arete to afford any of these options.

[ ] Charging His Laser - The Refinement of War is no trivial upgrade, no power-up to be toggled on or off at will. The immense power it grants lasts mere moments, and though its channeller may well be a juggernaut war-god for its invocation, the costs are very much commensurate to the rewards. Thus it behooves Hunger not to invoke this utmost component of his arsenal until all the circumstances are aligned. Using the powers of his Soul Evocation, he has imprisoned countless volleys of Novakhron's cannon-arm within its charging chamber, awaiting the perfect moment to strike. When overwhelming force may fall like a thunderbolt, only then will he loose the Dog of War.

*Apocryphal is not intervening here, it will retain its own charge for later.
*By conserving activations of the Refinement of War, Hunger maximizes his Praxis stamina to deal with unforeseen contingencies
*The reality-sundering blast of Novakhron's stacked cannon shots, amplified by War, will deal horrific damage to whatsoever it strikes. High win probability.

[ ] Composing a Seal - The Seal of Ruin has an almost-prohibitive cast time at the speed this battle occurs, but its effects are all too worthwhile against an opponent of Dien's type. Stave off the vast majority of his abilities pre-emptively, and victory is all but assured. When one possesses unassailable conventional power, the surest route to victory is to close off all unconventional paths. Make this a contest of direct strength, with no room for ingenuity or pluck; what Hero could challenge the Tyrant then?

*Apocryphal is not intervening here, it will retain its own charge for later.
*While less aggressive than the former option, and arguably less decisive, this is a safe and conservative play that will cripple Dien in the long term.
*You might be able to capture him, and see him subdued by means of the Imprisoner. His aid would be invaluable - though by no means critical, given Hunger's current array of effects - in reversing the harm done by his 'policies.'
*Who better to correct this galactic malady than Dien himself? Maybe a lecture from Haeliel, Heroism Incarnate, can convince him that his path of heroism is grotesquely misguided. Or perhaps he can find some measure of delight in serving as the dread right hand of the Tyrant's regime. It's a classic role for the greatest heroes, after all.

[ ] Look, A Distraction - The Apocryphal Curse had heard Dien's pleas and deployed inclement chaos to aid his assault. At this precise moment, outrageously reckless experiments deep within Association space have caused an Astral false vacuum event - the collapse and annihilation of the entire Astral plane in a bubble expanding at the speed of causality. If Hunger does not intervene, the universe's spiritual layer will be annihilated, destroying all souls and consciousness alongside. While he, Adorie, and Letrizia will be safe within the Realm of Evening or Verschlengorge's Shroud, respectively, the Human Sphere will certainly collapse unless the false vacuum is dealt with immediately. Only the high conceptual speed of the Refinement of Quickness allows him to react at all; in the instants he has, he must leverage the Imprisoner or his other abilities to counter, neutralize, or at least delay this apocalypse of spirit.

*Apocryphal has emptied its charge for the moment.
*The Emissary has burned out its body to deliver this information and will not be available to smooth over future Shard conflict.
*This should not be too hard to deal with, and if Hunger succeeds the Astral Realm will owe him an immense debt of gratitude. Though this may not be binding upon all, it will weigh heavily with most - to more or less the same degree as if he had saved each of their lives. Because, in fact, he will have.
*Does require some level of tactics or ingenuity to successfully contend with.
*In the unlikely event of failure, this will kill Hunger via the Geas of Indenture.

[ ] All That Matters [25 Arete] - So he rejected ShogunCat and is about to crush the prohibitively useless Dien? It's time to pull out all the stops, before he grows to a level where he can simply swat your interventions aside! Bring out the big guns! Bring out... CatCat.

Having resurrected Catherine (Hunger's wife) in ephemeral form, the Apocryphal Curse now moves to merge her spirit with the Ceathlynn of Amarlt, her alternate-dimensional self! She has all the knowledge of Catherine, and all the dislike Ceathlynn has mustered towards Surgeon and Anomaly both. While she won't be on Dien's side, it's very much in the interests of her current self that both parties be destroyed in this clash of the titans, so effectively she'll be assisting him until he gains the upper hand. That said, it's certainly not impossible for Hunger to convince a being that was his wife to side with him unequivocally, though his near total lack of memories and drastically altered state, plus the Doom of the Tyrant, make it a chancy proposition at best.

By the power of the Apocryphal Curse, Ceathlynn's hatred of the Anomaly and the tyranny it represents has been inflamed to fanatical levels. While she cannot condone Dien's horrors, she see's Hunger's subjugation by Rank to be no less total in effect. And while she would be no threat to Hunger under normal circumstances, the Justice Blade Lucenthorne has found its way to Etrynome's hand. What matters power in the face of such unwavering principle as this?

After all, it is not the ideal that has to change.

*Apo-chan will be unlikely to act for quite a while afterwards. This is a truly ridiculous turn of events...
*If you manage to talk down Catherine, or nonlethally subdue her, it should not be difficult to bring her on side, though the Doom of the Tyrant will present serious, potentially intractable, problems here. Catherine is not so flexible as Gisena. She will do what she believes is right, no matter the cost.
*Her compatibility with Lucenthorne is close to maximum, and its synergy with Etrynome immeasurable. For it embodies that impossible shining ideal, that might alone cannot hope to prevail against justice.
*Alongside the Justice Blade and Etrynome, Catherine possesses an encyclopedic knowledge of Hunger; his habits, tactics, strategies and values. It will be more than enough to pose a threat even to you, though Hunger should still be the mightier all considered, and certainly more versatile in mustering exotic vectors of attack.

[ ] Mordred [28 Arete] - It has always been the goal of the Shogun to dominate all reality. Dien was a threat to that purpose; Hunger, no less so. Exercising its own Rank and peerless cunning, it maneuvered in secret to water the seeds of resentment in Aobaru's heart, stoke the flames of both his genius and his impetuous youth. Playing both sides against each other, it contacted Dien to arrange for an upgrade of its own, then excised that portion of the Hero's memory with its restored strength.

It should not have worked. And it would have failed, had the Apocryphal Curse not nudged parameters in all the right places. But the result... the result was truly magnificent, peerless in drama! Should not all Heroes unite, before the Tyrant's power casts this world into shadow unending?

What was that you were always saying, Lord Hunger? ...Age and treachery?

Rise, Chen Aobaru, Shogun for a new Age. The hour of opportunity is come. And if you stay your hand, it shall pass by forevermore.

*The Apocryphal Curse has emptied its charge, expending a great deal of credibility. +1% Apocryphal Mitigation (Direct) for the next ten billion years.
*Dismayed at his growing irrelevance, and the loss of his role as Novakhron's pilot, Aobaru was easily influenced by the Foremost Shard, especially given its curseborne assistance. A Chosen One reduced to mere casual support, never sits well with the system of the world.
*Haeliel's next two visitations are delayed, as the Apocryphal exploits your connection to forcibly activate her hero-empowering function.
*Aobaru gains the powers of Legendary and A Chosen Purpose, then fuses with the Shogun. In overall capability he is not considerably greater than Dien, but his skills and inclinations are much more focused towards individual combat, and he possesses the Shogun's indispensable well of battle experience, skill enough to close nearly any gap in physical ability.
*If you kill him, you'll still have to deal with Apocryphal Onslaught, as the Chains of Fate enemy has not been slain.
*If you talk him down, or defeat him without humiliating him, Aobaru can be fairly easily convinced to join Hunger once more. His new powers make him nearly an ideal lieutenant for maintaining control of the Human Sphere for fifty long years of Apocryphal activations...

 

[Rihaku]

The Ides of March

Aobaru squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his fingers on the armrest. Fortified by Vigorflame, it did not yield.

Sweat trickled down his brow, stinging his eyes. He worked his jaw, the febrile tension of imminent action swelling in his gut, his sternum.

The Shogun's words redounded through his mind. A flat impartial tenor, devoid of all feeling but certitude; the unrelenting and unshakeable honor of a being that had been ancient when Procyon itself was young.

Procyon was dead at the hands of Lord Hunger. As its emergence had inaugurated one Age, so would its passage one day mark another: for that was when Hunger had turned the corner, become truly unstoppable. When the greatest Implements of the Human Sphere threw their herald against him, and it was found wanting.

Ereadhihr could not oppose Praehihr. Any fluctuations from this precept would bend towards compliance, in time.

This is the moment, Chen Aobaru. The Shogun had spared no niceties. This is the hour of Hunger's accession. It was already inevitable; this will render it irreversible. Dien Bravo is the mightiest remaining Shard. Without his opposition, Lord Hunger will reign supreme. Unquestionable and invincible.

And was that really so bad? Considering what Dien had done... and Hunger had always treated him well. To simply betray the man who had been mentor and protector to him - felt wrong. No - was wrong. It was an unconscionable act.

No matter how much you try to convince yourself otherwise, the truth will always shine through.

You are Chosen, Chen Aobaru. Our Foremost selves seeded that potential within you, and not by chance or mere happenstance. If Hunger prevails today, you will never in any meaningful respect surpass him ever again. Not in your field of strength, nor in any field. He is a Progression-type Cursebearer, and you are merely the hero of a single universe. Less prey than fodder, at best an ornament.

No matter how brightly you shine, you will never eclipse him. Not even for an instant.

You cannot deny what you are. You cannot deny the disquiet that burns within you. The fundamental in-correctness of your current role. Will you not act?

Fuck his chosen role. Hunger hadn't done anything to deserve betrayal. If Aobaru turned on him over something as shallow as that, wasn't the 'Chosen' one just a puppet dancing on another set of strings?

He clenched his teeth. All he had to do was, nothing. Let Hunger win and things would work out. To raise his own sword against the King of the Elixir Sovereignty was utterly ridiculous, and literal treason besides. And even if he did, there was no chance he would actually win.

That is why you will join with me. I shall be your sword and armor, and yourself the animating flame. Nor do we seek the Praehihr's undoing. Merely, independence. Independence from the incidental tyranny of his overwhelming might. We shall see to it that Dien is defeated, and the Praehihr weakened only to the point that we might reasonably establish a realm of our own. That, would be entirely within our merged capabilities, once I have unlocked your true strength.

His true strength... was capable of rivaling Hunger? Hunger, as he was now, with the Realm of Evening overlaid upon reality around him? But even so, if Aobaru wanted a realm of his own, surely he just had to ask. Hunger was not much into ruling directly anyway.

Enfeoffment is not conquest, just as power inherited is not earned. Do not confuse utility for purpose, or means for ends. Freedom, rather than a mere facade thereof, will never arise merely from entreating that man. The nature of his Curses are such that he will never regard another authority as legitimate, save for that of his patron.

All while his mere presence summons endless calamities upon his head, upon his realm and entourage. Calamities which he may have the strength to repel, or endure - but for which the survival or well-being of those around him, is nowhere near assured.

Aobaru shook his head. No, he didn't have to do anything. He would acquiesce to Hunger's victory and see Dien defeated once and for all. Whatever came next... he didn't have to think about now.

If you acquiesce now, the flame of your spirit - of your purpose - will be banked utterly. You will be extinguished in meaning, if not in essence. Is that the act of he who bears the Vigorflame? The indivisible spark of heroism itself?

Lord Hunger will either bring ruin upon this realm by his presence, or ascend to such unassailable strength that no catastrophe could dislodge him. In the former case, you will not survive. In the latter...

Recall the Realm of Evening in its cosseted, suffocating splendor. The extinction of all conflict includes with it, dissent. The annihilation of one's troubles, is the amputation of destiny. He would turn all the universe into that prison: for what matters that the body and mind are unshackled, if the spirit is trapped inescapably? All that unfolds from such provenance would be as meaningless as artificial challenge, little more than a game.

Allow me to show you the destiny you might have claimed, which the Praehihr unwittingly severed from you. The destiny that we might yet restore. Understand now that the purpose of the Elixir Springs was solely to bring about their counterpart; all other elements mere radiation. From the life-giving waters, which merely imbue power, arises the solitary flame, that embodies it.

For the Vigorflame numbers among our finest weapons, and there is no weapon which I have not mastered.

Behold, the might and the fury of our Chosen One.

Power came upon him then, power in an onrushing flood, ocean of oceans too vast for comprehension; brilliance beyond sight or reckoning, heat like a supernova flare, a torrential advance delirious and inconceivable, all-conquering and - constrained. Dammed behind the wall of his arbitration, not by force but by volition held away.

For it was only his own power, and could not arise if he were not willing.

It pressed against his form, as if bursting from the seams of his skin, radiance spilling forth incontestably, uncontrollably. He could bear it, he could keep it contained, but it was simultaneously too much to bear.

Aobaru grunted, and clutched at his eye. Tears of flame dribbled from his fingers. This- All this, if he'd stayed in the Voyaging Realm, if he'd gone his own way- should have been his?

There were other ways, he knew instinctively, with the curious affinity his Element had always exhibited for him. He could turn it aside. Dismiss it. Diminish, and become merely Chen Aobaru, the chosen one no more.

Or keep it contained forever, if he so wished, and some how find a way to endure.

In his heart of hearts that wasn't what he wanted.

Marvelous as the Evening may be, it is not your nature to go gently into that good night.

Rage, Chen Aobaru. Rage against the dying of the light.

The Foremost Chosen accepted his destiny.

And the Blade of the Shogun appeared in his hand, and the Armor of the Daimyos around him: he roared, and a great heat and vehemence erupted from him. Power that ruptured the bounds of the real, power beyond all grandeur and reason, force and glory racing outwards to the bounds of the universe and still pouring endlessly forth.

A mere pulse of that power subdued the system of the cosmos, matter yielding to energy in looking-glass inversion. And all the realm became fire, and the stars bowed to him; for He Who Was Chosen had come before them at last.

---

Hunger had been prepared for Apocryphal intervention, but this was sheer insanity. Utterly ludicrous and brazen - the Shogun fusing with Aobaru and making a play for independence, right as Dien attacked!?

Nonetheless, there was only one thing to do. The magnitude of his task had greatly increased, but its directionality remained unchanged. He merely had to cut through, even if it could not be cut.

Expanding from Aobaru's former position was a sphere of molten light, bright coruscating pressure that retextured the universe in its wake. Luckily Hunger's other companions were positioned elsewhere around the system; with transcendental quickness he threw himself forward, retrieving the others and teleporting them to safety. Hunger spared a moment for Dien; Novakhron's primary cannon barked once, discharging a torrential pillar of energy towards his manifestation. At the same moment he displaced Aobaru to a distant uninhabited star, swiftly following afterwards.

The boy stilled, every muscle tensed as if straining against the efflux of power that raged within him. At Hunger's arrival he locked on, exploding forwards as if grateful for a target to vent his strength on.

Then the Shogun was upon him: blink-spasm forth as his blade severed space, gliding with eerie smoothness around Novakhron's suppressive fire as he skated into melee range. The impression of his descent was unearthly grace married to unthinkable power, sheer ravaging might that seemed to roil the universe at their collision, shake loose the cosmos from its moorings.

But Novakhron the Dog of War was mightier still. Unmoved and unbroken from the severity of that impact, Hunger's Armament shifted out of its defensive stance to retaliate with a blow of its own: power focused rather than wastefully extruded, brutal driving mass like a hammer-blow crushing the boy, whose form fractured and distorted under such concerted might. Aobaru spun out wildly, but an instant later corrected himself; somehow converting and dissipating the force as discharged heat, no more than a judicious flare of the fiery nimbus that constantly emanated from him.

Hunger frowned. It was a considerable exertion simply to keep Aobaru's power from obliterating the universe, even with his own Pressure fused to Novakhron's. Adorie's power of winter was slightly effective at neutralizing it, but at the cost of expending its own force. And his clones were thoroughly occupied containing Dien.

Such effortless skill from the unseasoned teenager was the Shogun's contribution, no doubt. This would not be trivial, even with the advantages of his form and all his magics. He was the faster and stronger of them, but not unassailably so, even with his attainments in the Praxis. And his opponent now drew from a well of battle-knowledge, instinct excruciatingly internalized, that might be unmatched in this realm.

"What is this about?" Hunger asked in the thundering basso of Novakhron's voice.

Aobaru shook his head. "You wouldn't understand. But we want Dien gone too, just without you too mighty ever to challenge. Let me weaken you enough and then we can destroy him together. Your current strength, alongside those Curses, is an unsustainable combination!"

"My Curses will not let up just because I'm weakened. The Shogun is using you," Hunger replied. "They will rationalize anything to justify their rule. That's all this is."

Aobaru sighed, and tightened the grip on his blade. "I knew you wouldn't understand."

All about them came the sense of a great retraction, spacetime breathing in: inversion of the all-pervading fury that had accompanied Aobaru's ascent, power drawn back and condensed, refined into faultless clarity. He moved.

If his first strike was heat then this was light, flash of steel and pure shining sharpness, singing partition as the blade-stroke approached.

Hunger exerted the Realm, diminishing his opponent along every aspect and parameter, heightening his own prowess as he drew on the Refinement of War. He did not meet Aobaru's blade but evaded it, curling around to strike at his flank with an unabated haymaker blow.

This, too, the Shogun anticipated, as blades of compressed Vigorflame appeared along Aobaru's shoulders and back, cleaving through and deflecting the main body of Hunger's strike as the boy twisted, cleanly severing the shoulder of Novakhron in exchange. Hunger grunted, and without hesitation detonated the Armament's gun-arm, which lay directly beneath that shoulder. If maneuver would not suffice, then simply trade resources.

A typhoon of energy washed over them both, atomizing the boy's armor; Ruin burrowing deep as claws of entropic magic savaged Aobaru's reinforced flesh.

The Shogun beat a hasty retreat, vortex-jets of Vigorflame propelling him away from the heart of the explosion, juking and angling with supernal ease even as Hunger teleported to pursue. Hunger's dominion over life and essence was already restoring the sacrificed arm, but without the Refinement of War he was not quite able to close the distance. His chaser-volley was ultimately ineffectual, lines of missed fire like scars in the universe fading slowly as Aobaru recovered. A swell of gold-white flames congealed across his body, forming false limbs and skin to replace Ruin-splintered flesh. Cautiously they circled, preparing to re-engage. Neither had truly tapped their depths in this fight, but they were both wasting time, giving Dien a window to act.

"Hah... unbelievable." Aobaru panted, drawing ragged breaths. An artifact of habit, seeing as they were in space, but their mutual Pressure smoothed over such tiny concerns. "Even after all I've gained, you're barely even taking me seriously."

"Neither of us are fighting to kill," Hunger replied. "Whatever your concerns are, we can address them in time. Cease this contest. We ought to deal with Dien first."

"Feel free," Aobaru said, "But I can't let up. Your being distracted by Dien is the only chance I have to actually win."

Hunger frowned. "And how many will the Surgeon massacre in that time? You're relying on me to save them, while simultaneously carving up my flank? Hardly the actions of a hero, or of any worthy ruler."

"What matters a hero in the face of a Cursebearer?" He shrugged. "I'm just a theme park manager. Without strength enough, my only recourse is treachery. You taught me that."

They did not have any more time to waste. Both were quicker than Dien, himself considerably so, but the Surgeon had well-demonstrated on countless occasions why it ought not be left to its own devices. From their interactions so far, Aobaru at least had retained some semblance of sanity, and the compression of his nimbus mitigated his threat to the greater universe. Assuming his aura was even dangerous to life - Hunger suspected it might re-contextualize biological entities into beings of pure spirit.

Aobaru was the deadlier opponent, but would inflict less collateral damage upon the cosmos. Without the ability to decisively crush one of the Shogun's apparent skill, the correct decision was clear. Hunger had no choice but to prioritize Dien first.

Hunger said nothing, and swiftly departed, teleporting back to their original system. Aobaru followed in hot pursuit, winking out like a spent ember only to re-emerge from a nearby star, birthed from a tongue of coronal flame. At his appearance, all the stars in the sky flared in metronomic unison, dead suns re-igniting like ash become the phoenix.

---

Aobaru is developing mastery over his vastly-expanded capabilities with outrageous speed. If allowed to fully integrate his new powers, he might become a threat to Hunger himself, at least enough to credibly achieve his stated objective of permanently weakening the Cursebearer. On the other hand, every moment wasted gives more time for Dien to generate yet another atrocity for some invented purpose. Small mercy that this is occurring at speeds too quick for the other companions even to perceive, much less get involved - but that means they will be little help here, as well.

[ ] There Can Only Be One - Aobaru's intractable for now, but Dien seems to have some fixation on combating Hunger directly. Perhaps that can be usefully channeled in this case? Attempt to join forces with the Surgeon until this 'interloper' is subdued, so that they might have an unbiased contest of who is truly more able.

Treachery is your only recourse, Chosen One? Two can play at that game.

*Tactics can improve odds, though remember that Hunger has never really met Dien
*It's not really in Dien's interests to do this, and the Hero will do anything to win
*On the other hand, he may not take kindly to another attempting to usurp his role!
*And Hunger will only accept if Dien can credibly commit to not performing any atrocities for the duration...

[ ] Full Speed Ahead - Just let the boy do his worst while Hunger focuses on taking down Dien. Unfortunately there's no truly superior solution here. The faster Dien falls, the sooner Hunger can turn his full attention to the root cause of this uprising. Perhaps he'll be able to extirpate the Shogun from Aobaru, see if that makes him more reasonable.

*Hunger can probably destroy Dien pretty quickly, if he's doing his uttermost
*Simplify the equation, even if at a cost
*Aobaru will certainly get some damage in, all the while scaling even further. It's nearly at the point where his Vigorflame can strengthen or incinerate arbitrary concepts in anyplace touched by heat or light...

[ ] Usurpation Containment Wave - The Seal of Ruin has an almost unacceptably large wind-up at these speeds, but if successfully executed will cripple Aobaru's destructive capabilities and his ability to scale. But while Hunger performs the Praxis technique, he will either have to endure the heroes' combined onslaught, or attempt to evade and leave the universe at Dien's mercies. Perhaps the boy will step in if the Surgeon attempts anything truly unconscionable.

*A fairly straightforward strategy, though one that risks much in exchange for establishing control over the parameters of the engagement.

[ ] A House Divided - Hunger was bluffing; Aobaru is too great a threat to merely give free reign. Dien has little chance of actually slaying his projected Tyrant, while Aobaru's power is unfathomably immense and his skill now greater than Hunger's own. Hunger has no choice but to bring now the full weight of his still-greater might to bear, and crush the boy before things escalate further. His clones will have to do their best to defend the Sphere in the meantime.

 

[Rihaku]

Have a Blurb Library update! The full version is on the Patreon, as usual!

[ ] Fault-Defeating Stance / Meditation Of the Singular Pinnacle [0 picks, 28 Arete] - Aspect of he who surrendered, and was bound. Who more appropriate to contrive access to such power than the Imprisoner himself?

An Advancement of the Imprisoner Soul Evocation, and Stance of the Forebear's Blade. Requires Archmage. By committing to advance only one of Archmage's numerous domains for one sidereal year, the character experiences a rapid and transcendental improvement in the purview of their chosen focus. Even without taking any actions at all, a character within the Fault-Defeating Stance advances within their focus at a rate one hundred times that of the same character training diligently for every waking moment. Additionally, the character eliminates both external penalties and self-inflicted errors relevant to their utilization of the focus domain. However, they may not advance in the Archmage's other domains for that year, and other skills or abilities beyond its remit are unaffected.

For example, if Hunger were to activate the Fault-Defeating Stance selecting the domain of Space, he would advance his spatial manipulation at one hundred times its prior rate, including the effects of Progression, Ascendancy Halo, etc - even if he did not so much as lift a finger to perform actual training for the full duration of that year. He would still suffer the training malus imposed by the Ring Hunger, and additional training performed by him would only yield its ordinary results: if he employed the Fault-Defeating Stance and further trained Space all day without respite, he would advance at 101x rather than 100x his prior speed. Advancement from non-training sources is unaffected. He cannot make errors in employing the effects of the Space domain (re-roll natural 1s), and is impervious to penalties (poisons, magical or situational debuffs, etc) that would affect his use thereof.

He would be barred from advancing in the other domains of Archmage, and the advancement rate of his remaining capabilities would be unaffected.

Stance Mastery (Req. 25 Wisdom) - If employed in conjunction with the All-Defeating Stance: double the Attribute bonus from that Advancement, and the character may select two foci to experience the full benefits of this stance, instead. He may advance both those domains at the accelerated rate, but is still barred from advancing the remaining domains.

*Decent synergy in conjunction with Hunger's Gisena buff, which already established a baseline level of skill in every domain.
*Stance Mastery vastly expands the versatility of this Advancement.
*Very powerful during timeskips, but relatively weak during dense action.

[ ] Gilded Cage [2 picks, 25 Arete] - Sequestration so exquisite that one never desires to leave. This, too, is imprisonment of a kind.

An Advancement of the Imprisoner Soul Evocation. The character may manifest sub-substructures within the Realm of Evening, wherein the already paradisaical opulence of his domain is magnified ten-thousandfold. This is a holistic augmentation that enhances all attributes of the Realm - from the invigorating essence of the air, to the quality of the victuals, to the direct multiplication of pleasure experienced by the inhabitants - that sums to a ten thousand-times amplification of the fortunate recipient's hedonic and qualitative experiences. Even the meaning attributed to said experiences is amplified.

Those imprisoned within the Gilded Cages will often go to any lengths to extend their stay, actively cooperating with their jailer in order to preserve the objectively happiest experience of their lives. With the already-deific splendor of the Realm elevated by several orders of magnitude... well, who would blame them?

Nor is the Cage an empty tool of mere bribery and indoctrination. The anagathic, restorative and augmentative effects of Realm-crafted cuisine are also multiplied, and their ultimate limits expanded, such that any lucky prisoner can experience a steady improvement in their Physical and Spiritual Attributes during their sentence, if their warden so desires.

The Imprisoner and up to five designees are free to enjoy Gilt amenities without the risk of addiction or alteration of their value structure. ++Mental Stability to such characters. +Might, +Agility, +Willpower, +Luck, +Wisdom for every week spent in a Cage, to maximum of ++++++++++++++++++++ to those Attributes. Those below Rank 10 receive +0.1 Rank as well, up to a maximum of +3.0 Rank. Those beyond the prime of their biological youth cease to age while within, and revert towards that prime at a rate of 25 years per week.

*From buffing subordinates to converting enemies to simply heightening one's well-deserved respite, the applications are truly limitless!
*The Gilded Cage cares not whether it is turned to means sinister or divine. Harmless doping tool or Machiavellian crucible of carrot-and-stick conditioning, it's merely the warden's prerogative!

[ ] Signature Compression Schema [3 picks, 28 Arete] - Vastness of might is preferable, but interesting times often demand simple concentration of power.

Requires Seal of Ruin, Exalted Battle Array, Apocryphal Armament. Signature Move; Novakhron may only possess five signature moves...

 

[Rihaku]

A Hero's Resolve

Aobaru grimaced, flexing his wounded arm, as he emerged from a star on the borderline of Imperial territory. Scarce months ago he had been little more than the resident of an Imperial breakaway state, a promising - perhaps even spectacular - Elementalist, but otherwise fairly ordinary in most respects.

Now he straddled the very universe with nigh-on deific might, the stars a chorus of harmony incandescent that sang the hymn of his glory. Every flame that burned, every spark and iota of thermal energy, burned because of him. It was magnificent, fearsome, awe-inspiring, precipitous: everything that he'd imagined it would be.

Some, from the outside view, might have felt he had advanced too far, too fast; that the rate of change Lord Hunger had precipitated was too great to cope with, much less fully grasp. But Aobaru had always felt that he himself was not changing fast enough, was perpetually being left behind. Now, finally, he was in his element.

And yet.

It was not that he was failing to enjoy his proverbial - and literal - moment in the sun. It was not that he resented the Shogun for turning him against Hunger, in the course of its own monomaniacal purpose. It was not even that he regretted his decision, though the consequences thereof were naturally unfortunate.

And yet... there was no question that his ascension had come at the most inconvenient time for Hunger, at the very moment when his victory over Dien would have been solidified. In one sense it was only natural - the Shogun had had to act before Hunger's reign began, and this was the final point of inflection before that outcome became inevitable.

In another, Aobaru had to wonder if he was not, in this moment, merely an instrument of the Apocryphal Curse. And, if so... did he care? He frowned. Naturally he did, but did that change the facts of the situation?

Moreso even than such unfalsifiable spectulation, was the simple reality that he, in a very real sense, had betrayed his ally, mentor and protector.

That sucked. It called into question the habits and principles by which he'd tried to live his life, at the code and the fibre that defined his being. If Hunger were not an unstoppable freight-train barreling towards disaster, whose upset would overturn the entire universe, none of this would have been advisable, let alone cruelly necessary.

But even as Aobaru charged him, Hunger released his power, deflecting the out-thrust spears of flame with a ripple of Novakhron's sheer presence. Reality screamed at the magnitude of that distortion, as the Armament sprang towards the main flesh-core of Dien Bravo.

The universe couldn't take much more of this. What happened when Hunger grew tenfold in strength yet again?

The Cursebearer's priority was clearly Dien. While the Praehihr was occupied, Aobaru would have to do as much as he could. He knew their companions would not approve of his current path. But he himself could no longer simply acquiesce. Not when he had the strength to effect a change.

They would speak with fear at the prospect of his converting the universe to fire, if any were swift enough to perceive him now. But they failed to understand that in so many ways, their universe already was: heat and light like spindles in the cosmic array, energy countlessly attenuated to bring forth the manifold variations of that slow waveform called matter. Energy in its myriad adjustments already comprised their physical forms, from the fine structure all the way up to the universal scale. They only had to realize it. And his Vigorflame was energy itself, energy both material and absolute; the vitalizing force that was the engine of the cosmos, the Fundament Spark that was growth and action, entropy and dispersion, given life! Both forged and forge-fire, Hero and Shogun, swordsman and magus, warlord and king.

As Hunger's blows first reached Dien, Aobaru unleashed a star-spanning onslaught, spending the greater portion of his rapidly-regenerating strength: fire projected like a focusing prism from each quasar, pulsar and star; heat itself as the holographic medium upon which he wrote a furthermost expression of Vigor. Vigor was energy, was rampant destruction, but was also sheer life-force: and in that aspect was as good an opposite to Ruin as he could muster from his self. Wheresoever there was heat, now there also was Vigor, Ruin countered and neutralized by the limitless force of his Element fully unfurled.

Dien of course seized the opportunity to strike, awl-blade tendrils of dimensional-flesh burrowing deep into Novakhron's exposed limbs. Nine tendrils out of twelve became brittle ice upon impact, flecking harmlessly away; the other three struck Armament-flesh before Novakhron shrugged them aside. It was a feat even to strike Hunger, much less deal him a glancing blow, even with his shield of Ruin fully occupied. Still, Aobaru smiled to himself. It was a productive first step. Hopefully it would be enough.

"I don't want to do this," he said, again explaining himself. "But you have to be stopped, before your power eclipses what this reality can remotely handle. Before your Curses escalate to the point where a single mistake means the ruin of everything. It could be the undoing of all that you've accomplished, everyone that you've saved!"

"Is that truly why you're doing this?" Hunger rejoined skeptically. "Or is it merely a justification for the Shogun to enact their purpose? How would you even tell the difference?"

"It doesn't matter," Aobaru shook his head. "The origin of the thought doesn't matter, if it's fundamentally correct. I have the conviction to stay on my path. That, too, you taught me."

"Hmph," Hunger grunted. "And if I were to tell you that the Apocryphal Curse is not nearly so merciful as you imagine? That it will continue to escalate, unsparing of any weakness on my part, until I am destroyed or it is?"

Aobaru frowned. "That... that would be the worst-case scenario. If such escalation is inevitable, so long as you live, regardless of your strength... then, I would be forced to find a way to kill you."

"It is the truth. If you still have the resolve to fight, then show me."

Fuck. Was he crazy for thinking as he did, that the scenario Hunger outlined meant that the Cursebearer's very existence threatened this reality? If the Apocryphal Curse would only send ever-greater threats, then the only realistic way their universe would be free from looming annihilation in some clash between titans... would be if Aobaru truly and actually slew Hunger here. If Hunger succeeded, he would depart eventually... but that was a matter of decades, and reality already strained under a mere six months of such calamity.

He gulped, and allowed himself to feel one final poisonous moment of gratitude for the mentor who had taken him in, who had elevated him and sheltered him from the horrors of this world. But if that mentor by his very existence threatened Aobaru's universe, the stars in the sky, the realm that was his home...

A Hero, defended their home. This, Chen Aobaru knew in his bones, knew without even thinking it. Knew in the same way he breathed; in the same way that fire, in all its callings, knew always to yield to him.

He could not repay its trust, with anything short of his absolute effort. Steeling his resolve, he gave his reply.

"A hero protects," said Aobaru. "I won't allow you to risk this reality any further."

"I am no hero," Hunger replied. "Just a man seeking vengeance. The risk you speak of is an illusion. I will conquer this Curse, I give you my oath. Will you still stand in my way?"

That was absurd! To stake it all only on Hunger's ability, on the will and prowess of a single man - who would consider such a bargain, let alone take it in good faith? Perhaps Hunger had such utmost confidence, accurate or not, but Aobaru had to make the decision that was best for the universe over all. He could hardly throw everything away on a promise. And yet he knew that Hunger could bend no more than this; for that, also, was a Curse.

Aobaru shook his head. "I must."

Hunger closed his eyes. There was an air of finality to him, almost mournful. When he opened them, only the Cursebearer remained. Only a man willing to do his uttermost.

"So be it."

Dien lashed out again, this time committing tendrils a thousandfold the size of his previous probing assault; disregarding the army of clones that spilled over myriad areas of sudden weakness, aiming solely at their progenitor. Aobaru had to admire the single-minded tenacity of the Orc even in the face of absolute futility, for Hunger would absolutely meet that assault with a committed strike of his own, easily overpowering the lesser Foremost-

But Hunger did not.

Instead, the world went cold and still, like the last breath of autumn before it was given over to winter. Novakhron inhaled like an inverse bow-wave, gathering its strength like a storm.

Hunger allowed the blow to strike him, to shear through the white-gold plating of Novakhron and abrade its invulnerable flesh. He allowed the soul-eroding acids of Dien's trillion stingers to mar the face of his shining Armament shell. This he allowed in order to focus the totality of his power upon a different opponent. Upon Aobaru himself.

There was a sound like thunder.

There was an-

Impression-

The world ringing and stuttering-

Still frames and sudden disorientation, galaxies whirling past in a wild, dizzying blur-

He attempted to draw upon the Vigorflame, to orient himself by the stars, to anchor himself by those points of light, vertices in the coordinate system of the cosmos-

But the system itself was collapsing around him, like a daydream scrawl crumpled upon its maker's fist, revealed to be mere paper after all-

Then the next blow landed.

Power.

Aobaru had wanted power. Had believed he had known what power was. But now he knew, totally and unequivocally, that he had been wrong.

Power was an Armament's fist buried in his cheek, the mere shockwave of that impact resounding through his form and essence, Vigor torn from Flame like a carcass rent in two. Power was the overhead hammer-blow that landed upon his spine, rupturing his universal Flame like a candle blown out, shattering every bone that remained in his body.

Power was the strike that caught him in the gut, splintering the Armor of the Daimyos like so much fine porcelain, folding him around the blow as a tyrant bent the world to his will and his purpose.

The stars in the sky stuttered in their twinkling, faltering like a skipped heartbeat. The weakest among them began to fade away.

He coughed, choked up blood tingled with embers and fumes, raised the Blade of the Shogun in abortive parry only to see it shredded like tinsel paper-

Then the next blow landed.

And the next, and the next, and the next. Blows so heavy and cruel that, at each impact, Aobaru marveled there was anything left of himself to withstand the successor. The tintinnabulation of fists ceaselessly falling threatened to drown out sound, sight, pain, fear; the world and all within it blurred into nothing before that onslaught.

Hunger was spending the Refinement of War with rash profligacy, drawing upon it as recklessly as he had its lesser complement against Procyon. Aobaru didn't know how long the Praehihr's reserves would last in the face of so total an expenditure, but for his own fate it barely mattered. Lord Hunger was a sheer juggernaut of will against which all else would either yield or break. His power flowed not from mere strength, or even Pressure, but that self-same purpose: the determination to pursue any length and endure any suffering, to see his will be done.

It was farcical to believe that Aobaru had neutralized the power of Ruin. Ruin was no mere ability, not an Element to be wielded like a conjurer's tool. It was not magic, nor energy, but rather a principle of the cosmos: to all who opposed the Forebear of Dynasties, Ruin was their fate. Nothing more, and certainly nothing less.

Hunger was taking him seriously. He was holding nothing back. He would deal with Aobaru as he dealt with a proper opponent, as he had dealt with every foe that had challenged him yet. He would not stop, until Aobaru could pose no further threat to him, ever again.

Before unconsciousness claimed him, he had time for a single thought. I'd prefer if it were my fault. If it's my fault, that means I had the power to change the outcome.

---

The winner was [X] A House Divided. Aobaru has been beaten into unconsciousness, and his control over Vigorflame temporarily rendered inert. It's nothing that an Archmage couldn't fix, given time, if the boy sees reason.

Dien Bravo looms still, a now-significant threat given Hunger's current condition. Exerting himself so totally with the Refinement of War may have been necessary to ensure the boy couldn't become a truly serious threat, but the cost was substantial. Still, it shouldn't be enormously difficult to deal with Dien, even if the self-styled Hero has grown even further in intervening moments. The gulf in power between them is simply too vast, as it was for the boy as well.

What now? You have enough Arete for the options below.

[ ] No Further - Just annihilate Dien. Don't give him any opportunity to claw his way back to relevance. He's already done enough harm. Hunger may sustain some damage, but his victory should not be hugely in question given the gap in strength.

If this or Banishing Shift is not taken, it may be possible for Dien to escape, though he stands little chance of outscaling Hunger in the long-term.

[ ] Preliminary Repairs - Hunger has put it off this long, might as well tend to Aobaru and make sure he doesn't suffer any long-term side effects as a result of this undeniably traumatic beating. He did try to kill Hunger, but his reasons were at least somewhat understandable, if improperly motivated.

If this is not taken, Aobaru may suffer rather severe persistent side-effects and diminished power level. Of course, his loyalty is not assured either, given his specific grievance...

[ ] Banishing Shift [25 Arete] - Hunger doesn't have time to deal with Dien right now. Use the surge of power acquired from the Shogun's defeat to imprison him within the Realm of Evening, neutralizing his powers with the full weight of Ruin married to the core strength of his Soul Evocation. By absorbing the Shogun's own comprehensive knowledge of Foremost physiology, rather than any general capabilities, Hunger can unconditionally manage this feat for Dien and other orcs of his power level and lower. Dien won't be able to undertake any significant actions without Hunger's explicit approval, nor will he be able to circumvent the spirit of Hunger's orders when compelled to action, nor will any of his dead-man's switches activate.

Could lead to fairly substantial advances in the Human Sphere's knowledge of Foremost technology, and give Hunger time to gloat.

[ ] Gilded Cage [2 picks, 25 Arete] - Sequestration so exquisite that one never desires to leave. This, too, is imprisonment of a kind.

An Advancement of the Imprisoner Soul Evocation. The character may manifest sub-substructures within the Realm of Evening, wherein the already paradisaical opulence of his domain is magnified ten-thousandfold. This is a holistic augmentation that enhances all attributes of the Realm - from the invigorating essence of the air, to the quality of the victuals, to the direct multiplication of pleasure experienced by the inhabitants - that sums to a ten thousand-times amplification of the fortunate recipient's hedonic and qualitative experiences. Even the meaning attributed to said experiences is amplified.

Those imprisoned within the Gilded Cages will often go to any lengths to extend their stay, actively cooperating with their jailer in order to preserve the objectively happiest experience of their lives. With the already-deific splendor of the Realm elevated by several orders of magnitude... well, who would blame them?

Nor is the Cage an empty tool of mere bribery and indoctrination. The anagathic, restorative and augmentative effects of Realm-crafted cuisine are also multiplied, and their ultimate limits expanded, such that any lucky prisoner can experience a steady improvement in their Physical and Spiritual Attributes during their sentence, if their warden so desires.

The Imprisoner and up to five designees are free to enjoy Gilt amenities without the risk of addiction or alteration of their value structure. ++Mental Stability to such characters. +Might, +Agility, +Willpower, +Luck, +Wisdom for every week spent in a Cage, to maximum of ++++++++++++++++++++ to those Attributes. Those below Rank 10 receive +0.1 Rank as well, up to a maximum of +3.0 Rank. Those beyond the prime of their biological youth cease to age while within, and revert towards that prime at a rate of 25 years per week.

*From buffing subordinates to converting enemies to simply heightening one's well-deserved respite, the applications are truly limitless!
*The Gilded Cage cares not whether it is turned to means sinister or divine. Harmless doping tool or Machiavellian crucible of carrot-and-stick conditioning, it's merely the warden's prerogative!
*Hunger will place Aobaru into a Cage to heal, and will try to capture Dien to Cage him as well. How merciful!

 

[Rihaku]

To Reign Supreme

Hunger threw the unconscious boy back into the Realm of Evening. That the Apocryphal Curse had turned Aobaru against him by dint of a mere lack of faith was disturbing; but there would be time later to dwell on such things. The stars mourned the loss of their master: their light now given a melancholy pallor, the universe cast into the blood-crimson of mournful decline. Hopefully the boy was not irredeemable.

Time now to deal with Dien.

Novakhron struck the Surgeon's form like a furious wave-front, shattering the shoreline of its impact into tumbling flinders as his enemy's Rank tried furiously and failed to maintain the coherency of its body. Dien retaliated now in earnest, striking above and below from the Realm of Forms, a bramble of siphoning appendages questing for Novakhron's flesh through tunnels of falsified space. This Hunger dispelled with a mere shrug of Ruin, near-indolent ripple of the Forebear's might which rent that assault with languid temerity. Before Dien could strike again, Hunger had manifested his Ruin through the lens of the Praxis, a flood of runes in piercing azure that wrapped the self-proclaimed Hero like a full-body binding.

So suppressed, the comprehensive destruction of Ruin turned inwards upon him - and, manifested in a form suitable to the Imprisoner - Dien Bravo could do little indeed as Hunger's next blows began to land. Every action countered by the Ruin of his unwilling raiment, even the most heroic of Dien's flailings amounted to naught. Point-blank the cannon of Novakhron barked once, twice: the universe shuddering at each blow as the Dog of War sought finally to slaughter, rather than merely subdue.

Blast after blast severed vital components from the star-spanning god-horror, disfigured hearts wretchedly spasming as they fell in smoldering ruin from its colossal corpse. Yet even with his physical body rendered inoperable, the Surgeon struggled onwards. Here in the Astral realm, then the supernal, he hurled frantically at Hunger everything he had, everything that he was. All the ill-gotten gains of his galactic conquest now liquidated and turned into so much flaming detritus to be launched at his foe in some final futile act of defiance. Quelled by the sea of runes, Dien's actions lacked direction and vigor; a child in Novakhron could have sidestepped such strikes, were its armor insufficient to laughingly repel them.

Such waste.

Hunger sighed. "So this is all it amounts to in the end. Was it worth it, Surgeon? All those lives, and only for this feeble caricature of a last stand."

"They are not lost, Lord Hunger!" Dien Bravo rejoined. "Surrender your life to me, and I will restore each and every one, unharmed and free of all influence. I give you my word as a Hero - no innocents need to have died this day!"

"You know I won't do that," Hunger replied, landing a fist in what passed for Dien's sternum, tearing the god-body to strangle the spirit beneath. The Orc emitted a brief choking sound as his breath - his conceptual circulation - ruptured, and was seized.

"I... did not give you enough credit!" Dien managed, shaking his metaphorical head. "So ruthless a Tyrant, unconcerned with the well-being of his peoples - what are they but the implements of your puissance? And the speed of your ascent, to rival even my own, despite all the resources you lacked, and your shallow intelligence... magnificent! I can only regret that I did not embody a worthy enough challenger, in the end. And so this collection of realms plunges into night everlasting."

Hunger scoffed, and exerted himself to accelerate the others in his party. "You failed, Dien Bravo, because you thought of the world in the stark terms of Heroes and Tyrants alone. But the most terrifying opponent was always the power behind the throne. Not solely by my prowess did I grow to eclipse you. Behold the architect of your final destruction: the Sorceress Lady Nullity, bane of wonders, end of heroes and all glorious things."

Gisena appraised the situation quickly, and draped herself over Hunger's - Novakhron's - shoulder with a smug smile. "Oh, honey! You shouldn't have. I might actually blush!"

"Ahh," the Surgeon chuckled. "Indeed... Tyrants are not born, but made. And there was among you... a Maker worthy of the name. Only now, at the end... do I understand..."

Then, of course, came the bright desperate lance of Dien's true and final strike, feinting towards Novakhron's core but targeting Gisena herself. Through corridors of fate it hurled, heedless and howling, a malefic spear of eldritch design. It would strike not through mere traversal, but because it was destined to so land. Dien had spent mightily to overcome the monumental cage of Ruin, and was left utterly bare to Hunger's counterattack. Torn bodily in half, his upper and lower dimensions ripped asunder by the maw and limbs of Novakhron: mind from heart, essence from form, spirit from nature, Title from orc - yet Dien Bravo's was the resolve of a hero, and still his attack flew.

A pulse of Nullity expanded from the Sorceress, stultifying dullness before which Fate was nothing more than a daydream's frivolity: yet Dien Bravo's was the destiny of a hero, and still his attack flew.

A shield of threaded shadow emerged around the Sorceress, and focused Rank in steep battlements so dense as to be physically shining: yet Dien Bravo's was the strength of a hero, and still his attack flew.

Sheer stillness pervaded the world, freezing solid the spear and the very causal chain it inhabited, an inevitability forever delayed; yet Dien Bravo's was the cleverness of a hero, and somehow still his attack flew.

In that liminal, infinitesimal moment, with his own properties spent and overextended, Lord Hunger threw all might remaining into the Ring of Blood, and took a leap of faith.

For Chen Aobaru was the Hero Who Was Chosen, against which no imitation could stand. Kintsugi-forged with light-threads of gold fell the Shogun's Blade; and Dien Bravo, who lacked the nature of a hero, finally found his blow turned aside.

As if over-eager to prove his new loyalty, Aobaru launched instantly into an attack: an eyeblink onslaught of blade-strokes that reduced his rival Foremost to nothing more than wind and ash. He followed with a palm-strike that flared into blinding destruction, wedge of annihilating heat that rendered a quarter of the cosmos into flame. This was not butchery but an incineration; every aspect and particle blasted into irrecoverable nothingness, purified by unyielding disorder.

Fire flooded Dien's causal links: every trick, trap, plot and contingency burned into nothingness, the remnants of his actions unable to escape that wildfire blaze. Not even the fractional remnant of the Orc's Foremost Title survived that killing stroke, billowing away into the greater Astral like smoke from a funeral pyre.

It was an execution sudden and total, brutal and utterly uncompromising, as if the Shogun were paying final respects to the comrade and enemy that had accompanied them for eons untold. Against one such as you, I shall spare nothing.

Honor, of a sort, and one that Hunger felt Dien did not deserve. The scale of his atrocities was too stunningly vast, their depth too profound, for so glorious an ending.

"Forgive me," said that Shogun, who now lowered their palm. "It was how he had wanted to die, once upon a time."

"I'd hoped to capture him, and force him to reverse the wanton carnage of his crimes," Hunger frowned. "It appears you were aware of that, and yet acted anyway."

"I will accept whatever punishment you deem just," Aobaru stated. "My body moved without even thinking... but in the end, I believe it was right. Can our paths diverge, yet our loyalties remain the same?"

Hunger wasn't certain, especially as the restored Aobaru now seemed to integrate the Shogun more wholly. Or was this merely the culmination of a process that had been ongoing unseen? Perhaps it was simply his way of maintaining focus in the face of the fearsome emotions that the Complete Vigorflame stirred within him, passions easily visible to the bearer of the Ring Crimson.

"Whoa, what happened to you, Aobaru?!" said Letrizia, bewildered.

"He has awakened to his destiny," Aeira confidently intoned.

"He went through a rebellious period, and was beaten very nearly to death!" Gisena cheerfully deduced, shifting to cross her delicate ankles. "But don't worry, it was just a phase. After all, even a Shogun must find an Emperor to serve!"

"Yet a hero cannot live under a tyrant, no matter how well-intentioned," Hunger replied, looking intently Aobaru's way. "You would chafe under my restrictions, or simply defy me as you just did. Neither would lead to a peaceable end. If you are to be my lieutenant, it may be that you cannot remain a hero, and vice versa."

"I've thought about that," Aobaru said, "Yet there is still precedent for men and women of great ability to advance the interests of a capable and benevolent ruler. If the yoke of your tyranny is light, and the consequences positive, I can serve as a sort of wandering champion, pursuing our mutual interests even if outside of any formal command structure."

"I may permit it," Hunger mused. Exhausted as he was, still the Realm remained easily biddable. "Though we'd have to witness the consequences in action after we bring the Human Sphere to heel. In the interim, defeating you has substantially improved my command over the light, warmth, and positive aspects of the Realm. Adorie is already enjoying the benefits within, but I can manage an adequate projection without. After Dien I believe we all deserve a bit of a respite."

"The stick and the carrot, huh?" Aobaru grimaced. "Well, Heroes have to rest too."

"Take care that you do not yourself grow up to become a tyrant," Hunger cautioned. "After I am gone, this universe will likely be your responsibility."

"Yeah, I know," Aobaru answered cheekily. "Why do you think I'm putting up with you?"

"To ogle Gisena," Hunger replied dryly. "And, to survive. Live and grow strong, Chen Aobaru. The day will come when your sun also rises."

---

The conquest of the Human Sphere was little more than a formality; with his billion echoes and Novakhron at the ready, no province had the will, much less the ability, to contest his declaration of rule. Attramemnar defied him, of course, and was swiftly cut down, while Letrizia was elevated to Grand Duchess of the former Imperial territories - a role for which her fame, Rank and Element more than compensated for her relative lack of experience.

The remnants of Republic space began a slow process of painful reconstruction, as Gisena and the surviving Shards researched means to restore its once-teeming populace in body and spirit. And the Association, which had most vigorously opposed Hunger's rule, was brutally dismantled, its populace subject to iron restrictions on all scientific endeavors, that the recklessness of its laboratories never again endanger the greater universe.

As for Hunger himself, he reigned, though he had little involvement in the day-to-day affairs of state, with the breadth and power of his extended Rank more than sufficing to enforce his will across the great circumference of the Sphere. He spent much time in the pursuit of advancement in the Praxis, or in further experimentation with the Realm, constantly honing himself for the threat he knew was inevitably on the horizon. Months passed, and no threat materialized, so he tripled his efforts afterwards in preparation for the surely greater dangers to come. He began to neglect even those modest duties appropriate and exclusive to the foremost head of state.

Such a lax approach to rule, over a territory so enormous, surely would have lead to collapse, or at least dissent, without the plethora of powers at his disposal, and the reliable aid of his Companions. At the very least, his populace was assured that their Supreme Commander was doing all in his power to protect their lives, if not their rights or livelihoods.

Truth be told, the Human Sphere was almost too small to contain a ruler of his power and ambitions, and at times he felt like a behemoth in a wading pool, more constrained by his territories than succored by them. He regretted that this universe contained no worthy prey for his Decimator's Affliction, and that he was forced to employ the Realm to sate it, diminishing it by minuscule but permanent portion in the process.

One day Gisena sidled up to Hunger, while he held court in his extravagantly opulent and excessively immense antechamber, whose balustrades were the Pillars of Creation and ceiling, the night sky.

"What do you want," grunted Lord Hunger, President and King of the New Republic, Sovereign of the Imperium, Chairman and Chief Executive of the Associated Territories, Lord High Champion of Nilfel, Emperor of the Voyaging, Industrial and Epistolary Realms and Supreme Commander of Mankind.

"Merely to comfort and abet you, my darling and dutiful King!" Gisena exclaimed happily, eyes lidded as she moulded herself against his side. Only the Princess-Regent and Lady High Administrator of his territories was allowed to be so familiar, and only by virtue of the workload that she voluntarily shouldered.

"Such nonsense," He scoffed, but dismissed the rest of the court.

"Great! Now that we have some privacy..." Gisena slid out of her jeweled heels, propping her feet upon the arch-lazulite throne in order to snuggle closer. Her voice dropped to an innocuous whisper. "It's been quiet for too long. But, I believe interesting times are coming again! Rumor has it that something's cropped up in the Epistolary Realm, a walking blot of disinformation that resists all forms of remote viewing... I dispatched a full legion of your echoes to investigate, but none so far have returned!"

"Nine months," Hunger rumbled, his fingers tensing upon the guard of his downthrust Blade. "And all the time we've spent in the Realm besides. A true test is coming. Good. I will regret anticipating it; but I was almost starting to get bored."

---

Hunger has acquired [X] Gilded Cage, [X] Fault-Defeating Stance and [X] Imprisoner's Refinement: Flood of Runes from his battles with Aobaru and then Dien, and trained extensively in the interim besides! Hopefully it will be enough to overcome this new escalation, this wandering foe that manifests apparently as a wound in the world...

Hunger also has additional Echoes appropriate to nine trips in the Realm of Evening, plus all the stats from Gilded Cage.

Choose one additional Imprisoner's Refinement target:

[ ] Refinement of Battle: The Best Defense - Increases the offensive multiplier by 70%, but reduces the defensive by 30%. Advantageous for Hunger who possesses the Power of Ruin.

[ ] Refinement of Quickness: Always Forward - Reduces ISH elevation by 30% outside of combat or when fully retreating from conflict, but steadily ramps elevation by up to 2x if necessary to match an opponent still quicker than the Refinement-boosted practitioner.

[ ] Refinement of War: The Iron Fist - Causes the technique to become permanently active, at the cost of a permanent 90% investment of the character's present and future Praxis Endurance, and one half-stage reduction of his mitigation of the Tyrant's Doom. This may cause behavioral changes beyond that of an unmitigated Doom.

Choose Hunger's Soul Evocation focus:

[ ] The Imprisoner True - The domains of Space and Law hold a special affinity for Hunger, and with their combined powers he has accessed many of the grandest applications of the Seven Seals, alongside universe-spanning control over distance, direction, location, and size. It is child's play for Hunger to reflexively reflect the attacks of his enemies, turn them inside-out, trap them within an infinite oubliette or shrink them to the size of a gluon. Creating pocket dimensions, bestriding the various Realms, harnessing resources from every corner of the universe seen and unseen - and applying his universal dominion throughout. Naturally, the space around Hunger's own person, his place of uttermost power, has become a sanctum nigh-unassailable whose very metaphysics exalt his every effort and oppress those of his enemies. Has great synergy with Adorie, who derives sympathetic potency from her mythic role as the Princess in the Tower. ++Adorie.

[ ] The Tree of Liberty - Having been watered with blood aplenty, must now begin the process of healing. Hunger will focus his efforts on the domains of Life and Spirit, allowing him to fully restore the population of the Republic as well as infuse himself with illimitable might and vigor. Conceptual, adaptive, permanently empowering regeneration of the body and soul that makes even the Ring of Blood look laughable; modification and augmentation of the populace to apply Advanced Sublime Fulcrum templates without cost; elevation of existing Armaments to Novakhron's level; replicating and exceeding Dien's array of effects, and more. +Popularity, ++Echo Potency, +Letrizia. Upgrading Versch would give more +Letrizia but restoring the Republic cancels that.

[ ] The Master of Myths - Focus on broad-spectrum control over reality by improving the domains of Magic and Essence directly. Alongside a comprehensive suite of metamagic effects allowing him to heighten, co-opt, modify or nullify the magics of himself and others, Hunger will also be able to generally empower his other spells to reach a serviceable level of versatility in any Domain. Of course his efficacy in any Domain besides metamagic will be pathetic compared to the focused options here, but nonetheless overwhelming compared to a normal archmage. Also greatly strengthens the Power of Ruin. Synergizes well with the all-domain skill bonus granted by Gisena, and complements Gisena's abilities and identity in general. ++Gisena.

[ ] The Unending Hunger - A Cursebearer has one primary task: the mitigation of his shouldered burdens. Use the domains of Union and Artifice to manifest an even more outrageous version of I'll Form The Head; fusing with Gisena, Verschlengorge, the Forebear's Blade and an upgraded Novakhron to temporarily become a being capable of achieving an additional half-stage of Mitigation to all standard Curses, and an additional quarter-stage to the Apocryphal Curse. This combination of domains also grants the 'Compression' portion of Signature Compression Schema for free, allowing Novakhron to be used as human-sized armor, though without granting it enhanced Attributes in its full-sized incarnation. Hunger may optionally fuse Verschlengorge with Novakhron permanently to gain an even more powerful Implement. +1 Accursed Favor.

---

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[Rihaku]

Imprisoner True

Echo Gain Rate - 25 / month
RoB Multiplier - 60x

Sanctum: Within a 3-meter radius of Hunger (immutable to spatial alteration), he receives the following modifiers -
*Invincible - +0.3 ISH to all abilities, -0.5 ISH to enemy abilities, effects below base ISH 3.0 cannot oppose the wielder. A vigintillion point-blank supernovas would be no more troublesome than a breeze.
*Paradox Seal - Triple all Attributes after modifiers, instead septuple all Attributes against Heroes
*Domination - Save by his leave, entities within radius cannot act counter to wielder's desires. Against beings who would resist this ISH 3.5 effect, gain +200 Charisma and +100% to Holy Shit Modifier
*Titled - Enemies suffer -10%, and Hunger gains +10%, multiplicatively to All Attributes per exchange. Applies to all contests. Permanent until target leaves radius. Reduce by 10% multiplicatively the effects of any debuffs upon Hunger per exchange (or per attosecond, outside of contests). Does not appreciably mitigate Curses.

Space: Near-arbitrary warping of space. Essentially anything that an unrestricted mid-multiverse level reality warper can perform using spatial manipulation alone, Hunger can replicate with effort. Wrap the Human Sphere in powerful dimensional shields that displace all incoming attacks; allow for trivial inter-sphere Travel for all planets; cover the entire universe in Flood of Runes.

Law: Laws supernaturally enforced. Perfect construction of laws. Can adjust laws of physics and, to a degree, metaphysics. Can fiat otherwise impossible effects within one's legitimately controlled territory. Can adjust definition of legitimacy. Targets that oppose the wielder's legitimate decrees suffer massive penalties, while those who seek to impose the appropriate legal consequences receive massive bonuses.

Sealing: Can perform all feats described under Seven Seals easily, though stat modifiers are abstracted into Invincible.

Human Sphere Security *****
Human Sphere Prosperity ****

Tree of Liberty

Echo Gain Rate - 45 + 30 / month
RoB Multiplier - 60x

Personal: Hunger himself receives these benefits
*Superlative Regeneration - Heal instantly from all forms of physical or spiritual damage. Adapt to damage taken, reducing further damage with no upper limit (currently: seven orders of magnitude damage reduction in All Resist, stacks w/ Protection). Become physically and spiritually stronger whenever damaged. Hunger is constantly damaging himself, receiving effective growth of one additional Echo per day.
*Illimitable Might - Echoes of the Forebear grant +++++Might, Agility, and Willpower. +0.2 Rank before multipliers.
*Mastery of Form - Arbitrary shapeshifting within mass limits of 1000x / .001x. +200% effective Might, Agility, Protection.
*Phasing Cloak - Counts as wholly spiritual if convenient. Selective intangibility, spiritual perception, etc.
*Bane of Foes - Living or ensouled enemies within close range suffer -250% All Attributes, -2 Rank. Can be lethal.

Populace: Hunger's subjects receive these benefits
*Vitruvian - Vitruvian template applied.
*Restoration - Human Sphere populace resurrected and freed of negative influences. You can resurrect Vanreir, Letrizia's dad, Augustine etc if you want. They won't be very useful.
*Echo of the Forebear - Rapid flawless regeneration from a single cell, swiftly recovers from spiritual malaise of all kinds. Strengthens clones by two orders of magnitude; each can now face a hundred Armaments in single combat.
*Indomitable Morale - +++++++++Willpower and can train Willpower like a muscle. Spiritual aegis defends Sphere from attacks <2.5 ISH.
*Paradisaical - Hypertech biological innovations vastly improve quality of life for Human Sphere inhabitants.

Human Sphere Security ***
Human Sphere Prosperity *****

Master of Myths

Echo Gain Rate - 25 / month
RoB Multiplier - 700x

Ruin - 9500x multiplier to Ruin on top of the RoB multiplier. Hunger's power of Ruin is roughly 400,000 as powerful before Echo Gain. Notably improves Seal of Ruin and All-Defeating Stance as well, of course. Alternatively, only a 2000x multiplier in exchange for fine-grained control of Ruin - effective dominion over the fate of targets, but only in an entropic direction. Can selectively target negatives like 'weakness,' of course. This variant grants +250 effective Luck.

Commingling - Merge Ruin and Nullity, allowing Hunger and Gisena to benefit from all the powers of both, and at full strength.

Mythos - Can perform virtually any magical effect at planetary scale, so long as too much finesse / subtlety is not required. +150 All Stats, +0.1 Rank before multipliers.

High Master - Buffs apply to allies as well. Allies receive +0.7 ISH and +150 to All Stats. Enemy magics co-opted or enormously suppressed.

Human Sphere Security ***
Human Sphere Prosperity ***

Unending Hunger

Echo Gain Rate - 35 / month
RoB Multiplier - 90x

Mitigation - This is the primary benefit of the build, its nature having been covered previously. Suffice to say that an additional half-stage reduction of Apocryphal and Decimator would be very relevant right now, and Indenture wouldn't hurt either.

Novhlengorge - A formidable addition to Hunger's arsenal alongside the armor compression, their effective combined power being closer to a DBZ fusion than mere summation of their stats. Of course, Letrizia will be sad, but needs must. We're looking at a Rank 12.5 Artifact with Attributes in the 50,000-70,000 range.

Utility Artifacts - Beyond being capable of constructing powerful general hypertechnology, Hunger can also use Artifice as a force multiplier on his other Domains, allowing for some replication of the Master of Myth benefits to the Human Sphere, with greater ease of distribution.

Union - The ability to merge concepts, objects and people, even without the exponential power boost of Closing the Fist, can be quite relevant in many situations. The ability to draw power from unity, and strengthen unity across polities and vectors, grants substantial power while supported by the populace. +1 Rank (flat), +300 All Stats, during publicly communicated events where Hunger's plight is known to his empire. Of course, they may not be able to perceive such dangers in time to be relevant.

Human Sphere Effective Security **** due to lower danger levels
Human Sphere Prosperity ***

 

[Rihaku]

Full Circle

Before you seek vengeance, dig two graves.

A saying of Old Terra, one of many Ceathlynn had picked up recently. The past months had been a period of futile wandering after King Hunger's ascent. She had journeyed to fathomless caverns and the depths of the sky, across a rainbow myriad of realms and planets in search of an impossible answer. Many had promised her the power to effect her vengeance, but all had fallen short. With each glimmer of hope, each prodigious capability granted to herself or Etrynome, she had measured herself against that man's clones - said to be less than a billionth of his full power, which she could only assume was a gross understatement - and found her estimation wanting.

At times she had flagged, resolve faltering in the face of her enemy's apparent invincibility, not at all helped by the capable governance of his regime. Was there even a point to her continued quest, she wondered, when unseating this tyrant would almost certainly cause more grief than joy, more harm than gain? The Human Sphere now was little more than a prison, bounded by walls of illimitable space and in thrall to laws whose interpretation and enforcement were equally inviolable. Virtually all manner of discourse and protest were tolerated, only because it was blazingly apparent that no amount of dissent could hope to overthrow the regime.

The magnanimity of the truly unassailable. When the laws of physics themselves bowed to their conquerer, what could the populace do but follow? They were thankful above all, for it could have been so much worse, and their lives on balance had improved greatly for the better: there was no death by accident in Hunger's domain, nor excruciating pain, nor acts of grievous fraud or cruelty that would inflict such upon many. For the will of King Hunger was law; and that law applied without exemption to all, great and small, from the humblest of merchants to the very system of the universe itself.

Nor would most object to the primacy of that writ, for each and every law was composed with a keenness and discerning eye well into the realm of the superhuman, and meticulously fair with only a few tolerable exceptions. Commerce flowed freely with full transparency between bidder and seller, and the great dangers of the physical and Astral planes literally abolished by Hunger's laws, to say nothing of Hunger's Rank.

In the scant months of his rule there had been a great eruption of the arts; every form and avenue of entertainment decadently catered-to; advancements in self-enhancement and virtual immersion technology unheard-of since the rumored reign of the Makers themselves. And save for that reign, there had likely been no union more perfect in the history of humankind. Taxation was light but services were ample; none died of his namesake where Hunger was King. The courts were perfectly impartial, in those few cases where they were still required, and the spirit of the law was intuitively apparent to all.

For those who sought it, special administrative zones existed where the laws of time and hedonic valence themselves had been adjusted, allowing for scientific innovation or joyful engagement beyond the physical limits of even augmented humanity. Even the butchered citizenry of the Republic, victims of her prior patron, was being steadily and comprehensively restored, resurrected by newly-pioneered Astral technologies beyond her easy grasp. What mattered a single Armament, a single pilot, in the face of such power as this?

This was bread and circuses on an unprecedented scale; the challenges and conflicts inherent to rule simply paved over by superhuman might. Any wrinkles that did arise were smoothed over by the incomprehensible machinations of the Princess-Regent before they could ever manifest in the form of unrest, and her individual contributions alone had advanced human science by five millennia or more. Now was a Sphere unrecognizable to a resident of even ten years past, whose few remaining resource constraints rapidly dwindled into irrelevance in the face of Allrian hypertechnology. And for those who preferred an even lighter yoke, the territories of Grand Duke Aobaru in the Voyaging Realm professed boundless adventure and near-absolute freedom, albeit at a slightly noticeable cost in safety.

When one could wrack one's brain for a lifetime and never produce a superior alternative; when rebellion of any meaningful sort was effectively impossible; when the prosperity of one's community increased leaps and bounds by the month; when even the most virulently antisocial of urges could either be technologically accommodated, or voluntarily excised - even the boldest of revolutionaries might be inclined to fall in line. For there was neither means, nor motive, nor opportunity to dissent. Who cared that the realm of their golden flourishing was ultimately a cage, when it was so superbly gilded?

Ceathlynn cared, but kindred spirits were few and far between. It seemed all humanity would rather serve in heaven, than rule even on earth - not when utopia was merely a step away. Who could be content merely to reside in a Republic, with all its compromises and imperfections, when next door reigned a Philosopher-King?

Indeed, her former polity, now the New Republic, contained the most loyal provinces of all: those who had suffered Dien's depredations and felt they had 'earned' this earthly paradise under Hunger's 'benevolent' reign. At least other territories felt some slight unease at the sheer pace of change, and the riotous abundance that had simply been handed to them; these new patriots believed they had actively contributed to Hunger's victory over Dien by serving as ablative armor, buying time for their king-to-be's destined and necessary training. Leaving aside the fact that they had, if anything, added to Dien's power directly... could one find glory even in their purported role, Ceathlynn wondered? As little more than a scale in the barding of their conquerer and hero, not even fit to serve in his ranks? It was not something she could understand.

Small mercy that King Hunger seemed uninterested in expansion - was, if anything, actively disinterested in the idea, preferring instead to fortify and augment his existing territory to inconceivable heights. She supposed it only made sense: with his seemingly limitless powers of spatial manipulation they would never run out of room, even if the three Foremost Realms did not contain effectively infinite living space; and any resource he desired could simply be summoned across the breadth of the universe, assuming an Allrian quantum-fab could not produce it from arbitrary mass-energy.

Her quest had moved from the infeasible into the realm of the quixotic, but Ceathlynn had never given up. Vengeance was what drove her; and if she had the most unfortunate of targets, that was only an exhortation to achieve more.

Perhaps none of this was worth it. Perhaps her revenge would make no one happier, benefit no one. Perhaps she would end this empty and unfulfilled, her only satisfaction the taste of ashes in her mouth.

Perhaps in time, Hunger would even resurrect those her slain comrades, after he finished with the general populace of the Republic - why not, when they had no capacity to challenge him any further?

Even so, he had to be stopped. Every iota of Ceathlynn's being rebelled at the prospect of such a Tyrant as this, no matter how well-intentioned.

If the world bent to his whims, and his whims simply changed, then all humanity was wholly doomed, shackled as it was to his domination. Or simply if he was not what he appeared - if there was some incalculable deception running beneath the surface, humanity needed the resilience to break free from, or at least meaningfully oppose, such a ruler. No mortal being ought to be trusted with power so absolute and incontestable. Even if his rule were as temporary as he claimed - a matter of decades and centuries, rather than eons - the universe would be forever scarred by his passage, his dynasty and its institutions so deeply entrenched as to be equally unassailable, with little guarantee of competence or benevolence.

Thus she had journeyed here, to the very reaches of the Epistolary Realm, in her quest for might. Here, King Hunger's law held no sway, for his forces had 'only' conquered nine-tenths of this particular territory, though his radius of control expanded by the day. It would not be long before even the High Esotericism of the Stewards in these furthermost depths would yield to his dominion, but Ceathlynn held out hope still. If humanity was ever to be freed of its new master, the answers laid in this very place, this jigsaw Realm of stories and concepts that was their clearest window to the civilization that had come before.

She and Etrynome had taken more than a few steps into the Realm of Forms even to interact with this furthest Feywild, where Astral and physical both blended and sublimated into the dross of higher truths. This was a place beyond even myth and legend, sheer vergence unto the nexus where universal precepts united far realities on matters of essence, ideal and form. Were this Armament not augmented to the very limits of Dien's considerable capabilities, even the possibility of truly conceptualizing this mere interstitial space would have been a faraway dream.

Still she was here, what little of her remained. Ceathlynn of Amarlt would never give in to tyranny. No matter what costs she would suffer, or burdens she would bear, she would see humanity liberated from its unquestionable oppressor.

Win. That's all that matters.

Before her stood the Elf, who was titled He That Slays the Night. As good an entity as any, Ceathlynn had figured, to oppose the Tyrant of Evening's Sky.

"Call me Faeliad," said the creature, whose horrible glory rent at her mind even through the shield of Totality. She stood at the brink of a cyclone that tore at her will and identity with unceasing force, Etrynome's mighty shroud a paper-thin bulwark before that awful wind. "You have journeyed far, little Maker, to petition the likes of me. By our ancestral alliance I shall hear your plea. What would you have of this Steward, incomplete though I still am?"

Despite her reservations she opened her mind, revealing the truth of her travels and her purpose.

It chuckled, shaking its head. "Ambitious, to oppose a Cursebearer, and rather unwise. Your kind always were rather impudent. I will not aid you in this, for one of his brethren rendered great assistance to me in the not-so-distant past."

Crestfallen, feeling again the enormity of her impotence, Ceathlynn made to leave. Of her tattered mind and spirit, she would recover what she could, and press on: for it was not within her to do anything less than her uttermost.

"But." The Elf held up a single finger. "I can appreciate the poetry of your request, that you would ask one of my Title for aid in this matter. And so... I do know of one who might be willing to assist you. She is farther along in her journey than yourself, and would not take kindly to what he has made of her ancestral Realm."

"I shall put you in contact," said the Elf. "This should be interesting, indeed."

And so another presence appeared, no Steward but a Maker, and she was as a veil drawn across the horror of Faeliad's fell countenance. Alighting between them she regarded Ceathlynn, her eyes like suns but her voice the faintest whisper. Such was the terror of her majesty, the incandescent sharpness of her beauty and spirit, that Etrynome melted like wax around Ceathlynn, leaving her untouched among its pooling remains.

"I do not share your ideals, child, but we may share a purpose. Praehihr he may be, but the usurper must be brought low. If you desire, I shall inhabit you and see it done."

Ceathlynn swallowed, and forced herself to stand tall. What remained of her might be eradicated, or simply eclipsed entirely by the halcyon blaze of the being before her. But that was a sacrifice she was prepared to make, if victory could be assured. "Can you promise me? That you have the power and the will to answer him in full. To bring about his end, even in the face of all his powers and Progression."

"There's always an ending," said the Maiden.

---

This will be the final major opponent of AST I. Choose as many as you like; the stronger this foe is, the better will Hunger be prepared for the Epilogue and the eons to come... if he prevails. You must choose at least one option, else won't be counted!

Each option with a majority of votes, or equivalent in arguments and omake power, will be chosen. At baseline the Maiden is a four-pick fight; calibrate appropriately.

[ ] Implicate Veil - Duties unspoken are often the heaviest.

*The Maiden is the progenitor of every Sorceress, their hallowed and ineffable mother. Never should one expect the kindling-spark to eclipse the origin flame.
*The Maiden receives all powers and abilities of every Sorceress anywhere, even those unassociated with findross. If any have Attributes greater than hers, her Attributes rise to meet them.
*The Maiden's Rank becomes 15 when manifest in this realm.
*She becomes unable to speak, though she may still communicate by other means. This may affect the magics she has access to.

[ ] Equinox Lacing - The ribbons of Heaven that bind above to below.

*The Maiden has mastered every Grace to the uttermost extent, and unsealed their power fully.
*She has Sealing Protocol: Level Omega and can perform nearly arbitrary feats of findross invocation and manipulation. This massively augments all of her Attributes and grants maximized versions of such effects as Auspice Temporal, Inner Sanctum, Hyper-Reactor and Archsmith's Hammer.
*She becomes unable to wield proper Foremost Sorcery, using findross and the Higher Runes together.

[ ] Unbidden Grace - Unasked for, but not undeserved.

*The Maiden receives 100 Arete from Ceathlynn to spend on Advancements comparable in power and scope to Hunger's current 25+ Arete Advancements.
*These will be designed specifically to counter Hunger.
*There is a 30% chance any hostile effect launched at the Maiden will irrevocably fail.
*There is a 10% chance the Maiden will be open to negotiations. Success is far from guaranteed, of course.

[ ] Innermost Sanctum - Daylight curtain drawn.

*The Maiden commands an estate within the Realm of Daylight, which complements and opposes utterly the Realm of Evening.
*Ceathlynn will have infinite training time in an area with amenities and features fully capable of rivaling the Pillars of Creation Advancement.
*She will be unable to sleep, or undertake any other form of true rest, though may still recuperate via numerous means.

[ ] Flower of Victory - Win. That's all that matters.

*The Maiden is guaranteed to succeed to a substantially meaningful extent in all her major endeavors.
*The definition of success may be finessed, and may certainly include outcomes palatable to Hunger.
*She may use the Shattering Blow.

---

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