July 2019- Hynakyan Space, Earth 0-0
The toxic Miasma swept across the void like an undying specter, leaving a graveyard of fallen Quantums in its wake. The once vibrant frontline began to collapse, retreating from the open expanse of space into the gaping breach of the flagship. The Pultytes, however, seemed unaffected, even invigorated by the deadly gas, their energy levels replenishing in its wake. Even the Titans, the pinnacle of Quantum power in the alliance, found themselves being driven back into the safe confines of the ship.
The ship’s interior, paradoxically untouched by the Miasma, suggested a deliberate strategy by Ba’laan – he had drawn us into a controlled setting, either as part of a grander scheme or out of reluctance to unleash the destructive Miasma within his own stronghold.
Divis’s thoughts crashed into Asche’s mind with the force of a seismic wave, his anger and disbelief reverberating through their shared mental connection. [Asche, what vortex of disaster have you pulled us into?] He projected, his tone thick with reproach. [You didn’t prepare us for such catastrophe. Half of us now lay dead because of your oversight.] The palpable dissatisfaction was evident, and his emotions were close to boiling over.
Asche remained silent, his thoughts too preoccupied with their current predicament to entertain the blame game. They had a looming crisis to deal with, not a quarrel to settle. When the interior of the ship began to congest with retreating Quantums, Asche projected a broadcast to all. [We must split up. The Pultytes will soon return, and we must ensure the breach stays open. It’s our only exit once this ordeal is over.] Asche and Gwen charted a course toward the distinctive energy signature of Ba’laan, but it was still a daunting kilometer away.
With uncanny synchronicity, the Pultytes began to materialize inside the ship, a spectral force arising to blockade their path. Asche tapped into the collective consciousness of the Mind Incarnate once again, The orb rallying more followers to his cause. These were Pultytes who were now willing to lay down their lives for Asche, instead of the tyrant Ba’laan. As it turned out, the Pultytes were not the formidable opponents they had anticipated, but rather a manageable obstacle they were well on their way to overcoming.
As Asche navigated the chaotic field of battle, the decision to distance himself from the primary troop cluster began to weigh heavily on him. The option of teleporting ahead loomed in his mind, an appealing solution to the cacophonous dance of warfare that unfolded around him. Yet, the undeniable reality of leading the principal defence of their group with Gleam tethered him firmly to the heart of the skirmish. He yearned for the control, the ability to direct the flow of the combat.
His vanguard of Pultytes, each bound to him by a sense of loyalty, formed an impregnable barrier. Their plasma spears carved a swathe through the opposition, rending the need for Asche to engage directly in combat obsolete. Yet, the relief was short-lived. Mere minutes after the last of their group had infiltrated the ship and begun their inward push, the Uruths arrived. A mere half a dozen of them, yet they brought a menacing sense of dread that dampened the spirits of even the bravest Quantums. The Pultytes, relentless in their defense, slowed the advance of these monomaniacal warriors. But it was only a delay.
Quantums of the Alliance stepped forth, steeling themselves against the onslaught of the Uruths. This prompted a defensive instinct within Asche, an urge to shield his allies from the impending doom. Yielding to this impulse, he materialized within striking distance of a pair of Uruths. The simulacra bore an uncanny resemblance to Ba’laan, echoing the one they had battled mere months ago.
As he emerged within the melee, an Uruth, seeming to anticipate his arrival, launched a fatal assault. Asche found himself on the backfoot, forced into a defensive stance as he narrowly evaded an impaling strike. This disruption cost him the opportunity to deter an imminent attack on Matrix, a well-known Quantum from the T2M division of the Alliance. Already swarmed by Pultytes, Matrix was blind to the dishonorable attack approaching her from the rear. In a horrifying moment, her head was severed just below the chin, a burst of blood spraying onto those unfortunate enough to be in the vicinity.
The scene left Asche heartbroken, yet outwardly he remained steadfast, his eyes reflecting a relentless determination. He retaliated with a sequence of meticulously timed attacks that penetrated the Uruths’ feeble attempts at defense. In a fluid motion akin to the one that felled Matrix, he decapitated the pair of Uruths. The momentum of his strike continued, downing two Pultytes and carving a path for Gwen to join the fray. His heart ached with loss, but he stood unwavering, prepared to endure the trials ahead.
Gwen’s whip, a monofilament strand, danced through the maelstrom, a lethal ballet of swift, decimating motions. Like a conductor leading a discordant orchestra, she orchestrated a symphony of dismemberment. A tactical Pultyte adversary, however, demonstrated the cunning required to ensnare her instrument of destruction, its plasma spear acting as a makeshift lasso. In a display of raw power and swift maneuvering, he cast his weapon to the side, leaving Gwen’s whip entangled and temporarily useless. With predatory agility, the Pultyte lunged through the air, initiating a swift, talon-tipped strike aimed directly at Gwen. Summoning every ounce of her training, she tumbled out of the way, evading the strike, but in doing so, she lost her tether to her precious weapon, now guarded by the Pultyte standing as a living blockade.
Noting her sudden disarming, two more Pultyte warriors lunged forward, their eyes gleaming with the prospect of a swift victory. Gwen was left with no option but to transform herself from a striking serpent into a defensive fortress. Every iota of her enhanced strength and honed reflexes was thrown into an all-encompassing defense against the relentless onslaught. A sliver of solace in the midst of chaos was the Pultytes’ refraining from using their plasma bolts, likely out of concern for injuring their own. Regardless of the reasoning behind their strategy, Gwen clung to this tiny grain of mercy amidst the escalating violence.
Meanwhile, in another corner of the battlefield, Vishnu was locked in a desperate and solitary combat with another of the resolute Uruths. Her sapphire skin, usually unblemished and regal, was now a canvas of gory artistry, crisscrossed with slashes and painted in her own life’s liquid. With every healing and regeneration, she banished the immediate threat of demise but each new wave of attack replaced old cuts with fresh ones, and her life essence continued its incessant flow. The quantum-charged toughness that usually encased her like an invincible armor seemed to be largely ignored by the Uruth’s relentless assault. Even possessing a quartet of arms proved inadequate in the face of such a formidable foe. When the Uruth had neutralized her prized abilities of warp and disintegration, the struggle became decidedly one-sided. The arrival of a second Uruth sent a chill down her spine, introducing a sensation into her psyche she hadn’t felt in over thirty years – a cold, primal fear.
Yet, Vishnu didn’t allow this fear to surface, keeping it locked away. Even as a ghastly wound tore open her upper abdomen, causing a macabre fountain of blood to erupt forth, she retreated into a cocoon of intense concentration. Time seemed to stretch and warp around her, the action around her slowing down as if caught in an ethereal slow-motion sequence while she paradoxically seemed to be accelerating. With lightning speed, she ensnared the necks of both Uruths, her grip tightening as she unleashed one of her remaining powers. A surge of energy, chaotic and intense, punctuated with an excessive dose of radiation, coursed through the bodies of the two Uruths. The onslaught overpowered one Uruth, its body buckling under the radiation, collapsing and disintegrating into dust. The second proved more resilient, withstanding Vishnu’s power surge and shattering the temporal manipulation she’d imposed. In a horrifying blur of movement, the Uruth retaliated, its sword cleaving through the air, severing two of Vishnu’s arms at the elbow before plunging into her chest with a deadly certainty.
The realm of the immediate snapped back into its regular rhythm, the elastic stretch of temporal manipulation releasing with the abrupt finality of a bowstring. Time, once held captive, flowed again in its relentless current, carrying with it the lifeless form of Vishnu as it slid from the implacable blade of the Uruth.
This was an Uruth with a purpose that seemed etched in its very essence. Its objective: the Titans. Their annihilation was its sole mission, a task that resonated with a monastic level of devotion. Its execution: perfect and terrifying in equal measure. Yet, it wasn’t just a mindless predator. Each action was underpinned by a strategic intelligence that pulsed as a current through its deadly dance.
Quantum energy, the life-force that had surged in abundance through Vishnu’s form, was now orphaned. The Uruth, in an act that was as pragmatic as it was savage, tapped into the river of residual power and channeled it into its own wounded form. It repaired its injuries even as it faced the encroaching ranks of the Teragen, a faction whose members were now converging on the Uruth with grim determination.
Two members of the Teragen splintered off from the main force, their powers humming in the air as they rushed at the Uruth. The first unleashed a storm of quantum bolts, each one crackling with potential devastation. But the Uruth moved with a serpentine grace, a ballet of dodges and weaves that rendered the hailstorm of energy impotent.
The second Teragen member closed the distance, energy claws crackling like an impending thunderstorm around their fists. The Uruth completed a twisting, mid-air dodge, its blade leaving its grasp to be hurled with unerring precision. The ethereal spear found its mark, skewering the second Nova through the heart.
In the midst of the tumultuous battle, the Uruth executed a swift pivot, its movements imbued with the deadly precision of a hawk swooping onto its prey. It honed in on the nearest Nova, its encounter mirroring the ruthlessness of their clash. Upon making contact, the Nova’s physical form dissipated, mirroring the terrifying prowess of Vishnu’s disintegration power – a power now under the Uruth’s command.
The battle scene, if for but a fleeting moment, seemed to freeze, yielding the Uruth the necessary respite to extract its blade from the now inert Nova. It poised itself for the ensuing round of combat, standing as a grim silhouette of preparedness etched onto the canvas of tumultuous disorder.
The calm, however, was ephemishly short-lived. The next trio of members advanced, apparently matching the Uruth’s might. They assailed it relentlessly, each successful hit incrementally draining the Uruth of life. The Uruth appeared to have assimilated the Pultytes’ learned invulnerability—perhaps it had slain an Asche-transformed Pultyte and absorbed its powers—proving an arduous adversary to subdue. The trio was no longer using powers on it, it has developed immunity, and were instead beating the life out of it with their hands. Several members of the 440 were hold back Pultytes in an all out battle that looked short lived; more Pultytes were spilling in from rifts again, and they were reinforcing their fallen kin.
In the heat of the battle, Asche sent a swift telepathic command to Glean, [Get to him now.] No sooner had the command been issued than a streak of blurred movement crossed the battlefield, accompanied by the cacophonous symphony of tearing metal and detonating electronics. With every ounce of his strength, Glean had carved a wide swath through the ship, leaving a gaping ten-meter tunnel in his wake.
The ship’s recovery gel, a self-repairing mechanism designed to seal breaches, began to pour in, resembling a silver waterfall cascading into a damaged dam. However, quick thinking from one of the 440 transformed the gel from liquid metal to something akin to water. The now harmless fluid flowed down the newly created tunnel, a rapid river washing away the evidence of Glean’s destructive charge.
As the gel flowed in, the lighting in the tunnel flickered ominously, and the ship convulsed under the strain of the damage. But Glean had already reached the end of the tunnel, with Asche materializing right behind him in a blink of a teleportation, ready to face whatever lay beyond.
Asche, the air around him thrumming with latent power, confronted Ba’laan, his gaze steady and unyielding. “Your reign has brought nothing but suffering, Ba’laan,” he accused, his voice echoing in the vast emptiness that surrounded them.
Ba’laan chuckled, a sound as cold as the void they stood in. “Aside from the fact that the only people suffering are those that resist, you believe your actions will bring relief? A naive perspective, Asche.”
Asche’s fists tightened, sparks of energy dancing off his knuckles. “I believe in a future where fear isn’t the driving force. Where your tyranny is but a forgotten nightmare,” he retorted, defiance burning bright in his eyes.
Ba’laan scoffed, his eyes gleaming with derisive amusement. “Then come, Asche. Try to turn your dreams into reality.”
With a final nod of resolve, Asche launched himself at Ba’laan, ready to fight for the future he believed in.
The two powers fought each other with swords; Asche with Eon imbued with the 16th Incarnate and Ba’laan with a mighty looking bastard sword that seemed to emanate aurora borealis as it moved through the air. Neither at the moment were using external powers, instead they were testing each other’s swordsmanship. Glean tried to get a few shots in when there was an opening but Ba’laan swiped the quantum bolts away with a gesture.
Asche reached out into the Pultyte hive mind once more, this time lacing the link with Mind Incarnate, the 16th Incarnate and his own primal energy. He felt like it was a million minds, the sensations were nearly overwhelming. [Die.] Asche sent with such focus that he was partially distracted and Ba’laan landed a grazing slice to Asches hip. At that moment the entire Pultyte force collapsed like marionettes with their strings cut.
[Keep damaging the ship Glean, he feels that too.] Asche sent.
Ba’laan was noticeably surprised at his army collapsing but his Uruths were still on the field and decimating the Alliance. Another forty lives were lost to the last 3 Uruths but now everyone could focus on just 4 targets including Ba’laan.
A bead of sweat formed on Ba’laans brow as he dodged the last swing of Asches blade.
From somewhere out of the blue came a solid spike of metal the size of a mans thumb, it impaled Ba’laan in his chest and sent his stepping back several steps to keep his balance.
“That’s from a project of mine Ba’laan. How do you like it.” Asche said as he lunged to pierce Ba’laan through.
“The Nova’s are nothing to me Asche. Their energies are paltry compared to my own.” Came the reply from Ba’laan as he dodged Ashes swipe and this time simply caught the next spike from the nova out of left field, but his hand was bleeding. Asche grinned.
In a voice filled with the resonance of hard-won knowledge, Asche addressed Ba’laan, “Now you comprehend it, don’t you T’virri? Even the magnitude of your might, as vast as it is, has its limits.” Asche then retreated a few steps, and with the merest whisper of cosmic energy, he translocated to a location of relative safety. His mental command was as clear as a ringing bell, broadcasted to every member of the Alliance, [Unleash all your fury.] His psychic voice reverberated, [Assail him from all directions. Let him sense the weight of your multitude and, above all else, inflict upon him pain.]
The surviving combatants from the Alliance and the 440 unleashed their energy attacks in a spectacular display of defiance and desperation. The immensity of the antechamber became a battlefield of frenzied energy bolts, darting and whirling in an attempt to strike Ba’laan. Despite the flurry of assaults, only a few managed to hit their mark. Ba’laan, with his uncanny ability, deflected the majority or willed them into insignificance, like a chilling winter breeze. However, those that found their mark brought with them a sting of pain.
Suddenly, the air trembled with a familiar energy. The Pultytes were returning, flowing through the cosmic rifts like water breaking through a dam. But to those like Asche, gifted with the ability to perceive the unseen, it was evident that these Pultytes were being born from Ba’laan’s own energy. Undaunted, Asche, armed with the might of the 16th Incarnate, vanquished the army of Pultytes with nothing but a thought. He reached out once more, probing Ba’laan’s will, testing his resolve. It had wavered but was not yet broken.
The energy bombardment ceased, giving way to the warriors gifted in the art of close combat. As they neared Ba’laan, he released the deadly mist once more, the same fog that had previously claimed countless lives. Yet as the toxic cloud started to spread, Asche called upon the power of Mercy Incarnate. The mist, now made harmless, failed to claim any more victims, a testament to the Alliance’s enduring resolve.
[You were the architect of the Swords, Ba’laan,] Asche’s mental voice echoed, resonating with the force of a thousand truths. [You forged them, embedded them with hope, and placed them as a beacon for those who dared to resist. Yet, you failed to consider one thing.]
[And what might that be?] Ba’laan retorted, his mental voice a defiant challenge against Asche’s accusation.
[I beg to differ, Ba’laan.] Asche responded, his mental voice a chilling contrast to Ba’laan’s heated denial. [I have tamed the wild essence of the Swords, taken your flawed design and made it whole. They are no longer simple tools of war. They serve me.] The declaration hung in the air between them, an incontrovertible truth.
[You underestimate the Swords.] Ba’laan shot back, his mental tone filled with the venom of his denial. [And you overestimate your control. They will not play nicely together, Asche. They will rebel.] Ba’laan’s words were defiant, yet there was a tremor of uncertainty beneath them, a fissure in his otherwise impervious demeanor.
[I took what you tinkered with and made myself master, they are no longer swords.] Asche said. He then lent power from Fury Incarnate to all here, especially Glean. Suddenly, most ranged attacks were hitting now and the attackers were attacking more often. Glean however looked in pain as he launched barrage after barrage until Ba’laan fell and dropped his sword. Ba’laan raised his hand to act and….
The climax was swift and brutal. Asche, capitalizing on Ba’laan’s exhaustion, severed his hand in a swift teleportation strike, leaving the despot reeling. A swift kick from Ba’laan brought Asche down prone, but Ba’laans attempted coup de grâce was intercepted by Refuge, blocked the blow and hoisted Ba’laan up off the ground by his wrist. Refuge proceeded to brutally pummel Ba’laan about the head and neck. Ba’laan was effectively stunned.
With Ba’laan suspended in the air, a stunned puppet in the hands of Refuge, Asche took his opportunity. In a swift series of movements, he approached the fallen tyrant, his hands radiating with the power of the Orbs. He placed them on Ba’laan, opening a pre-prepared conduit of power. The essence of Mercy Incarnate, Wisdom, and Force Incarnate flowed into Ba’laan, siphoning away the majority of his residual power.
The extraction of energy from Ba’laan was a titanic feat, an unfathomable wellspring of power diverted and channeled through the careful manipulation of Asche. The potential contained within was colossal enough to fuel the genesis of an entirely new Incarnate. However, Asche, with the discerning eye of a grandmaster strategist, saw an alternate path, a way to further consolidate his power.
Like an artisan sculpting creation from chaos, he redirected the energy, channeling it into the 16th Incarnate. The transfusion of power was not a mere enhancement but a transmutation, transforming the Orb into an unparalleled pillar of strength. This cornerstone Incarnate was now and forever a bedrock of power, a fundamental force against which all others were measured. Only a complete unity of the myriad beings populating Iruar could generate a comparable force.
This monumental feat was accomplished in the span of heartbeats, a testament to the immense control and mastery Asche wielded over the Incarnates. The Pultytes, their aggressive instincts honed by eons of evolution, perceived the seismic shift in power dynamics. A primordial understanding rooted deep in their collective consciousness impelled them to stand down, their aggression fading like a dying ember against the rising sun of Asche’s supremacy.