Shards of Shadow [Parahumans/Wheel of Time]

[mackhaon]

Well, let's have a go at this


Victoria wandered the ancient palace, deftly keeping her balance over uneven, broken floor, her flight momentarily forgotten. "Taylor! Taylor, ~~my love~~, dammit, where are you?"

Her vision swam, strange, twisted images dancing momentarily in fleeting sunlight, disappearing before she could focus them.
"Feels almost like breaking of ice" - some treacherous piece of her whispered in her mind, but she banished it with a momentary effort. It was some kind of a trick - and not one all her experience made her ready for. Dark one indeed.
The thought alone almost made her to chuckle. She had fought things many would call gods , and here she was, scared of her own shadows and some half-remembered stories.
"Get a fucking grip, Dallon" - she murmured, before shouting again. - "Taylor!"
Her eyes caught her own reflection in a mirror hanging askew from bubbled marble. Face and clothes dirty, pupils blown too wide and her expression almost manic.
This whole fucking mess was getting to her and not in the fun way.
Behind her the air rippled, shimmered, solidified into a woman who looked around, her mouth twisting briefly with distaste. Short and mousy, she was clothed all in black, mannish, horribly outdated attire more fitting for an ancient courtier than a girl barely in her twenties. She stepped carefully, handling her cloak fastidiously to avoid brushing the piles of dirt, her attention fixed on the woman staring into the mirror. "Hello, Victoria," she said, "Long time no see."
Her introspection cut off, Victoria whirled around, expression of unmitigated horror setting upon her features.

"Amy?! How?!" - it was too much. This whole mess, Taylor disappearing in the fucking portal, and now her psycho former sister!..
Rising in the air a bit, she prepared to strike, but stopped herself short of full blown charge. Amelia's face was too placid, too calm. Amelia was many things, but collected? No.
Something was wrong. Wronger. Horribly wrongest.

"A simple feat really, nothing to worry about." - her voice was... weird. Still unmistakably Amelia, it held some notion of gravitas now. Almost arrogance. - "Now look at you! A pitiful, shattered *wretch*. But it is not enough."
Now Victoria was beginning to feel a creeping dread. Whatever Amelia has planned, whatever she has broken her exile for, it obviously wasn't anything good.
"What do you want , *Red Queen*?" - she spat, her mind churning horrible scenarios one after another.
Amelia spoke, simply ignoring whatever Victoria has said.
"I was quite a healer, you know, but I must confess your current affliction is beyond my former skillset. Fortunately, I follow a different power now. What I can do now will serve quite well, for my purposes." Her sudden smile was cruel. "But I fear Shai'tan's healing is different from the sort you know." She extended her hands, and the light dimmed as if a shadow had been laid across the sun.

Pain blazed in Victoria Dallon, and she screamed, a scream that came from her depths, a scream she could not stop. Fire seared her marrow; acid rushed along her veins. She toppled backwards, crashing to the marble floor; her head struck the stone and rebounded, and then she *saw*.

A jumble of images, sounds, sensations. A veritable flood of things she hadn't ever known, couldn't ever know, and yet, and yet!
In a single, unspeakable moment, Victoria Dallon, Glory Girl, Antares, became more, more than any living thing was meant to be.
She became what she ever was, so many times before, and it broke her more thoroughly than three years in Asylum had.

The outflowing seemed to take a thousand years and left her twitching weakly, sucking breath through a raw throat. Another thousand years seemed to pass before she could manage to heave herself over, muscles like jellyfish, and shakily push herself up on hands and knees. Her eyes fell on the frizzly-haired woman, and the scream that was ripped out of her dwarfed every sound she had made before.
"You! You!"
"Me, me" - chuckled Red Queen. - "Hello again, Lews Therin. I must confess, this life was like nothing else before. Never before I was so obsessed with you. So... in love. I blame the Light for it, you know. But no matter - what few scant years of yearning are worth against the weight of eternity? You and I have fought a thousand battles with the turning of the Wheel, a thousand times a thousand, and we will fight until time dies and the Shadow is triumphant!" She finished in a shout, with a raised fist, and it was Lews Therin's turn to pull back, breath catching at the veritable storm of saa in the Red Queen's eyes.

Sudden sweat made tracks down Lews Therin's face through the dust and dirt. She remembered, a cloudy memory like a dream of a dream, but she knew it true.

"But, how?" - She wondered aloud, too shocked to do anything.

She felt it now, the touch of saidin, the male half of the power that drove the universe, that turned the Wheel of Time, and with mounting horror she could feel the oily taint fouling its surface, spreading languishingly from the single point, the taint that would doom the worlds.

It was too much.
Desperately she reached out to the True Source, as if she had never forgotten how to do so, to the tainted saidin, and she Traveled.

The black-clad woman stood staring at the dirt and broken stone, her face twisted in rage and contempt. Her voice whispered across the worlds, reaching into the mind of her bestest sister ever and forever no matter the distance between them. - "You cannot escape so easily, Dragon. It is not done between us. It will not be done until the end of time."

Suddenly, a smile like a knife wound slashed her face, - "Oh, and call me Ishamael, would you?"

 

[Ellf]

​

Chapter Twenty-Four: Reminders of Home

Taylor came out the other side of the archway and had to blink at the sudden intrusion of sunlight. She reached up with one hand to remove her glasses instinctively and rubbed at her eyes with the other while her eyes adjusted, and she blinked again. She replaced her glasses and looked down at her hands. Plural. That was…

Exactly as it should have been. Why would she think anything different? She frowned for a second, looking around. She seemed to be in the yard of a familiar house, not her own, but someone else's. She couldn't really remember how she got here, but she knew that she was supposed to be there. The house was in one of the more affluent areas of Brockton Bay, yet still found itself within the district of some of the schools that weren't that great.

"Tay, I swear, if you're going to mope out there all day, I'm telling Aunt Annette," said a voice all-too familiar. The cherubic face of a red-haired girl poked out of the sliding glass door. The girl was maybe twelve years old, and as Taylor caught a glimpse of her own reflection, she saw that she was as well. It was strange, as she could have sworn she was older.

"Ems, I'm fine," she said, holding up her hands. "You don't have to tell Mom."

"I'm gonna," said Emma Barnes, her best friend. She certainly had been her best friend at this point in time. Point in time? What? Of course Emma was her best friend. You don't just give up on your best friend. "You came over to hang out with me, and you've spent way way too much time moping about that thing that Sparky said. Sparky's an idiot, Tay. You're gorgeous, and you're going to look great when you're older."

Emma wasn't entirely right about that. Sparky got good grades, but he was on the fast track to just burning out in high school. Probably, anyway. She remembered something about him maybe having some sort of problems. Except, no, she didn't. She couldn't have remembered anything about that. Sparky was just an annoying boy in their class. His name wasn't even Sparky. It was Clark, but everyone called him Sparky because of what happened in elementary school with those wires and plug.

"He called me a frog," Taylor said, the words coming from her mouth. "Said my legs are too long, my mouth is too big."

"Your mouth is exactly the right size for you, Tay," Emma said, pulling Taylor into a hug. "It's in no way too big. He's an idiot. Boys are all idiots."

Taylor stiffened from a second, and briefly, the urge to throw Emma off her, possibly throwing her into the fence or on the ground, overcame her. She beat it down because this was Emma. There was no reason for that to happen at all.

"Fine," Taylor said with a huff. She leaned into the hug for a second. "As you said, I didn't come here to worry about a boy. What should we do instead?"

"Well, we could play superheroes," Emma said. "Unless you think we're too old."

"Depends," Taylor said with a smile. "Do I get to be Alexandria?"

An image crossed Taylor's mind. An interrogation room, bugs, a black-haired woman dressed in a black costume, a flash of anger… dead. Alexandria was dead. Taylor glanced for a short while into the skyline. It wasn't that she expected to see Alexandria, but that… that whatever it was couldn't be accurate. Alexandria was alive. She lived on the West Coast, not in Brockton Bay, true, but she wasn't dead. Instead, Brockton Bay had Armsmaster, Miss Militia, and it had Wards like Battery and Triumph.

"Yeah, you can be Alexandria, saving me," Emma said, smiling. "We should have some time to play before dinner."

Taylor nodded. Playing capes was one of her favorite games, and Taylor started pulling on the props that she needed to be the cape she was to be.

Spider silk costume, chitin-armored, tinted lenses in the mask, and dark. She would save the girl, even if she had to burn it all down to do so. Save the girl. Save the world. She would do the right thing.

"Girls could you come inside?" Uncle Alan's voice echoed out the door. The small hairs on the back of Taylor's neck stood up as she turned toward the door. Something turned in her stomach at his tone. There was a slight warble in his voice. "Please?"

"Why, Dad?" Emma asked. Taylor didn't think she noticed the warble, but Emma was never really all that observant. "Taylor and I were just about to play!"

"And we're best friends, of course!" Emma's sneer was practically audible as she gestured for her companion to grab her. "God, why would I have ever--"

Taylor shook her head as she looked inside. "Maybe we shouldn't go in."

"Girls, please, Zoe and I could use your help," Uncle Alan said. She couldn't quite see him, but she saw Aunt Zoe leaning against the couch.

She thought she saw something white and flickering in the room. A humanoid shape, near Aunt Zoe, but she couldn't be entirely sure.

"Fine, fine," Emma said. "Come on, Tay. We can go in."

Taylor nodded, but as she followed her best friend into the house, she picked up a stick that had been lying in the yard. If that feeling in her stomach was wrong, then she could always just put the stick back outside. If it was right… well, maybe she could do something. Keep Emma safe. Emma shouldn't become that horrid person that she was remembering. She couldn't.

As the two of them stepped inside, the smell immediately assaulted her nose. It was a distinct coppery smell that in no way should have been as strong as it was from a small cut. As she looked closer at Aunt Zoe, Taylor saw she wasn't moving. No, the movement instead was coming from the white and striped cat woman standing in front of her. The nude cat woman. Taylor shivered and glanced around the living room again. The Siberian. What… why? Why was she here? It here?

Uncle Alan stood in the kitchen next to a bearded man who Taylor recognized in a heartbeat. The man held one of the kitchen knives against Uncle Alan's throat, and he noticed Taylor staring.

"Oh, would you look at that?" asked the man. "They did come in. Good for you, Alan. I can call you Alan, can't I?"

Uncle Alan looked at Taylor and his daughter apologetically. "Run, girls! I'm sorry, but you need to run from here!"

"Ah-ah-ah," said the other man, Jack Slash, as he made a motion with his right hand.

Immediately, the Siberian pulled its claw from Aunt Zoe's chest, licked the blood off the tips and jumped the couch to land near Emma. The indestructible cape grabbed her best friend and held claws to her throat.

Emma screamed immediately. "Tay! Help!"

Taylor knew this would fail the moment she tried it, but that was her best friend. She swung the stick at the Siberian, slamming it against her skin, and the stick splintered, shearing completely where the stick struck the cape.

The Siberian simply backhanded Taylor, and she flew into the couch, landing on Aunt Zoe. Blood splattered all down the front of her shirt. Taylor cried out in pain, rubbing her head.

Taylor climbed to her feet and stared at the Slaughterhouse members defiantly. "Let them go!"

"Ooh," Jack Slash said. "She's still got fire to her. I like it."

"Taylor, run! Call the Protectorate, something!" Alan yelled.

"Yes, Taylor," Jack Slash said. "You could run. But then you wouldn't get to hear my most generous offer."

"Let them go," Taylor said, squeezing her hands into fists. She was a little dizzy from the blow, and Aunt Zoe was dead. If she didn't do something… Uncle Alan and Emma would be too. It was lucky that Anne was off at college, probably. But Aunt Zoe was gone, and… She needed to stop him.

"Ah… Well," Jack Slash said, and he gave her a winning grin as the phone rang. "Do be a doll and answer that, would you? Place it on speaker as well…"

Taylor inched over to the phone, never taking her gaze off of the Slaughterhouse members. Emma stilled under the Siberian's grasp, but she was clearly still breathing, and Uncle Alan… well, he was still there, silent now. Jack Slash had hissed something in his ear, she guessed.

Taylor answered the ringing phone. "Hello? Barnes residence…"

"Taylor!" Mom's voice was on the other side. She sounded belabored. "Are you alright? Have they done anything to you?"

"They… Mom!" Taylor's voice hitched. "They… they've got Uncle Alan and Emma… and Aunt Zoe… she's… she's…"

"Damnit," Mom said. "Taylor, I want you to listen to me very carefully…"

"None of that," Jack Slash said. "You're on speaker, Mrs. Hebert. Excuse me. Annette. My apologies, I would much rather be on a first name basis. You've met my friend, Alan by now, I assume." He turned his head toward his hostage. "Oh yes, there are two Alans right now, I suppose. I don't really need a spare."

"No!" Taylor tossed a throw pillow at Jack Slash. Yes, it probably wouldn't do much more than distract, but that's what she needed. She ran after it, even after it was quickly reduced to fluff and feathers around her. Jack Slash's power was knife projection. She remembered that.

Unfortunately, she wasn't fast enough. The knife's edge went through Uncle Alan's throat before she'd even crossed half the room.

"Oh, young Taylor, you should restrain yourself," Jack Slash said, grinning at her, even as he shoved Uncle Alan off him, blood staining his body. "After all, you want someone to live here, don't you?"

"Why? Why are you doing this?" Taylor asked, staring at Jack.

"Why?" Jack asked. "Why not? Why shouldn't I? I'm a generous man. I'm even going to let you pick."

"Pick what?" Taylor asked, glancing over to Emma. This hadn't happened. This wasn't something that should have been happening. The Slaughterhouse Nine shouldn't be in Brockton Bay, not yet. Yet somehow, they were. Why? What was going on?

"Pick between your mother," Jack Slash gestured to the phone. "And your best friend." he gestured toward Emma, being held by the Siberian.

Taylor stopped and swallowed. "You're not going to just kill them both?"

"Oh, that could happen," said Jack Slash. "But to just do it ruins the game. See, Taylor, a little bird told me much about you. Right before I… well. As fun as it would be to tell you about that, it's much more fun to see what you choose. Pick wisely. Do you pick your mother? Or pick your best friend? What kind of monster will you be?"

Taylor paused, glancing between the phone and Emma. How could she be expected to pick? Emma just lost her family. Both her parents were gone, and Taylor… she would lose her mother if she picked her best friend. But how would she live with herself if she made either choice? "You're the monster, Jack Slash."

"Oh, I know," he said with a laugh. "It takes one to see one, and you will be a beautiful monster."

"Leave them both, Jack," said Mom. She sounded way more confident than Taylor felt. "Mannequin can kill me, if you leave my daughter and her friend alone."

"Oh, Alan will do it, without issue, make no mistake," said Jack Slash. "But it's not your decision, Annette. Lustrum spoiled you. It's Taylor's. So, pick, Taylor. Pick your poison."

How could she pick? Logically, she wanted to save her mother, but at the same time, if she helped Emma here… well, technically, no matter which way, Emma wouldn't end up being the one she saw. The one insulting her. Making fun of her mother's death… making… but she'd be guilty.

The way back will come but once… A silvery light appeared behind her, and she turned. A familiar gateway shimmered into existence. Be steadfast.

That… It wasn't some sort of cape thing. She remembered it. Vaguely. What was it? Was it a way out of this? Could she somehow grab Emma and leave through it? She couldn't save her mother if she did that. But… The way back…

Back to where? Why did her gut just tell her to go through? This wasn't… she wasn't sure.. The glowing white archway was something.

"Well, Taylor? Are you going to make your choice? Choose what kind of monster you are… do we kill your best friend or your mother?" Jack Slash asked. "I'm sorry, but we are on a time limit. If you dally too long, we'll just kill the three of you ourselves. Won't we, Siberian?"

The cat woman nodded with a grin on what passed for a face. Taylor stepped toward the gateway, away from Jack Slash.

He lashed out with his blade, cutting Taylor's shirt and drawing a thin line of blood on her shoulder. He'd intentionally cut shallow.

At that point, Taylor broke into a run. If she made it through…

"I see you've made your choice," Jack Slash said as she passed through the glowing white light. She heard several sickening sounds as the light engulfed her.

She fell forward to her knees on a stone ground, Victoria staring at her along with that AI, Sheriam. The AI made a gesture, and two sprinklers from above, somehow managed to target her with water.

"You are washed clean of any crimes you may have committed, and you are washed clean of any crimes that may have been committed against you," said the AI.

Taylor sputtered, leaning forward. Blood stained the front of her shirt. She shivered in the cold of the water, or at least that was what she'd blame it on. That choice… what was it? The blood that was on her… she even had a cut from where Jack had sliced her shirt. She brought her hand up to it and felt it, wincing in the pain. "What the fuck? What the fuck was that? Was that real? Was any of it real?"

"Unknown," said Sheriam, extremely unhelpful. Did this thing lack even the most basic of human compassion? "Do you wish to continue?"

"Give her a minute," said Victoria,glaring at Sheriam. Taylor really appreciated it. "Taylor, are you okay?"

Taylor met eyes with the blonde after taking a few deep breaths, and she gave a slight nod. She held out her hand, and Victoria took it, helping her to her feet. "Two to go," she said. "I'll remember better next time."

"No," said Sheriam as the swirls appeared between the second set of arches, indicating what must now be done. "No one does. Just remember."

"The way back comes but once," said Taylor in unison with Victoria and Sheriam. Taylor needed to steel herself. If this was anything like the first… she'd have some trouble. But maybe that was the point. "Be steadfast."

And she stepped through the second silver archway.

​

 

[Blademaster]

That was a strong one. Great struggle for Taylor. And given that was past, I wonder what present will be. Struggle with Malan? Victoria?

the Ai is rather intriguing given that the original Sheriam was a black Ajah and traitor. Seems very wierd for the tower to name an Ai after her. Which makes me suspect this was put there by something other then the forces of the shadow. Perhaps the work of Moggy?

Also given the recent confirmation that Lanfear survived at the end of AMOL I wonder if this is the canon here too? Wonder if she will appear in the story-could be very dangerous given how unpredictable she is

 

[Ellf]

That was a strong one. Great struggle for Taylor. And given that was past, I wonder what present will be. Struggle with Malan? Victoria?

the Ai is rather intriguing given that the original Sheriam was a black Ajah and traitor. Seems very wierd for the tower to name an Ai after her. Which makes me suspect this was put there by something other then the forces of the shadow. Perhaps the work of Moggy?

Also given the recent confirmation that Lanfear survived at the end of AMOL I wonder if this is the canon here too? Wonder if she will appear in the story-could be very dangerous given how unpredictable she is

Click to shrink...

Mind linking me that confirmation regarding Lanfear?

 

[Blademaster]

Will try find it. It was a confirmation from Brandon Sanderson, supported by RJ's notes, will try to find it

 

[Ellf]

Will try find it. It was a confirmation from Brandon Sanderson, supported by RJ's notes, will try to find it

Click to shrink...

Gotta say, that if this is true, I'm totally using Show!Lanfear as a base for description. Because she's killing it.

 

[mackhaon]

This weird crossover keeps bothering me, and I don't even like Worm.

Thus, second part of Amy! Ishamael story.
Forgive me, if you can.

*******

Nae'blis. Oh, what a title - to be Shai'tan's chosen, to lead armies of Shadow, to conquer worlds in His name... What a pile of shit. Amy giggles to herself, tying the weave of True Power around her flesh like blanked. Or an armor. Hard to tell which is which.
The other Forsaken - she sneers - those fools, still delusional enough to crave the power her title would bring them, still simpering and covering before her and plotting behind her back.
Those millenia had taught them nothing, being dead and reborn again taught them nothing. Bah! But she's only one, Amy muses, who remembers it all. Or as much a human mind can. Other still have hope, still wonder at flesh granted to them by Shai'tan's machinations. Still count their second chances as their blessings.
Elan Morin knows better. He had seen it all - every turn of the Wheel, every desperate attempt. Every failure biting into his spirit like poisoned knives.
They are never going to win - she smiles and feels rage of Shai'tan caress her like acid dripping into her veins. They are never going to lose, either, Elan Morin concedes. Just this stupid Wheel jostling them around like a giant washer. Their sad sack of interconnected worlds are nothing but a prison for a Dark One, and them nothing but rats scuttling around in the rotten straw. Poor Entities knew that, too, and rebelled, and tried to break out. They've died trying.
But at least they've tried, and Amy could respect that.
She hardly could respect a bunch of sniveling immortals her master oh so kindly deposited into her lap to lead another doomed crusade.
Nae'blis is nothing more than a chief jester in a court of cursed king, bound to amuse and be abused for eternity.
Amy would weep if she still had tears.
Alas.
And Lews Therin - her own sister - had a gall to call him mad for power. Ha! If only the fool could see...
But she will make him see, even if she would have to graft eyes into every inch of her body. Again and again.
-- Your idea is dumb - Amy spells brightly and coils True Power in anticipation as Aginor sputters and curses, his new form oh so suitable for his childish antics. Nothing but a moody teenager, even if his mind is that of an old, bitter asshole. But he holds his power down, lets his grip on saidin settle under Amy's amused stare. Saa dance before her eyes as she turns to Semirhage. At least that one's form is much more suitable for her posture. And easier on the eye, too. A young woman, in her twenties, perhaps, with dark skin and mass of black curls, she remains stoic, even indifferent, but it would be foolish to dismiss her ambition altogether.
Amy can't perceive saidar as she does saidin - and isn't it a comedy in itself! - but a True Power weave inside her own brain allows her somewhat limited premonition to it's effects - and Semirhage doesn't seem to be channeling at all. For now, at least.
-- Trollocs are dumb as a concept, as you are probably keenly aware - she continues with a hint of sadistic glee her master oh so approves of. - but this is just sad.
She gestures at the Power Point presentation being projected on the nearest wall. -- No matter what kind of weapons you want to graft into them, they are, at their core, dumb pack animals, incapable of anything more than zerg rushing their enemies as a screaming mob. Even under Myrddraal control. A single cluster munition barrage would eradicate a whole army - and all those expensive weapons too.
-- With certain cranial mods! - Aginor starts, but she silences him with a glare.
-- Another unreasonable expense. Acknowledge a failed concept and move on!
-- We can't afford Myrddraal-only force. Not in numbers our Lord would need. And Darkfriends are, as usual, of varying usefulness. - Semirhage tone is calm, almost placid. She's right, of course. But where her old self could just seethe, she now can plan.
After all, her sad little worm gave her oh so many ideas.
Amy twirls around, her black jacked flaring dramatically. She loves how it makes her look - old school evil always had the best styles!
Her personal Myrddraal escort shifts nervously, turning their blindsight away. They, too, feel fear in the face of one of Nae'blis' ideas.
She briefly considers to make them tad more palatable to her sensibilities. Female, for one. Maybe blonde, too. Ah, thought for later.
They all may be doomed to endless hell of their own making, but if worms had taught her anything, is that human ingenuity is a power in itself.
-- It only means we must try harder, no? - Amy injects of mote of emotion into her words, of things Lews Therin makes her feel, wrapped in a vice of True Power, and all of them make an almost involuntary step back.
At her signal, a pair of Fades drag in a latest acquisition.
Another of those awakened Aes Sedai, another fool to step through a ter'angrial in search of power. They get their past lives as a side gift. Or curse.
Woman is shielded and beaten, but her spirit seems to be unbroken. At least until she sees who she's dragged before.
-- You! - she manages before Amy leans in and seals her mouth. There's really no reason to listen to all that nattering.
So many things swirl in her mind's eye as she looks down on her latest canvas - some of them are whispered to her by her master, some are old concepts form her previous iterations, some are Shaper's exploits... but some of them are hers, and she treasures them all the same.
What her sister would hate to see unleashed on the worlds of men? - it's a question bring through her mind, and yet she hesitates to turn this sack of flesh into something like a horde of blighted, teleporting locusts.
No. No-no-no.
Reality is a fickle, shifting thing, luck is oh so easily rotten, and unless her Lord wins in all of the worlds, they'll still ultimately lose. They'll still be denied their sweet oblivion.
That's - she things as she feels a touch of Shai'tan along her spine - is why he never wanted to simply slaughter all those who rose against them. No, she needs to break them all so they cry for her master's salvation.
She remembers, then, a book the once read, about people turning to desperate means in a face of eternal damnation, and smiles. It's not a destruction her master seeks, but despair. Corruption of spirit and gripping fear of that which lies beyond. Oh, this would do nicely.
She weaves True Power as she twists her Shard, putting them both to work, and at the same time connects her thirteen Myrdraal to the lump of writhing flesh under her hand.
Some workings are better done with a touch of Shai'tan's malice.
Semirhage looks as dispassionate as ever, but Amy's modified olfactory organs allow her to sniff out a wave of fear and revulsion rolling from the Forsaken. Aginor simply throws up. What a wuss.
It's not a fast or clean job, and she loses herself in the process a bit, but results.. oh, how she envies those who would witness it in all it's glory!
-- Rise - she intones, and creature obeys, it's large, gleaming dark eyes fixated on it's masters'. Slender yet muscular, bluish and unblemished in skin, completely bald and with teeth as sharp as a shark's, it still looks remarkably human. A single dark gem if grafted into it's breastbone, a soul of Aes Sedai congealed and tuned to the Shadow by Myrddraal touch. Large bat-like wings flare from behind it's back.
There's a flicker of thought in creature's eye, a whisper of saidin being drawn upon, a certain cruel twist to it's mouth.
-- I name thee an inchoroi, a lover, made to lead the worlds of men to sin. Now, go. You will steal souls of those that can channel, and make them yours, bound to your bones, and breed beyond measure, and cry to our master for salvation.
The creature cries and twist and Travels, leaving Myrdraal leering and Forsaken shaken.
Only Nae'blis is at peace.
It's after all, only a first step on the road to oblivion, and she fully intends to walk them all.
As she turns True Power on itself and tears a hole in reality to step through, she muses.
What Lews Therin will make out of this?