Immortals: RPG

The darkness within.

It is a primordial darkness.

Older than anything we have built, it haunts our footsteps from the first heartbeat to the last.

That is simple destiny.

But for every darkness, there is light.

---

The Furnaces of RAGNAROK

Being here used to shake him to the core. Its previous ruler, his greatest nemesis, and the fact his people called him a god instead of a tyrant sickened him. Yet, so much can change with time. Now he sat on the throne of the planet he once knew as a Living Sphere of Hell. In his shriveled heart, he rested knowing it to be home. He cherished life, life that refused to grow here. It is a place of fire and metal, an industry of violence and pain. In his time, there was no Earth to go back to. No home. Nothing. All he had existed in this foul, twisted realm, the very territory he stole from Ultherian once he killed him out of a terrible need for vengeance.

What other cruel irony would bring him here? An afterthought of desperation, drifting through the bleak void of space, cast away from his home world's destruction and towards the ruling house of his new empire. At first he did not accept it. Who would? To be flung into this position, with the cries of the innocent still fresh on the mind, innocents that had no hope of survival, could only mean a quiet approval, and eventual resistance.

But that was many years ago.

Now, the blood of the sinless stained his hands and soul. He had snuffed out billions like this pitiful Earth he now observed from afar. Ragnarok had not closed in upon the coordinates just yet, but soon it would arrive. The Hellspores would feast. The tyrant of this mobile war world would forever be named Warsman, but the current holder of the title had cast aside his true identity as the greatest hero of a foreign dimension. Forever and always the brutal emperor of a brutal planet, Warsman studied also the calculations and intricate machinations of a peculiar equation.

Upon Ultherian's death, he also relinquished a painful secret to Warsman as his eyes were plucked from his skull. The name they shared did not happen out of coincidence. They were both destined to fight, and one of them to die, in the great cosmic scheme. Many died to keep the name before, and many would die after. But eventually, the name would pass on for another to hold. Warsman did not accept this. He swore on that day to break the cycle by any means necessary, for he would be the only one worthy of keeping it. The enigmatic puzzle unfolded before him, and he lacked but a few components in order to solve it completely.

"Loneliness,"

Perhaps a sign of thoughts to come, Warsman stopped reading the equation aloud. The first and simplest factor seemed to strike him at the deepest part of his soul, because he experienced this after his Earth's destruction as well as afterwards. Ragnarok as a whole worshiped him as the return of their master, whom they never did refer to as Ultherian. For decades he tried to bring peace and prosperity to the despairing place, and for decades he failed. Only when he finally watched the Agony Matrix in person did he finally understand the depths of depravity he had fallen to. Only when he finally understood did he test the Matrix again.

And again.

And again.

And again.

Until it was perfected.

"It is almost complete," he repeated the words he stated on the day he solved the flaws of the weapon mentioned previously, reciting them with a nihilistic glee only he could muster. The long grimace on his granite face did not stutter. The recesses of his cold black heart were unable to process things such as pity now.

"Once Geller and the Champions of Peace fall, I shall have the last parts of the Equation,"

"Your lordship, there seems to be an intruder present in the main hall," a snivelling mutant abomination crawled to Warsman's feet, humbly stating his warning.

"It is no intruder, Mongrel. It is an honored guest from another plane of reality. Now away from me,"

The creature so harshly referred-to as Mongrel shied away, throwing his hands over his head in a mixture of reverence and fear. He knew Warsman possessed a tendency to incinerate those who displeased him. The Furnace within the mighty tyrant could not be denied in the scope of its awesome power to destroy, as well as create.

"Y-Yes master! Th-Thank you!" Mongrel retreated to the far corner of the ramp leading to Warsman's throne and the scurried down the wall it connected to, down into the hellpit glowing underneath the imposing structure.

Warsman remained unmoving as the portions of information regarding Earth and the Equation remained visible upon the modules. His static and iconic posture rang truer of his megalomaniacal nature than anything else with the arms capable of killing entire worlds folded behind his back, resting idly and as arrogantly as the rest of him. Without turning, he began the negotiations that would conclude his search for destroying the chain linking the deaths of one Warsman to another, so that he would reign supreme, as well as begin his ultimate dominance over all that remained.

"Welcome, Amora, to Ragnarok."

The goddess lay languidly under the yellow waterfall of light pouring from the morning sun, which fell upon the still surface of the ocean below her hall in a dazzling display that seemed to turn the clear blue waters into a sea of sparkling crystals. Around her, exotic beasts of all shapes and colors paced lazily around her, having grown accustomed to the lavish lifestyle that any who resided within the Enchantress’ hall took pleasure in. Leopards, tigers, wolves, all of them victims of her cruel and vindictive nature, as well as aptitude in casting transformation spells. However most of them had long forgotten the days of their humanity, and no longer thought at an intellectual level any higher than a natural beast.

Just as she had begun affectionately stroking the velvety fur of a regal white tiger, Amora heard the heavy footsteps of Valdar approaching from behind. In the stretch of time following her exoneration from her previous monarchal duties, she had found herself exceptionally comforted by his simple, yet pleasurably familiar company. This change in her behavior enthralled the Godslayer to no end, who still clung firmly to his irrational belief that the Enchantress’ would one day return his immortal affections.

“Warsman will be expecting you soon, Amora,” he said plainly in his deep, husky voice.

She did not immediately acknowledge his presence, not in a manner of contempt, but simply to enjoy her previous engagement for several moments longer.

She knew little of the elusive Warsman, predominately out of a haughty disinterest, however she was faintly aware that he, like so many before him and so many after, was a cosmically-powerful being dictating a cosmically-powerful nation in the ultimate quest for multi-universal power. It failed to shed light on an archetype she had yet to encounter in her immortal lifespan, but, with a kind of boredom only one who lived forever could acquire, she indifferently hoped he would provide some excitement beyond all those exactly like him.

“Thank you, my love,” she purred charmingly, rising from the opulent chaise she had previously lounged on to pace gracefully toward the Herculean warrior. Taking his stubbled face within her smooth hands, she placed a tender kiss against his lips, a kiss that had enslaved many men before the Godslayer who were unable to recover from the divinity of her enchanting beauty.

“Would thou like to accompany me to this ‘Ragnarok’?” she asked with subtle speculation as to whether she had correctly remembered name of the planet Warsman called home. As she spoke, an ethereal cloud of emerald vapor enveloped her, before once again revealing the goddess--now garbed in the regal armor that had been crafted, specifically to suite her heavenly figure, with unequaled mastery by the renowned Dwarves.

“I believe I must. No expanse of immortal life would allow me to forgive myself should any harm come to thou while absent from my protection.”

The mesmerizing light within her iridescent irises glowed with satisfaction as her rosy lips curled into a cold smirk, her ego pleased by the Godslayer’s foolishly-adamant devotion to her. “Then let us leave. We wouldn’t want to leave the Warsman waiting, would we?”

With a throaty chuckle, Valdar revealed a heavy axe from its sheath on his back, the infamous Bloodaxe having been sinisterly enchanted by Amora herself. Saying no more, the towering god cut a dimensional portal with the weapon which both gods stepped through—taking them from the empyrean realm of Asgard and into the furnaces of Ragnarok.

On the other end of their inter-dimensional travel, Amora and her guardian were greeting by the echoing voice of a monstrous man she presumed to be Warsman, who sat with the typical arrogance of any king atop his throne.

Looking about the uninviting planet with mild interest, Amora couldn’t help but presume that Ragnarok, with its fiery pits and other hellish aspects, was the assumed setting for the wet dreams of countless Nazis and dictators throughout time.

“Cozy,” she remarked curtly, faint sarcasm darkening her alluring tone. Finally turning her attention to the monarch seated in his throne, Amora ran her hand idly, almost wearily, through her golden locks of hair before speaking with a coolness innately masked by enchanting glamour.

“Thou must be he who calls himself Warsman,” she addressed him with reluctant formality, her voice leveled amid her nightmarish surroundings. “What circumstances have caused you to request my presence?”

@amora:

In complete contrast to the angelic figure who now entered his throne room, the hulking Warsman seemed to be something out of the very depths of Hell. The thick gargoyle-stone skin of his lordship crinkled along the conformities of his enormous muscles, rippling with power that dwarfed all who opposed him. Even those like Valdar could see that, despite his blind amoration for the one who dragged him on a leash. Without breaking stride, the ruler of Ragnarok turned on a heel, now glaring down upon the Asgardians with the Furnace of Eternity burning brightly behind his fiery gaze.

And he remained silent.

This would never be confused with admiring Amora's truly hypnotizing beauty. Though she commanded perhaps the sharpest powers of seduction, the heart of her host had frozen to such things as love or infatuation. Never again would it melt away into an acceptance of these feelings. Instead, a sly sort of smirk crawled to his insidious face before disappearing entirely. He knew exactly what she generally thought of this place, because he thought the exact same thing once upon a time.

"It seems tiresome, doesn't it? The musings of yet another galactic overlord proclaiming domination over all he sees, standing upon a throne of blood and iron,"

He paused, knowing Amora would either be slightly more interested or bored at this point, a curious quality of Asgardians regardless of what reality they hailed from. The iconic pose of the malicious legend did not break. His arms were still affixed behind his back with a ruthless quiet about their unnatural power. There would be no denying that Warsman stood above and beyond any other before or after him. The regality in his step and voice showed a concept of reality uncommon to his era, something rare to the point of almost being extinct. The more manipulative side of his experienced mind started towards capitalizing on this.

"Furthermore, I am certain the cliche of a deal with the devil does not pass you by. You seem to be an intelligent woman, after all. Surely you have heard all of this before,"

The fires of Ragnarok never died down. Never simmered. They always raged on, forever, and Warsman peered into the fathomless depths of his planet's outer turmoil. Order through chaos. Peace through pain. Obedience through fear.

"But that does not concern me. We both have goals, and we have plenty of time to reach them,"

The aura of pure evil surrounding the tyrant of Ragnarok was not bought by simply destroying planets within this mortal realm of Midgard. Not many moons ago, the Furnace of Eternity within him wiped out entire galaxies, turning billions of stars that once glimmered in the night sky - off. Of course, this did not happen in the Vine, but in alternate dimensions where he hunted down other versions of himself one by one. One of his ultimate goals rested in the extermination of these different selves altogether, bringing the Warsman paradox to a final and decisive close. That way, he would have secured his immortality. But this would take eons if not for his other primary objective.

The Equation.

"It would be a shame to waste this opportunity to expedite those goals through mutual cooperation."