Cold War (Jaden vs Decimus, KOV)

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ThisIsGonnaHurt

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#1  Edited By ThisIsGonnaHurt

I have seen her.

Even in my waking nightmares, she is the only light in my life.

---

"Congratulations, you have two healthy baby boys. There is something that concerns me, however. Young Jaden has yet to open his eyes."

Even from birth, the stars mocked him. His brother, Saemhan, possessed the sixth sight, ascending past all boundaries of magic the Twilight Elves had and adapted his own reservoir of ethereal energy. He became Stormlord, the highest attainable level of shaman the world would ever see, and his power over the elements made even the Molten Tyrant Infernus shudder in fear. Jaden, however, could not see that far; he was stricken blind from the womb. Admittedly jealous of his brother, he tried to bottle these feelings inside and became a warrior instead. Gaining prominence on the battlefield for the use of his twin sickle blades, Jaden started to understand his purpose. It would be here, after all, that he would meet Silverstar. He knew her approach before she even opened her mouth.

In the darkness of his stripped sight, he could see a shape dancing in the distance - getting closer as she did.

---

The ravage of war against the Dark Horde took its toll on the Twilight Elves. Saemhan lost an arm and an eye, fully halving his effectiveness as a shaman. He remained undeterred, and continued to fight the demonic legions of Fargate as Stormlord. Jaden did not remain as mentally strong as his brother. As a blind man, he did not shrivel away from visual atrocities. His torture remained in the pit of his soul, and the whispers attacked his sensitive ears every second he spent on the hell-blasted surface of Skellbrieg.

One day, a scout clad in black reported to Jaden, and left him in tears.

---

Even her gravestone shimmered with a faint glitter. He stood over it, ignoring the boiling thunderheads at his heels. The heavenly city of the Twilight Elves always hid away its dead in tombs and vast cemeteries in the deepest, darkest dungeons obscured by clouds. Each time a new occupant arrived, a storm began to brew and the sky wept.

She should not be hidden. She should not be dead.

The voices in his head sometimes coincided with his own thoughts. Now, of all times, he could not tell them apart - or hardly even cared. He merely stood by his beloved's tomb, sweeping aside the errant dust particle as it drifted into his hearing range. He wanted to die here, with her, and spend eternity daring the unknown of the afterlife rather than staying alive for one more moment.

Investigate the site where she fell. Perhaps you will find clues there.

"Yes," echoed through the catacombs, but he could barely understand from where.

---

Back down on Skellbrieg, where the Twilight Elves and their great enemy had waged so many bloody battles, Jaden uncovered evidence of many wars, not just his own. Locating the exact place Silverstar fought and died would take weeks, or months. The young Windspeaker had no concept of this. He continued digging until his fingertips bled, and then rent the earth apart even further. A year passed, and still nothing.

Jaden had spent too much time on the surface, away from the healing mists of his people. The voices were strong now, and influenced his every action. His healthy purple skin faded into a dim, lavender tone. He resembled what the Twilight Elves often buried and mourned over.

"Enough,"

"I do not need you, Saemhan. Away from me,"

"I said enough, brother!"

Strong fingers clasped his shoulder, and ripped him away from the latest of his archaeological sites.

"Get away!"

"You are driven mad with grief over that woman, come back and rest or you'll die,"

"I would sooner die than spend another second without her, don't you understand?"

"I have never mistaken you for a fool before, Jaden, but today you make a mockery of everything you once were,"

Force became applied to Jaden's torso in the form of a hard rising knee. It left him winded, and reminded him of how weak he had grown. Flimsily, he crumpled under his brother's arm. A week later, and his condition somewhat improved. The voices had quieted, and for the first time in a long while he knew a shred of peace. Saemhan considered his brother stable one night, and let him sleep without watch.

The dreams came back, but in a resonance that Jaden had not heard in a long while.

"Jaden,"

Silverstar.

"Avenge me, Jaden,"

I have tried, but how my beloved?

"It was your brother Jaden. It was always your brother."

---

No Caption Provided

The downfall of the Twilight Elves came swiftly. With the death of Saemhan, the shamanistic cult crumbled and the elemental powers could not keep the Dark Horde in check. Demons swarmed the streets, slaughtering hundreds and burning the heavenly cities to ash. The Twilight Elves started falling to Earth, where they would begin a new history, but a few remained to see why Saemhan had forsaken them by accepting the afterlife.

Jaden held the body of his brother, his blades cast away into the far corner of the room drenched red. He had become unrecognizable, mutated by the Dark Gods for finally accepting their "gifts" and slaying his own flesh and blood. He pleaded for Saemhan to come back, but to no avail. The sentinels surrounded him and would have killed him if not for his immediate escape. He plucked his swords from the hall and departed on two leathery wings, the voices of those who found him chasing his heels now and for all eternity.

"Betrayer! Jaden Windspeaker is a traitor! Hound him! Find him! Make him suffer for what he has done!"

Through the screaming and all the hatred, none could see Jaden's tears or hear his whimpers. He had finally gained full control of his own body, but at the cost of watching himself slay the Stormlord. He thought it a nightmare until the agonizing transformation happened and snapped him out of his dreaming world. By then, it was too late.

---

Betrayer.

Hellspawn.

You never deserved to live.

Your brother should have been an only child.

"SHUT UP!"

Silverstar never loved you like you loved her.

She just wanted to get to Saemhan through you.

"Shut up!"

She died knowing you would grieve.

"Shut up..."

She never loved you.

Ten thousand years. Modern man could barely grasp the idea of living one hundred years, and even then those elderly few are surrounded by friends and family. Perhaps they die alone, but they all die. Immortality is by no stretch of the imagination a "gift," especially if one lives in solitude. Exiled from his people and imprisoned by the shackles of demonic restraint, Jaden underwent tortures of many kinds spanning many lifetimes over. The lords of the hellpits often resorted to taunting him with images of his people destroyed and his brother mutilated.

But he could never stomach seeing Silverstar among that number. The light of his life, swimming up and down, while the demons laughed and hollered.

---

Reprieve did not come at regular intervals. Binding his wings and limbs together, the demons would throw him into a lightless dungeon so that he may wallow in the memory of his latest regime of pain. He did not move during this time. Hardly breathing, waiting to rot, he just remained motionless. These times were the most difficult of all, as the blind elf's mind wandered through the atrocities. They were more potent than the salt in his reopened wounds.

The only sound keeping him awake remained in the irregular dripping of what he assumed was water in the distance. Of course, he would never be able to reach it. That is how the torturers of Fargate operated.

"Hey,"

Go away.

"Hey, you awake?"

"I said go away,"

"You didn't say anything, bud. Look, I'm here on business so I'll make it quick,"

Was this another apparition come to haunt him? The demons loved dangling false escape plans over his head. But the ground opened into a portal, and he could see a world separated from Fargate by both space and time. A glimpse of the future? Or the modern world, perhaps?

"A temporal gate..." he muttered thirstily, staring at the glistening rivers and streams gazing back at him.

"C'mon big guy, just a little further. In retrospect, I should have opened this underneath you, but I didn't want to scare you too much,"

"I understand how portals work," Jaden snapped back at his unseen visitor. "And I thank you, from the bottom of my heart."

Sarcasm dripped from his voice as he crawled headfirst into the interdimensional gateway, which he plummeted through for about thirty feet before landing in the icy currents. The chains binding his arms, legs, and wings together vanished entirely as he swam, their molecular structure fading without the proper presence of a pit lord nearby. Finally - freedom! He powered his way to shore and would have started flying, but felt a hammerhead placed on the back of his skull.

"You fell from clouds," a harsh voice commanded. "You take us to battle, and you make us win,"

These were humans? Such barbaric creatures. Jaden swept the hammer aside with a wrist, finding the resistance laughable through his demonic strength. Archers raised their bows in his face, intent on skewering him on the spot. Standing at his full height now, he towered over the lesser beings of this new world. He flashed a razor-toothed grin.

"Fair enough. I suppose that this is the task my liberator appointed me, some tweaking of the timestream in exchange for my freedom. I will oblige your pitiable request,"

---

Meanwhile...

"Oh sh!t, I didn't tell him what he needed to do! He's out in the middle of ancient history without a frame of reference for what's going on!"

"What are you talking about, Steve?"

"Jaden Windspeaker is now in Norway, circa 999, on the morning of the Battle of Svolder!"

"Pft, so?"

"So, King Olaf Tryggvason's men have just found him!"

"Still not following you, Steve,"

"The history of Norway is going to change forever if King Tryggvason wins because of Jaden, and it's all my fault!"

"It's Norway Steve, I'm sure the boss doesn't really care about freaking Norway."

"Shut up, Steve, we have to fix this - somehow."

---

The sun peeked over the horizon, casting an uneasy light through the mists. Their approach had been slow all morning because of the ice. King Tryggvason rowed out of his hold with forty ships, while history only remembered eleven. He knew of the monsters under the surface, and hoped that his foes would attract them more than his own fleet. Jaden sat in the middle of the armada, cocooned in his wings. His blades were concealed by magic runes, transformed into small rocks he kept pinned on his belt. The men around him were already uneasy because of his appearance. They feared something call Surtur, but others dispelled that claim because of Jaden's lack of a fiery mane.

Such nonsense.

"Keep quiet. Kraken underneath. Swimming, and hungry,"

The Betrayer casually dangled his ear over the edge of the boat and, sure enough, the water had grown dull with the immense shape of a moving behemoth. He could smell its breath, and settled back into a reclining position with a snarl. The surface of the ocean slowly rose, pushing ships out of the way like toys. Men started shouting orders. The time of the hunt had begun.

"Then let's give it something to chew on."

A tentacle shot out of the water, sending a cascade of salty brine across several decks at once. Jaden finally snapped out of his bored stasis and burst into action, slicing the offending limb apart with one swing of his enchanted swords. His cloven hooves met the fleshy innards of the kraken's forsaken whip-like appendage, while the tip of the monstrous thing soared through the air and crashed into a nearby mountain to rot.

Sensing his bloodlust coming to fold, Jaden bellowed a sadistic cackle as he broke into the water itself, eyes glowing under the bandages with a demonic fury. After so long in chains, it felt amazing to finally fight and fly on his own terms. The ocean tides churned red, and Jaden ascended from the depths, a perfectly dissected kraken tooth being King Tryggvason's prize as he dropped it before the viking lord's feet.

Soaked in brine and blood, Jaden became known as the Sea Conqueror while the humans around him cheered and sang.

He admittedly enjoyed their antics, but an all-too-familiar sound graced his sensitive ears. War drums. The enemy had assembled, and now battle was about to be joined. Something remained out of place, however. He could smell a foreign metal, both to this land and to what he already knew. The frigid sub-arctic winds did little to hide this scent. Perhaps this would be the one responsible for this timeline's faults?

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Victor sat idly in his office, spinning slowly back and forth in his chair, observing the latest news updates on his view-screen. His company, Tenth Industries, was doing well. Like a carefully cultivated plant, it's limbs were already reaching into the farthest facets of society. Soon, smartphones would have the latest Tenth Industries computing chips in them, and a rather lucrative upcoming contract with the United States military ensured that even the weapons that protected the citizens of this world would be under The Emperor's control. And yet...such endeavors were rather dull. With little else to occupy his nanomachine-enhanced mental functions, he summoned his armor from the depths of his laboratory. The microscopic robots lining his spinal column did make such actions easier to undertake. A mental link to the armor itself...such an achievement would never have been possible under the constraints of morality. Victor smiled as it landed in front of his desk, the entire front half opening for him to enter. As the armor docked with his nervous system, he felt the exhilaration that came from being part machine. Such power at his fingertips...if only the council could see him now. Victor toyed with the idea of building a dimensional portal back to Roma Maxima with his own technology, just so he could stab councilman Flavius with his own quill. If only he had given the order to send the weapon through the portal...things could have turned out differently for this world. More proof that the "ethical guidelines" established by so many on both this world and his own held no true power, no true purpose. Eh. Another day.

As he moved his armored fingers back and forth, a message flashed across his irises, linked to the armor. An invitation. Curious. Nobody should have been able to do that...Well, at least now Victor had something to occupy himself with.

"Whatever this may be, I accept." A portal appeared in front of Victor, boding him to enter. Well, that was quick. Such forces with the ability to create an aperture of this nature within his own secure place of living are forces to be reckoned with indeed. Analysis suggested that the portal was safe to enter. Beings who wielded this much power should not be toyed with, but they could also be arrogant, and Victor may be...beneath their notice. If he could wield their powers himself...the possibilities were limitless. Best to conceal his true intentions for now, and play along with whatever they had planned for him. Then...then, he may learn the secrets they hold. But for now...The Emperor stepped through the portal, prepared for anything.

Emerging atop a snow-covered mountain, his scanners immediately detected a small armada of warriors crossing a large body of water. There were also massive creatures of indeterminate nature stalking the fleet. One warrior stood out above the others. He was larger, for one thing, and certainly more powerful. He, too, seemed out of place here. Intriguing. A moment later, the armor notified him that this being was a target. So they had not yet relinquished complete control of his system to him yet. The message flashed more urgently. "I refuse to be a pawn," Victor said, eyes narrowing. The message grew in size, spinning about and shooting small stars out of the sides. Victor relaxed, shrugging his arms. Patience. "If you insist."

Raising his right palm, he calibrated a precise repulsor strike directly upon the forehead of his new enemy, as deemed by the Gatherers, as he would call them. He could feel the power building up in his armored gauntlet, ready to be unleashed upon this unfortunate interloper. Fingers splayed, Victor released a bolt of red destruction across the sky, intent on turning this dog to mere dust.

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#3  Edited By ThisIsGonnaHurt

@imperator_imperatorum:

"I'm blind, not deaf," Jaden whispered harshly. "I can hear every word you're saying,"

Neither the concern for the vikings nor his distant desire to deliver them all to safety became apparent in those next few, and very important, seconds. While history will remember the Battle of Svolder as it should have happened, those who lived would continue to tell stories of a heavenly fire consuming King Tryggvason's fleet instead of a seafaring monster. The Sea Conqueror took flight amidst the chaos, his cloven hooves finding sure footing on the deck of his human compatriots' ship just as the repulsor blast would have taken off his head. The screeching whine made his ears ring, and he abhorred the sound of the phenomenon. The smell was even worse, like airborne phosphorous. Such a deviant odor reminded him of Fargate, and so he detested anything this creature would have to offer from the very beginning.

The light construct did not pierce the boat, but rather obliterated it entirely. The sniper wanted to end this quickly, it seemed, but Jaden would not let him have the pleasure. About thirty other ships joined the conflagration as the inferno spread further and further, drowning some boats entirely while catching most with unquenchable fires. From far below, in the valley, a thunderous war cry could be deciphered out of the thick fog.

"King Tryggvason has been shunned by the gods! His army is weakened, and now we strike!"

Such barbarians, never once considering that they could also be consumed in the crossfire. Jaden managed to pick out the odd metal scent again out of the building columns of smoke and ash. This would lead him indefinitely to his foe, his target in the timestream. Distance seemed troublesome, considering the armored man's precision skills with whatever weapon he handled. Still, it posed little consequence. Jaden did not break cloud cover as he neared the mountains. His large, leathery wings carried him at subsonic speeds as water molecules formed a spearhead near the top of his horns. He had no vivid concept of tracking systems just yet, as any thread of modern technology had been lost to him for quite some time. The world still relied on magic when he last breathed the fresh air.

You are a fool, Jaden. You have no chance.

This man once conquered an entire world, and besieged another.

You cannot win.

"In case you have forgotten," Jaden hissed, his shame brought to bear as he broke cloud cover, exclaiming with all his might in order to shut the voices out for the time being. "I destroyed one!"

He swirled out of the puffy white camouflage, acting like a bullet out of its barrel. In mid-turn, he reached for his enchanted blades, the very weapons forged to be demon slayers and then remade in Fargate to be soul shredders. They were still in their restrained state, mere pebbles on his belt. His fingers had barely touched them once he entered compatible range for melee. Upon meeting the perfect distance, he threw his wings open. His natural elvish quickness combined with the forced demonic transmutation meant that his attacks at merely arm's reach would be difficult, if not impossible, to dodge or parry. The four rune-enriched swords extending outwards from his clenched fists would make that figure even slighter.

He already knew the process of battle, or so he thought.

The blades were sharpened on both sides, so a simple counter could mean a ducking dive intermingled with a slicing maneuver across the belly. However, Jaden did not know how thick or strong this man's armor might be. Then again, he was not even sure he fought a man at all. The shape via echolocation betrayed that of a human male, perhaps of giant or ogre blood given the size. Tests had to be performed while in the crucible of battle, stray strokes of the sword that had a chance to succeed and strike sanguine or sully his attempts at victory.

But all that existed in Jaden's mind as of the moment. He wore no armor, except for the cloth belt and leggings along with the bindings for his eyes, and he still had a long way to go before reaching his intended target. Without prior knowledge of such mechanics as auto-targeting and tracking relays, Jaden could very well be flying into his own death.

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Not long after the remains of the primitive warship sank into the ocean, Victor realized that he was not yet finished. No sign of the strange one that he had attacked. His hand lowered, steam coiling from his fingertips. After a shot like that, the Bolts would need some time to cool down. He must have eliminated whomever he had been ordered to target; there was no sign of a body. The Bolts must have completely disintegrated the unlucky being. Nothing happened. He sighed with impatience.

"Well?" No answer from the Gatherers. Was this some sort of a joke? Who did they think they were? He had no time for-

A blur crashed into him at high speeds, death in tow. It was strong, yet precise. He couldn't react fast enough. Swords. Pain. Death. Magic?!?

No, enhanced blades of some sort; no normal metal would pierce the Praetorian Armor. And pierce it they did: a devastating slash through the chest plate and across Victor's abdomen. Roaring in pain, he crashed into the icy depths, the freezing water filling his systems, slowly drowning him. The nanomachines were producing oxygen, but not fast enough. Was it possible he may die...? He spotted a large...thing...move beneath him. It was about to surface, a forgotten aquatic mammal of sorts. Almost out of air, he extended a long blade from his gauntlet, digging it into the blubber. His armored form rising from the depths, his microscopic mechanical marvels could commence the repair process of his broken body unimpeded by the severe cold. His white teeth grinding together as they shifted back into place, his eyes were aglow with hatred. One thought consumed him; kill the Other.

Whatever it was, it moved fast; almost too fast for Victor to keep track of. But he had grown wily. Before DC, he would charge into battle, confident, unafraid. Not that he felt fear now; no, no, he has simply...evolved. His body, his mind, everything had changed in order to accommodate a new directive: to reign supreme. He would start by killing this mongrel of a creature, but by deceit rather than pure muscle. Activating his Helm of Pluto, which would mask him from the strongest of all senses, he approached the Viking ships. Hovering aboard the commanding craft, he gestured with his right palm. A small cloud of his nanomachines diffused from his veins into the atmosphere. Mixing with the snow, they drifted down to the Viking leaders. Victor smiled as the Jarl breathed in a large dose of the microscopic metal. He suffered a nosebleed, but little more. And just like that...Victor had control of the Jarl, the head of one fleet.

"<Kill the demon,>" he willed, and the Jarl obeyed, a powerless puppet, his mind dominated by the Emperor of Emperors. As the order relayed across the fleet, their boats began to turn as one, eyes turned to the sky. Bows drawn, they simultaneously released a massive wave of arrows into the sky, to end the abomination once and for all.

A sickening smile covered Victor's face as the arrows blotted out the sun. Dominating the mind of a bystander? My, my, he HAD changed. But he was starting to enjoy it...

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#5  Edited By ThisIsGonnaHurt

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So, the metal beast can bleed. Perhaps he is just a man in a suit of armor after all.

Jaden took a deep inhalation through his nostrils of the ichor dripping from his blade, and he turned away in disgust.

Even his blood reeks of foreign materials.

The demon cut the air, drying his weapon of the red desecration of his senses. He followed the descent of his opponent until he lost the scent under the crashing waves, but did not assume victory. He took this opportunity to observe from the mountaintop, the howling winds doing little to deter his concentration on the moment at hand. Crackling under the surface of the ocean, and rising, were the pained murmurs of a primordial whale, hunted to the brink of extinction and now serving as an impromptu taxi, breaching for air and staying put as its new master recovered from Jaden's otherwise fatal blow. The Lord of Blades raised an eyebrow, thoroughly impressed that he no longer sensed an open wound, considering the substantially weakened odor.

A hushed silence fell over the crowded viking ships. The Battle of Svolder continued unimpeded, with King Tryggvason's eleven ships hammered into submission by the united Norwegians' fleet of more than seventy. This meant that many boats were unused, and therefore could be addressed directly by his foe. However, Jaden heard no words exchanged. Instead, he managed to decipher a faint metallic buzzing, and found himself wondering more about that noise than most anything else. Almost like a cloud of indefinitely small insects, smaller than any he had ever heard before, and yet the sound crept farther and farther away. A whisper heard only once, and then left to vanish into thin air.

And then, as soon as the lingering spectre teased Jaden's ears down to its last interval, a comparatively thunderous applause of bow strings snapping into a readied firing position interrupted his train of thought. Jaden had enough cognitive reasoning skills to connect the man forged in alien plate armor to the mysterious humming as well as to the sudden hostilities. He also began to realize that this facade had grown tiresome, and so inquired of his patron 'guardian,' the one who released him from Fargate for this very purpose.

"Watcher!" he demanded. "This game has gone on long enough! Free me from this infernal plane of temporal imbalance!"

No answer. Jaden raised his head towards the sky, searching the air in vain for the highly distinctive scents and sounds.

"I demand my freedom, Watcher!"

"Wow, okay, the microphone was off, sorry," a response - at last - but this creature sounded different.

"What trickery is this?"

"We're on lunch break, actually. Did you want something?"

"You heard me the first time! I will not repeat myself!"

The keeper of the distant voice seemed to be scratching himself on the other side of the conversation.

"What? Oh, right, freedom. Look, we have a sweet prize for you at the end of this tournament actually,"

"Tournament?"

Having not been told anything prior to arriving here, combined with his own desperation from the dungeons of the Dark Horde, Jaden had unwittingly stumbled into yet another prison. His fanged teeth ground against each other in absolute anguish, and his rage burned an emerald light that bled through the bandage over his eyes.

"How could I have been so foolish?"

"Hey, don't worry dude, like I said: sweet prize at the end," the operator continued. "If you win this for Master Orpheus, then you get to have anything you desire,"

Without warning, curiosity overwhelmed his anger. "Anything?" he dragged out, enthralled by the word and its underlying meaning.

"Well, anything that's within Master Orpheus's power," something like a gun being cocked in the distance, and the operator reaffirmed his tone. "W-Well, nothing is impossible for Master Orpheus, so don't worry about it!"

No Caption Provided

Once again, the rules of the game had changed. Jaden's eyes lessened back into their quiet state, and the skies started to darken around him. Mists carried from the North Pole accumulated around him with the intense winds, each one lapping up huge gulps of seawater, slapping the longboats and tearing the arrows that were in mid-flight up the hillside out of the air. A ballista bolt soared over his head, right between his horns, and fell uselessly down the cliffside. A rolling cacophony thundered far away, and the seas became embittered by the presence of the viking warriors.

The Watcher had departed from Jaden's mind by this point, possibly even dead considering the final exchange. The demon did not concern himself with such trivial ponderations. Supreme concentration had to be maintained. With one hand, the winds roared, and with the other, the waters churned. Together, they formed the dangerous premature stages of a hurricane. Along with the subarctic chill, this storm reached a crescendo similar to the whole of winter crashing down around the beleaguered fleets. Essences of dark magic almost formed a palpable edge to the sharp airborne torrents, as Jaden poured every ounce of his being into the tumbling chaos.

No Caption Provided

Lightning cascaded in unending lashes, one after another, and the only warmth many vikings found in that brief instant of terror resided in the immolation of their boats. Otherwise, they froze and drowned in the hungry sea. These would be the sacrifices Jaden required for his next spell, one of awakening. The ocean held boundless monsters, and many were locked under the caress of daylight by many factors including size and hunger. The blood spilled by Jaden's initial charge sank into the earth, and rose at his command, forming a crystallize ball of crimson death.

Or in this case, bait.

Imprinted on the wild whips of nature, the scent intermingled with the ocean water, diluting massively - but still detectable. The ancient bloodthirst that shook the primordial world stirred in the stomachs of the sea beasts, monsters that were all too common in the waters of Skellbrieg. Jaden hunted them relentlessly in his youth, and knew their primitive minds well. They would swarm the metal man, hungry for the source of the sweet red nectar they had taken only a small whiff of. Even if he could somehow influence them like he did the vikings, the concerning factor of the monstrous typhoon still loomed overhead like the shadow of an angry giant.

"I do not believe in the promises of a distant god," Jaden muttered just under the frantic screams surrounding him. "But if I am able to find Silverstar again along this road, any torment will be worth having the light of my life back,"

His blind eyes started to ooze blood of their own. The spell began to take its toll, but he refused to surrender just as his black sorcery reached a terrifying climax. It seemed that the world crumbled and screeched into disaster around the two, with the splinter of rebirth shuddering above their heads. No eye nor reprieve in the center of the apocalypse could be seen or felt. There only existed the unfathomable rage of Jaden Windspeaker, borne through the tempest.

"I will see her again,"

He inhaled deeply, taking the reins as he dragged the sky downward - and the fury of a bygone era followed.

"I WILL SEE HER LIGHT AGAIN!"

---

And, just as quickly as the terror brewed, it died away. What few longboats remained were taking on water and sinking. The fate of those warriors upon its decks went untold. Perhaps they drowned unknowing of their own death, hypnotized and frozen in time. Jaden fell to his hands and knees, guts wrenching in absolute agony. His imprisonment did not fade away at the walls of the dungeon. Even the portal did not break his ties to Fargate, and the constrictions binding his magic powers to his own flesh and blood consumed his body. He could not even perform such a rudimentary task as conjuring a storm without feeling unending pain welling up in his abdomen and, eventually, his entire body. For as long as he maintained his enchantment on the elements, that was how long he would suffer, hence its abrupt ending.

The chains started to burn through his skin from the inside. Only a silent scream could escape Jaden's clenched throat. He would have to exercise greater caution now that he knew he was not safe from the Dark Gods, not even in this..."tournament."

For now, he would be momentarily useless, pinned down by the precautionary tools of his torturers in Fargate.

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As Victor watched the arrows fill the sky, he pondered how he had come to this strange place. Dimensional technology? Could the masters of this strange competition of sorts send him back to Roma? Or could it be magic? His eyes narrowed at the thought. If they were wizards, they would be punished. Sorcery. Sickening. His disdain for the supernatural contested how disturbed he was by "justice". The idea was laughable. Hn. And yet...I too was like them, a fool fighting for the weak. I helped perpetuate the illusion that the oppressed could be saved. And now here he was, mentally enslaving a legion of Nordic warriors, forcing them to do his bidding. It was almost laughably ironic. Yes, Victor had developed a certain taste for irony in the past few days. His cynicism had served him well; he was stronger than ever before. Victory was within his grasp. And whatever reward it promised. And if they would not give it to him? Then he would take it. His smile grew as he thought of wielding whatever unique abilities the Gatherers must possess. Vengeance would be extremely satisfying...

An instant later his thoughts were cut short. Some foul force had awakened whatever strange creatures toiled beneath the waves. They rose from the depths, clawing at the fleet, biting, snapping, devouring-

One particularly large beast devoured The Emperor whole, shooting from the ocean with it's enormous maw open. He had managed to keep from being swallowed, but he was still being...chewed. How embarrassing, he thought as he kicked out the front teeth of the gargantuan fish, shooting into the darkening sky from within it's head. He was relatively unharmed, though covered in a saliva of sorts. Disgusting. I really must work on my penchant for internal monologue...

Then he noticed the storm. Water swirled into a whirlpool, drawing creature and man alike into a watery grave. Nothing was left of the ships now but wreckage, armored corpses floating through the ravaged sea until snatched up by beasts. So much for an army. As he scanned the skies for his foe, he found instead a weather anomaly. The occult detectors in his armor warned him of sorceries, undoubtedly the cause of this unholy tempest. The lightning had started, tendrils numbering in the hundreds striking the water, illuminating the entire area with blue flashes of energy. Unfortunately for Victor, his highly-conductive metal armor would make him an easy target. Pain seared through his body as the burning bolts scorched the outside of his armor. With them came memories of DC; one of his foes had struck him with a similar power. The winds buffeted his form, tossing him through the sky like a leaf in the wind. His pain blockers had been nearly overridden; he felt every agonizing strike. They soon repaired themselves, but the damage was done. As he struggled to remain conscious, the storm threw him back into the mountain, causing a small crater where he landed. His power dying, his eyes closing, he was nearing death...

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But the Emperor does not die. Romans do not die. Victor would not die. He struggled to his feet, nostrils flaring, his fists clenching. His armor had initiated the self-repair once more; it hadn't nearly fixed everything it needed to, but his main systems were still functional. The lights in his eye sockets grew bright red as he took to the sky yet again. Weaving through debris picked up by the storm, his eyes focused on his target, hands ablaze with energy. He would not be denied today. More lightning sought to deter him; it was as if the Gods themselves were trying to stop him. But he feared no god. He accelerated through the intense winds, fighting nature's fury with every foot gained. It was a brawl with the elements, a brutal skirmish with the world itself. But he would not be ended today. Not by Neptune's wrath, and not by whatever fool he faced.

Landing in front of his foe, he attacked with a beast-like ferocity, precise in his strikes, but wild, fueled by rage. His gauntlets were aglow with power as he pummeled the demon. Punches combined with repulsor blasts, red with blood and energy, would wreak destruction upon the monster he fought. His sword extended from his right arm, he would end this once and for all with a decapitating slash.

Long live the Emperor of Emperors.

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ThisIsGonnaHurt

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#7  Edited By ThisIsGonnaHurt

@imperator_imperatorum:

"You thought you could escape me, did you?"

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The pit lords of Fargate, wardens of the Dark Horde, were notorious for their efficiency and cruelty. There were few entities with such weight and importance in the demonic war machine, for they were responsible for maintaining the interdimensional armies belonging to the Dark Gods. Where one soul fell to the corruption, they were there to twist it into a new shape fitting not necessarily its sins, but its personality. Peaceful monks were driven to insanity. Proud warriors became hulking monstrosities without a shred of honor. Sorcerers were forcefully blinded, so that their magical prowess could only be maintained through the ritual stones that slowly poisoned their minds.

And so, the gears continued to crank within the engine of pain and suffering. Jaden once fell victim to this cycle of torment. His skills as a warrior meant that he would be mutated into a killer. His captors implanted wings into his back, bent his legs into hooves, and drew out two horns from his skull, with each new transformation being piled onto his flesh and bone taking longer than the last. The Dark Horde's jailors knew the effect of long agonies, and they were masters of enforcing pain as a means of enslaving or breaking the will of those they conquered.

A demon by the name of Kalgoth the Truthslayer resided on the Burning Island, making his home on the floating fortress that murdered the Titan Dragga many eons ago. He took a special interest in Jaden, considering how rare Twilight Elves were in Fargate, and oversaw many of his surgeries. He even took the honor of infusing the Dark Soul within his little plaything. With it, Jaden would never be able to access his full power while Kalgoth remained alive. It would be the ultimate failsafe in the case of such a promising demon lord like Windspeaker, as well as the thing that would guide Kalgoth to him whenever it became active.

"You hide, like always, Jaden. Your soul is mine. Not even this tournament can save you from the Dark Horde,"

Forever lost, the blind elf dragged his feet through the sands of infinity. He could not escape. The sky taunted him, and the ground reached up to engulf him. The environment remained foreign, yet extremely familiar. Any amount of clues, and Jaden would still never understand. This would be his curse, and as the earth swallowed him the air carried the frenzy of apocalypse behind him. Just another illusion? Another fragmented memory? The smell of burning corpses invaded his lungs before he disappeared completely.

"You are about to die."

---

Kalgoth told many lies.

CRACK.

Kalgoth also told the truth, however sparingly the occasion might be.

CRACK.

But he never told the truth in any amount of replenishing ease or kindness.

CRACK.

His truth existed to be horrible. Maleficent. Cruel.

CRACK.

But, as the old saying goes.

CRACK.

The truth hurts.

---

Blood. It would be warm, if not for the quiet numbness. A purple hand slithered in front of his face, holding him up, before slipping on the melted snow and hot red liquid. He fell into the puddle, splashing up mud. From the insatiable burning sensation driving his nerves to the point of breaking, and now his opponent resurfacing to finish the task. Jaden understood his foe's fuel. It could only be fury, and a hunger for revenge and for progress. The fallen Twilight Elf's stomach churned. Just what did he have to hold on with?

A broken dream?

Silverstar, probably dead, would never forgive him in any way, shape, or form even if - by some miracle - he found her. He never wanted to admit it in the dungeons of the Burning Island, but he was scared. His brother Saemhan became so powerful and so loved, while he stood idly by and sank into the shadows. This moment, of all moments, he remembered her face as his torn fingertips grappled with nothing and shivered in defeat. Molding her features to his memory perfectly more than ten thousand years ago, he could not understand why or bear the thought of it.

He was beginning to forget.

Blind and useless, he was beginning to forget the face of his own lover! He cursed through splintered teeth and a busted jawbone, and tried to get up again. The sole of a metal boot disgraced the back of his head, and sent him back to breathe in the muck. What was he fighting for? He had no purpose in this new world. Nothing could ever fill the void, of not only Silverstar, but of his people. Even Skellbrieg contained a dying population of Twilight Elves. The word 'extinction' haunted his lips and ears. The humans that fought and squabbled in the dirt were now the dominant species. He felt a fist hovering near his abdomen, but could not do anything about it as the gauntlet skewered his ribcage.

Humans. Mutants. It did not matter. The wars of the Outside World, the one beyond the borders of Skellbrieg, would always change. Civilizations would rise and fall and the Eighth Continent would still be the same. Jaden would still be the same, and both he and his only compatible homeland would become synonymous with each other: useless.

Two fists aimed at his spine brought his chest out of the bloodied grime. He took a panicked inhalation of air just before a kick sent him flying for one or two feet. It was more an effort of humiliation, and it worked. Kalgoth would be here soon. Just make it quick, Jaden thought as the immeasurably sharp blade gleamed in his direction.

"Jaden,"

He was dreaming again. Always dreaming. He started to fall asleep, wondering if he had truly died yet.

"JADEN!"

"No..."

Across from him, in the blood he had wallowed in before his body had been punted, lay the light he had seen so long ago. He reached out for her, and she did the same for him, their fingers almost touching.

"Find me."

And she was gone.

---

Unsure of the quality of reality belonging to what he considered a hallucination, Jaden suddenly snapped back to the fight. His other hand, unoccupied with trying to connect to a faded shred of the past, found hope in the dream. Grasping one of the pebbles on his cloth belt, it shot up and one of his blades materialized into the physical realm, deflecting the sword meant for his throat into the passive mound of snow next to it. At this point, he could not move his legs - but his wings still had life in them. He flapped them once, disguising his ascent in a tumbling flurry of powdered ice, and whipped back around, roaring in his gargled, bloody fury as he tried to tackle the metal man off the side of the cliff.

Regardless of this attempt, Jaden would set loose every element still remaining in his blood that had not faded to fatigue or oxygen deprivation to his organs. One of the most potent of these elements resided in that of anger. His boiling rage at himself, most of all, contributed to this sudden spurt of energy. He had given up on the battle, but most importantly Silverstar, in that fleeting instant of self-loathing. If this tournament would be his fate, then he would follow it through to the bitter end!

Kalgoth be damned! Jaden Windspeaker would fly freely - ONCE MORE!

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Jaden's wings pulsated with an unfathomable momentum. The muscles tying them to his back were tearing, and he refused to stop. They were his only means of motion now, and they had to suffice. Every attempt at attacking the paladin of steel would be made at extremely close range, given the dangerous nature of the repulsor blasts Jaden felt firsthand when they empowered the blows that sent him reeling not too long ago. Yet the crackling thunder invading his body did not outright kill him, as it very well could have.

Jaden had no energy left to spend on pinpointing the skirmish between land or air, and his body did not touch the ground during this onslaught either. All he could understand was when his stomach came too close to the mountain, and so he pulled up to gain speed. The idea remained in slashing and flaying the armor from his hated foe's very flesh, skinning him like a fish. The masterful precision sharpness in Jaden's weapons could accomplish this flawlessly, the effect almost doubled with the pure acceleration in his fluid motions.

But, like all things, time and pain wore it down.

The fallen Twilight Elf's body weakened and finally succumbed to the limitations of his curse. The hell on his nerves still did not subside from when he summoned the storm, and it crippled him along with the substantial injuries taken in the one-sided scuffle. Four of his ribs cried out for him to stop, and his jawbone would not cooperate when he cried out in one last admission of his boundless wrath. One last crash against the metal, that's all he needed in order to sleep well. One more dive-bomb into the waistline, and he would bury himself and his opponent out at sea.

His throat closed up, and he braced for impact just as his wings gave out.

"I'm coming, Silverstar. Just wait a little while longer."