I think you posted this in the wrong thread.
Strigoi Stories (Strigoi Soul/Multi-crossover)
- Thread starter Strigoi Grey
- Start date
I think you posted this in the wrong thread.
Strigoi Grey
Not departed
- Location
- Romania
- Pronouns
- He/Him
No, these are ideas for future Strigoi Stories chapters. Where else would I post [ideas for SS characters vs characters from a different setting]?
Oh, okay then.
The Zhayvin Files: Gaia (Demon Accords)
Strigoi Grey
Not departed
- Location
- Romania
- Pronouns
- He/Him
AN: Next chapter, a crossover with Asura's Wrath, is at 2.2k words. I'm hoping to finish and posts it these days.
* * *
Classification: aberrant consciousness inhabiting and tied to Terra.
Colloquial name: Gaia, the Goddess, Mother Earth.
Origins: Gaia seems to have formed when Earth itself did, although she only became active a short while ago, when she felt mankind hadd become too polluting to be allowed to continue living unpunished.
Description: Gaia is a globe-spanning consciousness most of the time, with her only humanlike feature being the booming voice she can project, both as sound and into people's minds. When manifesting physically, she prefers an avatar resembling a tall, muscular bald woman, though with no visible sex and only the outlines of breasts, made of lava-streaked obsidian, with glowing orange eyes.
Behaviour: Gaia seems to have a skewed sense of priorities, since - prior to Declan O'Carroll accepting of her offer to become her Steward; see file - she was willing to wipe out mankind in order to stop them from damaging the planet serving as her body, despite her being far more powerful than elementals who dwarf all human weapons together, and humans being less dangerous than demons, who are much harder to detect and remove, or the Vorsook, who strip-mine planets on a regular basis. Following the Warlock's acceptance of the role, she instead ordered him and his lover, Stacia Reynolds (see White Werewolf file) to track down and kill a list of especially damaging humans, which they acquiesced to, as the alternative would have put the entire species into jeopardy. Gaia does not seem to see nuance or see any issue with punishing species for the deeds of individual members, which, coupled with her powers, means she is effectively holding everyone on her Earth hostage.
Threat level: global. Declan O'Carroll has stated that Gaia makes the strongest "normal" elementals, beings capable of generating gigatons of energy and devastating continents with single actions, look like lightbulbs next to a star. She has access to the power of the planet as a whole, controlling everything from Earth's magnetic field to the energy it generates while rotating, which can be employed as attacks. Gaia is capable of manifesting anywhere on and under the world's surface and seas, as well as its atmosphere. She can alter the state of materials in an aberrant fashion, making people fall through solid ground without changing its or their density, or displacing soil.
Neutralization: the Collective is looking for ways to remove Gaia without destroying or damaging the planet she represents. In the meantime, reptilians have suggested moving the world's population to another habitat while removing pollution and setting up infrastructure to prevent similar degradation in the future. Removing the threat of Vorsook invasion, as well as that of other intruders, could result in some goodwill, once Gaia is reminded they, not the humans she could render extinct with a thought, are the real danger to her.
* * *
Classification: aberrant consciousness inhabiting and tied to Terra.
Colloquial name: Gaia, the Goddess, Mother Earth.
Origins: Gaia seems to have formed when Earth itself did, although she only became active a short while ago, when she felt mankind hadd become too polluting to be allowed to continue living unpunished.
Description: Gaia is a globe-spanning consciousness most of the time, with her only humanlike feature being the booming voice she can project, both as sound and into people's minds. When manifesting physically, she prefers an avatar resembling a tall, muscular bald woman, though with no visible sex and only the outlines of breasts, made of lava-streaked obsidian, with glowing orange eyes.
Behaviour: Gaia seems to have a skewed sense of priorities, since - prior to Declan O'Carroll accepting of her offer to become her Steward; see file - she was willing to wipe out mankind in order to stop them from damaging the planet serving as her body, despite her being far more powerful than elementals who dwarf all human weapons together, and humans being less dangerous than demons, who are much harder to detect and remove, or the Vorsook, who strip-mine planets on a regular basis. Following the Warlock's acceptance of the role, she instead ordered him and his lover, Stacia Reynolds (see White Werewolf file) to track down and kill a list of especially damaging humans, which they acquiesced to, as the alternative would have put the entire species into jeopardy. Gaia does not seem to see nuance or see any issue with punishing species for the deeds of individual members, which, coupled with her powers, means she is effectively holding everyone on her Earth hostage.
Threat level: global. Declan O'Carroll has stated that Gaia makes the strongest "normal" elementals, beings capable of generating gigatons of energy and devastating continents with single actions, look like lightbulbs next to a star. She has access to the power of the planet as a whole, controlling everything from Earth's magnetic field to the energy it generates while rotating, which can be employed as attacks. Gaia is capable of manifesting anywhere on and under the world's surface and seas, as well as its atmosphere. She can alter the state of materials in an aberrant fashion, making people fall through solid ground without changing its or their density, or displacing soil.
Neutralization: the Collective is looking for ways to remove Gaia without destroying or damaging the planet she represents. In the meantime, reptilians have suggested moving the world's population to another habitat while removing pollution and setting up infrastructure to prevent similar degradation in the future. Removing the threat of Vorsook invasion, as well as that of other intruders, could result in some goodwill, once Gaia is reminded they, not the humans she could render extinct with a thought, are the real danger to her.
Strigoi Grey
Not departed
- Location
- Romania
- Pronouns
- He/Him
The only times Gaia does anything violent in Blood Cull, which is the only book she's appeared in so far, it involves stomping whoever's confronting her with a thought. In terms of sheer power if not versatility, she's probably the most powerful being in DA to have appeared on page.
I can't recall any DA characters I'd classify as eldritch, but every demon to have appeared so far would get crushed by elementals Gaia makes look human in terms of power.
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Story VI: Karma (Strigoi Soul/Asura's Wrath)
Strigoi Grey
Not departed
- Location
- Romania
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Asura's Wrath was developed by CyberConnect2 and published by Capcom.
* * *
Vyrt was many things. Over the million and more years of his existence, he had been many things, as driven by whimsy or made by duty - usually the latter.
He was a Nephilim; half a man and half a seraph, though recently, the man had mattered more, in his opinion. He was the son of a kindly woman and one of the greatest monsters to ever live, once of the greatest heroes. He was a brother, named by his half-brother as something of a joke, back when the world had changed again so that they needed to start speaking English.
He hadn't felt virtuous much, lately. Teaching through pain, and deception, hurt, even when one did it to prepare the regent of creation, the prince of existence. Vyrt knew that, even if his efforts had contributed to the forging of creation's saviour, now its greatest guardian, he would never be close to that tormented man.
It was, he reflected, only proper. Maybe less. None could punish him worse than himself - Vyrt had always been more affected by shame than guilt, but both had come with his exile, and were not in any hurry to leave.
He knew it was ungrateful to complain, even in his own thoughts. Yes, he had been sent away from New Camelot, but the United Kingdom's paranormal law enforcement agency would go on, even without the late Grandmaster of its London chapter. He was not so arrogant as to believe himself some lynchpin of that order. When he thought of it at all, it was to mourn the loss of being able to speak with his half-brother and wife whenever, even if the man he'd scarred to reforge him had promised he'd help him meet Miranda whenever reasonable.
Besides, he had been sent to Heaven. And while his grandfather kingdom brought a sort of bittersweet joy to his heart, he was not unwelcome.
Which was why, when he found himself not beyond the Kingdom of God, but the boundaries of his entire macrocosm, he first felt melancholy. Surprise only came after, and by then, the first feeling had morphed into melancholy. Vyrt counted time in tenths of a zeptosecond, when he did not need to enhance his speed, and the time it took him to get his bearings was more than enough to idly lament the separation from his new home.
He would not have done so for long, even in a peaceful realm. But this cosmos was in strife. He could feel it, an entire universe churning, a pressure beneath the dance of particles and the fluctuation of spacetime that were as plain to his half-divine senses as the sun in the sky was to humans.
That was when it hit him. Not some great revelation; the energy beam.
It was quite a fitting metaphor for mankind's position in the universe, really. Certainly in his, and, according to his senses, most likely in this one too: confused, struggling to get their bearings, then suddenly hit by something that could obliterate them and all they knew.
But it had not, and it would not. Because he was there.
Vyrt's reflexes, far faster than light and honed by hundreds of millennia of fighting, pushed aside all confusion the moment the energy made contact with him. He could feel it: the power to disintegrate worlds, a deed already accomplished, and behind it, twenty-six thousand light years away,, the cold intelligence directing the attack.
Vyrt absorbed all these facts in a tenth of a sextillionth of a second. It was more than enough for him to mark his newest foe; that his purpose hadn't changed helped.
Defend creation, and all its wholesome facets. Purge the unclean, by all means necessary. Thus had been his way for fifty thousand human generations, as it had been his father's before him, before he'd lost what made him great, As it had been his grandfather's, in the beginning.
Vyrt took the power into himself, for all that it dwarfed Earth and he was scarcely bigger than most skyscrapers. As the light faded into nothing and the void of space around him became dim again, he shook his head, shoulder-length grey curls swaying as his androgynous face was split by a frown.
There had been...should have been defenders here. Looking backwards through time, he could see the fabric of thiscosmos, twisted and frayed. An absence that only seemed more obvious, when he also thought about the confusion he'd felt upon arrival.
Had someone brought him here? He had many enemies who would've laughed to see him exiled, if not dead. Or had it been a ploy to leave this Earth defenceless, and he'd been used as the counterweight? The replacement of this world's champions, while they were scattered to the cosmic winds?
Eyes the colour of steel narrowed. A ploy by the one who'd cast the lance of power? Or an ally of his?
'I need answers,' Vyrt said, not for the first time in his long life. And, if it were to be the last, he swore he would not die while this mirror of his world spun through the void imperiled.
With a beat of wings the colour of gunmetal, Vyrt flew away, shoulders set.
* * *
Chakravartin's idol did not scowl, for its face was a golden mask, an image of graven serenity - but the god was troubled.
Or perhaps perplexed was the better word. For one whose wisdom spanned the stars and the worlds that girded them, and whose memory went back to the dawn of time, there were few things such as surprises. He was, after all, the Spinner of All Mantra, who ordered the greatest power in the universe just as he had ordered all there was, at the beginning.
Something had gone wrong with his plan. Gaea should have been obliterated, blasted out of space, reduced to dust. Asura had stubbornly, foolishly set himself against the Creator, out of pure sentimentality - but that was fine. Chakravartin had long since learned to expect disappointment from his creations.
Still...he had hoped to make the boy his heir. His successor, to rule Gaea in his stead while he went to search for other worlds in need of his guidance. That Asura had pushed him to the point of having to obliterate the world and him with it was regrettable, but entirely that raging child's fault.
Chakravartin knew, however, that Asura had not died, just as he knew Gaea still existed, spinning through space. Though he was not one to underestimate his enemies (few and short-lived as they were), he had not believed Asura would be capable of withstanding his golden beam. He did not doubt the demigod's strength, but...
He should've died, with his world. And yet, he was gone, alive, but almost beyond Chakravartin's perception, much less his reach. And...he hadn't been the one to stop the beam.
Curious. Though not everything had proceeded according to his design, though the Golden Spider's web was frayed, the Creator could not help but be intrigued.
A few of his golden statue's lower hands clasped, he bent his divine senses to the task of analysing this intruder, the one who had appeared in Asura's place right at what should've been his execution.
* * *
It was a short way to the galactic core, as Vyrt flew. For one who could cross the Milky Way in a second, the distance between the Orion Arm and Sagittarius A* could be traversed in the time a human's blink lasted.
Vyrt halted, standing on nothing with one hand by his side. The other was raised and clenched into a fist, but not hefting a weapon - yet. He was clad in overlapping layers of thick grey plate, forged in his animus and wrought from a nameless material sprung from the serpah's mind. An affectation, to gird himself for war as the angels of the Spheres did, but he dared indulge himself.
His purpose was pure enough where his blood wasn't.
The Nephilim's eyes roamed over the statuesque form sitting in repose above the galaxy's heart. Golden and multi-armed, it could have been a tribute to the glory of the Devas, but no scion of India had raised this construct, he knew.
Vyrt strode across the void, footfalls echoing thunderously. Theatrical, to be sure, but using his power to mimic sound hardly stood out in comparison to the colossus in front of him, gilded and larger than most stars. A name made its way into his mind, coaxed into approaching by the remnant of divinity he wielded.
'Chakravartin,' the Nephilim said softly. 'Would-be destroyer of a world you created.'
Laughter radiated from the statue, surprisingly soft, given its dimensions. 'How long have you been here, stranger? Or, perhaps...you know more than you seem to?'
'All I know is that I know nothing,' Vyrt stated, solemn and only half ironic. No amount of experience or supernatural insight helped more than faith an the guidance of the Lord did, on some days. All traces of sarcasm left his voice as he continued. 'I recognise your power. You cast it like a javelin, splitting the skin of space to steal away one of Sol's spheres.'
The idol chuckled, though its blank expression did not change. Maybe it could not. 'How do you leap from childish to overwrought so easily?'
'Wings,' Vyrt replied, 'and the ease of long practice. I can tell you it is more comfortable than straddling both as you do, however.'
The good-natured rumble was cut short, and Vyrt affected a moue of surprise. Oh, dear. And it had been so long since he had struck a nerve while talking to someone without flesh. He would have to change that calendar showing the number of days spent being courteous, again.
'You do not know what you trifle with,' Chakravartin stated warningly. 'You prevented the cleansing of a world I had consigned to oblivion, though this realm is as alien to you as any other. You think you can meddle and insult, and walk away unscathed?'
'I was planning to fly, actually-'
The orange star flew towards him at speeds far greater than those of the light it radiated. Vyrt's face creased only slightly, skin tightening around eyes marked by laughter and worry in equal measure, as he drew nothing into his lungs and spewed wind, snuffing out the sun like a candle.
Vyrt moved forward, even as the statue filled the void between them, which could have swallowed star clusters, with all manner of celestial bodies: world-shattering comets, giant stars, blue and red, rocky worlds far larger than their natural counterparts had ever been, dwarfing even star giants. The Nephilim made his way through the chaff, letting the conjured matter break apart around him. Chakravartin was not going to deter him with this, and they both knew that. So why did the god have to be reminded of that?
Vyrt cocked an eyebrow as a world larger than any that had been flung his way appeared. It was nearly as large as the sitting golden idol, which itself was several times bigger than the galactic core. Sent forward without being touched, the world hurtled towards the Nephilim, its substance held together by godly will alone.
Vyrt counted the zeptoseconds as the improbably large celestial body flew towards him. Certainly, it would be no danger if it crashed into him, for he had weathered worse without wounds, but he was fairly certain the shockwave would turn nearby worlds to dust. Worlds that might serve as cradles of life, int he future.
The Nephilim set his jaw. He had spent enough using his foresight to make the hardest decisions, lest everything end. Preventing the end of innocence, before it could even come into being...a clean, wholesome deed. Good for the soul.
Vyrt raised his right thumb and index finger well before the passage of the giant moon could ruffle his feathers, or move his body, for that matter. Had the universe been frozen for that moment, an observer could have seen the moon, appearing to be pinched between the Nephilim's fingers. The forced perspective was enough. An elegant path for his will to make its way into reality.
The golden idol only hesitated briefly when its latest creation was flicked back at it, then brought two hands together, as if praying. Golden energy gathered between its palms, far greater than any previously gathered amount, and rushed forth to meet the projectile, which was reduced to flickering cinders.
The beam blazed onwards, seeming to gather power and speed as it travelled, rather than lose any. And yet, Vyrt's eyes blazed through its radiance even as it struck his face, a harsh glow, darker than silver, that had nothing to do with photons.
'Enough of this,' he said softly, but the void and all it held shook to its farthest reaches at his words, in realms so far away it would have taken light over eighty eons to reach them.
The golden statue trembled above its perch, as did the black hole beneath. Then Vyrt was upon the construct.
The Nephilim's gauntleted hand parted god-wrought gold like gossamer as it grasped for something like a core. Finding nothing - the statue was solid, though Chakravartin's power was interwoven with its substance -, he closed it into a fist, then spread it again. The statue came apart, releasing an explosion far larger than any star, and spreading far faster than the light cast by one.
Vyrt hovered in place, shoulders hunched and head raised as the wave of destruction passed over him, then waved the hand he had shattered the idol with into a circle. A sphere of ivory seraphic fire burned into existence, swallowing the blast before it could destroy any celestial body.
He only knew that thanks to his senses, for he was no longer in mundane reality. From here, this new realm, searching the universe was like looking through a stained window. He would have to increase his power for more clarity...but mayhap there was no need. After all, he could feel his adversary was here, radiating far more power than his golden puppet, which had started drawing the Milky Way towards itself by existing.
Vyrt stood up straight, having realised he had gone to one knee during the...what? Paradigm shift?
As good a term as any, he supposed.
The realm around him was beautiful, but empty - much like his enemy. From what he had glimpsed, Chakravartin possessed a beautiful visage, but a wretched heart.
'How apt,' the Nephilim snorted. He sent out feelers to find the borders of this new plane, but, to all intents and purposes, it felt endless. This could mean it faded out at the edges, becoming too diffuse for his senses to pick out at his baseline, but, in any case, it would suit his purposes: there was nothing around to break. The sky was purple, with pockets of pinkish or lavender clouds here and there, and full of light, though there was no sun.
The glassy, mirrorlike surface of the sea he was standing on did not flow past his greaves as he walked. Instead, it merely rippled. Vyrt was briefly reminded of that Comic Con he and Miranda had gone to, as the Doctor's incarnations and the Bad Wolf, respectively. Duplication could come in handy for more than fights, he thought with a wan smile.
There had been an area with a glass-covered pond, the surface of the covering so close to the water and so thin that the vibrations caused by those walking across it made the pond dance in beautiful patterns. Miri had loved it, which Vyrt had taken heart in. His wife was a witch of destruction, and it was nice to see her magic hadn't started twisting her personality to an unwholesome degree, as some weak-willed mages suffered.
The best part, in his opinion, had been the fact that no paranormal power had gone into the creation of that area. Only human ingenuity. The species half of him belonged to, the part that kept him a man even when he had to be a monster, never ceased to inspire him. If only more would create beauty simply because they could...
'Lord, open their minds,' Vyrt whispered, crossing himself, 'for they needn't be enlightened, merely reminded of what is within their reach...'
Vyrt knew not in what matter his grandfather would answer his prayer, for God worked in mysterious ways. He only knew that it would happen, whether the Almighty acted overtly or through an agent.
There was nothing to question. He had faith.
'That is not what most ask of me,' a smooth voice, quite unlike his Lord's, filled the empty space, making Vyrt turn, scowling. 'But I might think of it...on one condition.'
'You mistake yourself for the Almighty,' Vyrt said, eyes glaring into Chakravartin's luminous orbs. 'Know that most only get to do that once.' He softened his features. 'But 'tis not too late to repent.'
Chakravartin laughed melodiously. 'You still not know me. You passed a simple trial designed for another, and you think you can address me so flippantly? Tell me to...' The god's red lips curled into a sneer. 'Repent?'
'Don't, if you wish.' Vyrt shrugged. 'But you will suffer more than you are already guaranteed to, and you should be cowering at the thought of that pain alone.'
Chakravartin studied him, almost grimacing, before schooling his features into a smile. 'Let us speak, then. We clearly have many things to share.'
Vyrt eyed the makuta and bindi on the god's forehead, the intricate golden halo that emerged behind his secondary arms, two of which held a trident and an elaborate staff. There was no hint of menace in Chakravartin's posture, but he knew better. 'Let's,' he finally allowed, doing his best to look and sound uninterested. It wouldn't do anything but make Chakravartin angrier, maybe, but that was a good thing in of itself.
* * *
'You appeared out of nowhere,' the Spinner of All Mantra began, holding out out a hand in a gesture that showed he wanted to understand and be understood. If only not to leave loose ends, when all was done. 'The world you saved from destruction, Gaea...I have been tending to it for many mortal lifetimes.'
'You did not appear to cherish it much when I showed up,' Vyrt said tightly. Chakravartin wanted to sigh. Another short-sighted fool with more power than he deserved? Where did they keep coming from?
'Sometimes, a gardener must burn down everything, not just the weeds, for better things to grow from the ash. But...no matter how much I sent them, how many perils I placed them in, Gaea's inhabitants refused to grow.'
The newcomer did not seem to share his disappointment. But then, if he'd understood what drove Chakravartin, they would not be at odds.
'And what what made you rain such strife upon that world's people?' the stranger asked.'
'I was looking for an heir,' Chakravartin answered, then amended, 'preparing one.' Those people would not have made anything of themselves had he not released the Gohma upon Gaea. They were too simple to strive for greatness unless they were endangered. He had learned this long ago.
'An heir?'
Chakravartin nodded. 'A worthy soul, to keep the cosmos spinning after I went to look for new worlds in need of my guidance.' He went on, describing the struggles of the Seven Deities and their challenger, Asura...the demigod he had hoped would become his replacement. The winged stranger, who introduced himself as Vyrt, a Nephilim (a hybrid between a human and one of the spirits his grandfather had created to be his guardians and messengers), listened intently, though he did not show approval at any point.
'But he is gone,' Chakravartin said, trying not to let his frustration show as he recalled Asura's disappearance. 'And worse, you placed yourself in the path of my judgement...preserved that unworthy world.'
'What do you know of worthiness?' Vyrt scoffed. 'You, who condemn so many to torment as part of your experiment, themselves a means to find some poor fool willing to look after what you made while you shirk your responsibility?'
Chakravartin bristled. 'I shirk nothing,' he snapped. 'I am the Creator of all there is. Everything that has ever been made, that will ever exist, is mine!' He stalked closer to the Nephilim, gripping the hafts of his weapons so tightly his knuckles turned white.
But Vyrt was smiling now, and there was something snakelike on his mocking face. Despite himself, Chakravartin almost flinched. 'Are you, now?' the Nephilim asked. 'Then what of wherever your Asura is? For he is not dead - surely you must know what.'
'What of it?'
'Are you going to tell me you created whatever place he disappeared to, but know nothing of it? No. Then how can you claim to have created everything?' Vyrt spread his arms and wings. 'There is more within the bounds of existence than you have ever dreamed of, Spider. Do not overstep yourself.'
Such arrogance! Such...such insanity? For how could one be faced with the majesty of Naraka's Ruler and doubt the truth of his words? Only a madman could. Or whatever mongrel this winged man was.
But he would not lose his temper like a snubbed child, even if his calculations had been wrong, somehow. In fact...
In fact, maybe he could kill two birds with one stone. Asura would have proven difficult to convince, he knew. Even Chakravartin would have struggled to make that sentimental fool get over his daughter and accept his role as steward of Gaea.
But the Nephilim...this Vyrt might prove useful, once brought to heel. He was overly concerned with the fate of Gaea, not to mention possessed of an overweening ego after outmatching a mere construct, but such flaws could be removed. He was powerful, at least, more powerful than Asura had been before he had disappeared. Where, Chakravartin could not begin to guess. Not Naraka, however. He had gotten very familiar with the raging demigod's deaths, as well as his determination. In his spiderlike guise, he had watched Asura climb the towers of the realm of the dead, many times.
He was not dead, much as Vyrt had said. Another good sign: Asura had not possessed common sense, much less ones that spanned the cosmos and...beyond.
That there were realms beyond his reach and knowledge troubled Chakravartin more than he'd have liked to admit, even to himself. Perhaps he would venture farther than he had planned, once he left Gaea behind.
The thought of finding worlds that had never felt his touch and putting those who walked them in their places brought a smile to his face.
Chakravartin glanced at Vyrt over his shoulder. A lull in the conversation had left the Nephilim brooding, with his hands clasped behind his back, a severe expression on his features and wings tucked around his body like a cloak.
'There might very well be,' the god acknowledged, approaching the frowning hybrid. 'I can feel one such space, at the edge of my awareness, even from here. Might that be your home?'
'Where are we, by the way?' Vyrt asked, ignoring the question.
Chakravartin leaned forward on his staff, smiling thinly. 'Surely your marvellous senses can tell you that much.'
'I'm interested in your answer.'
There it was again! That...presumptuousness. The way he had emphasised "yours", though subtle, hadn't escaped Chakravartin either. 'This is the Event Horizon,' he replied finally.
'I doubt that. We did not pass through a black hole.'
' 'Tis named that because momentous things occur here,' Chakravartin explained. 'Speaking of which...' Standing straighter, he widened his smile, looking beneficently down. That took some size shifting - the Nephilim was a hundred forty metres tall - but such things were a trifle for a god. 'You have shown your worth in both battle and peace. Indeed, that you only struck back when attacked is what led to the second.'
It hurt, to praise such a lowlife, but he endured. Even if he essentially had to eat his earlier words. Vyrt had interrupted Gaea's end, out of misplaced protectiveness, but that could be repaid, in time. There had been nothing admirable about that, about setting his will against the Creator's, but at least he was willing to listen.
Vyrt's gaze was blank as he stared up at the good, face carefully showing nothing. 'I did what anyone should have, in my place.'
At least he was smart enough to see through the compliments. Chakravartin supposed that even someone foolish enough to oppose him couldn't be stupid all the time.
'That may be so,' he said, 'but you were the one there. I have seen that your love for Gaea runs as deep as the well of power you employed to guard it. Would you be open towards making that...' He extended a hand, 'a permanent arrangement?'
* * *
Vyrt stared at the palm for a long zeptosecond, disbelieving, but, by the time light finished passing across a hydrogen molecule, he decided Chakravartin meant it.
'I refuse,' he said in a quiet voice, enjoying the look on the god's face, which shifted from surprise to disappointment, then anger. 'I only acted there to protect an innocent world, but I cannot be tied down to it. I have my duties, to my kin above and my grandfather's kingdom,' and to his brother and wife, estranged as circumstance might have made them, but those two didn't deserve to be mentioned within earshot of this fool.
'But, even if I did not,' he went on, in an uninterested tone, 'I would not become your heir. It would mean enabling you. You have pulled wings off flies for as long as that world has turned, and now you hurry in search of new planets to ruin. No.' Grey curls swayed as the Nephilim shook his head, wings flaring. 'I cannot countenance that.'
'Then you have doomed Gaea,' Chakravartin said, voice clipped, 'for, even if I were not to destroy it, as I shall after I wipe you from existence, it would not survive on its own.'
'Then I suppose I will have to kill you first,' Vyrt replied consideringly, 'and place protections upon it, before resuming my duties.'
Chakravartin brought two hands together, closing his eyes. 'You still doubt, I see. You doubt that I will keep my word, maybe, or whether you are fit to guard Gaea - a duty that takes dedication, as you will learn. You cannot simply place some defenses upon it and leave...not that whatever you are seeking to return to could be as important.'
Vyrt's eyes flashed coldly, but he said nothing. He knew how this god thought, had faced his like before. Megalomaniacs who couldn't comprehend love, or, indeed, anything unrelated to power. He wasn't going to waste his breath trying to get through to him, though. Nothing would come of that.
Chakravartin went on. 'As proof of my honesty, allow me to release a soul the likes of which your heart aches for.' A dark sphere, lit up from inside by flashes of multicoloured light, spun into being at the god's side, floating forward.
Vyrt's eyes widened, despite himself, as the construct opened up and faded. A girl with large brown eyes and long, dark hair stepped forward, blinking in confusion, her robes rustling softly. She sounded bemused when she spoke, looking up at Vyrt, who quickly shifted to more humanlike dimensions, lest he frighten her. 'You...are not my father.' The child brought her hands together, but there was more longing than fear in her eyes.
He knew that look. He had seen it billions of times, in mirrors and rivers and lakes, whenever he remembered how his father had left the world so that his brother could enter it. It was not the kind of loss that could be lessened by time, nor by the knowledge of necessity.
'A lost soul, much like you,' he replied, honestly enough, taking a knee before the girl but keeping one eye on the god, who was looking at them expectantly. 'What is your name, child?'
'Mithra,' she answered. 'Do you know...?'
'I believe whatever force brought me into this world also took your father away from it,' Vyrt said, rising to his feet and placing a hand on Mithra's shoulder, smiling broadly. 'But worry not. I will stay with you for as long as it takes us to find him.' He laughed softly when her eyes brightened and a hopeful smile spread across her face. 'It would only be fair to look for him if I'm staying with you.'
Chakravartin's hiss was as contemptuous as it was deep, but the Nephilim knew posturing - and this was not it. While the god might have looked ready to fling an insult, or turn away to rage or brood, this was not even close to his intention. Rather the opposite.
'Get back here!' Chakravartin thundered as the recreated sphere sped towards his extended hand. It had formed around Mithra as a space-bending effect had rocked Vyrt back half a step, briefly staggering him. But mere esoterics could have never done that against a paranormal of his calibre. There was raw power there, wielded with precision, if not care. And he had failed to stop the sphere in his hobbled state, brief as it had been.
He had underestimated his adversary, and a child had suffered. And, as the Golden Spider charged him, weapons raised, Vyrt wished the shame hadn't felt so familiar. Features grim, he returned to his previous size to meet his foe's charge.
One of Vyrt's hands wrapped around the trident's haft, just below the forks aimed at his eyes and the centre of his face. The other drove into Chakravartin's side, making his mouth open in a silent grunt of pain, though the god's attack didn't falter. Such things as physical harm did not deter beings like him for long when they were even acknowledged.
The god's staff swung low, aimed to sweep Vyrt's feet from under him, but he stomped on it, keeping it in place and causing the Event Horizon to ripple. All the while, Chakravartin's reality warping power bent space and time around the two fighters, putting Vyrt's teeth on edge. The Creator's manifold hands grasped at his wings, seeking to keep them in place or tear them out, while beams of golden power darted at the Nephilim's face and joints.
Each facet of Chakravartin's multi-pronged assault would have flung the Milky Way around like a leaf in a storm, but Vyrt had set his strength an will against the god's, and there could only be one outcome.
Chakravartin's eyes widened as his trident snapped in half in the Nephilim's grip, while his staff shattered under his boot. Vyrt's wings tore and crushed dozens of hands as they flared open, fouling the Even Horizon's substance with ichor like molten gold. He almost pressed a new attack, then turned the other cheek.
The fist Vyrt rammed into it likely helped.
The mangled god flew over astronomical distances, skipping over the surface of his inner realm like a pebble, fragments of his panoply trailing behind him - his halo had shattered to, when the Nephilim had opened his wings. He climbed to shaky feet, his jaw hanging by a thread, half his head caved in.
Vyrt was looming above him by the time he rose, having closed the distance in the second it would have taken him to cross his home galaxy. Before Chakravartin could strike or curse him, the hybrid's hands darted out, tearing off the god's limbs before knocking his jaw off, the other fist plunging into his stomach and out his back, before retracting enough to wrap around his spine.
'You cannot treat me as you would an equal,' Vyrt said as he lifted the limbless god to eye level, 'because you have never known one, and would not even if you had. I cannot treat you as an equal, not because you are weaker than me, but because you are so petty. You could've spared your creations from hunger and thirst and strife whenever you chose, for the building blocks of existence are like unto bricks in your grasp. Where I come from, the enemies of growth are as vile as they are numerous, but here? Your only enemy is your pride.'
He threw Chakravartin aside, half of the god's spine remaining in his hand when he let go. He crushed it to dust, turning to where his enemy was trying to rise. 'And I've had enough of gilded fools hellbent on dooming mankind because of their arrogance,' Vyrt growled.
* * *
...Pain encouraged growth.
He had always known this, of course. Otherwise, why would he lave let his creations scrabble in the dirt for ages? Suffering begat excellence, insofar as anyone but him could be said to possess him.
He should be thankful to this pretentious newcomer. His defiance had been as unexpected as his strength, but Chakravartin was through treating him like he would an insolent mortal.
He was going to plumb the depths of pain with this Vyrt's remains. Neither the bowels of Naraka nor the edges of the void had ever known horror the likes of which he would rain upon the Nephilim. That would be as worthy an endeavour as the departure o other worlds he had planned.
And to think, he would have never come up with such ideas to inflict new agonies, if he hadn't been wounded himself.
Chakravartin smiled inwardly as he returned to his true power.
* * *
'I shall erase your very existence.'
The god's voice had lost some of the pompousness that had dripped from every previous word, though his confidence had somehow increased. Vyrt would not have believed either possible.
Something like a black hole, though oozing far more malice than those pits of gravity held, appeared in front of the mangled god, beginning to draw the Event Horizon towards it. Vyrt planted his feet and animus, arms at his sides and wings tensed, and waited.
When the black hole grew enough to hide Chakravartin from view, an ivory glow appeared inside it, growing until it enveloped the dark disk. Then, something shaped like a man, but less human than Vyrt had ever been, descended from it.
He was black and silver, with an elongated skull, spiked along the sides. A set of scarlet teeth, the colour of his unblinking eyes, were gritted in a condescending smile.
Chakrartin, the Creator, stepped forward, his latest construct dispersing behind him, and the face of the Even Horizon changed. Gone were the sea nd sky, and the glow that brought to mind a sunset. In their place was a grey, featureless space, that rippled in response to its master's strides.
Vyrt dashed forward, fist cocked, and tried to bring it upon the god's head, only to be brought by an extended finger. Impressive enough, he supposed. That hit would have annihilated every last shred of matter in galaxies much bigger than the Milky Way.
No wonder Chakravartin sounded even more pleased with himself than previously - another thing Vyrt wouldn't have believed possible, had he not heard it himself. 'Weak,' the Creator said, 'very weak.'
His extended finger flexed, and the Event Horizon bowed under the power that was imparted into Vyrt's body. As the hybrid's arm was moved back, Chakravartin's left fist smashed into his stomach, just under his breastplate, lifting him from his feet. The next punch sent him into the air, and the god followed, spinning to bring a heel down on the back of the Nephilim's head. The kick sent Vyrt rocketing down, making the realm flex upon impact.
When the hybrid rose, a smirk creasing his bruised face, Chakravartin did not waste time seething, like previously. He loped forward, raining punch after punch upon his winged opponent, a barrage of hits accompanied by spinning spheres of dark energy that scoured the Nephilim's face and wings to the bone.
Space twisted and bent around the hybrid as Chakravartin's fists rammed into his face and temples, and the force of the hits was replicated in every altered area, directed forward by the god's power. Vyrt doubled over, body bent as if each hit was a followed by a dozen. Time shifted, too, as the Event Horizon and its occupants were reduced to pitch darkness surrounding a pair of white silhouettes. In this state, the Nephilim's movements appeared sluggish, incremental, allowing the god to land hundreds of hits for each of the hybrid's blows, which he easily avoided.
When time resumed its normal flow, Chakravartin watched Vyrt's bones knit and his gushing wounds close with pitiless eyes. 'Do you understand the depths of your folly now?' he asked, expecting the chastened fool to nod breathlessly. 'You turned aside my previous efforts with all the confidence of a child who thinks there is nothing worse in the world than the monsters from their bedtime stories. But it is all illusion...delusion. This,' he spread his lean arms, 'is truth. Kneel. Kneel, and I will forgive your foolishness.'
But Vyrt did not kneel. Instead, he raised his head, a lazy look in his eyes. 'You speak of truth? Of power revealed?'
Chakravartin did not know what happened next. He had his eyes on the hybrid, the Event Horizon had turned dark as time followed his divine will...but it occurred faster than he could react. In fact, he only noticed the Nephilim's punch had ripped him in half when his severed head glimpsed his ruined body as it flew.
And then Vyrt was upon him again, hands tearing through his flesh like a boulder through mist, and-
-he stood, but soon fell to his knees as he burned in seraphic fire, burning more fiercely than anything he had ever envisioned. His body crumbled to ash-
-ash filled his mouth as every wound Vyrt had ever dealt and received appeared on his body, just as the memories of the pain they'd brought filled his mind-
-his mind, flooded by the thoughts of more beings than he'd ever imagined, an infinity of them, endless ranks of monsters more powerful than he could comprehend. His sanity was blasted off its hinges-
* * *
Chakravartin breathed harshly as he rose on hands and knees, body trembling as his back bent. Vyrt looked down at him, expression betraying nothing. 'Hear this truth, and heed it: you have dwelt in ignorance and mistaken it for enlightenment. The fish cannot imagine anything beyond the stretch of water it swims, not the breadth of the ocean, and certainly not the beings who live above it, harnessing the power of nature towards their own goals.'
The Nephilim extended a hand, and Mithra's sphere returned. The girl flinched away from the Creator, moving to Vyrt's side and clinging to the hybrid's leg. Vyrt gave her a warm smile, running a hand through her hair. 'Just a moment now, Mithra. Your father will be with us shortly, I promise. My name is Vyrt, by the way.'
He looked back at the defiantly-glaring god. 'You want to leave Gaea behind, in favour of new worlds to "guide" and "save"? Why not instead devote your time to understanding what extends beyond the borders of your universe? For you have never believed to be anything more.'
Chakrartin snorted. 'Is this to be my penance? Reduced to pilgrimage, while you run roughshod over my cosmos?' A skeptical light entered his gaze as he glared. 'Are you not going to kill me?'
'Oh, no,' Vyrt answered, stepping forward with that damned serpentine smirk again, his broad frame and wings hiding Mithra from view. 'For I believe you truly have good in you, Chakravartin. I believe you can make existence a better place, once you understand it and desire to improve it. So, no, I am not going to kill you.' He stepped aside, and Chakravartin barely had time to wince as a hulking, tan-skinned man sped towards him, fists raised.
'CHAAAAKRAVARTIIIINNNN!' Asura roared, his wrath infusing every strike as he pummeled the god.
'But he might,' Vyrt gestured towards the raging demigod while Mithra watched on, a small smile tugging at her lips. 'If he does not, though, do try to remember my suggestion.'
The Nephilim chuckled as he turned around and spread his wings, the path home already clear in his mind's eye. Truly, the only thing he could ask for now was that Asura did not spend too long beating the Spider bloody to properly reunite with his daughter.
But anything there was left to be shared, would be. The better part of him, the part that had faith, told him that. True, he might have been made to step in the demigod's place, to defend a world and challenge a god, but Asura would not be robbed of his chance to take revenge upon the root of his woe - he had known the Spider the moment he had laid eyes upon him, despite his changed visage, such was the righteous fury burning inside him.
Nor, more importantly, would the demigod separated from his daughter.
Vyrt took flight, a prayer on his lips and a song in his heart. Behind him, a family came together once more. And, who knew, maybe one day, his own would...
* * *
Vyrt was many things. Over the million and more years of his existence, he had been many things, as driven by whimsy or made by duty - usually the latter.
He was a Nephilim; half a man and half a seraph, though recently, the man had mattered more, in his opinion. He was the son of a kindly woman and one of the greatest monsters to ever live, once of the greatest heroes. He was a brother, named by his half-brother as something of a joke, back when the world had changed again so that they needed to start speaking English.
He hadn't felt virtuous much, lately. Teaching through pain, and deception, hurt, even when one did it to prepare the regent of creation, the prince of existence. Vyrt knew that, even if his efforts had contributed to the forging of creation's saviour, now its greatest guardian, he would never be close to that tormented man.
It was, he reflected, only proper. Maybe less. None could punish him worse than himself - Vyrt had always been more affected by shame than guilt, but both had come with his exile, and were not in any hurry to leave.
He knew it was ungrateful to complain, even in his own thoughts. Yes, he had been sent away from New Camelot, but the United Kingdom's paranormal law enforcement agency would go on, even without the late Grandmaster of its London chapter. He was not so arrogant as to believe himself some lynchpin of that order. When he thought of it at all, it was to mourn the loss of being able to speak with his half-brother and wife whenever, even if the man he'd scarred to reforge him had promised he'd help him meet Miranda whenever reasonable.
Besides, he had been sent to Heaven. And while his grandfather kingdom brought a sort of bittersweet joy to his heart, he was not unwelcome.
Which was why, when he found himself not beyond the Kingdom of God, but the boundaries of his entire macrocosm, he first felt melancholy. Surprise only came after, and by then, the first feeling had morphed into melancholy. Vyrt counted time in tenths of a zeptosecond, when he did not need to enhance his speed, and the time it took him to get his bearings was more than enough to idly lament the separation from his new home.
He would not have done so for long, even in a peaceful realm. But this cosmos was in strife. He could feel it, an entire universe churning, a pressure beneath the dance of particles and the fluctuation of spacetime that were as plain to his half-divine senses as the sun in the sky was to humans.
That was when it hit him. Not some great revelation; the energy beam.
It was quite a fitting metaphor for mankind's position in the universe, really. Certainly in his, and, according to his senses, most likely in this one too: confused, struggling to get their bearings, then suddenly hit by something that could obliterate them and all they knew.
But it had not, and it would not. Because he was there.
Vyrt's reflexes, far faster than light and honed by hundreds of millennia of fighting, pushed aside all confusion the moment the energy made contact with him. He could feel it: the power to disintegrate worlds, a deed already accomplished, and behind it, twenty-six thousand light years away,, the cold intelligence directing the attack.
Vyrt absorbed all these facts in a tenth of a sextillionth of a second. It was more than enough for him to mark his newest foe; that his purpose hadn't changed helped.
Defend creation, and all its wholesome facets. Purge the unclean, by all means necessary. Thus had been his way for fifty thousand human generations, as it had been his father's before him, before he'd lost what made him great, As it had been his grandfather's, in the beginning.
Vyrt took the power into himself, for all that it dwarfed Earth and he was scarcely bigger than most skyscrapers. As the light faded into nothing and the void of space around him became dim again, he shook his head, shoulder-length grey curls swaying as his androgynous face was split by a frown.
There had been...should have been defenders here. Looking backwards through time, he could see the fabric of thiscosmos, twisted and frayed. An absence that only seemed more obvious, when he also thought about the confusion he'd felt upon arrival.
Had someone brought him here? He had many enemies who would've laughed to see him exiled, if not dead. Or had it been a ploy to leave this Earth defenceless, and he'd been used as the counterweight? The replacement of this world's champions, while they were scattered to the cosmic winds?
Eyes the colour of steel narrowed. A ploy by the one who'd cast the lance of power? Or an ally of his?
'I need answers,' Vyrt said, not for the first time in his long life. And, if it were to be the last, he swore he would not die while this mirror of his world spun through the void imperiled.
With a beat of wings the colour of gunmetal, Vyrt flew away, shoulders set.
* * *
Chakravartin's idol did not scowl, for its face was a golden mask, an image of graven serenity - but the god was troubled.
Or perhaps perplexed was the better word. For one whose wisdom spanned the stars and the worlds that girded them, and whose memory went back to the dawn of time, there were few things such as surprises. He was, after all, the Spinner of All Mantra, who ordered the greatest power in the universe just as he had ordered all there was, at the beginning.
Something had gone wrong with his plan. Gaea should have been obliterated, blasted out of space, reduced to dust. Asura had stubbornly, foolishly set himself against the Creator, out of pure sentimentality - but that was fine. Chakravartin had long since learned to expect disappointment from his creations.
Still...he had hoped to make the boy his heir. His successor, to rule Gaea in his stead while he went to search for other worlds in need of his guidance. That Asura had pushed him to the point of having to obliterate the world and him with it was regrettable, but entirely that raging child's fault.
Chakravartin knew, however, that Asura had not died, just as he knew Gaea still existed, spinning through space. Though he was not one to underestimate his enemies (few and short-lived as they were), he had not believed Asura would be capable of withstanding his golden beam. He did not doubt the demigod's strength, but...
He should've died, with his world. And yet, he was gone, alive, but almost beyond Chakravartin's perception, much less his reach. And...he hadn't been the one to stop the beam.
Curious. Though not everything had proceeded according to his design, though the Golden Spider's web was frayed, the Creator could not help but be intrigued.
A few of his golden statue's lower hands clasped, he bent his divine senses to the task of analysing this intruder, the one who had appeared in Asura's place right at what should've been his execution.
* * *
It was a short way to the galactic core, as Vyrt flew. For one who could cross the Milky Way in a second, the distance between the Orion Arm and Sagittarius A* could be traversed in the time a human's blink lasted.
Vyrt halted, standing on nothing with one hand by his side. The other was raised and clenched into a fist, but not hefting a weapon - yet. He was clad in overlapping layers of thick grey plate, forged in his animus and wrought from a nameless material sprung from the serpah's mind. An affectation, to gird himself for war as the angels of the Spheres did, but he dared indulge himself.
His purpose was pure enough where his blood wasn't.
The Nephilim's eyes roamed over the statuesque form sitting in repose above the galaxy's heart. Golden and multi-armed, it could have been a tribute to the glory of the Devas, but no scion of India had raised this construct, he knew.
Vyrt strode across the void, footfalls echoing thunderously. Theatrical, to be sure, but using his power to mimic sound hardly stood out in comparison to the colossus in front of him, gilded and larger than most stars. A name made its way into his mind, coaxed into approaching by the remnant of divinity he wielded.
'Chakravartin,' the Nephilim said softly. 'Would-be destroyer of a world you created.'
Laughter radiated from the statue, surprisingly soft, given its dimensions. 'How long have you been here, stranger? Or, perhaps...you know more than you seem to?'
'All I know is that I know nothing,' Vyrt stated, solemn and only half ironic. No amount of experience or supernatural insight helped more than faith an the guidance of the Lord did, on some days. All traces of sarcasm left his voice as he continued. 'I recognise your power. You cast it like a javelin, splitting the skin of space to steal away one of Sol's spheres.'
The idol chuckled, though its blank expression did not change. Maybe it could not. 'How do you leap from childish to overwrought so easily?'
'Wings,' Vyrt replied, 'and the ease of long practice. I can tell you it is more comfortable than straddling both as you do, however.'
The good-natured rumble was cut short, and Vyrt affected a moue of surprise. Oh, dear. And it had been so long since he had struck a nerve while talking to someone without flesh. He would have to change that calendar showing the number of days spent being courteous, again.
'You do not know what you trifle with,' Chakravartin stated warningly. 'You prevented the cleansing of a world I had consigned to oblivion, though this realm is as alien to you as any other. You think you can meddle and insult, and walk away unscathed?'
'I was planning to fly, actually-'
The orange star flew towards him at speeds far greater than those of the light it radiated. Vyrt's face creased only slightly, skin tightening around eyes marked by laughter and worry in equal measure, as he drew nothing into his lungs and spewed wind, snuffing out the sun like a candle.
Vyrt moved forward, even as the statue filled the void between them, which could have swallowed star clusters, with all manner of celestial bodies: world-shattering comets, giant stars, blue and red, rocky worlds far larger than their natural counterparts had ever been, dwarfing even star giants. The Nephilim made his way through the chaff, letting the conjured matter break apart around him. Chakravartin was not going to deter him with this, and they both knew that. So why did the god have to be reminded of that?
Vyrt cocked an eyebrow as a world larger than any that had been flung his way appeared. It was nearly as large as the sitting golden idol, which itself was several times bigger than the galactic core. Sent forward without being touched, the world hurtled towards the Nephilim, its substance held together by godly will alone.
Vyrt counted the zeptoseconds as the improbably large celestial body flew towards him. Certainly, it would be no danger if it crashed into him, for he had weathered worse without wounds, but he was fairly certain the shockwave would turn nearby worlds to dust. Worlds that might serve as cradles of life, int he future.
The Nephilim set his jaw. He had spent enough using his foresight to make the hardest decisions, lest everything end. Preventing the end of innocence, before it could even come into being...a clean, wholesome deed. Good for the soul.
Vyrt raised his right thumb and index finger well before the passage of the giant moon could ruffle his feathers, or move his body, for that matter. Had the universe been frozen for that moment, an observer could have seen the moon, appearing to be pinched between the Nephilim's fingers. The forced perspective was enough. An elegant path for his will to make its way into reality.
The golden idol only hesitated briefly when its latest creation was flicked back at it, then brought two hands together, as if praying. Golden energy gathered between its palms, far greater than any previously gathered amount, and rushed forth to meet the projectile, which was reduced to flickering cinders.
The beam blazed onwards, seeming to gather power and speed as it travelled, rather than lose any. And yet, Vyrt's eyes blazed through its radiance even as it struck his face, a harsh glow, darker than silver, that had nothing to do with photons.
'Enough of this,' he said softly, but the void and all it held shook to its farthest reaches at his words, in realms so far away it would have taken light over eighty eons to reach them.
The golden statue trembled above its perch, as did the black hole beneath. Then Vyrt was upon the construct.
The Nephilim's gauntleted hand parted god-wrought gold like gossamer as it grasped for something like a core. Finding nothing - the statue was solid, though Chakravartin's power was interwoven with its substance -, he closed it into a fist, then spread it again. The statue came apart, releasing an explosion far larger than any star, and spreading far faster than the light cast by one.
Vyrt hovered in place, shoulders hunched and head raised as the wave of destruction passed over him, then waved the hand he had shattered the idol with into a circle. A sphere of ivory seraphic fire burned into existence, swallowing the blast before it could destroy any celestial body.
He only knew that thanks to his senses, for he was no longer in mundane reality. From here, this new realm, searching the universe was like looking through a stained window. He would have to increase his power for more clarity...but mayhap there was no need. After all, he could feel his adversary was here, radiating far more power than his golden puppet, which had started drawing the Milky Way towards itself by existing.
Vyrt stood up straight, having realised he had gone to one knee during the...what? Paradigm shift?
As good a term as any, he supposed.
The realm around him was beautiful, but empty - much like his enemy. From what he had glimpsed, Chakravartin possessed a beautiful visage, but a wretched heart.
'How apt,' the Nephilim snorted. He sent out feelers to find the borders of this new plane, but, to all intents and purposes, it felt endless. This could mean it faded out at the edges, becoming too diffuse for his senses to pick out at his baseline, but, in any case, it would suit his purposes: there was nothing around to break. The sky was purple, with pockets of pinkish or lavender clouds here and there, and full of light, though there was no sun.
The glassy, mirrorlike surface of the sea he was standing on did not flow past his greaves as he walked. Instead, it merely rippled. Vyrt was briefly reminded of that Comic Con he and Miranda had gone to, as the Doctor's incarnations and the Bad Wolf, respectively. Duplication could come in handy for more than fights, he thought with a wan smile.
There had been an area with a glass-covered pond, the surface of the covering so close to the water and so thin that the vibrations caused by those walking across it made the pond dance in beautiful patterns. Miri had loved it, which Vyrt had taken heart in. His wife was a witch of destruction, and it was nice to see her magic hadn't started twisting her personality to an unwholesome degree, as some weak-willed mages suffered.
The best part, in his opinion, had been the fact that no paranormal power had gone into the creation of that area. Only human ingenuity. The species half of him belonged to, the part that kept him a man even when he had to be a monster, never ceased to inspire him. If only more would create beauty simply because they could...
'Lord, open their minds,' Vyrt whispered, crossing himself, 'for they needn't be enlightened, merely reminded of what is within their reach...'
Vyrt knew not in what matter his grandfather would answer his prayer, for God worked in mysterious ways. He only knew that it would happen, whether the Almighty acted overtly or through an agent.
There was nothing to question. He had faith.
'That is not what most ask of me,' a smooth voice, quite unlike his Lord's, filled the empty space, making Vyrt turn, scowling. 'But I might think of it...on one condition.'
'You mistake yourself for the Almighty,' Vyrt said, eyes glaring into Chakravartin's luminous orbs. 'Know that most only get to do that once.' He softened his features. 'But 'tis not too late to repent.'
Chakravartin laughed melodiously. 'You still not know me. You passed a simple trial designed for another, and you think you can address me so flippantly? Tell me to...' The god's red lips curled into a sneer. 'Repent?'
'Don't, if you wish.' Vyrt shrugged. 'But you will suffer more than you are already guaranteed to, and you should be cowering at the thought of that pain alone.'
Chakravartin studied him, almost grimacing, before schooling his features into a smile. 'Let us speak, then. We clearly have many things to share.'
Vyrt eyed the makuta and bindi on the god's forehead, the intricate golden halo that emerged behind his secondary arms, two of which held a trident and an elaborate staff. There was no hint of menace in Chakravartin's posture, but he knew better. 'Let's,' he finally allowed, doing his best to look and sound uninterested. It wouldn't do anything but make Chakravartin angrier, maybe, but that was a good thing in of itself.
* * *
'You appeared out of nowhere,' the Spinner of All Mantra began, holding out out a hand in a gesture that showed he wanted to understand and be understood. If only not to leave loose ends, when all was done. 'The world you saved from destruction, Gaea...I have been tending to it for many mortal lifetimes.'
'You did not appear to cherish it much when I showed up,' Vyrt said tightly. Chakravartin wanted to sigh. Another short-sighted fool with more power than he deserved? Where did they keep coming from?
'Sometimes, a gardener must burn down everything, not just the weeds, for better things to grow from the ash. But...no matter how much I sent them, how many perils I placed them in, Gaea's inhabitants refused to grow.'
The newcomer did not seem to share his disappointment. But then, if he'd understood what drove Chakravartin, they would not be at odds.
'And what what made you rain such strife upon that world's people?' the stranger asked.'
'I was looking for an heir,' Chakravartin answered, then amended, 'preparing one.' Those people would not have made anything of themselves had he not released the Gohma upon Gaea. They were too simple to strive for greatness unless they were endangered. He had learned this long ago.
'An heir?'
Chakravartin nodded. 'A worthy soul, to keep the cosmos spinning after I went to look for new worlds in need of my guidance.' He went on, describing the struggles of the Seven Deities and their challenger, Asura...the demigod he had hoped would become his replacement. The winged stranger, who introduced himself as Vyrt, a Nephilim (a hybrid between a human and one of the spirits his grandfather had created to be his guardians and messengers), listened intently, though he did not show approval at any point.
'But he is gone,' Chakravartin said, trying not to let his frustration show as he recalled Asura's disappearance. 'And worse, you placed yourself in the path of my judgement...preserved that unworthy world.'
'What do you know of worthiness?' Vyrt scoffed. 'You, who condemn so many to torment as part of your experiment, themselves a means to find some poor fool willing to look after what you made while you shirk your responsibility?'
Chakravartin bristled. 'I shirk nothing,' he snapped. 'I am the Creator of all there is. Everything that has ever been made, that will ever exist, is mine!' He stalked closer to the Nephilim, gripping the hafts of his weapons so tightly his knuckles turned white.
But Vyrt was smiling now, and there was something snakelike on his mocking face. Despite himself, Chakravartin almost flinched. 'Are you, now?' the Nephilim asked. 'Then what of wherever your Asura is? For he is not dead - surely you must know what.'
'What of it?'
'Are you going to tell me you created whatever place he disappeared to, but know nothing of it? No. Then how can you claim to have created everything?' Vyrt spread his arms and wings. 'There is more within the bounds of existence than you have ever dreamed of, Spider. Do not overstep yourself.'
Such arrogance! Such...such insanity? For how could one be faced with the majesty of Naraka's Ruler and doubt the truth of his words? Only a madman could. Or whatever mongrel this winged man was.
But he would not lose his temper like a snubbed child, even if his calculations had been wrong, somehow. In fact...
In fact, maybe he could kill two birds with one stone. Asura would have proven difficult to convince, he knew. Even Chakravartin would have struggled to make that sentimental fool get over his daughter and accept his role as steward of Gaea.
But the Nephilim...this Vyrt might prove useful, once brought to heel. He was overly concerned with the fate of Gaea, not to mention possessed of an overweening ego after outmatching a mere construct, but such flaws could be removed. He was powerful, at least, more powerful than Asura had been before he had disappeared. Where, Chakravartin could not begin to guess. Not Naraka, however. He had gotten very familiar with the raging demigod's deaths, as well as his determination. In his spiderlike guise, he had watched Asura climb the towers of the realm of the dead, many times.
He was not dead, much as Vyrt had said. Another good sign: Asura had not possessed common sense, much less ones that spanned the cosmos and...beyond.
That there were realms beyond his reach and knowledge troubled Chakravartin more than he'd have liked to admit, even to himself. Perhaps he would venture farther than he had planned, once he left Gaea behind.
The thought of finding worlds that had never felt his touch and putting those who walked them in their places brought a smile to his face.
Chakravartin glanced at Vyrt over his shoulder. A lull in the conversation had left the Nephilim brooding, with his hands clasped behind his back, a severe expression on his features and wings tucked around his body like a cloak.
'There might very well be,' the god acknowledged, approaching the frowning hybrid. 'I can feel one such space, at the edge of my awareness, even from here. Might that be your home?'
'Where are we, by the way?' Vyrt asked, ignoring the question.
Chakravartin leaned forward on his staff, smiling thinly. 'Surely your marvellous senses can tell you that much.'
'I'm interested in your answer.'
There it was again! That...presumptuousness. The way he had emphasised "yours", though subtle, hadn't escaped Chakravartin either. 'This is the Event Horizon,' he replied finally.
'I doubt that. We did not pass through a black hole.'
' 'Tis named that because momentous things occur here,' Chakravartin explained. 'Speaking of which...' Standing straighter, he widened his smile, looking beneficently down. That took some size shifting - the Nephilim was a hundred forty metres tall - but such things were a trifle for a god. 'You have shown your worth in both battle and peace. Indeed, that you only struck back when attacked is what led to the second.'
It hurt, to praise such a lowlife, but he endured. Even if he essentially had to eat his earlier words. Vyrt had interrupted Gaea's end, out of misplaced protectiveness, but that could be repaid, in time. There had been nothing admirable about that, about setting his will against the Creator's, but at least he was willing to listen.
Vyrt's gaze was blank as he stared up at the good, face carefully showing nothing. 'I did what anyone should have, in my place.'
At least he was smart enough to see through the compliments. Chakravartin supposed that even someone foolish enough to oppose him couldn't be stupid all the time.
'That may be so,' he said, 'but you were the one there. I have seen that your love for Gaea runs as deep as the well of power you employed to guard it. Would you be open towards making that...' He extended a hand, 'a permanent arrangement?'
* * *
Vyrt stared at the palm for a long zeptosecond, disbelieving, but, by the time light finished passing across a hydrogen molecule, he decided Chakravartin meant it.
'I refuse,' he said in a quiet voice, enjoying the look on the god's face, which shifted from surprise to disappointment, then anger. 'I only acted there to protect an innocent world, but I cannot be tied down to it. I have my duties, to my kin above and my grandfather's kingdom,' and to his brother and wife, estranged as circumstance might have made them, but those two didn't deserve to be mentioned within earshot of this fool.
'But, even if I did not,' he went on, in an uninterested tone, 'I would not become your heir. It would mean enabling you. You have pulled wings off flies for as long as that world has turned, and now you hurry in search of new planets to ruin. No.' Grey curls swayed as the Nephilim shook his head, wings flaring. 'I cannot countenance that.'
'Then you have doomed Gaea,' Chakravartin said, voice clipped, 'for, even if I were not to destroy it, as I shall after I wipe you from existence, it would not survive on its own.'
'Then I suppose I will have to kill you first,' Vyrt replied consideringly, 'and place protections upon it, before resuming my duties.'
Chakravartin brought two hands together, closing his eyes. 'You still doubt, I see. You doubt that I will keep my word, maybe, or whether you are fit to guard Gaea - a duty that takes dedication, as you will learn. You cannot simply place some defenses upon it and leave...not that whatever you are seeking to return to could be as important.'
Vyrt's eyes flashed coldly, but he said nothing. He knew how this god thought, had faced his like before. Megalomaniacs who couldn't comprehend love, or, indeed, anything unrelated to power. He wasn't going to waste his breath trying to get through to him, though. Nothing would come of that.
Chakravartin went on. 'As proof of my honesty, allow me to release a soul the likes of which your heart aches for.' A dark sphere, lit up from inside by flashes of multicoloured light, spun into being at the god's side, floating forward.
Vyrt's eyes widened, despite himself, as the construct opened up and faded. A girl with large brown eyes and long, dark hair stepped forward, blinking in confusion, her robes rustling softly. She sounded bemused when she spoke, looking up at Vyrt, who quickly shifted to more humanlike dimensions, lest he frighten her. 'You...are not my father.' The child brought her hands together, but there was more longing than fear in her eyes.
He knew that look. He had seen it billions of times, in mirrors and rivers and lakes, whenever he remembered how his father had left the world so that his brother could enter it. It was not the kind of loss that could be lessened by time, nor by the knowledge of necessity.
'A lost soul, much like you,' he replied, honestly enough, taking a knee before the girl but keeping one eye on the god, who was looking at them expectantly. 'What is your name, child?'
'Mithra,' she answered. 'Do you know...?'
'I believe whatever force brought me into this world also took your father away from it,' Vyrt said, rising to his feet and placing a hand on Mithra's shoulder, smiling broadly. 'But worry not. I will stay with you for as long as it takes us to find him.' He laughed softly when her eyes brightened and a hopeful smile spread across her face. 'It would only be fair to look for him if I'm staying with you.'
Chakravartin's hiss was as contemptuous as it was deep, but the Nephilim knew posturing - and this was not it. While the god might have looked ready to fling an insult, or turn away to rage or brood, this was not even close to his intention. Rather the opposite.
'Get back here!' Chakravartin thundered as the recreated sphere sped towards his extended hand. It had formed around Mithra as a space-bending effect had rocked Vyrt back half a step, briefly staggering him. But mere esoterics could have never done that against a paranormal of his calibre. There was raw power there, wielded with precision, if not care. And he had failed to stop the sphere in his hobbled state, brief as it had been.
He had underestimated his adversary, and a child had suffered. And, as the Golden Spider charged him, weapons raised, Vyrt wished the shame hadn't felt so familiar. Features grim, he returned to his previous size to meet his foe's charge.
One of Vyrt's hands wrapped around the trident's haft, just below the forks aimed at his eyes and the centre of his face. The other drove into Chakravartin's side, making his mouth open in a silent grunt of pain, though the god's attack didn't falter. Such things as physical harm did not deter beings like him for long when they were even acknowledged.
The god's staff swung low, aimed to sweep Vyrt's feet from under him, but he stomped on it, keeping it in place and causing the Event Horizon to ripple. All the while, Chakravartin's reality warping power bent space and time around the two fighters, putting Vyrt's teeth on edge. The Creator's manifold hands grasped at his wings, seeking to keep them in place or tear them out, while beams of golden power darted at the Nephilim's face and joints.
Each facet of Chakravartin's multi-pronged assault would have flung the Milky Way around like a leaf in a storm, but Vyrt had set his strength an will against the god's, and there could only be one outcome.
Chakravartin's eyes widened as his trident snapped in half in the Nephilim's grip, while his staff shattered under his boot. Vyrt's wings tore and crushed dozens of hands as they flared open, fouling the Even Horizon's substance with ichor like molten gold. He almost pressed a new attack, then turned the other cheek.
The fist Vyrt rammed into it likely helped.
The mangled god flew over astronomical distances, skipping over the surface of his inner realm like a pebble, fragments of his panoply trailing behind him - his halo had shattered to, when the Nephilim had opened his wings. He climbed to shaky feet, his jaw hanging by a thread, half his head caved in.
Vyrt was looming above him by the time he rose, having closed the distance in the second it would have taken him to cross his home galaxy. Before Chakravartin could strike or curse him, the hybrid's hands darted out, tearing off the god's limbs before knocking his jaw off, the other fist plunging into his stomach and out his back, before retracting enough to wrap around his spine.
'You cannot treat me as you would an equal,' Vyrt said as he lifted the limbless god to eye level, 'because you have never known one, and would not even if you had. I cannot treat you as an equal, not because you are weaker than me, but because you are so petty. You could've spared your creations from hunger and thirst and strife whenever you chose, for the building blocks of existence are like unto bricks in your grasp. Where I come from, the enemies of growth are as vile as they are numerous, but here? Your only enemy is your pride.'
He threw Chakravartin aside, half of the god's spine remaining in his hand when he let go. He crushed it to dust, turning to where his enemy was trying to rise. 'And I've had enough of gilded fools hellbent on dooming mankind because of their arrogance,' Vyrt growled.
* * *
...Pain encouraged growth.
He had always known this, of course. Otherwise, why would he lave let his creations scrabble in the dirt for ages? Suffering begat excellence, insofar as anyone but him could be said to possess him.
He should be thankful to this pretentious newcomer. His defiance had been as unexpected as his strength, but Chakravartin was through treating him like he would an insolent mortal.
He was going to plumb the depths of pain with this Vyrt's remains. Neither the bowels of Naraka nor the edges of the void had ever known horror the likes of which he would rain upon the Nephilim. That would be as worthy an endeavour as the departure o other worlds he had planned.
And to think, he would have never come up with such ideas to inflict new agonies, if he hadn't been wounded himself.
Chakravartin smiled inwardly as he returned to his true power.
* * *
'I shall erase your very existence.'
The god's voice had lost some of the pompousness that had dripped from every previous word, though his confidence had somehow increased. Vyrt would not have believed either possible.
Something like a black hole, though oozing far more malice than those pits of gravity held, appeared in front of the mangled god, beginning to draw the Event Horizon towards it. Vyrt planted his feet and animus, arms at his sides and wings tensed, and waited.
When the black hole grew enough to hide Chakravartin from view, an ivory glow appeared inside it, growing until it enveloped the dark disk. Then, something shaped like a man, but less human than Vyrt had ever been, descended from it.
He was black and silver, with an elongated skull, spiked along the sides. A set of scarlet teeth, the colour of his unblinking eyes, were gritted in a condescending smile.
Chakrartin, the Creator, stepped forward, his latest construct dispersing behind him, and the face of the Even Horizon changed. Gone were the sea nd sky, and the glow that brought to mind a sunset. In their place was a grey, featureless space, that rippled in response to its master's strides.
Vyrt dashed forward, fist cocked, and tried to bring it upon the god's head, only to be brought by an extended finger. Impressive enough, he supposed. That hit would have annihilated every last shred of matter in galaxies much bigger than the Milky Way.
No wonder Chakravartin sounded even more pleased with himself than previously - another thing Vyrt wouldn't have believed possible, had he not heard it himself. 'Weak,' the Creator said, 'very weak.'
His extended finger flexed, and the Event Horizon bowed under the power that was imparted into Vyrt's body. As the hybrid's arm was moved back, Chakravartin's left fist smashed into his stomach, just under his breastplate, lifting him from his feet. The next punch sent him into the air, and the god followed, spinning to bring a heel down on the back of the Nephilim's head. The kick sent Vyrt rocketing down, making the realm flex upon impact.
When the hybrid rose, a smirk creasing his bruised face, Chakravartin did not waste time seething, like previously. He loped forward, raining punch after punch upon his winged opponent, a barrage of hits accompanied by spinning spheres of dark energy that scoured the Nephilim's face and wings to the bone.
Space twisted and bent around the hybrid as Chakravartin's fists rammed into his face and temples, and the force of the hits was replicated in every altered area, directed forward by the god's power. Vyrt doubled over, body bent as if each hit was a followed by a dozen. Time shifted, too, as the Event Horizon and its occupants were reduced to pitch darkness surrounding a pair of white silhouettes. In this state, the Nephilim's movements appeared sluggish, incremental, allowing the god to land hundreds of hits for each of the hybrid's blows, which he easily avoided.
When time resumed its normal flow, Chakravartin watched Vyrt's bones knit and his gushing wounds close with pitiless eyes. 'Do you understand the depths of your folly now?' he asked, expecting the chastened fool to nod breathlessly. 'You turned aside my previous efforts with all the confidence of a child who thinks there is nothing worse in the world than the monsters from their bedtime stories. But it is all illusion...delusion. This,' he spread his lean arms, 'is truth. Kneel. Kneel, and I will forgive your foolishness.'
But Vyrt did not kneel. Instead, he raised his head, a lazy look in his eyes. 'You speak of truth? Of power revealed?'
Chakravartin did not know what happened next. He had his eyes on the hybrid, the Event Horizon had turned dark as time followed his divine will...but it occurred faster than he could react. In fact, he only noticed the Nephilim's punch had ripped him in half when his severed head glimpsed his ruined body as it flew.
And then Vyrt was upon him again, hands tearing through his flesh like a boulder through mist, and-
-he stood, but soon fell to his knees as he burned in seraphic fire, burning more fiercely than anything he had ever envisioned. His body crumbled to ash-
-ash filled his mouth as every wound Vyrt had ever dealt and received appeared on his body, just as the memories of the pain they'd brought filled his mind-
-his mind, flooded by the thoughts of more beings than he'd ever imagined, an infinity of them, endless ranks of monsters more powerful than he could comprehend. His sanity was blasted off its hinges-
* * *
Chakravartin breathed harshly as he rose on hands and knees, body trembling as his back bent. Vyrt looked down at him, expression betraying nothing. 'Hear this truth, and heed it: you have dwelt in ignorance and mistaken it for enlightenment. The fish cannot imagine anything beyond the stretch of water it swims, not the breadth of the ocean, and certainly not the beings who live above it, harnessing the power of nature towards their own goals.'
The Nephilim extended a hand, and Mithra's sphere returned. The girl flinched away from the Creator, moving to Vyrt's side and clinging to the hybrid's leg. Vyrt gave her a warm smile, running a hand through her hair. 'Just a moment now, Mithra. Your father will be with us shortly, I promise. My name is Vyrt, by the way.'
He looked back at the defiantly-glaring god. 'You want to leave Gaea behind, in favour of new worlds to "guide" and "save"? Why not instead devote your time to understanding what extends beyond the borders of your universe? For you have never believed to be anything more.'
Chakrartin snorted. 'Is this to be my penance? Reduced to pilgrimage, while you run roughshod over my cosmos?' A skeptical light entered his gaze as he glared. 'Are you not going to kill me?'
'Oh, no,' Vyrt answered, stepping forward with that damned serpentine smirk again, his broad frame and wings hiding Mithra from view. 'For I believe you truly have good in you, Chakravartin. I believe you can make existence a better place, once you understand it and desire to improve it. So, no, I am not going to kill you.' He stepped aside, and Chakravartin barely had time to wince as a hulking, tan-skinned man sped towards him, fists raised.
'CHAAAAKRAVARTIIIINNNN!' Asura roared, his wrath infusing every strike as he pummeled the god.
'But he might,' Vyrt gestured towards the raging demigod while Mithra watched on, a small smile tugging at her lips. 'If he does not, though, do try to remember my suggestion.'
The Nephilim chuckled as he turned around and spread his wings, the path home already clear in his mind's eye. Truly, the only thing he could ask for now was that Asura did not spend too long beating the Spider bloody to properly reunite with his daughter.
But anything there was left to be shared, would be. The better part of him, the part that had faith, told him that. True, he might have been made to step in the demigod's place, to defend a world and challenge a god, but Asura would not be robbed of his chance to take revenge upon the root of his woe - he had known the Spider the moment he had laid eyes upon him, despite his changed visage, such was the righteous fury burning inside him.
Nor, more importantly, would the demigod separated from his daughter.
Vyrt took flight, a prayer on his lips and a song in his heart. Behind him, a family came together once more. And, who knew, maybe one day, his own would...
The Zhayvin Files: Angels (Demon Accords)
Strigoi Grey
Not departed
- Location
- Romania
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Classification: incorporeal aberrants tasked with observing and guarding Earth's inhabitants.
Colloquial name: angels.
Origin: angels were created by the theomorphic/nousverous aberrant referred to by them as Yahweh. According to them, their God created athe cosmos like a watchmaker would a timepiece, and manages it with such skill it resembles omniscience. Angels were created to serve as Yahweh's messengers and enforcers. Since the creation of the Demon Accords, they have been barred from acting overtly in the physical universe, as that would invite an equal response from the opposition.
The most active Earthbound angel is Barbiel, the Angel of October, referred to by Chris Gordon as "my angelic case officer". Though eager to learn about and understand human trends, Barbiel's main purpose is observing and guiding the angel who fell by choice to become God's Hammer.
Description: angels do not possess bodies and can shape their true, incorporeal forms into whatever they wish, though they seem to prefer anthropomorphism. Angels often appear as winged, humanoid silhouettes made of white light.
Behaviour: Angels are determined and patient, taking the long view on a scale spanning eons. When able to intervene and help others, they appear generous and jovial. Barbiel often exhibits such traits while observing, usually appearing to pass helpful information to his charge while showing off the latest piece of human media he has absorbed. Angels have also been known to exhibit a fierce joy while destroying demons.
Threat level: local/regional. Angels are considerably more powerful than Chris Gordon when they choose to manifest physically, and should thus be capable of easily crushing large vehicles in single strikes and pulverising concrete walls by running through them, receiving no damage as a result. They have access to their Swords, aberrant energy constructs that can sever any amount of mundane material they can touch and permanently obliterate the true forms of demons, otherwise unkillable to any amount of spiritual or elemental power, as well as an endless supply of Angel Fire, a single "burst" of which instantly turned three hundred werewolves to ash when used by Chris Gordon, with werewolves being several times denser than humans of a similar build, and far more durable.
Angels also possess insight into future matters bordering on precognition, can change the state of their bodies at will, and are able to bypass the senses of aberrants whose senses are orders of magnitudes sharper than those of humans. Angels can influence natural events when free to act, for example, directing meteor impacts as powerful as nuclear strikes at things they deem must be destroyed. It has been hypothesised that many of the natural disasters presented in the Bible were the result of angelic intervention.
Collaboration: reaching out to Heaven has resulted in a statement that, while wanting to help is admirable, sometimes, one must not intervene, and instead allow those less powerful or wise to find their path and prove their worth. This is a similar stance to the Collective's former policy of noninterventionism, and understandable. Nevertheless, we have been looking for ways to get angels to act in cosmoses unbound by the Demon Accords, where their abilities can be put to full use, at the same time creating measures for preventing their rivals from following them there.
Colloquial name: angels.
Origin: angels were created by the theomorphic/nousverous aberrant referred to by them as Yahweh. According to them, their God created athe cosmos like a watchmaker would a timepiece, and manages it with such skill it resembles omniscience. Angels were created to serve as Yahweh's messengers and enforcers. Since the creation of the Demon Accords, they have been barred from acting overtly in the physical universe, as that would invite an equal response from the opposition.
The most active Earthbound angel is Barbiel, the Angel of October, referred to by Chris Gordon as "my angelic case officer". Though eager to learn about and understand human trends, Barbiel's main purpose is observing and guiding the angel who fell by choice to become God's Hammer.
Description: angels do not possess bodies and can shape their true, incorporeal forms into whatever they wish, though they seem to prefer anthropomorphism. Angels often appear as winged, humanoid silhouettes made of white light.
Behaviour: Angels are determined and patient, taking the long view on a scale spanning eons. When able to intervene and help others, they appear generous and jovial. Barbiel often exhibits such traits while observing, usually appearing to pass helpful information to his charge while showing off the latest piece of human media he has absorbed. Angels have also been known to exhibit a fierce joy while destroying demons.
Threat level: local/regional. Angels are considerably more powerful than Chris Gordon when they choose to manifest physically, and should thus be capable of easily crushing large vehicles in single strikes and pulverising concrete walls by running through them, receiving no damage as a result. They have access to their Swords, aberrant energy constructs that can sever any amount of mundane material they can touch and permanently obliterate the true forms of demons, otherwise unkillable to any amount of spiritual or elemental power, as well as an endless supply of Angel Fire, a single "burst" of which instantly turned three hundred werewolves to ash when used by Chris Gordon, with werewolves being several times denser than humans of a similar build, and far more durable.
Angels also possess insight into future matters bordering on precognition, can change the state of their bodies at will, and are able to bypass the senses of aberrants whose senses are orders of magnitudes sharper than those of humans. Angels can influence natural events when free to act, for example, directing meteor impacts as powerful as nuclear strikes at things they deem must be destroyed. It has been hypothesised that many of the natural disasters presented in the Bible were the result of angelic intervention.
Collaboration: reaching out to Heaven has resulted in a statement that, while wanting to help is admirable, sometimes, one must not intervene, and instead allow those less powerful or wise to find their path and prove their worth. This is a similar stance to the Collective's former policy of noninterventionism, and understandable. Nevertheless, we have been looking for ways to get angels to act in cosmoses unbound by the Demon Accords, where their abilities can be put to full use, at the same time creating measures for preventing their rivals from following them there.
The Zhayvin Files: Hellbourne (Demon Accords)
Strigoi Grey
Not departed
- Location
- Romania
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Classification: incorporeal aberrants ("demons") who can hijack human bodies (and do so to sow chaos and violence).
Colloquial name: Hellbourne, possessed.
Origin: after their fall, the former angels created a dystopian, hierarchical society. The majority of its members are sent "up" to cause strife in order to test the inhabitants of different worlds, as part of the Demon Accords.
Description: as most demons cannot manifest a body of their own in the material universe, they appear as amorphous beings made of oily black smoke. Their hosts do not show any outward signs of corruption, although their bodies can be altered once the demon becomes powerful or determined enough.
Behaviour: most demons are anarchistic, mass-murdering sadists, who display a disdain towards Earth's society while simultaneously following the customs of theirs (but this is a lie, as demons only care about themselves, and are always looking to drag down those above them). While some older, higher-ranked ones can plan and keep a cool head, most of the ones sent to Earth to possess people can only lay low for so long before their predatory urges kick in.
Most Hellbourne whose personality isn't immediately overwritten by their demon are unaware they are possessed, even though the creature's presence is likely to make them antisocial and violent without it exerting any effort. During the stage preceding complete possession, the host might display exaggerated versions of their worst flaws.
Threat level: local (?). Hellbourne can push their host's bodies to superhuman extremes even without enhancing them, allowing them to perform feats that would cripple or kill humans and keep the flesh moving through sheer will. Powerful Hellbourne can either assume their true forms or modify their stolen bodies to the point they resemble those, allowing them to match angels in combat. Demons are imperceivable while incorporeal, to both human technology and the superhuman senses of most aberrants without "spiritual" perception. They can extend this to their host bodies at will. It is currently unknown if low-ranked demons can perform feats similar to angels exerting their will upon the world.
Neutralization: it has been observed that the presence of holy objects (belonging to any religion) can be harmful to Hellbourne, as long as those bearing them truly believe in what said objects symbolise (this is not foolproff; see the case of the hellish preacher taken down by Chris Gordon and his associates, who had a demonically-tainted Bible). As such, the fabrication of such objects would be useless, as we Zhayvin pray to no one and nothing, and never had. Thankfully, we possess equipment that can interact with aberrants in all states of being, and these demons are not beyond the combat ability of even an unarmed reptilian with the means to affect them.
Colloquial name: Hellbourne, possessed.
Origin: after their fall, the former angels created a dystopian, hierarchical society. The majority of its members are sent "up" to cause strife in order to test the inhabitants of different worlds, as part of the Demon Accords.
Description: as most demons cannot manifest a body of their own in the material universe, they appear as amorphous beings made of oily black smoke. Their hosts do not show any outward signs of corruption, although their bodies can be altered once the demon becomes powerful or determined enough.
Behaviour: most demons are anarchistic, mass-murdering sadists, who display a disdain towards Earth's society while simultaneously following the customs of theirs (but this is a lie, as demons only care about themselves, and are always looking to drag down those above them). While some older, higher-ranked ones can plan and keep a cool head, most of the ones sent to Earth to possess people can only lay low for so long before their predatory urges kick in.
Most Hellbourne whose personality isn't immediately overwritten by their demon are unaware they are possessed, even though the creature's presence is likely to make them antisocial and violent without it exerting any effort. During the stage preceding complete possession, the host might display exaggerated versions of their worst flaws.
Threat level: local (?). Hellbourne can push their host's bodies to superhuman extremes even without enhancing them, allowing them to perform feats that would cripple or kill humans and keep the flesh moving through sheer will. Powerful Hellbourne can either assume their true forms or modify their stolen bodies to the point they resemble those, allowing them to match angels in combat. Demons are imperceivable while incorporeal, to both human technology and the superhuman senses of most aberrants without "spiritual" perception. They can extend this to their host bodies at will. It is currently unknown if low-ranked demons can perform feats similar to angels exerting their will upon the world.
Neutralization: it has been observed that the presence of holy objects (belonging to any religion) can be harmful to Hellbourne, as long as those bearing them truly believe in what said objects symbolise (this is not foolproff; see the case of the hellish preacher taken down by Chris Gordon and his associates, who had a demonically-tainted Bible). As such, the fabrication of such objects would be useless, as we Zhayvin pray to no one and nothing, and never had. Thankfully, we possess equipment that can interact with aberrants in all states of being, and these demons are not beyond the combat ability of even an unarmed reptilian with the means to affect them.
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God's Mouth: Invincible (One)
Strigoi Grey
Not departed
- Location
- Romania
- Pronouns
- He/Him
AN: Next main chapter is likely going to be a SS/Bleach crossover featuring Hex and Nacht. Not sure when I'll finish it, hopefully soon.
* * *
"Self-inflicted genocide for the sake of purging the weak and - doubtlessly - the dissenting? Nothing the hands of man have not wrought before. Aye, we know enough to say that those who opposed this slaughter were lumped in with those seen as defective. And they kept at it. We know what you will say, brother: for beings who treat millennia like decades, this is not ancient history, merely something that happened in the past. But 'tis not about time, Gabriel. They kept at this, despite every new culture they encountered. How many worlds were stripped bare and their people enslaved or murdered because blind warmongers wanted to and could? For the sake of a joyless empire where even the conquerors hardly found pleasure?
And yet, once exposed to humanity, so many of them turned their coats, and followed in the footsteps of their first betrayer, who made a virtue of treachery..."
-on Viltrumites;
"An example of how lying to yourself can harm as much as lying to others. He found his path, in the end, not that the guilt ever left him. And by that point, the bloodlust had left him, and so had the hollow ambition he had been raised to cherish. He did not take his throne with pleasure, for all that the blood of a dead Emperor flowed through his veins. He even tried to bridge the gap he had created between himself and his family."
-on Nolan Grayson, Omni-Man;
"The Grand Regent might have been the face of their Empire, but this one was what passed for its heart and soul. Bloodthirsty and unashamed, proud of it, even. He did not try to convert, or spread the value of the realm he had helped carve - such as they were. He wanted to kill, slowly. He liked his victims hurt and broken before death took them."
-on Conquest;
"He craved supremacy among his people as he craved their supremacy over the universe. He had driven them further than their late Emperor, had kept them together in the wake of the wrought plague that had killed all but a fraction of them - how could he not deserve the throne? So what if he was opposed by scions of the royal bloodline? They had earned nothing, in his eyes.
And after the eldest of them made the mistake of exiling him instead of having him killed, he returned with an army, children he saw as tools to be used. It was only the heir of the Emperor he killed who put an end to him, in a battle that almost saw him dead, too - and that only came after many struggles."
-on Thragg;
* * *
"Self-inflicted genocide for the sake of purging the weak and - doubtlessly - the dissenting? Nothing the hands of man have not wrought before. Aye, we know enough to say that those who opposed this slaughter were lumped in with those seen as defective. And they kept at it. We know what you will say, brother: for beings who treat millennia like decades, this is not ancient history, merely something that happened in the past. But 'tis not about time, Gabriel. They kept at this, despite every new culture they encountered. How many worlds were stripped bare and their people enslaved or murdered because blind warmongers wanted to and could? For the sake of a joyless empire where even the conquerors hardly found pleasure?
And yet, once exposed to humanity, so many of them turned their coats, and followed in the footsteps of their first betrayer, who made a virtue of treachery..."
-on Viltrumites;
"An example of how lying to yourself can harm as much as lying to others. He found his path, in the end, not that the guilt ever left him. And by that point, the bloodlust had left him, and so had the hollow ambition he had been raised to cherish. He did not take his throne with pleasure, for all that the blood of a dead Emperor flowed through his veins. He even tried to bridge the gap he had created between himself and his family."
-on Nolan Grayson, Omni-Man;
"The Grand Regent might have been the face of their Empire, but this one was what passed for its heart and soul. Bloodthirsty and unashamed, proud of it, even. He did not try to convert, or spread the value of the realm he had helped carve - such as they were. He wanted to kill, slowly. He liked his victims hurt and broken before death took them."
-on Conquest;
"He craved supremacy among his people as he craved their supremacy over the universe. He had driven them further than their late Emperor, had kept them together in the wake of the wrought plague that had killed all but a fraction of them - how could he not deserve the throne? So what if he was opposed by scions of the royal bloodline? They had earned nothing, in his eyes.
And after the eldest of them made the mistake of exiling him instead of having him killed, he returned with an army, children he saw as tools to be used. It was only the heir of the Emperor he killed who put an end to him, in a battle that almost saw him dead, too - and that only came after many struggles."
-on Thragg;