[M] The Throne of Gods: Memories of Divinity - IC

[RedKayne]

Kayne/Shadow/Purg Co-Op Part 5

Messis’ words had brought no small reaction from the rest of the gods around her. Even Minos questioned the logistics of their plan, even with the traitor’s unreliability. Meanwhile, the flaming one and the red one’s minions questioned the need to obey Malphas at all, which had Messis tutting as she shook her head. She cast her gaze to the sky, a wistful sigh escaping her lips. “Why, why, why…” The words hung heavy in the ashen air, Messis letting doubt seep in for another moment as she calmly held onto her scythe. The answer was fairly obvious, but she didn’t wait for any of them to conclude naturally.

“Why not..” Messis rolled her head, hearing a crack as she got a kink out that had been bothering her for a little while. “I believe…Minos knows the answer to that question…” Messis let the wide grin return to her face, almost haunting her pale features, before providing the answer herself. “We are not alone…as Minos just said, the prisoners are being tracked somehow…” Messis shook her head, her bloody-blonde hair shaking free a bit of ash. “Malphas…may tolerate failure…she might still have use for a pawn who failed a mission she expected them to. A good little bumbling pawn…”

Messis raised her scythe then, lifting it over Morax’s head, the look in her eye one of violence and sheer enjoyment. She was loving the discord she was sowing. “But a disobedient pawn who refuses to follow orders…well, best not to leave ends loose…” Messis swung her scythe, missing Ginyumi’s minion by inches to the point where he would feel the wind from her swing. She placed her scythe on her shoulder, breathing another sigh. She was enjoying this.

“No…if you wish to betray your Duchess, that is fine by me…but when she comes calling, I will not hesitate to point out the traitors…it might even get me a new contract.” The looming threat hovered over each of their heads as she turned back to the cliff, looking down at the tiny figures beneath them. It looked like a few of them were fighting if her eyes didn’t deceive her. They suspected nothing. “I will be…executing orders as given. If you wish to test her patience, I will not stop you…”

Vihar just shook his head as he looked over at Morax. The God of Spears was willing to endure the wrath of Malphas, but he was not. More importantly, he was afraid of Ginyumi. He never wanted to become just a puppet. He never wanted to lose control of his body completely. If he crossed Ginyumi that was what would happen.

“If you want to disobey the orders given to you, so be it. Though, Morax you need to think twice about crossing our Master. You should know what awaits anyone that disobeys him.” Vihar said as he moved away from the wall. “You have your orders and don't think I will go along with your little rebellion. So, think carefully about your decision.”

He then looked to the others, cocking his head to the side as he shook his head in disappointment. As he turned his back to the others moving to the edge he looked down at the unaware gods, his eyes settling on Lunae. A crazed smile formed on his face as he wanted to stop this unnecessary banter and get on with his mission.

“So, are you done considering, or do you still need some time to get your thoughts together?”

Morax knew that Vihar was right. He couldn't disobey his Master without suffering the consequences. Lowering his shoulders in defeat he swallowed hard. “This is getting us nowhere. Let's just get going, and see who will get massacred. I don’t plan on dying, or becoming a soulless puppet.”

Zeyra turned fully to the Goddess of Death, her frown deepening into a scowl that carried the weight of unspoken defiance. “You know as well as I do that the Duchess has no loyalty to us. Yet you expect us to bow, to lay our lives at her feet, and follow her every whim without question?” Her voice was low, steady, and edged with steel as she closed the distance between them, her greatsword dragging behind her with a grating screech, carving a shallow trench in the ground.

“Betrayal runs through my veins, Messis,” she hissed, her fiery gaze locking onto the celestial. “If the Duchess thinks she can command me, she’ll learn how little her so-called authority means. Any hound she sends after me will be dealt with—and trust me, I’ve no qualms silencing their barking for good.”

Her tone shifted then, sharp and biting, as she leaned forward slightly, her voice a whisper that carried like a blade through the air. “But you? Your lack of rebellion doesn’t surprise me anymore. You’ve been too broken by what’s happened to even consider standing against her. How... predictable. And here I thought we might share some common ground, Requiem.” Her lips curled into a humorless smirk, cold and cutting. “Both of us are far from the purposes we were meant to serve.”

Messis noted the red one’s minions seemed to agree, but there was one who dissented. Messis’ eyes locked on Zeyra as she scowled at her. She did not move, instead moving to balance on one leg as the Goddess of Hatred closed the distance between them. She stared the fiery-tempered woman in the eyes as she insisted she could easily handle any of Malphas’ lackeys - an idea that nearly caused the Goddess of Death to giggle. The idea was silly-anger the master of the domain over two souls. Even Zeyra had to know that was a fool’s endeavor. The hounds were one thing, but Malphas herself was another deal entirely. And angering a Monarch over personal gain seemed a foolish prospect at best.

But as that accursed name scraped across her ears, Messis’ disarming smile faltered, and her icy cold gaze turned hard. She would dare refer to her as such…though Messis made no sudden moves, she lifted her scythe, holding it just below the Goddess of Hatred’s head, the tip of The Pale Rider pressing softly into her chin. “You forget yourself…” Messis let her smile grow to an eerie grin. “I have no bonds to the Duchess…” Messis’ eyes seemed to glow in the ashen-covered light, though she refrained on using her power…for now. “And in a duel of prowess…deep down…you know your blood would rain.” She spoke quietly and deliberately, but lowered her scythe, shaking her head.

“Hah,” Zeyra laughed, displaying no fear of the Reaper. “Those aren’t the first time I heard those words, Lady Death. Scorchfang said something about my blood raining too, shortly before I ripped off his head.”

Messis acknowledged Zeyra’s confidence with a slight smile and a gentle hum. She was welcome to believe what she would. “I agreed to this contract…because I know it will benefit me to do so…” Messis did not break eye contact, choosing not to relinquish the staring contest. “Malphas does not threaten me, no…but if her plans succeed, it only means…more.” Messis let out a soft chuckle. “More for me…” She then shook her head. “And if you think she hasn’t planned for you to betray her…then you’re lying to yourself as much as she’s lying to you…” Messis let out a soft breath. “If you want to truly betray her plans…come back alive…” Messis suddenly stood rigid, her gaze turning slightly down to the deities far below them. “But if we do not move, we will have failed before we even began…”

A final gesture to Minos. “If you would?”

Minos’s faceless head inclined slightly. “Enough with the chatter. We’re wasting time while one slips through the portal,” he growled, his chest-maw vibrating with irritation. His arachnid-like legs skittered to the edge of the cliff, poised with unsettling precision. “That one is mine,” he snarled, his gaze fixed on Visana as she vanished through the portal. “I’ll deal with her after I take care of Silvannus.”

“Then let’s get this party started, shall we?” Zeyra said, her fiery-red eyes lingering on Messis for a fleeting moment before shifting toward the group below the ashfalls. Her lips curled into a dark smirk as she hoisted her massive greatsword effortlessly with one hand. She pulled her right arm back, the blade poised like a lance ready to pierce its target. “I think I’ve found the first one to fall,” she declared, her gaze locking onto Ridstus—the youngest celestial, and in her mind, the weakest. A useless liability from her original realm. However, with his scanning capabilities, it wouldn’t take long for Ridstus to detect their presence. Best to eliminate him before he could alert the others.

“If I may,” Minos interjected, stepping to her side. His clawed, grey-skinned hand clamped around her wrist. “For the Mistress and the hunt against her enemies, I grant you strength tenfold for your next strike,” he intoned. Crimson veins erupted across Zeyra’s alabaster skin as his power flowed into her.

She grinned wickedly, her manic glee shining through. Without hesitation, she hurled the greatsword with immense force, the air rippling in a concussive shockwave from the sheer velocity of the throw.

[RedKayne]

Kayne/Hoef Co-Op Final Part

“Now he’s giving you puppy dog eyes!”

He looked at himself, and then the vast greyness. He sighed heavily.

He wasn’t really comfortable treading alone in a place like this. And if he was to get into a fight, he was going to die. He had to hedge his bets with the grumpy old folk.

So, he held his hands up and said, “Alright, alright. I’ll join your posse until we get to Mechanus. Afterwhich, ya’ll can continue this little war..without me..”

“Awwwwh! You aren’t going to join them in the bloodbath!? I’m pretty sure the forces of evvvviiillll know your face, and won’t stop till you're dead!”

“I’m not built for war,” he said absentmindedly. He was more answering Knife than speaking to Aegis. He thought back to the battle, and realized he can show the god the battle from his perspective. Thus he tapped his temple. A little lens popped out and projected a holographic screen.

On it displayed the entirety of the battle. It played at normal speed, stopping every-so-often. In these pauses Riddy explained how he felt. Each time it was expressed as, “Pain big guy..So much pain..”

“If I was there, you would be able to cognitively fight the enemy without having to worry about your body doing what you told it tooooo!!”

Ridstus shook his head in relative disbelief.

Aegis listened carefully, his eyes steady and his expression softening as Ridstus shared his thoughts, his hesitation clear. When Ridstus shook his head, Aegis chuckled—not in ridicule, but in genuine understanding. “You never asked for any of this, Ridstus,” he said gently. “And I won’t hold it against you if you decide that a safer path is where you need to be. Not everyone’s meant to walk this road, and that’s okay.”

The God of Rulership glanced at the holographic screen again, a flicker of admiration crossing his face. “You see things differently than most of us do. You’re not a brute swinging a sword or a schemer weaving plots. You’re... a thinker—a creator. You survive because you know how to adapt and see a way out when the rest of us are too busy smashing our heads into walls. That’s a gift, Riddy, even if it sometimes doesn’t feel like it. And I can see why you’re prized in the thriving Metropolis.”

Turning slightly, Aegis glanced off into the distance, his voice quieter, almost reflective. “For what it’s worth, I’m glad you’re here with us. You’re one of the few who treats me like... well, just me—not as some overreaching god or a kid trying to play with the big leagues.” He looked back at Ridstus, his tone warm and sincere. “I value that, Riddy. More than you know.”

Before he could say more, the scuffle between Silvannus and Lunae caught Aegis’s attention. Instinctively, he summoned his Scepter of Sovereignty, his eyes gleaming with radiant fire and ready to intervene with Divine Authority. But before he could act, the corrupted Silvannus was swiftly subdued.
The others stepped in, offering the Arcane God their mix of blunt truths and encouraging words, working to untangle his inner turmoil. Aegis lowered his Scepter with a faint sigh, the glow in his eyes fading. “There’s never a dull moment with this group,” he remarked dryly, a wry smile tugging at the corner of his lips. He recognized that anything he added would only contribute to the din, so he let the others handle the moment.

Riddy also shared in the Big Guy’s sigh. He wasn’t all too familiar with the talking heads that dwelled just beyond the boundary of their conversation, but there was a strange sense of yearning in him. To hear him speak so candidly got his artificial blood flowing. This was the Aegis Ridstus saw and was hoping to see more of. And for that, he gave a mischievous smile. “Never a dull moment indeed, and if I didn’t peg you to be that type of guy, I would almost take your compliments as flirting.” He playfully winked and then cackled for a minute.

“You two would make a cute couple!”

“Zip it Knif3... You have no room to talk..” He huffed and turned his attention back to the Big Guy saying, “But I get what you’re saying Aeggy. Genuinely. I like to pride myself in seeing the best of what us goobers can come up with. And truly I say unto you, your potential is the most I see from the group.” Riddy shrugged and gave another playful wink.

He sat back and took in the surroundings again. This time, he let his retinal scanners spread their digital tendrils across the landscape to give a grid-like layout of the landscape. Riddy was expecting there to be nothing, but he got something.

At the top of the cliff they were hanging out by, his scanner picked up a group of five standing above the portal. They didn’t appear to be outwardly hostile, but Ridstus wasn’t going to take any chances. “Uhh, hey... Aeggy,” Riddy raised his voice a bit, rifle raised, and pointed up toward the group. “Who the fuck are they?”

Aegis raised an eyebrow at the flirting comments, his expression one of mild confusion. “Looks like that comrade in your head is messing with your circuits,” the God of Kings quipped, giving the Industry Lord a hearty slap, a gesture that felt almost like an older brother chastising a younger sibling. “Potential, though,” he added reflectfully as his gaze grew distant as he contemplated. After Averas, countless paths stretched before him, but his ultimate goal remained the same—the Throne of Gods.

Perhaps, he mused, things could change for the better.

And yet, the question lingered: what of Selrina? Would using his powers on her seal his fate? Was there a path forward, or was his life destined to end in sacrifice?

“What’s that?” Aegis’s voice broke the silence as he turned to Ridstus, then shifted his gaze toward the cliff edge. Hundreds of feet above the portal, faint figures moved at the ashfall’s edge—almost imperceptible to the naked eye. Before he could process what he saw—

“Ridstus, get down!”

With a swift shove, Aegis knocked the younger god to the ground, taking his place as a massive greatsword tore through his abdomen. His eyes widened in shock as golden Aether, his divine lifeblood, splattered over Ridstus. The greatsword embedded itself into the ground, nearly cleaving Aegis in two, the lower half of his torso gruesomely slashed.

A flash of crimson followed as a woman teleported to the weapon, her hand gripping its hilt. Aegis’s breath caught as recognition struck him.

Zeyra.

The alabaster-skinned Goddess of Hatred moved with ruthless precision, wrenching the greatsword free with one hand before swinging it downward to finish Ridstus. Aegis, summoning the last reserves of his strength, drove the Scepter of Sovereignty into the ground, the shaft stopping her strike just in time.

Zeyra paused and glanced down at him, her fiery-red eyes filled with disdain. She clicked her tongue, her voice tinged with mock disappointment. “How unfortunate. We were supposed to keep you alive.” Her gaze lingered on the broken God of Kings, his eyes shut and blood pooling from his mouth. “Oh well.”

[RedKayne]

Kayne/Shadow/Purg Co-Op Final Part

A veil of shadows materialized between Atrophos and the portal, the darkness swirling like a living entity before coalescing into the sinister form of the Reaper. Her scythe glinted in the dim light as her piercing blue eyes locked onto Atrophos. “You...are Decay, yes?” Her voice was laced with curiosity as she stared straight through him, seeming to peer directly into his soul. "I wonder… do you bleed?"

But her focus didn’t linger. Her eyes shifted to the side, and her wicked grin widened as they landed on Moriteva, her eternal nemesis. He was already halfway to a full sprint, rushed in Aegis' direction as he'd immediately spotted his downed companion. Messis' eyes burned with wild fury, and Moriteva suddenly dropped to the ground with a pained cry as she abused their torturous mental connection, forcing his attention back to his other half. She tilted her scythe in his direction, the silent challenge unmistakable. He would face her. Nobody else would steal his attention away from her until she finally had her satisfaction and his seemingly endless pool of life energy bled out slowly at her feet.

Santav snarled in frustration at the sudden appearance of their enemies. He drew his obsidian lance and prepared to charge toward Zeyra, but his path was abruptly blocked by a spear that thudded into the ground before him. “Not another step, Charred,” a voice declared, steady and commanding. Santav turned to see Morax, the God of Spears, landing gracefully beside him. “Your opponent is me.”

Morax twirled another spear in his hands, the weapon humming with divine energy. “Time to see what you’re truly made of—and if you’re as powerless as you claim.” He shifted into a battle-ready stance, his armor gleaming even in the ashen haze.

The air behind Lunae exploded with a vortex of black storm clouds. A booming laugh cut through the chaos as Vihar, the God of Storms, stepped forward, lightning crackling around his form. “I’ve waited a long time for this, Little Lunae,” Vihar thundered, his voice carrying both malice and glee.

While everyone was distracted by the sudden appearance of multiple foes, the final enemy struck. Silvannus barely had time to react before a clawed hand gripped the back of his head, yanking him backward with a fistful of his hair. “For the crime of betraying your closest comrades and your faction,” came the familiar low, menacing voice of Minos, reverberating like a death knell. “I sentence you to confront your inner demons and be consumed by your darkness.”

Silvannus’s eyes dulled to a lifeless gray, his body slumping forward as if his spirit had been wrenched away. Minos released his grip, letting the catatonic God of Arcana drop. His arachnid-like legs skittered across the battlefield as he passed by Messis without a second glance. “The floater is incapacitated, and the Ruler is as good as dead, unfortunately,” Minos growled to the Goddess of Death. “Dispose of the rest.” Without waiting for a reply, he vanished into the swirling portal of Averas.

Que Epic Battle Music - All-Out War

[RedKayne]

Kayne/Rise Co-Op Part 1

Background Music - Chaos Shall Consume

The realm was chaos incarnate—a realm of shifting fragments and colliding worlds. Oceans boiled in the sky above, cascading into rivers of liquid flame that carved fleeting paths through gravity-defying forests of petrified bone. Stars flickered in and out of existence like forgotten memories, their light swallowed by yawning abysses that opened without warning. The ground beneath Silvannus’s feet was unstable, a patchwork of jagged stone and shimmering glass, reforming with every step he took. The air was heavy with the scent of ozone and ash, punctuated by the faint echoes of laughter and whispers too indistinct to comprehend.

Before him, rising out of the storm of unreality, was a broken tower suspended in the darkness. Its spire twisted unnaturally, defying geometry, while its surfaces rippled like water touched by invisible hands. At its summit, a faint, pulsing glow hinted at the presence of the one he sought—or perhaps the one who awaited him.

“You’ve come much sooner than I expected,” the Monarch’s voice purred, resonating from every corner of the realm as if the chaos itself spoke.

The swirling storm shifted in response to his words, colors bleeding together in a kaleidoscope of madness. A jagged path formed beneath Silvannus, leading toward the tower’s heart. There, an obsidian throne sat suspended in the shadowy haze, faintly pulsing with crimson light. Seated upon it was a figure whose very presence seemed an affront to stability. His skin was pale, almost translucent, like marble carved under moonlight, its surface betraying no warmth or life. His long, white hair cascaded past his shoulders in a silken wave, untouched by time or disorder, a stark contrast to the turbulent chaos of his surroundings. His eyes were simply endless pools of pitch-black darkness.

The man’s attire was somber and precise, yet carried an oppressive weight. He wore an all-black ensemble of flowing robes and fitted garments, simple in design but rich in texture, adorned only with subtle, shadowy embroidery that shifted when viewed from different angles, as if alive. A high collar framed his angular features, and the edges of his robes trailed faint wisps of darkness, dissolving into the air like smoke. His hands, elegant yet unnerving with their long, claw-like fingers, rested lightly on the arms of his throne, their grip radiating an ominous restraint.

“Welcome, nephew,” Baldramort said, a sharp grin breaking the stillness of his expression. His teeth gleamed with a feral brightness, a smile both inviting and predatory.

Confusion filled Silvannus. He spun around, looking for Lunae, Mori, Marette, Visana, Atrophos, Ridstus, and Santav, yet all he could see were the creeping shadows in the corner of his vision. Hesitant, he walked towards the deity he called uncle. Something was amiss and the sound of his boots clacking rhythmically against the obsidian floor brought more than just sound to the void. Why was he walking?

“Uncle?” Silvannus said, his voice filled with uncertainty that matched the lost expression on his face. “I… I thought you were gone. Why am I here?”

The Prince let out a low chuckle. “I was never truly gone, my dear nephew. Not entirely,” he said, rising from his throne, his abyssal eyes gleaming with either delight or malice. Taking a few slow, deliberate steps forward, he spread his arms wide in a mockingly welcoming gesture. “Come now, give your beloved uncle a hug.”

There was no secret that Silvannus had missed his uncle. What others saw, he did not, or was it that he refused to see what others saw because of his love for the Prince of Chaos? Regardless, Silvannus adored his uncle, and as confused as he was, he could not pass up an invitation to hug his uncle. The clacking of his boots grew louder as he rushed to his uncle, throwing caution to the abyss. Silvannus threw his arms around his uncle like a child.

“I have missed you terribly uncle,” Silvannus said. “I have struggled since your departure. Without your guidance, this power, this… chaos, it has yearned for control.”

Baldramort pulled his nephew into a tight embrace, cradling him with an almost paternal tenderness, as if a father doting on his child. “Ah, my dear nephew, you’ve been doing splendidly,” his voice dripped with a twisted pride. “Fulfilling your purpose so perfectly, letting the chaos take root and consume you. Don’t you see? You’re becoming exactly what you were meant to be—my vessel. The harbinger of my return to the world of the living.”

Silvannus, hearing his uncle’s words, pulled away, nearly stumbling as he looked into Baldramort’s face.

”Purpose? My purpose is to uphold balance. Uncle my purpose is not to be a vessel for chaos…” Silvannus groaned as the chaos within him began to surface.

"You... you gave me this," Silvannus whispered, his voice hoarse. The power surged within him, a wild, untamed energy that threatened to consume him. It was exhilarating, exhilarating, and terrifying.
Silvannus felt a strange kinship with the chaos, a forbidden thrill that warred with the horror of its destructive potential. "Why?" he choked out, "Why did you do this? I have struggled every day to resist its influence. Why me?”

“Why you?!” Baldramort roared with laughter, his voice echoing like a cruel melody. His nephew’s expression was a source of endless amusement, as though he had just heard the most ridiculous joke in the multiverse. “Do you honestly believe you’re special, nephew?” he sneered, his grin twisting into something malevolent. “You’re nothing more than one of many contingencies I devised for my return should my demise come too soon. Jaslyn, the Goddess of Indulgence. Abbadon, the Goddess of Destruction. Raever, the God of Slaughter. They are but a handful of those I imbued with my essence, fragments of chaos left behind to ensure my plans would never falter.”

With a sudden motion, Baldramort seized his nephew’s chin, his grip firm and unyielding as he forced their eyes to lock. “You were never meant to resist it,” he hissed, his black eyes gleaming with sinister delight. “You, and all the others, were destined to succumb—to let the chaos seep into your soul and devour you from the inside out. Soon, it will consume every last shred of your divine essence, until Silvannus of the Arcana, is no more. And when that moment comes, I will take your place in the world of the living. I will be only a fraction of my true self, but it will be enough.”

Baldramort’s grin widened, his teeth glinting like a predator savoring the hunt. “The irony, dear nephew, is that you are the weakest of them all. Look at you—you’ve already nearly given in to the chaos. It’s only a matter of time.” His voice dropped to a mocking whisper, dripping with venom. “So, why not spare yourself the agony? Embrace it. Let the chaos finish what it has started. Do us both a favor and put an end to your miserable resistance.” His smile stretched into a wicked leer, a wolf poised to devour its prey whole.

Silvannus felt a wave of nausea. He saw the truth, and it hurt to see that his uncle was just as everyone had described. To Baldramort, Silvannus was nothing more than a tool, a mere pawn in his chess game. Silvannus angrily jerked away from his uncle and looked down at his trembling hands. Chaos seeping out of them. Silvannus saw the truth. He saw the potential for annihilation, for suffering on a scale unimaginable. He saw the echoes of his fear, his own suppressed desires for freedom, amplified and twisted into something monstrous.

"No!" he roared, the sound echoing through the throne room. “I will not succumb to your vile chaos. I always looked up to you. I always defended you amongst the other gods, telling them that you were someone to idolize, but now I see. I see what you really are.”

Silvannus’ hands curled into fists as he stood defiant.

“You will never return. As long as I draw breath, I will banish you, and any remnants of you. I don’t care how strong you are, I will never be your vessel.”

The throne room trembled. Objects shattering, shadows writhing. Silvannus, his face contorted in agony, fought back against the insidious influence of his uncle. He reached deep within himself, drawing upon the wellspring of power that still resided within him.

“YOU DESERVE TO BE FORGOTTEN!” Tears began to fall from Silvannus’s beautiful face. His soft brown eyes betrayed him. Even as he stood defiantly against his uncle, he still hoped that some part of Baldramort saw him as more than a mere vessel, as something more than a simple weak god to use as he saw fit.

[RedKayne]

Kayne/Hoef/Han Co-Op Part 1

RIDSTUS. WAS. PISSED. AGAIN

The consequence of having not fired the first shot rang in his mind like tinnitus. Hate, anger, confusion, and downright belligerence were all he thought about in those fleeting moments between shock and awe. This was Aegis. This was THE MAN. To watch him be rendered weak in those same moments by a cold-hearted bitch of a goddess was not going to fly with him. And as a result he only shouted two words:

“KNIF3!! SMASH!!”

“I THOUGHT YOU WOULD NEVER ASK!! AHAHAHA! HELLOOO KILL LADY! NAMES KNIF3 AND I’M HERE TO SHOW YOU A GOOD FUCKING TIME!”

This personality that surfaced did so with the fiery flair of an inferno. His body re-engaged their overdrive functions, and pushed out an unsightly amount of steam as this 5’9” twink of a god was now an enraged pyromaniac hellbent on setting this deity ablaze!

Without thinking, and without an ounce of remorse, Knif3 conjured forth Titanium Knucks that, at its most sharpened points, were laced with some unknown viral material. He took them, stepped into the fray, and put entirely too much force behind a flurry of stiff punches. Every swing had the speed of a rocket. The force of which was enough to rupture anything on contact if it was not equally as durable.

Zeyra didn’t move as Knif3’s barrage of punches rained down, each strike faster and more forceful than the last. The ground beneath them cracked and splintered under the force of his blows, but Zeyra remained unfazed. She watched him, her expression devoid of concern, her crimson eyes glowing brighter with each passing moment.

When one of the punches came perilously close, she raised a single hand, not to block, but to release a wave of her power. The air grew unbearably heavy, the air thick with an oppressive energy that sank into the bones. Knif3’s fist stopped mid-swing, circuits flying as if something disrupted the currents.

"Hatred is a fire you don’t understand, little god," she whispered, a dark aura swirled around her. "It doesn’t rage—it festers, grows, consumes. And now, it will consume you." His knucks fizzled out, and the viral material that once pulsed with deadly intent seemed to freeze and corrode, crumbling like ash. Zeyra's hatred was so consuming, so suffocating - it suppressed the celestial powers of her targets.

---

The sound was what struck the Goddess of Time first. Aegis pushed the God of Industry out of harm’s way as his golden blood was spilled. A horrified Marette’s hands moved to cover her mouth and muffled a scream. It was a sight she had not expected, but it was the darkness that she felt creeping upon them. Taking a moment to look around, hell had come for them. Visana was gone. Moriteva was focused on something else.

The Goddess of Time lurched forward and finally ran across the field to bend down by Aegis’ side, her hand moving to apply as much pressure as she could but the damage was too great. It was only when Marette raised her eyes that she saw the assailant. Her eyes widened. “Aegis… I… am sorry.” Marette knew that if he died, his blood would be on her hands. Marette had done this.

Ridstus was erupting, preparing for a battle and Marette could only shake her head. Aegis was the only one who showed the young god any degree of kindness. That was another failing of the Goddess of Time. “Ridstus.” Marette called out, rising to her feet. Slowly Marette moved, every step heavy with dread. “Put your hands down.” Marette was no longer looking at Ridstus, she was focused only on Zeyra. “If you attack her, you will die a swift death. I can’t let her take you too.”

“ZEYRA!” Marette screamed as she moved away from Ridstus, though before she was out of range. “She’s my daughter, Ridstus. I need to try to reason with her before we engage… we might stop this yet.” Closing the distance between her and her child, Marette realized she had never seen her daughter in this twisted form. Once so beautiful, so happy, and full of passion and life - was now nothing but a bitter shell of rage and hate. “It’s me you really want, isn’t it?” Marette cocked her head to the side and crossed her arms. “You’ve killed my friend. And for what? A chance at your revenge?”

The Goddess of Time scoffed and spit at the ground. “Let the rest alone. No matter what, you are still my child. You will always be my child, my daughter. You are of me.” Marette pointed at herself as her eyes finally welled up with tears that fell without relenting. “I did this to you. How can we end this? Hmm? Do you want to know who your father is? Or did that bitch Malphas already tell you? You don’t serve you, you serve yourself. I tried to protect you from his darkness and I failed. I know that now, and you said you hated me when we last spoke… but I never got to say that I love you. Zeyra, I will always love you. Even… even now. So if you want to kill me? Go ahead.”

Marette offered herself on a platter, her guilt was all-consuming. Aegis was dying because of her, because of her daughter. Aegis who she finally found forgiveness and acceptance for. Aegis who she still believed would be worthy of the Throne of Gods. He was slain. If her death would end this senseless madness, she would go gladly into it. If her death meant Zeyra had some final relief, knowing she had taken her vengeance, it would be worth it. “It won’t change anything, but I will die if it serves you well, my darling, darling child.”

The tears were centuries too late, the revelations even more so. Marette had long known of Zeyra’s transformation into the Goddess of Hatred, but seeing her like this, and not as the loving, happy daughter she once knew truly brought her clarity. “I will atone for my sins. Can you live with yours?” Marette could feel her body tremble, and shake, little bits of time energy sparking like twinkling lights off of her skin. A sight that while beautiful, was indicative of the fact that she was losing control and having an emotional response. The Goddess of Time did not expect her daughter to yield, and she loathed the idea of being forced to kill her if she had to. “I am sorry, Zey. So terribly sorry for the wrong I’ve done, for the pain and hurt that I caused. I thought I was doing the right thing… and now I know… I made all the wrong choices.”

The air between them seemed to crystallize as Zeyra stood motionless, her cold, lifeless gaze fixed on her mother. A bitter laugh, hollow and dripping with venom, escaped her lips as she tilted her head slightly, like a predator surveying its prey. Her crimson eyes burned with an unrelenting fury, but beneath it, there was an abyss—a darkness that seemed to have consumed whatever kindness she once possessed.

“Is this it?” Zeyra’s voice was sharp, slicing through Marette’s trembling apology. “You grovel, you cry, you spill your regrets at my feet—and you think that will save you? Save them?” Her lips twisted into a sneer. “You act as though you understand me, but you don’t. You never have. You never will. Just as I will never understand you, mother. And will never understand that you fell in love with the God of Betrayal,” she revealed the knowledge of her father’s identity. Petos.

The Goddess of Hatred took a single step closer, the weight of her presence pressing down on the battlefield like a storm ready to explode. She gestured dismissively to Aegis’s crumpled form, golden blood pooling beneath him. “You want to atone for your sins? Your sins brought this,” she hissed, gesturing wildly. “Your sins made me. Every choice you made, every time you chose to ignore me, every lie you told yourself that it was for my good… it led to this. To me.”

Zeyra’s hands tightened into fists, her nails digging into her palms hard enough to draw blood. She stalked closer, her voice lowering but no less menacing. “Do you know what I’ve realized, mother?” The word was spat with such venom that it could have poisoned the air. “You were always so eager to sacrifice yourself for the ‘greater good.’ Always so quick to throw yourself to the wolves because you thought that would redeem you. But it’s not your life that matters to me, Marette.”

She stopped just short of her mother, leaning in, her lips curling into a dark smile. “It’s theirs,” she said, nodding toward the others—Ridstus, still trembling with rage, who was itching for more bloodshed; and Moriteva, who was too focused to intervene. Her voice dripped with malice as she whispered, “Every single one of them. Your friends. Your allies. Your lover. The people you care about. That’s who I’ll take from you. That’s how I’ll break you.”

Zeyra straightened, her laughter ringing out like a cruel melody. “Do you think I need your death to find peace? No. Death is mercy, mother, and you deserve none of it. I want you to watch. Watch as everything you love burns to ash. Watch as your companions fall one by one. Watch as your precious ideals crumble, knowing you were powerless to stop it. That’s the justice you’ve earned. That’s the vengeance I’ll take.”

Her smile vanished, replaced by a cold, empty stare that seemed to pierce through Marette’s soul. “You say you love me? That you’ll always love me? Then prove it.” Zeyra’s voice lowered to a growl, laced with an almost inhuman hatred. “Stand there, do nothing, and let me take them all from you. Let me take everything. That’s the only way you can atone for your sins, mother. Stand there… and watch your failure unfold.”

[RedKayne]

Kayne/Rise Co-Op Part 2

Background Music - Chaos Shall Consume

The quaking ceased, leaving an oppressive silence that settled between the two deities like a heavy fog. Baldramort stood still for a moment, then slowly raised his hands and clapped, each strike of his palms echoing through the chamber. “Bravo, Silvannus. Truly, a stellar performance.” His tone was dripping with mockery as he turned away from his nephew and sank back onto the towering obsidian throne. Crossing one leg over the other, Baldramort examined his nails with casual indifference, as if the confrontation had been little more than a trivial distraction. “But let us dispense with the theatrics, shall we? My victory is assured. The God of Judgment’s decree has bound you to me, and though he may have hopes of freeing you later...” Baldramort chuckled softly, his lips curling into a cruel smile, “You are mine now. You belong to me.”

He raised his head, his piercing gaze locking onto Silvannus. The smile lingered, but it carried no warmth—only triumph. “Resist, rage, fight back all you want. I welcome it. But I know you, Silvannus. I know your strengths, your weaknesses, the fragile little cracks you try so hard to hide. I remember the spells you struggled to master, the arts you begged for my guidance with. You may lash out in defiance, but in the end, nephew—” Baldramort leaned forward, his voice dropping to a venomous whisper, “—I win.”

Leaning back, he tilted his head to gaze upward at the churning, roiling oceans of chaos above. A faint smirk played on his lips, as though he were already savoring the victories to come. “When I return—and I will return—I have a few pressing matters to attend to. Damian, my wayward son, for one. And that thorn in my side, the Void Lord.” His eyes narrowed, the faintest flicker of rage flashing in their abyssal depths. “Oh, Vantas shall suffer the most gruesome fate.”

Baldramort’s voice hardened, and the shadows in the chamber seemed to darken as his anger surfaced. It was no secret: Vantas, the God of the Void, had led a rebellion of gods to challenge Baldramort, striking him down in a fateful battle that had claimed the Prince of Chaos’s mortal life. Silvannus slumped to the throne floor, the realization that there was nothing he could do was too heavy on his psyche. His uncle spoke of the God of Judgement, and for a moment Silvannus’ soft brown eyes filled with rage. This was Minos’ doing. His mind played back the words he heard before he was transported to this odd place. The chaos that seeped from his hands began to slowly crawl up his arms and when Baldramort finished speaking, Silvannus looked up at him.

“You taught me some things, Baldramort, but you did not teach me everything,” Silvannus said, his tone laced with defiance. “For someone as strong as you once were, I found it hard to believe that they destroy you so easily, but as I look upon you now I see….all the flaws.”

Silvannus laughed, his laugh breaking through the oppressive silence that had overtaken the room after Baldramort’s grand monologue.

“To think that you have a son….The Prince of Chaos has a son. I am sure you won’t win any Father of the Year awards, but I wonder who has stepped in your place to be the father you never were? Perhaps the God of the Void has taken your son under his wing. Oh that I would pay to see.”

The Prince tilted his head, a sly, amused smile playing on his lips. “Ah, you see, nephew, I’ve had the luxury of seeing through your eyes all this time, along with the other remnants. And I can guarantee that the Void Lord has done no such thing.” His smile then faltered, twisting into a dark scowl. “But Diz… damn him,” he snarled, his voice low and venomous. “I should have recognized his influence sooner—before that bastard had my son betray me.”

Silvannus watched the smile on Baldramort’s face twist and change and with that change came more information. Baldramort’s son had betrayed him. The God of the Void had betrayed him. Who else amongst his old ranks had betrayed him in set in motion his obliteration?

“Let me wrap my head around this before I continue to laugh at your position, which, dear uncle, is not a winning one at all. Your own son?”

Laughter once again erupted from Silvannus as he held up a chaos-cloaked hand with one pointer finger extended to signify that he needed a moment.

“I know that just makes you feel all warm and fuzzy inside. Here I was, blind and foolish to think that you cared about anyone. All the times I snuck away to come visit you, to learn from you, to spend time with you. It hurts to hear from you what others have tried to tell me, and perhaps this is what I needed to overcome. Perhaps this is what I needed…”

There was both realization and acceptance in his words.

“Remind me to thank Diz when this is all over, but I am not the same Silvannus you once knew. Just as the caterpillar changes, metamorphosing into something different, so too have I. Chaos never belonged here. I refuse to allow someone as pathetic, as lowly, and as broken as you to control me any longer. No wonder your son betrayed you. You may return one day, but it won’t be through me.”

Baldramort tilted his head back, a dark smile playing on his lips as he listened to Silvannus’s laughter and mockery. His eyes fluttered closed for a moment, and he exhaled slowly. When he spoke, his voice was steady, though a cold, unsettling amusement laced his words.

"Damian, the God of the Apocalypse, was born from a prophecy—a prophecy that foretold his role in destroying the multiverse. And as his father, the Prince of Chaos, I could not be more proud to have created such a perfect vessel for pure destruction. Chaos itself flows through his veins. But his dear mother..." Baldramort's voice darkened, a malicious edge creeping in, "...upon learning of the prophecy, abandoned him to die."

He opened his eyes again, locking his gaze on his nephew with a quiet but piercing intensity.

“Damian is everything you wished you were, Silvannus. He is the heir you could never become—strong, relentless, and untainted by the pathetic, empty bluster that defines you. But I see you’ve learned nothing, nephew.” Baldramort’s smirk widened. "I hope you relished your last few moments of hollow defiance. Because no matter how much you evolve, no matter how far you climb, you will never be enough to stand beside a Monarch.”

With a flick of his wrist, Baldramort raised his hand and clenched his fist. The sudden energy shift was palpable. Silvannus’s chest tightened, his heart racing uncontrollably as if it were trying to escape his ribcage. The beat quickened, erratic and wild, each pulse painful, each one suffused with a burning heat that spread rapidly through his body. Chaos—a force older and more dangerous than any of Silvannus’s strengths—began to seep out of his pores, dark and untamable.

Then, Silvannus’s agonizing screams became melody to the Prince of Chaos.

[Iwazuma]

Purg and Scottie co-post round 1!

All hell had broken loose. Just when Moriteva thought everything was all set up and ready to go, the last expected and least desired outcome happened. Out of nowhere, a flaming greatsword blazed out of the blue, striking down Aegis as he blocked an attack that would have torn Ridstus to pieces. Aegis almost immediately collapsed completely, causing Mori to wince and grit his teeth. They’d come after all…but he’d detected nothing. How had they snuck up on him so easily? Without thinking, Moriteva began to run, rushing to try and reach Aegis’ side, trying to help his companion stave off the looming specter of death that threatened to close in on the God of Kings.

How DARE you ignore me? The all-too familiar voice echoed in his mind with a fresh rush of pain, causing a cry from the Warden as he dropped to one knee, unable to run as his head felt as though it threatened to split in two. She was here. That felt far, far too close. Moriteva slowly rose to his feet, turning back around to spy the woman he’d known his entire existence…or so he thought, anyways. What were once controlled blonde locks were now stained with blood and hung loosely in the air. Her usual thematic, haunting attire had been exchanged for tatters. And the scythe…a weapon she’d normally have considered too apropos, too tacky. Her eyes, hauntingly lifeless yet filled with thought and insight, had been transformed into bright blue pools of madness. Madness and sudden ecstatic joy…

“Requiem…what happened to you?” It was the first time he’d seen her so closely. He knew something had gone horribly wrong in recent years, but to see her now…it was like she wasn’t even the same person anymore. Who had done this? Why?

The smile on Messis’ face immediately dissipated as Moriteva spoke. “Do not refer to me by that old, pathetic name.” Messis spat at her other half, her obsession, her rival. “You know my name, and you will speak it when you breathe your last, Moriteva.” Her scowl returned to a smile as she righted herself, pointing her scythe in his direction. “At last…I have been waiting forever to finally see you again…” Messis crooned with delight, her eyes slowly sliding over to the other nearby deity. The dusty one. “You…Decay…” Her voice was full of energy, yet still seemed to hang hauntingly in the air. “You wait…I’ll be over for you in just a moment…”

Moriteva, evidently filled with worry, glanced over to the God of Decay. “Atrophos.” He spoke clearly. “Go help Marette or Visana. She won’t attack you while I’m still alive.” Moriteva was not a fighter-not by any means. But if he could at least buy everyone else some time, do something to keep the others alive, to get them to Luthious…

His fingers hovered outstretched. The skeletal fingers disappeared as the skin plumped up around the bones. Visana had reacted as if the portal had shot light through her and then she lunged for it. Atrophos paused. She walked in. She was not dragged. Something must have happened that Atrophos was not privy to. It did not take much convincing to get his fingers to drift closer to the portal only for a faint whistling sound to shred through the hum of conversation. Something hit the ground with enough violence that Atrophos paused.

Something followed swiftly by someone. Aegis fell and Atrophos curled his fingers tighter around his staff. He could not aid the God of Kings, his powers would only speed up the process instead of healing. Darkness drifted into the corner of his eye as a female presence appeared in front of the portal. Atrophos, God of Decay, twisted his head back to the newcomer. The Goddess of Death. She was the final step in the process that he so often started. Cold eyes settled on the goddess as she sneered at him before she shifted her ire. Barely a second dedicated to the God of Decay before she turned her fury towards her true enemy.

The God of Decay floated towards the gathering of enemies and the Goddess of Death who had earmarked him for her list. ‘You wait…I’ll be over for you in just a moment’ A dark chuckle left his cracked lips. Moriteva requested aid, go to Marette or Visana. Visana who was lost to the portal and Marette who was forced to deal with the Goddess of Hatred. “No. I think I will act this time rather than wait.” His words were cold as he carved the base of his staff through the ashy surface beneath their feet.

Hundreds of small bugs wormed their way through the carved area and flooded towards Messis. Flipping his staff up, he reared it back to hit the Goddess of Death in her shoulder. A distraction. Attack from both sides. She surely couldn't bring them both down at once.

Moriteva had hoped Atrophos would disappear into the portal or else rush to Marette’s side, but neither happened. He seemed resolved to attack instead. He wished he could have said something more quickly, but his movements were watched by Messis like a hawk; he was afraid of making any sudden jumps or noises, lest she take advantage and strike him down. He adjusted his wooden shield carefully, holding Messis’ gaze with a cold stare. He didn’t want this fight. He had never wanted this fight.

Messis, meanwhile, was grinning like a schoolchild. She had been waiting for this day for what felt like millennia. And now he was standing right in front of her. She took a single, calm step forward, prepared to engage in the dance she was all too versed in, when the sound of an army of crawling insects caused her to pause for a moment. She acknowledged Atrophos’ existence once more, but did not react or even so much as move as he closed in to strike. The God of Decay’s staff collided heavily with Messis’ shoulder, but she did not react to the strike; to Atrophos, it was as though he had struck the side of a mountain. As the insects began to crawl up Messis’ body, one by one they dropped off, the life stolen from them in an instant, leaving a halo of tiny corpses surrounding the Goddess of Death.

Messis’ free hand reached up, gripping the staff tightly as she snapped her attention to Atrophos. Her eyes gleamed eerily in the dim light, her grin cruel and mad as she finally regarded him with her full attention. “If you are…so desperate to go first…” The glow in her eyes only grew brighter, and Atrophos’ vision would swim before fading away entirely.

Atrophos’ vision returned to find himself suspended in midair. Chains made of desiccated bone shackled each limb, holding him captive and motionless. Try as he might, the shackles prevented all movement. The rest of the area was dark. In between blinks of the eye, Messis suddenly appeared before him, her scythe gleaming unnaturally in the darkness. “Atrophos…” Messis’ voice seemed to echo in his ears. “You are but a means to an end.” A sudden swing of her scythe cleanly carved off his right arm, sending a spiraling, fiery surge of pain rushing through the God of Decay’s body. The arm crumbled into dust, vanishing before it even hit the ground. “My end. All paths from you directly lead to me, and nowhere else.” Another swing of the scythe, and Atrophos’ left leg was cleanly severed, causing another burst of fiery agony. “You exist…only to serve my whims. And when the dog bites the hand of the master…” Messis raised her deadly blade, its tip pointed at his chest.

“You get the stick.”

The vision suddenly shattered into millions of indiscernible pieces as Messis began to swing the scythe, leaving nothing but blackness for a moment. As Atrophos’ field of view returned, Moriteva stood in front of him, his shoulder lowered as he came to a halt. Messis was a few feet away, staggered but still on her feet. She cracked her neck a single time, the smile on her face now replaced with a frustrated frown. “Moriteva…” Messis spat with mild indignation. “Why would you interrupt me…are you also so desperate to satisfy me…?” Messis questioned with genuine curiosity, then hefted her scythe, shrugging her shoulders. “No matter…I will no longer play with my food…”

Moriteva glanced back to Atrophos, heaving a relieved sigh. He did not know why he chose to stay and fight with him, but that had been far too close. “Don’t look her in the eyes. She will lock you in a trance, force you to live a demise of her choosing.” He’d heard her threaten him with it through their mental link, seen what the Devourer had done to Marette. He was simply thankful he could break her concentration before she could land a fatal blow in the waking realm. He stood upright, his hand reaching into his seed pouch. Not too many left…but home was just a few feet away…

[RedKayne]

Kayne/Hoef/Han Co-Op Part 2

The Goddess of Hatred

Marette had made an offer, and Zeyra had now offered her counter. The Goddess of Time stood paralyzed, unable to comprehend what had been so directly stated. “Zeyra.” Marette said weakly, her eyes fixed upon the figure that she had once known so well, the figure she had birthed and then forced to transform into something truly evil, a figure with no morals, no sense of right or wrong, only a desire to cut her mother to the core. Marette, once so serene, so composed and demure, save for encounters with Santav the deceiver, was now a broken woman.

Falling to her knees, Marette continued to allow the stinging tears to flow, carving their own paths through her dirtied cheeks. “Ridstus… do as you must.” She uttered, unable or unwilling to render assistance. Marette would not actively fight her own child, she couldn’t. The memories of a happy youth paraded through her mind, clearer than even the greatest battles of humanity. Zeyra in the Garden Forgotten by Time, laughing, plucking her favorite flowers.

“I will not stand in your way.” Marette cried as she felt herself crumple into a pool of nothingness. She had given Ridstus her blessing, she had caved to the will of her daughter so twisted and tormented by hate. While Marette knew she pushed her daughter to this point, she could not recognize her. How had she failed so monumentally that this was the outcome? It left the Goddess questioning everything, every last decision, every choice, every turning point. Marette was the ultimate failure.

Circuits were fried in several key areas. Extensive damage in all sectors. This was not a good footing to start with. Ridstus had milliseconds to think of something. Anything.

Thoughts and emotions were swimming. Words seemed to reverberate like static in his mind, but for whatever reason Aegis’ last words kept him steady.

“You see things differently than most of us do. You’re not a brute swinging a sword or a schemer weaving plots. You’re... a thinker—a creator.”

That’s right! He didn’t need some cunning trick or some super strength. He’s got his mind, and his will to live. And by the Throne of Gods was he going to use one-hundred-and-ten percent of it! Thus, Ridstus pulled KNIF3 back into the corner and stepped back out. The fire that was present died and was replaced with a seething, frigid, hatred. Just like this bitch wanted.

However, he wasn’t going to stop there. Her primary trump card was power negation—a unique and novel power. This was certainly getting logged, and he was already running the calculations to determine the possibilities of bypassing it. But he needed more data. More information.

“Now Marette,” he finally spoke with some sense of clarity and adult familiarity, “Get your ASS off that ground and take the Big Guy... You ain’t fightin your hoe ass daughter, so I guess I’m gunna have to take her down a peg.” He shoved some servos and wires back into place and flexed his arms.

“Look bitch I’m not gunna sugar-coat it, I’m fucked.” He stared at the battlefield that shifted at their scuffle and was further malformed by her presence. “But just because you got the soul power to blow up several nations doesn’t mean you’re gunna walk around like that. I’ve seen eldritch abominations with more presence than you.”

“W-Wait! What the fuck are you doing?? Why did you sideline me!? I WANTED TO FIGHT HER YOU DICK!”

“We’re already dead.”

“...Fuck...”

Without hesitation, he uttered the phrase, “Ghost Protocol,” whereby his hair and clothes turned white. He slammed his chest and opened a compartment to his heart. Here a reactor sat, running and beating to a high heart rate. He took the reactor from within his body and ripped it out. Sparks and other materials shot out as micro repairs were initiated. But what he did next was turn that reactor into a bomb.

With a flick of his wrist and a few flourishes, the reactor became a satchel-sized explosive, revving and buzzing with arcane energy. He held it like a server would hold a plate before he tucked it under his arm. After this, he created a bandoleer of all the various grenades and hand-held explosives humanity has ever come up with in their short lifetime.

He then tossed, without thinking, three smoke grenades into the air. The first landed in front of the hateful bitch while the second and third landed near Aegis and Marette respectively. This smoke completely obscured anyone who stepped into it. Thus when the smoke came up, he went straight into action and dove for her cloud of smoke.

His plan was simple: Distract, evade, wait for the right time to detonate the reactor bomb, and then BOOM. This entire area will become flat land, including her. However this plan hinges on Marette not being insufferable for the next several minutes, and the Queen of Hating Hoes not figuring it out before it goes off.

Marette would proceed to be insufferable for the next several minutes.

“Get your ASS off that ground and take the Big Guy... You ain’t fightin your hoe ass daughter, so I guess I’m gunna have to take her down a peg.”

Ridstus’ words stung her, no matter what Zeyra had done, she was still the daughter of the Goddess of Time. The kind of love would never die, and the idea of killing her was not something Marette would participate in. “Ridstus, she’s my daughter!” Marette cried out as she pulled her frame off of the ground. Every limb felt heavy, her step she took was tortured and belabored as she crossed the ash laden field to reach Aegis who was gasping for his final breaths. Marette sat on the ground and pulled him into her lap.

“I suppose you deserve to know the truth.” Marette allowed the tears to fall as she cradled the dying god. “Millenia ago, I fell in love with Petos, God of Betrayal and for centuries I followed him blindly. I did terrible things for him… I betrayed my own beliefs, morals and rules for him.” The once composed and refined goddess was reduced to a pile of tears and paralysis. “The only good thing I ever did was birth his daughter, our daughter. And I lied to her, I refused to tell her who her father was… and that turned her into something… a monster. And her blade struck you down, that is my fault… I’m so sorry Aegis.”

The truth, if he could even hear it, was freeing for Marette to speak, a selfish act admittedly. But he deserved to hear the truth. He deserved to know why he was dying. “You remind me so much of him. And that’s why I’ve treated you so poorly, it just… I wasn’t ready to accept it. I didn’t even realize what I was doing. It’s unfair, unjust. And as much as I want to, I can’t fix this. I can only offer you comfort.”

She ceased speech, for anything else would have been meaningless. She felt the rise and fall of Aegis’ breaths grow fewer and farther between. Ridstus needed Marette to intervene for his plan to succeed but she could not aid him. Nor would she warn her daughter, Zeyra was too smart for this. She closed her eyes and wept as the final moments played out.

Zeyra tilted her head, her expression darkening as she observed Ridstus’s theatrics, a predator watching a wounded animal attempt one last, desperate trick. As the first grenade clattered to the ground, she tilted her head slightly, unimpressed. Rather than step into the obvious trap, she gracefully sidestepped, her blackened boots leaving no trace in the ashen dirt. The grenades fizzled, their mechanisms sputtering weakly in the distance, and no smoke emerged.

The Goddess of Hatred dropped low, her form coiling like a predator ready to strike. In one swift, savage motion, she launched herself at the God of Industry. Her free hand lashed out with unnerving speed, closing the distance in an instant. Her cold, unyielding fingers wrapped tightly around his throat with brutal precision.

"Poor Ridstus," she hissed, her voice dripping with mockery as she lifted him off the ground with effortless strength. Her grip tightened, her nails digging into the exposed circuitry of his neck. Sparks flew, and wires snapped with each cruel squeeze.

"Your only ally here abandoned you," she sneered, her crimson eyes gleaming with malice. "Now, look at you—a pitiful little machine from Mechanus. So fragile. So alone." Her smirk widened every word a dagger. "And now, you die alone."

“Bitc-”

With a sickening crunch, she ripped his head clean from his shoulders, wires snapping and fluids spraying in a grotesque shower of oil and sparks. His body twitched violently in her grasp before going limp, the reactor in his chest instantly deactivating with a soft hum. Zeyra’s expression soured as she examined the lifeless head in her hand.

She crushed his head in her palm with a single, effortless motion. Metal and circuitry crumpled beneath her clawed fingers, shards falling to the scorched earth below. Sparks fizzled out, and Ridstus was no more. Zeyra let the remnants of his head drop from her hand, wiping the oil and ash from her palm as though it were nothing more than dirt.

She turned to her mother and the dying God of Kings, “Well, yet another you failed to save.” Her wicked smile broadened, her crimson eyes flaring. “I suppose I should show gratitude, though, mother, you truly do love me and allowing me to do this to your comrades,” she turned away, eying her next targets busy with the Reaper. “Time to finish this business,” she said, walking away from her grieving mother without a second glance.

[RedKayne]

Kayne/Az Co-Op Part 1

The only thing she could compare it to was the Fall. Pulled apart and squeezed together all at once, flung through the dizzying void between dimensions, losing the wings and the omnipotence that marked her godhood. Not just falling, but falling. Her feet touched the ground so softly and so unexpectedly that she fell again, pitching forward so that her knees thumped into the soft earth. For a moment Visana knelt there on the grass with her eyes screwed shut, panting. She could feel her ragged gown clinging to her skin, the bruises on her face and the ash clinging to it. And she could still hear the prayers.

She listened to them - less overwhelming now, but no less heart-rending. She began to reach out, threads of consciousness tentatively spreading like a limb strangled into numbness and only now slowly coming back to life. She sensed an old man, a lost child, a woman cradling her sick wife. And so many more. They were harder to pin down than she remembered, like an echo of the connections she had once taken for granted. It was not quite the same as being home in Elysium, but it was better than the muffled, close to mortal-stunted awareness she had borne on Earth…and infinitely preferable to the cold silence of Hades. She listened, flickering out tiny motes of her power to the closest of the clamouring voices. There were so many. What had happened in the time she had been gone?

It was only after a few moments that she began to register the scent of the air, the moisture of the grass under her hands and knees. She remembered where she was, and why. Averas. She opened her eyes, squinting in the twilight. She had almost forgotten that this much colour could exist, and to see it now all at once was almost painful. It was achingly beautiful, terrifyingly vibrant. It was the story of life, inked in colour and light. But something sinister whispered among the swaying flowers. In the distance, black thunderheads loomed above a shadowed horizon. The distant hills almost seemed to be seething and shifting - but perhaps that was a trick of the light, or of her own tired eyes.

She slowly rose to her feet. The tree of life was ahead of her, the portal behind.

The portal.

She turned towards the swirling nimbus, and realised that she stood alone. Had the others not come through yet? How long had she been kneeling? Just as the unease was beginning to grow within her, the portal sparked. A silhouette appeared against the light.

“Atrophos?”

No, she realised, cold fingers walking down her spine. Not Atrophos. Too tall. Too angular. Too many limbs. Minos, the sin-reaper, the god of judgement, unfolded from the portal like a great black scorpion.

The breath caught in Visana’s throat. “The others…” she realised with horror.

The sin-reaper’s mouth flexed in four directions at once, mandibles clacking. “Your soft heart will be the death of you, Visana.”

The goddess’ teeth gritted together. Light danced across the runes on her limbs as she raised her hands to her shoulder and called her sword into being. “And a blade will be yours, Minos. If you don’t stand aside.”

Minos stepped forward, his massive, angular frame casting a towering shadow over the grass. Each step seemed to ripple through the earth beneath him, as though even the ground recoiled at his presence. His mandibles flexed again, a deep, reverberating sound emanating from within his chest—a mixture of a chuckle and a growl, laced with venomous amusement.

"It doesn’t matter if I step aside, Visana," Minos hissed, his voice layered like a legion of condemning whispers. "You are far too late to save your precious friends. The Ruler? Cut down, cleaved in two by the God-killer, the Goddess of Hatred herself. The Reaper? Tearing through your comrades of nature, leaving nothing but ruin in her wake. And the Dream One's minions? They swarm the battlefield, consuming what little remains of your pitiful group."

His mandibles twitched, and it almost appeared the muscles of his faceless head turned into a wicked grin.. "You abandoned them, Visana. You—the self-proclaimed protector—left those you swore to shield. You made vows and promises, and yet you turned your back on them in their moment of greatest need. For that, you deserve a judgment most fitting."

He straightened to his full height, towering over her like a specter of inevitability. "For failing to fulfill your divine purpose, for failing the very essence of your being, I strip you of your power, Visana. The domain of protection no longer belongs to the unworthy."

Minos’ words rippled through the air, his voice shaking the foundations of Averas itself. Reality bent to his will, and Visana's runes—once etched with radiant purpose—began to fade. One by one, the glowing sigils dimmed and disappeared, leaving her body bare and exposed. Leaving her nothing more than a… Charred.

[RedKayne]

Kayne/Shadow Co-Op Part 1

Santav's Last Stand

The Charred’s golden eyes flicked with cold disdain as he sized up his new opponent, his gaze briefly drifting to the dying Aegis behind him. "You're in my way," he growled, his voice threateningly low with impatience. "Move, or be moved, mongrel." With that, he raised his obsidian lance, its dark surface gleaming ominously as he took his battle stance, his muscles coiled and ready for the impending clash.
Around them, the ash from the nearby fall began to stir, swirling at their feet like an ethereal mist, a foreboding sign that the battlefield was alive with the anticipation of combat.

The tip of the jade spear hovered only inches off the ashen mist as Morax looked at his opponent. The Charred seemed to care about the god that lay on the ground barely holding onto his life. The smell of the golden blood even reached his senses. Granted he wanted to kill Aegis in a fair fight, but that was no longer an option. A part of him even wanted to save the god’s life. Pushing that feeling aside his emerald green eyes locked on to the golden eyes of his target.

“His fate has been decided. So, you better not let it divide your attention.” Morax said as he bent his knees slightly, and then launched himself at Santav when he was within striking distance he brought his spear up trying to slice him in two.

Santav’s cold, piercing gaze didn’t waver as Morax hurtled toward him, spear aimed with deadly precision. The obsidian lance in Santav’s hand shifted ever so slightly, a movement that seemed both deliberate and effortless, as though even the simplest action carried the weight of inevitability.
As the jade spear arced toward him, intending to cleave him in two, Santav moved. He gracefully sidestepped the attack, the blackened mist swirling in his wake. The jade spear sliced through the air mere inches from his frame, its force scattering the ash around them in a violent gust.

“You presume to lecture me about divided attention?” Santav’s voice rumbled, low and venomous, as he pivoted, thrusting his lance to meet Morax’s exposed flank. The strike wasn’t reckless or overly aggressive—it was precise, calculated, and aimed to wound, not kill. “I remember you, Morax. Back then, you were nothing more than a lapdog for Luthious. And I see nothing’s changed in these eons. You heel for someone better than you. A dog like you deserves a swift death.”

A hint of anger flashed in Morax’s emerald eyes as he shifted his weight to the opposite side that the black lance was aiming for. It missed its target only by a slight margin. Turning his body, swinging his staff horizontally to try and slam the shaft of the weapon into Santav's side.

“I am no dog of that bastard, Luthious. I will kill him one day, and feed his corpse to the hellhounds. The same place you and the god of Kings will end up.”

Santav snarled, his expression twisting into something almost feral as the shaft of Morax’s jade spear collided with his side, forcing him to stagger back a step. The impact didn’t bring him down but left a visible mark. He steadied himself, his obsidian lance lowering, and his golden eyes narrowed with disdain.

“Bold words for someone so... delusional.” Santav’s voice was cold with a mocking edge cutting through the smoke-filled air. He straightened his stance, the ashstorm swirled more fiercely now, as if responding to the clash of their wills, casting eerie shadows that danced between them. "Especially for a mutt serving the God of Dreams. But it's amusing—you believe there's an afterlife for gods like us? Oblivion is the only thing that awaits you at the end of this fight, mongrel."

Santav smirked coldly, golden eyes narrowing as he launched forward in a sudden surge of speed, his lance aimed directly at Morax’s throat.

The moment his spear connected with the Charred Morax took this opportunity to jump back from his opponent to land gracefully about ten feet from the former god. The words that spilled from Santav’s lips were complete and utter slander. However, something struck him as odd. Not many people knew that the God of Dreams is who he served. So, how did this thing?

The moment the Charred charged at him he slammed his spear into the ground causing forty spears to quickly cut through the ground and mist in an attempt to impale the creature.

“Who are you really?” Morax asked as he looked at the fallen god. He knew more than he should for being so low.

Santav barely had time to react as the spears erupted from the ground with devastating force, slicing through ash and mist like deadly blades. His reflexes, honed from centuries of combat, allowed him to twist his body mid-charge, narrowly avoiding a fatal strike. But even the Charred couldn’t evade them all. Two of the jade spears pierced his side, their tips puncturing through flesh and drawing Aether, but a faded color.

He staggered back, his free hand pressing against the searing wound as dark, golden blood oozed between his fingers. Yet his burning golden eyes remained locked on his opponent, unwavering despite the pain. “My past self? That name, that life… they’re nothing but ashes now,” he snarled, his voice sharp and cold. With a strained breath, he raised his obsidian lance in one trembling hand, the weapon still gleaming ominously in the swirling mist. Lowering himself into a defensive stance, his movements were slower but no less resolute. “Let’s end this,” he growled, his focus unyielding even as his body threatened to betray him.

“You are a stubborn old man. You know about me yet you won't tell me anything about yourself. Such a shame that you will have no one remember you when you are gone.” Morax said in a malicious tone as he watched the Charred holding his side. The dark liquid that was escaping from between his fingers was a testament to the fact of what he was at one time. Seeing the impotent god still trying to show face even though he was injured.

“Why should we finish this? I am going to make you suffer before I take your life. You will regret ever thinking that you had a chance against this dog.” he said with a smirk. Then suddenly his face changed. He was no longer smiling as he banished his spear and placed his hands behind his back.

“Such a smart one you are. To know all that you know there is more to you than you give yourself credit for. Not many gods know much about be, yet you seem to know more than you are letting on. So, I would like to know how you knew that Morax was serving me?” Ginyumi asked in a calm tone. He didn't let his guard down, but for now, he wanted to have a little conversation.

"You misunderstand me, Morax," Santav said, his voice like a smoldering ember, steady but with an undercurrent of raw intensity. "I don’t care if anyone remembers me. I should be forgotten. There are two deaths, after all. The first is when your body fails, and your existence comes to an end. And the second, when your name is spoken for the final time in the multiverse." He took a slow, deliberate step forward, the obsidian lance gleaming faintly in the swirling ash. "Your second death will follow your first shortly, Morax. You’ll fade into nothing, just like the rest of the leashed dogs whose masters never truly valued them."

Santav paused, his golden eyes narrowing as he felt the shift in Morax’s stance. He sneered, a mixture of contempt and amusement flashing across his face. "Ah, there you are, Ginyumi," he growled, his tone laced with disdain. "You think I wouldn’t notice? You act as if I’m blind and deaf as if I didn’t witness the last battle against the Devourers. I saw your fight with Aegis. I’ve learned your pattern from ages before. Even now, you’re as predictable as ever, mongrel."

With those words, Santav’s grip tightened on his lance. His body coiled like a spring, and in one swift, fluid motion, he spun the weapon, the ash swirling violently in his wake. Then, without hesitation, he launched himself toward Morax once more, his lance aimed to pierce straight through the heart.
Chuckling slightly Ginyumi looked at Santav cocking his head to the right slightly. As if fainting ignorance.

“Oh, you were there. Guess I forgot.” He said with a sly smile on his face. Insinuating he was not worth remembering in the first place. “Well, it doesn't matter. I guess I should have not interfered, but all's well that ends.” He said as he shrugged his shoulders.

He stared into the golden eyes of Santav as he could see anger and pain in them. Noticing that the Charred tightened his grip on his lance he knew that he was getting ready to attack. Acting like he didn't realize what was going to happen he was trying to lure his opponent into a trap. The latter took the bait.

The moment he lunged towards Ginyumi he had him right where he wanted him. He quickly reacted at the last moment, stepping to the side, and grabbing the lance by its shaft. A spear appeared on his free hand he quickly raised it and brought it down on the lance. With enough force to snap it in two.
The force of the impact threw Santav off balance and he fell to the ground. His still beading wound was now exposed to the filth of the mist. Chuckling once more he reaches down and picks up the now helpless ex-god by his throat, lifting him off the ground and holding him up. Tightening his grip to show his dominance.

“You should have picked your words and actions more carefully. Now you will find that you are the only one that will cease to exist.” Ginyumi said in a condescending tone as a new spear appeared in his hand. He took the spear and moved his hand down the shaft to the blade. Lifting the blade to be level with the Charred’s heart.

Santav coughed, expelling the remnants of faded Aether as his vision wavered under the weight of his grievous wounds. His body trembled, but there was nothing more he could do against the possessed Morax. Shoulders slumped, he stared at the weapon now aimed at his heart. Strangely, he did not resist. He embraced the inevitability of it—a cleaner death than the ones he had so mercilessly dealt to countless others over his lifetime.

With a trembling hand, he opened his palm, willing his old strength, his former power, to return. A final, desperate plea to fight back.

Nothing answered.

Santav let his hand fall limp as his eyes fluttered closed.

“Enjoy nothingness!!” Ginyumi shouted as he thrust the blade toward the Charred’s heart.