The arch-traitor lets another series of tornadoes out, and I dive for the centre most one. My hands find its rotation and I rip it apart from the inside. Forcing my own magic across the broken strands. A pair of blades come to hand and her magic seeps back into her.
I dance for her, scraping along her shield with energetic blows and slices. Cutting and dicing with unrelenting momentum as I work to bring her guard down. She comes go back a step, her heels so poignant in their demands. A scream builds up in her mouth, a hand coming away along with a taking of magic.
It comes out with a roar, and she thrusts a wall of four-coloured magic at me. The overwhelming scale of the power traps me and it forces me back. She keeps her posture, pushing on and on to add more and more to it. I throw the spell-blades down, turning them into a board to spread my footing along.
While I may never see the cultures of Ibenorocco or their practices, I can most certainly live them. My own talents over wind magic bring me along to the sapphire power of the maritime empire. My athletic prowess handles the rest, making light joy of such a terrifying foe. Her focus laps and my Valkinvar instincts take over, throwing me right back towards her.
The abrupt change in direction crashes me into a wall, and I roll along it. Flakes and shards of redstone chasing after me and coming along the dying figments of wind magic. I break out into a sprint and the arch-traitor flies off with all she has. My next stride doesn't hit the ground and the air pops.
Jagged explosions fill the hall and her fleeing form comes into sight. I shoot left, forward, right and more. Avoiding her counter-fire while still catching up. Her desperation keeps on growing and nothing hits me. Mines, missiles and more.
She comes to a stop, her staff a spear of four magics and she aims it for my heart. The artefacts beckon me to safety and I meet the mountain-gutting blow head on. It scrapes across the ornate armour, not so much as scratching any of its finer details. She stumbles ahead, her magic catching her just in time to give her another point-blank shot at me.
I crouch behind my arms, focusing my magic along my exposed body as I wrack my mind. The Crown of Conceptual War runs plans and actions through my head, implanting them into my muscles. However, it knows. It knows they will just cause her to run and run.
"WHY! WON'T! YOU! DIEEEEEEEE!" the arch-traitor roars with all she has, the rare moment of non-redstone ground vanishing in a moment. I fall with the debris saved by my physique and she dives after me, her magic gnashing for me however it can. Lightning strikes as if we have a sky ahead. Fire bubbles out like a volcano is alive. Winds howl from the eye of the storm and water rushes for me, the Time of Liquid Mountains so blatant in its inspiring acts.
"I already did." I can't help but whisper as an answer and I hop out of the way of the magic. Her lightning goes beyond its natural speeds in nature and they lash for me so much faster. I twitch one way and another, making my way through the unrelenting storm forest. They switch to entrapping me, water and fire passing on through with uncanny control.
My limited air hisses, a lethal fog of heretic emerald coming on through. I straighten out, not a twitch or bead of terrified sweat anywhere on my face. Let alone inside by my heart. I look one way and then another, time seemingly becoming so slow thanks to the divine power in me.
I close my eyes and sigh longingly for the artefacts to answer my questions. They're more than happy to oblige and names come to me. Visions of what they're up to and more. A stutter leaves my lips, beating back the hostile spell, but not defeating it.
Osses, Bsess, Cetrepe, they're all alive. They're alive and fighting with all they have against the traitors. They found each other and many more. They've kept on fighting through the blood and bruises and are about to win their part of this civil war.
They and dozens more Valkinvar-Imdvarce are proving that our simplicity is not a weakness. Their masterful control over their flight is sending them in to provoke spells out. Trip egos up and spill pride across the floor like many guts have already found themselves in. Probing weaknesses, and simply smashing straight through others. Kebabbing the traitors and so much of our honoured history.
Cetrepe's energetic personality sees her jumping and leaping all around, the hooks of her sword nicking away at the traitor Staguiffmani. The traitor's posture drops, the hundreds of cuts so close to that lethal thousandth. Cetrepe shoots away, yet another splattering of little blood on her blade. She lands, spinning around, overtaken by Osses.
My spike-haired friend smashes away, going for a far more brutal approach. She forces shields up and smacks them aside, breaking their protection as much as the traitor's spirit. The traitor grows desperate, but she doesn't have the control to act. Unlike the arch-traitor, she cannot control her magic so freely under this kind of strain.
Bsess, though, she won't let her think too much about it. She comes in from behind, the sky rupturing to but one of millions of sonic booms. Her sword rams right through the traitor's armour and spine, bursting out the other end. The other two launch up, joining in on the impaling as the dying throes of the Staguiffmani traitor almost blast apart but more of the temple.
My eyes open and I close them again, daring so much as to see what a long time trouble of mine is up to.
Uala pulls ahead, tearing her braided tail clean away from her head as her bleeding mouth and more continues to squirt eagerly. She smiles, her weapon nowhere in sight. But, so is the traitor she is facing. The Imdvarce clashes against the Staguiffmani, the pair of them rolling off a decorative bridge and into the air.
"Ouch..." I remark, parting myself away from the brutal sights of what Uala is up to. But, it leaves me picky, my mindset. And I know just the brother to think about and the Crown of Conceptual War grants my wish. The Armour of the Dying Cries stays silent, not speaking the name. Lavauroas... Lavauroas!
His name is not here!
My mind twists and turns, revealing an open field and the lone brother of the Ordoar Ammimpaurst. He seethes with anger, hundreds of wounds spilling his blood and shattering his armour. No enemies, however. Victory surrounds him on all sides and, rather than stumbling in exhaustion, his heart beats proudly.
He heaves his war-hammer high, roaring with all he has and smashing up the last of his chest-plate. The master-forged steel falls apart. A handful of wounded Valkinvar, forced from their beds... They cheer him on. Thanking their saviour as much as they welcome the chance to perhaps fight themselves. Though they're already lacking magic, they pass on what they can to him and he holds his ground. Another traitor comes into his sights and he barrels ahead, war-hammer already half-way in its swing.
"Allyoceer would certainly be proud." I speak, letting my sense of time return to normal. The arch-traitor's spell continues to come for me and I twist my head. My magic focuses into my knuckles and I throw it out, forcing her power into that one spot. I give her the slip and come back into the open, my foot ploughing through the redstone walls. Rock bubbles up, splashing outwards as my foot comes into view.
She shoots herself back, the doors behind her shattering wide and far. I chase after her. Another treasure of War himself almost coincidentally revealing itself to us. I circumvent her spells, breaking through what I can't avoid. My legs throw themselves ahead, perfectly slipping into a new pair of greaves and half-booted sandals. The godly bronze shimmers with new life, the trio of artefacts begging for the final part.
Great-axe. Great-axe. Great-axe. Great-axe!
"Cenotaph..." I speak, instinctually finding the very direction it is. The arch-traitor's wide eyes follow my vision and she looks at her staff. It almost seems disgusting now. She keeps her grip tight, spinning it around with tremendous, graceful skill. She might need to replace it, but it will do for the moment. It will do.
"You think wearing the artefacts, illegally, makes you some kind of champion?" she asks, her motions putting us into a circling walk. I scoff at her emphasis.
"Illegal? I have divine right." I speak, coming to a halt as Waionr's lion seemingly hears my words. In the deep underground of the increasingly ruined temple, the lion's roar reaches us. The damaged redstone even makes it echo as if those fangs are so close to us right now. But, much as it would delight me to end this quickly, I need Par'tryont to remain on the surface and near it...
My eyes close and I open them again, refreshing my expression with joyous delight as a fact comes clearly to me. All five of the Exalsonarden-Valkinvar are loyalists and they've purged the dungeons and more. The traitors have only the sky and they're increasingly getting overwhelmed. Too much power remains in Waionr's hands and the Mighty isn't seeming so unrelenting about now.
"Even if we lose this cycle... We shall come back with all the troops we need to ruin this city out of existence!" Gemorli hisses, another load of spells building up in her hands. My smile grows, turning quite stable in the face of her desperation.
"No traitor or heretic shall step foot in Waionr's lands again as I defeat you and your kind." I remind her and she scowls harshly, her power gathering up still. It really is something, even now as I hide away in the safety of divine artefacts. She's let out so much and she still has so much to call on.
It's the kind of magical power that wins wars between empires and leaves the world in shambles. That is what is expected of the Zaphadren-Valkinvar, and she has been more than happy to keep to it. A sad state, really, to know the former one died so someone like Gemorli could take over.
And it only makes me even more thankful that Prince Jhrartur was as cocksure as he was that cycle all those years ago. His power bent the Ordoar Staguiffmani to his will. Their broken minds became his to turn into sycophants. He planted a blade in me and had every opportunity to actually make a body out of me. But luck, divine intervention... Something let me live to see this day.
"The next time I see your lover. I will butcher him the way he has butchered all the loyal Valkinvar-Staguiffmani you turned your back on." I tell the arch-traitor and her answer is arm-drawing silent. It lights up, bright as bright can be when it comes to Unondsburic Emerald. Her magic gathers and gathers, seeming so small despite the country-slaying power at her fingertips.
Her expression suddenly snarls, and she throws it at me. The Crown of Conceptual War demands I rush ahead to catch it. The Armour of Dying Cries whimpers at the names it might have to speak. The Greaves of the Unending March, however, they meet the moment as the namesake is. Duty calls, and I must answer.
I land on the magic, pushing it against the redstone ground and letting it blow against me. So much bursts out of my reach, filling out the catacombs of the tunnel with eviscerating power. Unfortunate souls suddenly fill my head and ears, only a fraction of the dead still leaving me reeling. I keep myself there, keeping the power contained as well as I can as the arch-traitor flees again.
I rise, snapping her magic into both hands as I kick up some redstone. The magic crashes into the hole, and I kick and stand on the debris, trapping it even more until it simmers away. A lengthy sigh escapes me and I trudge off of the indestructible rock, my mind still struggling to accept the circumstances of it. Divine power can break redstone, mortal power can't.
Invincible to so many but not actually fitting the definition...?
"Am I getting too arrogant with such power?" I ask myself, tearing my thoughts away as I give chase after the arch-traitor. Even this question, though, it speaks volumes of what is going on. All of this power makes me so safe, so certain. I'm more concerned for the lives of others than my own at every moment we are fighting.
But soon, we shall fight no more...
My eyes narrow on her magic trail and the faintest outlines of her distant self. The arch-traitor is heading for the quarry. The place where the last artefact is located. Waionr's weapon itself, the Great-axe of Remembrance. Cenotaph.
The air explodes, propelling me forward and through the redstone walls, shortening my journey even more!