[M] The Throne of Gods: Divinity's Requiem - IC

[Hannelorian]

A familiar scent consumed Temperance, the sweet smell of incense, the particular kind employed by the Vestal Virgins. It brought a wide smile to the Goddess of Virtue's face. "Igniteen." Temperance was not surprised to see her here. The stories of the wild flame that burned white hot in anger had been that of legend, even amongst the gods. "I'd take you everywhere if it meant I could inhale that scent." The smirk on Temperance's face was wild, indeed she was entirely intrigued to finally meet Igniteen.

"Crushing hope is easy." The Goddess replied smoothly, turning her face to properly look at the Goddess beside her. "Hope is a vapid emotion. It is superficial at best, damning at worst." The Goddess of Virtue shrugged her shoulders. "Hope does not guarantee survival, it merely prolongs the inevitable. To remind Hope that she is in fact hopeless is the greatest gift of all." A wicked giggle escaped her lips followed by a sigh.

Elayne and Kabuto began to drone on about their situation, facing it all with dignity as Guinevere quietly writhed in her mental anguish. The shine had worn off. But it wouldn't last for long. What was it about the other factions and their need to add a sense of poetry to everything? They couldn't simply accept fate without a rousing speech of some kind to still their nerves. It was only the boom of yet another familiar voice that brought the situation into perfect clarity. It wouldn't be like Harku to simply let his Councilors be taken, another loyal dog would be unleashed to retrieve them. Once more with gusto and feeling Markus gave them an opportunity to surrender and renounce their ways. This was getting old. Boring again. It was never any different with the likes of Heroism. Such bravado and arrogance. If it couldn't be backed up, there was nothing more than hollow promises, Guinevere all over again.

"Why can't they learn any new tricks?" Temperance wondered aloud as the darkness, a familiar tool, was employed against them. Dense and suffocating, stinging the eyes. Annoying more than anything else. "If you think simply because you stand united that we cannot conquer you... It is a rather sad state, assuming your victory ensures your defeat." Temperance's voice was stern, serious and commanding. Even through the darkness she made sure her presence was known and that she was not terribly pleased with this turn of events. Too many times had she seen this before, and it always ended the same way. Exactly as she wanted it to.

"Igniteen, can you burn off this foul smoke screen?" Temperance asked rather calmly as she fought through the pain and the discomfort. Making her way through the shroud toward Damian who she could hear losing control. He was still so young, and while it made him infinitely moldable, it also made him dangerous, especially to the deities on his own side. A juvenile God of the Apocalypse out of control was a useless God of the Apocalypse. The child needed a guiding hand, someone with a softer touch than Diz could always offer. He needed something maternal, a role Temperance attempted to fill to the best of her ability when she was in his presence.

A hand reached through the darkness and planted itself on Damian's shoulder, squeezing heavily and drawing him in. "Calm yourself, Damian darling." The Goddess of Virtue spoke once more with a commanding, but compassionate tone. The power of Virtuous Whispers employing themselves. "Patience." It was after all one of the most powerful virtues and one of the hardest to master. "If you channel your emotion into your power and wait for the right moment to strike, you will have your prize. The head of Heroism in your own two hands. Think of what that will feel like." Temperance smirked in the darkness as the stinging of her eyes produced silent tears. At the same time she could lend him her strength exactly as she had done for Inoschi when they moved to capture the errant and irritating goddess of hope. No, Temperance would have her revenge yet on that flitting dimwit.

The power leveraged against them was their own. Still furthering annoying that the forces of good would use against them. That was no matter. They would be outmatched. "Patience and strategic strikes." She reminded the young deity, the smile spread across her face broken by the sincerest of giggles. Perhaps this would prove entertaining yet. A fun little game of cat and mouse. Cats though, cats had nine lives.

[RedKayne]

Kayne/Purg Co-Op Part 1

Background Music - Carcari's Symphony

A cold wind howled across the empty streets of the abandoned town, sweeping ash and soot in aimless spirals. The moonless sky above cast the Grey Plains into a haunting half-light, where every shadow seemed deeper, every silence more ominous. Diz walked with measured steps, his heavy boots striking the cracked cobblestones with a deliberate, almost ceremonial rhythm. His presence alone was enough to deepen the gloom, a walking embodiment of ruin against the backdrop of Carcari’s desolation.

The crossroads lay at the heart of the town, where four streets converged in the shape of a jagged scar. Once a bustling center of life, the city had long since fallen prey to the nightmares that thrived in this forsaken realm. Empty buildings loomed like skeletons, their crumbling walls whispering tales of despair. Shattered windows stared blankly, their jagged edges catching faint glimmers of light like teeth waiting to bite.

The air was thick and oppressive. Even Carcari’s usual cacophony of distant screams and eldritch roars seemed muted here. The town had been silenced by something far more terrible than time. Diz tilted his head, his burning red eyes scanning the darkness. His lips curled into a faint smirk.

“Tell me about your brother, Jonas,” the God of Ruin spoke to his silent companion beside him. Somewhere in the distance, a faint scream echoed, swallowed quickly by the abyss. He ignored that sound as if it was only a pleasant breeze rustling through the area.

As the two gods walked through the darkness that was Carcari, Jonas had remained completely silent since his report. It had not crossed his mind that Harku had simply let him live to send a message, but the idea was now sowing doubt in his mind. Was the entire plan sniffed out from the beginning? Jonas closed his eyes. No. It couldn’t be that simple. Diz had other plans, he was sure. This had to just have been an announcement, an exploratory strike to sniff out his foe’s defenses. Which had been impenetrable, of course. Still, Jonas’ survival was enough, and Diz had been satisfied. But what he had told the young God of Night had him internally conflicted.

Promotion? Sure, the title of Horseman needed to be filled, but Jonas? He was simply a cog in the machine. Why him, of all people? Was it his obedience? His ability to survive? His connection to his mother? And what would his mother say, anyway? To her, Jonas had always been a failure of a child, unable to stand up to the expectations of bloodlust and violence that the Maldor family line had stood for. To be recognized as her equal…the opportunity was tempting, but Jonas wasn’t sure he wanted that limelight. To be lauded as one of the four generals of a revolution he didn’t entirely stand for so much as hide behind…

Jonas glanced up, recognizing the abandoned town that they were walking through. He had hidden out here for a time, lurking in the shadows of the ghost town and subsisting on what food he could find amidst the debris. It was here he’d found Diz, and here Diz had extended him the olive branch of joining him. A fate Jonas still was debating whether it was better than death or not. He gazed into the shattered remains of a window, finding his shadowed visage staring back into the dim reflection. He did not need to disappear into the endless night now, though his face and body remained eternally wreathed in shadow. Darkness curled and danced around him, specters of night swirling as he walked side by side with his commander. The comparative silence was eerie, but what Jonas preferred. Silence. Quiet and solitude. A place where he could be alone with his thoughts, nobody capable of disturbing his peace…

Except for his commander, of course. Diz’s voice cut through the silence, issuing an order he hadn’t expected. “My…brother?” Cruor…Jonas swallowed once, tilting his head downward to look at the darkened, shattered cobblestone. “Cruor was…a lot like my mother in many ways.” The silver slits that were his eyes disappeared as he shut them. “Violent, crass, a brazen risk-taker, never afraid to speak his mind whenever he pleased.” Silence for a moment. “He was the favorite in the family. Followed in Mother’s footsteps to a T. Unlike myself.” Jonas shook his head. “For a long time, I hated him. But when I was lost in the emptiness of the Nightmare Realm, I ended up longing for my family in the eternal chaos. When I saw him again, I wanted nothing more than for him to acknowledge me, to see me as an equal.”

Jonas kept walking, swirling thoughts in his mind fighting to be spoken. “I was lost in a madness of my design then, but Cruor…though he shared Mother’s bloodlust and thrill of the fight, he had one stark difference: He cared about me. Deep down, though we had a lot of differences, we were still brothers, and that bond transcended the realms and the chaos.” Another sigh. “I…still can’t believe he’s gone.” Jonas omitted the glaring information that it was his hand that put Cruor in the grave, as far as he knew. He didn’t need to talk about the fight with Baldramort. Didn’t need to discuss the dark pit his mind had fallen into that day, and still fell back to at times. He didn’t need to cry again.

“I miss him.” Jonas’s voice choked, immediately threatening to disobey the very thing he had just talked about. Jonas held out his arm; the shadows swirling about the limb faded for a moment, revealing a tattered, bloodstained crimson coat sleeve for an instant before the darkness returned, obscuring his true form once again. “I still wear his coat…it’s the only thing I have to remember him by.” Jonas bit his lip, fighting off a wave of melancholy, when a thought occurred to him. “Why do you ask, sir?”

The God of Ruin walked in measured silence, the faint echo of his steps on the worn gray cobblestones filling the stillness. After a time, Diz’s voice broke through, smooth and deliberate. “For two particular reasons, my dear Jonas,” he began, his crimson eyes glowing like embers in the unending night as he cast a sidelong glance toward the God of Shadows.

“I like to know my people,” Diz continued, his tone carrying an almost conversational ease. “What makes them tick? What drives them? Their goals, their ambitions. It’s not just about where you stand in the rebellion; it’s about where you’ll stand after. When the Monarchs are gone, the new order takes shape. That’s why I decided someone like Aris was a liability—a would-be usurper who’d only undermine everything we’re fighting for. Some truly believe in our cause, Jonas, who want to tear down the Monarchs to build something better.”

He came to a halt, turning fully to face Jonas, his gaze sharp and unyielding. “And then, there are those who don’t.” Diz let the words hang in the air, heavy with implication, as his eyes bore into the younger celestial. “You and I both know you’re not one of the zealots, Jonas. You’re not here out of blind faith or lofty ideals.”

The faintest hint of a smile curved his lips, and his tone softened, adopting a disarming warmth. “And that’s perfectly fine. You don’t have to be. I just want you to know that, regardless of why you’re here, you are welcome in this order.” His voice held an almost paternal quality, a striking contrast to his usual malevolence as if offering a rare glimpse of sincerity. “You deserved to be cared for, Jonas,” Diz stated, seeing right through that Jonas lived a life of loneliness.

Diz turned away, resuming his steady stride. “As for the second reason,” he said, his tone shifting to blunt transparency, “I need every shred of information I can get to find your father.”

[Scottie]

Ash stained fingertips drifted out towards Temperance. Igniteen smirked, humour dancing through her dark pupils. “Oh, such temptation.” The Goddess of Fire stepped closer to the Goddess of Virtue, heat moving with her every step. Stalking around the fallen Goddess of Hope, Igniteen let Temperance’s words drift around her like a soft caressing breeze. While the Goddess of Fire did not fully agree with the breaking of hope, she was impressed by the feat. Hope lived within every one of them, even if their hope was for a new beginning, a fitting end to a wretched world or even just a chance at causing some divine chaos. They all had hope.

Words twisted around them, but Igniteen kept her attention on Temperance. The Goddess of Virtue was a curiosity. The others could fit so beautifully into this spider web, Temperance felt other. Before Igniteen could even spark another conversation, a new voice broke through the gentle rumblings. Long dark locks slithered down her back as she tilted her head towards the newcomer. An eyebrow was cocked high as Markus commanded them to surrender. Damian was the first to air what Igniteen also felt. Humour. Pity that the God of Heroism could be so stupid.

The bindings surrounding their prey clattered to the stone floor and Igniteen let out a long-exaggerated sigh. Igni tilted her head to one side, her hair licking around her forearms as Elayne appeared to use a familiar power against them. A harsh laugh caught in her throat as she glanced towards Chisoni. “Well that is interesting.” She called to her companion before the smoke descended around her form.

‘Igniteen, can you burn off this foul smoke screen?’

“It would be my pleasure, my dear.” Lazily, her form shifted to her left and she felt warmth spread through her body. Travelling down her outstretched arms, she flexed her fingers wide as she felt the tentacles of Chisoni’s power wrap around her lower body. Slamming her hands together, a wave of heat flooded from her body. The air bubbled through the veil of tears, the fire aiming to burn through the power and smoother it. Bringing her right hand down, Igniteen gripped one of the small wooden talisman’s from her wrist and crushed it in her palm.

The darkness in her pupils was replaced by a rumbling deep red that only burned brighter as her fingertips lit up with a bright orange flame. As a gap formed in the veil of tears, just wide enough for her to see their enemy, Igniteen bent. Slowly spreading her arms wide as she bowed low for the four, her gaze never dropping as she grinned. Markus had been ear marked for Damian. Hope and Knowledge were important...Honour...there was no need for honour the way this world was going. “Kabuto…May I have this dance?”

[Azazeal849]

"And let’s be honest, you wouldn’t dare kill me. You’re nothing more than Diz’s obedient lapdog," she spat, each word dripping with venom.

The Hollow Maiden looked ready to erupt, her hand snapping back to strike down at the other goddess, but she halted at the last moment when the child who was not a child stepped between them.

"We may not be able to silence you," Damian continued, his ashen-grey lips curling into a sadistic grin, "but we are certainly not above savouring your screams. Torture has its own melody, after all."

Chisoni looked away, as if disgusted, but she didn’t speak.

Before the apocalypse child could carry out his threat, there was a flash like a lightning strike. The ground quaked as if struck by a mighty hammer, sending ripples of loose scrap heaving out across the clearing. Markus, the god of heroes, rose from the scattering dust. Chisoni looked away from Elayne and towards the new threat. Her expression was shadow-veiled, but her frozen stance radiated disbelief.

As a consequence, she did not see the dampening manacles fall from Elayne’s wrists until it was too late.

"Veil of Tears," Elayne proclaimed, her voice firm and resolute as arcane energy surged from the tome.

Chisoni did not share Igniteen’s opinion that the mimicry was interesting.

“You dare…!” the Hollow Maiden spat. Her arm lashed back, her fist closing around the handle of a whip that materialised from the air. The lash was a coil of purple fire that raged against the sudden blackness, but as it slashed through the murk it hit only air where Elayne’s smile had been a moment before.

“Where are you?” Chisoni hissed, and the glowing lash swept around with a singing crack, again finding no target. The goddess of grief cursed, winding in the scourge and pulling a cloak-wrapped forearm up close to her shadowed face. A god’s own power held no terror for them, but Elayne’s imitation was formidable.

“You asked if I hate my brother for what he is.” she wheezed as she stalked through the black cloud. “How dare you, Elayne. That’s the thing with you gods of the cerebral, you know nothing of feeling. I might hate my brother, but for what he is? Never. I will never condemn god or mortal for being what they were born to be. That’s your way, Luthious and Harku’s!”

Spinning towards a sound beyond the cloying shadows, she snapped the whip again. The thread of fire lashed out like a striking cobra and this time it bit, coiling around something. The Hollow Maiden snatched her arm back, yanking the prize back towards her.

[Yamimoon]

Alauts found the musings of the other gods to be a form of entertainment. As they talked amongst themselves, and even taunted the captives. They all had their own way of doing things, and here he was just watching them from the sidelines. Watching how they interact with one another. Though they were amusing, the ways of the gods never changed. He would forever be a parish if he didn’t make the first move.

Granted he was one of the newest members of Diz’s army and he had yet to truly get to know the other deities. He guessed that he would have to make the first move. If he was going to work with these people he would have to at least see if he was compatible with any of them. In order to fight with someone you have to at least be able to see eye to eye.

Deciding this was not the time to go and try to make nice he closed his eyes as they continued to chat amongst themselves. He didn’t move from his spot as he waited for the arrival of Diz and the conclusion of this little game. However, who arrived was not Diz. it seemed another of the gods that follow the monarch of freedom arrived to interrupt their plans. Opening his eyes to the god’s they had captured be freed, and everyone going on the offensive.

Looking annoyed he looked at the God of Heroism that decided to interfere in their business. He was in no mood to deal with this since his battle with the god of Honor was a little more annoying than he first thought it would be. Deciding that he was not going to fight against him again he turned his attention to Guin the goddess of hope. She was annoying, and always seemed self righteous. She even had the audacity to tell him one time long ago that he was detrimental to hope. That he was a bringer of despair for just existing.

He waited for most of the others to make their move before he pushed off the wall. The fighting had begun, and he smiled as his weapon appeared in his hand. He had his eyes set on Guin. He moved towards her as she healed her comrades.

“Hope is an outdated concept. You and your hope should disappear from this world.”

[RedKayne]

Kayne/Purg Co-Op Final Part

Background Music - Carcari's Symphony

The first reason made sense to Jonas…at first, anyway. Understanding one’s subordinates could help coordination and teamwork. However, as the conversation dragged on, he wondered where Diz was going with this. Aris being a liability made sense, but why would he bring this up now…unless he suspected something? A sense of unease began to creep up on the young god as Diz spoke of the rebellion, of the people who followed the faith of a great rebuild. A faith Jonas hadn’t considered, nor did he particularly walk the path of. Jonas was here to find himself. To live life the way he knew his mother would have wanted, to see if perhaps this was a way to fill the void in his soul that had existed for centuries. Thus far, it had been…mixed, but part of that had to do with the always-lurking presence of his mother and the still-stinging loss of his brother. He was here out of the need for safety, as well as the journey to rediscover who Jonas truly was. He’d seen nothing from the worlds he’d traveled before. Something had to change…and Diz promised change. That had been good enough.

And then Diz stared right through him, picking apart his brain like it were a children’s book. “...no, I’m not, sir…” Jonas spoke through gritted teeth. Of course, he wasn’t. He was an obedient pawn, both for his skin and out of that lingering need to impress, to find acceptance. If this was a problem, then Jonas would find a way to escape. Sure, Diz could easily snap a god like him in two as simply as it was to breathe, but…if Carcari stopped being a haven, Jonas would find a way to escape. Whatever it took. His stance shifted ever so slightly, preparing for the worst, but Diz’s tone changed dramatically, catching Jonas off guard. He was welcome to stay. That was a relief in and of itself, but his next sentence left the figure of shadows staring ahead blankly, at a loss for what to say.

He deserved to be cared for. A sentence he’d never thought to be accurate. His mother was disgusted with him, and his brother was a bully. The one place he’d found solace was an empty plane of chaos. And Diz, the Ruiner, of all gods, was the one to tell him that he deserved care and attention. “I…” Jonas stammered, evidently surprised by the genuine concern. “I just want to contribute, sir,” Jonas admitted sheepishly. “If I’m going to remain, I want to pull my weight.” He managed to find his voice, speaking his desire to simply…do well. Whether that be reconnaissance, murder, or whatever it took. It wasn’t the first time he’d had to kill, and even with a drastically altered mindset, he knew it wouldn’t be the last.

And yet somehow this was not the most shocking information Diz had to share. “...Petos? Of all people, why…” Jonas caught himself. “I apologize. I won’t question it, sir.” Petos. The God of Betrayal. “Are you certain that is a good idea?” Petos wasn’t exactly known for working with others, with the noteworthy pair of exceptions known as Jonas and Cruor. He’d never met his father, a sentiment he still envied Cruor for. He’d seen Petos once before Jonas had been conceived. Jonas had never once had the opportunity to meet his father…and if he did, he’d slap the Betrayer across the face for leaving him to fend with his family alone. “If there was ever a trophy for worst absentee father…” Jonas sighed. “I never met my father. I know precious little beyond general information and the ramblings of my mother. Have you asked her about him?” That would certainly be a mixed bag if he had. While nobody knew more about Petos than Belladonna, that knowledge came from a single-minded obsession: An obsession to catch and eliminate the only man who ever escaped her crosshairs twice. If Diz needed him for any other reason, she would not take that fact lightly.

“I want you to be a freethinker, Jonas,” Diz said, his tone edged with a faint chuckle. “Of course, feel free to respectfully question,” he added pointedly, ensuring that any challenge to his authority remained within acceptable boundaries.

He paused for a moment, his crimson eyes gleaming as he shifted the conversation. “I spoke with Belladonna. No leads—none for centuries, despite her singular obsession with eliminating her former lover. Still, Petos would be invaluable to our rebellion.” Diz’s voice took on a sharper edge, underscoring the gravity of his words.

“A god capable not only of assuming another’s identity but of stealing their memories and powers as well?” He allowed the implication to hang in the air, a sinister smirk forming. The legends surrounding Petos, the God of Betrayal, were infamous—his corruption of the Garden of Eden, the Original Sin he delivered to mankind as the serpent. Diz’s tone turned reflective, almost admiring. “A being like that is both a weapon and a threat. But wielded correctly, he could tip the scales in our favor.”

The most intriguing aspect of Petos’s legend, however, lay in his unparalleled shapeshifting ability: if he were to slay a deity, he could absorb their essence and wield their powers as his own. Diz’s voice took on a conspiratorial edge. “He is the perfect assassin,” he mused. “Imagine this—if Petos assumed the identity of someone like Elayne, the Goddess of Knowledge, and armed himself with a weapon forged by Lunae, he could singlehandedly bring down the Duke of Freedom.”

The weight of Diz’s words lingered in the air, the audacity of his plan fully laid bare. Yet he tempered the revelation with grim reality. “Of course,” he added, his tone more pragmatic, “we are no closer to finding that elusive serpent. It would take nothing short of a miracle to uncover his whereabouts.” Diz’s expression hardened. “Still, Belladonna understands her role—she’ll stay her hand until the time is right. Once our rebellion is complete, Petos will serve his purpose.”

The invitation to openly question Diz’s plans was a slight reassurance, though not enough to fully assuage Jonas’s worry. He wanted to chase down his father. He could only imagine the reasoning why…given Petos’ abilities and penchant to elude even the celestial realms’ most talented tracker and hunter, such abilities would prove useful in a crusade or a rebellion. Even he couldn’t deny that…to go undetected for centuries to the point of being a mere legend far outclassed even Jonas’ penchant for stealth. Yet something still sat uneasily with Jonas. “I understand the desire, but… something is bothering me about all of this. There’s a variable here I don’t like…”

Jonas swallowed. “It’s my father. Even if we were to find him, then what? How do you plan on convincing him to work for us?” Even his mother hadn’t convinced him to stay anywhere for more than a night at a time, and Petos’ silver tongue was as much a strength of his as his ability to take identities for himself. He couldn’t even be sure the looming threat of annihilation would be enough; the Petos he knew from his mother was a lone wolf, not one to work for organizations. A lot happened in a few millennia, but did his heart grow three sizes in that time frame?

And even then…”And…he is still the God of Betrayal…” The implication hung in the air for a moment, and Jonas’ head turned to the eternal pitch of the sky above. “How would we keep him from his…nature…” As he spoke, the solution stared him in the eyes. “...oh.” The only known living connection to Petos: Jonas himself. He had a role to play in this, didn’t he? That was precisely why Diz was even telling him this. Jonas’ expression was unreadable, the shadows swirling tighter around his face as he took a breath. It would…at least be an opportunity to see him. For the first time in his entire existence…and finally, give him a piece of his mind. And yet…

“...the rebellion…isn’t his purpose, sir?”

"Perhaps we’re treading into philosophical waters here, Jonas," Diz mused, his voice tinged with casual curiosity. "Most deities are shackled to the essence of their domains. Aegis, the God of Kings, is self-righteous to a fault, forever compelled to lead. Your brother, Cruor—the former God of Bloodshed—is bound to his unending hunger for violence. Now, consider someone like Petos, the eternal betrayer. How maddening it must be, always destined to deceive. Does he feel caged by this fate, or does he revel in it? Is his solitude his punishment, or does he dream of a genuine connection—someone he cannot betray?"

Diz’s crimson eyes slid sideways, briefly meeting Jonas’s gaze, a faint smile curling at his lips. "Of course," he continued, his tone shifting, "it seems our little conversation will have to wait. Even as the last words left his lips, the air grew dense and oppressive. A faint whiff of sulfur invaded the stillness, and the metallic rattle of chains pierced the silence. Then came the measured, echoing clank of heavy footsteps—deliberate and ominous—approaching through the ashen haze.

Emerging from the mist-shrouded ruins were two towering Blades of Cataclysm. Their massive forms radiated dread—a pair of hulking warriors with charred, jagged armor fused to their bodies. Smoke curled from the glowing seams in their molten flesh, and their fiery eyes locked onto the duo with predatory hunger. Their massive, jagged blades—alive with chaotic energy—pulsed like malevolent hearts, leaving faint trails of ash in the air as they moved.

“Blades of Cataclysm,” Diz mused, his tone almost conversational. “Former soldiers of Baldramort. I thought most of them had wandered into the Abyss by now.” He glanced at Jonas, his red eyes gleaming with faint amusement. “It seems we’ve been graced with an audience.”

One of the Blades let out a guttural growl, a deep, reverberating sound that spoke of unending rage. The other raised its blade, the fiery edge flaring brighter, illuminating the surrounding ruins in a sinister glow.

“A shame. Such brute creatures, utterly beyond reason now. You’d think serving the Prince of Chaos would have taught them a touch of subtlety.”

The first Blade took a step forward, its molten sword dragging against the ground, sending sparks flying. The sound was like nails on stone. Diz finally turned to face Jonas fully, folding his hands behind his back in a deliberate gesture of nonchalance.

"Ah, yes—before we continue, there’s a... minor inconvenience we must address. You see, while I can disintegrate gods with a snap of my fingers, these creatures are immune to my influence. Isn’t it just delightful? Chaos incarnate—wild, untamed. But that’s where you come in, Jonas. I’m sure you’re more than capable of dealing with these... brutes. After all, if you don’t handle this, it’ll be dreadfully inconvenient for all of us, won’t it?" His eyes gleamed with a hint of amusement as if he were watching a particularly amusing show. “But do not worry, I shall provide moral support, as needed.”

Diz’s philosophical debate was curious-he hadn’t considered how the gods were simply beholden to their nature in some way. His brother was a violent type, for sure…but it did leave a few questions. “...do you find you always have to ruin, sir?” Jonas asked politely, but the more concerning question hung over their talk like a pall of gloom. Sure, Petos might wish to do more than simply betray…perhaps. However…”That is a risky gamble…what happens if you let him into your rebellion promising an escape from his nature…only for your assumptions to be wrong?” Jonas didn’t doubt Diz had some contingency, but the question still had merit.

Alas, whatever answers Diz might have given were lost to time as the sounds of beasts approached in the hazy darkness. Jonas could see the two Blades of Cataclysm approaching, their movements not rooted in the slightest bit of stealth. They seemed incensed that interlopers would intrude upon their territory, and their eyes fixed on Diz with a burning hatred. Jonas sighed in frustration. They were in the way. Diz had revelations to share.

The fiery glow from the jagged greatsword raised aloft cast shadows all about the area, which brought a smirk to the shadowed face of the God of Night. “Moral support, eh?” This was a test. Jonas had shown his prowess in espionage, but now direct combat stood before them. Jonas tilted his head to one side until he heard a satisfying crack. “One more thing I need from you, actually…” Jonas turned back to his superior, raising his hand towards the God of Ruin. Diz’s shadow brought to existence from the leaping light of the flames, pulled at his frame for a moment in resistance before being torn away from him entirely, swirling about his form before flowing into his shadowy arm. The arm grew in size, a normal limb expanding into a much larger form. His hand opened up as shadow augmented him, turning the fingers of his left hand into terrifying sickle-like blades. He flexed his fingers once, then let a wicked grin come to his face. “Let’s dance…”

[RedKayne]

Damian froze as Temperance’s hand grounded him, her commanding tone slicing through the chaotic storm in his mind like a blade. The oppressive mist clinging to his face still lingered, but her presence was a tether—a sharp reminder of purpose. His molten tears slowed, his breathing evened out, and the suffocating anger burning in his chest gave way to clarity.

“Patience…” Damian repeated, his voice quieter now, almost uncertain as if testing the word for the first time. He let out a shaky breath, the fire in his eyes dimming to a low simmer. Her words worked through him like a mantra, the weight of her influence pressing against the raw edges of his emotions. Temperance's vision seeped into him, vivid and tantalizing. The head of Heroism, Markus, clutched in his own hands. Damian’s lips curled into a dark smile, his posture straightening with renewed focus.

“I’ll have it,” he murmured, his voice steadier now, carrying an edge of menace. “Markus’s head. That shining paragon’s fall will mark my rise.” His hands clenched and then loosened, the tension bleeding away as his molten gaze shifted toward Temperance, a flicker of admiration in their depths. The Goddess of Virtue’s words resonated deeply, stoking his pride and redirecting his anger into purpose. “You’re right,” Damian admitted, the sharpness returning to his tone. “A messy, uncontrolled strike means nothing. But a strike timed perfectly?” His smirk widened, cruel and calculating. “That’s how legends are made.”

His gaze returned to the battlefield, his vision fully cleared, his body brimming with restrained energy. “Patience and strategy,” he echoed her. “Let’s show them what those virtues can do when wielded properly.” Damian’s magma-like eyes burned anew, though this time with a calculated fire rather than the reckless blaze of earlier. Temperance's influence coursed through him, steadying his every move. He stepped forward from the shroud of darkness as it dissipated.

“Markus!” Damian’s voice rang out, cutting through the chaos with a sharp edge. “The God of Heroism. The shining knight. The moral compass.” He mocked each title with a dripping sarcasm, his tone shifting into a cruel melody. “How noble of you to throw yourself into the lion’s den. Or should I say, into the shadows where lions like me feast on heroes like you?” Damian’s molten grin widened as he raised his arms, the shadows around him writhing in tandem with his words. “Your so-called light will crumble, Markus, leaving only—”

*Que background music - Battle Against a True Hero*

In a flash, Markus surged forward, his speed defying comprehension. One moment he was standing several paces away, the next his golden hand was planted firmly against Damian’s forehead. The young god's molten eyes widened in shock, but there was no time to react. With a resounding crash, Markus slammed Damian backward into the ground, the impact sending a shockwave rippling through the battlefield.

The force of the slam cracked the ground, fissures spiderwebbing outward as dust and debris erupted into the air. The once-cocky god of the apocalypse lay pinned, Markus towering above him like an unyielding statue of righteousness. His crimson cape billowed dramatically in the lingering breeze, golden eyes burning with an intensity that rivaled the brightest star. “For all your darkness,” Markus said, his voice calm but unyielding, “you are still just a child playing god.”

His golden gaze lifted, fixing on Temperance with piercing intensity. The silence that followed was more damning than words. Then, he spoke, his voice sharp as a blade. “Prepare yourself, Virtue. Your reckoning is next.”

[RisingPhoenix]

A yawn escaped him as he watched the boring ones begin their escape. They all seemed filled with such hope that they would escape and thwart the planes of Diz. Ino floating in the air, lying completely flat, his long slender fingers tapping rhythmically against an invisible surface as the look of boredom overtook his features. The black smoke filled the area, cast by the Goddess of Knowledge. Perhaps she was a worthy adversary after all. His curiousity got the better of him as he slowly floated down to get up close and personal. Sadly, all he felt was pain. Despairingly poignant pain that radiated through him. He was jerked towards something, or rather someone and when his sisters face came into view, Ino burst into laughter.

"Caught by my own sister. I feel such odious relief knowing that you don't hate me for who I am, but rather something else. Oh this is exciting. This is the first step to figuring out how to mend our siblingship."

Transforming into an orb, Ino managed to free himself from Chisoni's whip and transformed back into his despairingly handsome form, floating just above those gathered.

"Now, let's see here," Ino said, clapping his hands cheerfully as the two orbs freely revolved around his neck. He watched as Damien was close to losing control. It made him happy. He yearned to see the carnage, but suddenly, Damien reigned in his power and Ino glared in the boy's direction. "Well that's no fun....I was hoping for a big BOOM or something."

Ino didn't have time to think when Markus slammed Damien's head into the ground. His hand delicately hovered over his mouth to indicate the shock that filled him. He would have burst into laughter had the idea of fighting not filled him with new vigor.

"I dare say this just might be... what's the word I'm looking for? Entertaining!"

[RedKayne]

Kayne/Han Co-Op Part 1

Markus's Theme - Battle Against a True Hero

Temperance was at first relieved that Damian had taken to her advice, focusing himself, steeling himself in preparation for a battle with his intended target. However, the smile on her face quickly turned to a scowl as Markus acted swiftly, the ground shaking as he drove the fledgling God into it. Slowly but surely Temperance raised her hands before her and began to clap, something of an amused chuckle pouring from her mouth. “Well done hero boy. Well done.” The Goddess of Virtue once more flashed a sinister grin. “I guess it’s my turn to make a little speech.” Allowing her left hand to drop to her side, the right remained out, and within a moment her weapon appeared.

The flash of light that summoned Humility’s Rapier to the physical realm was bright and pure white. It was warming, soothing, almost heavenly. A comforting reminder of what Temperance had once been. “Are you proud of yourself? Hmm?” The lilt in her voice was mocking Markus. “You put a child into the ground.” Temperance shook her head, a finger on her left hand wagging in the air now as she produced a tutting sound. “Pride is a sin. Pride blinds you. And of course, you know what they say, don’t you?” Temperance’s toying with Markus was not entirely pointless, but rather a bid to buy time. “You were always pretty, Markus. Pretty but ever so dimwitted. A lap dog serving the man in the high tower. For what purpose? To serve his selfish mission, you’re a pawn. So easy to manipulate.”

As she spoke her divine energy continued to flow into Damian, but this time it was not the tender caress of patience that came to him, no, it was the roaring lion that was Fortitude. An unimaginable inner strength to defy the odds and succeed. “Pride cometh before the fall.” Temperance pointed her blade in his direction. “For what it is worth, he isn’t simply a child. No. He is the key to a new order. Not only that, he may as well be my own son, and I will die before you take him.” With something of a flourish and a guffaw, Temperance launched herself into the air in Markus’ direction.

Silent prayers, her whispers coming forth as she neared him. Every moment, every microsecond she had before likely being beaten down was used. Temperance was not a fighter, at least not physically, combat was her weakness, but she had other tools at her disposal. The whisperings and musing would reach Markus' ear before she even came close to him. Whispers in his own voice rattling in his head.

Pawn
Fool
Worthless
Prideful sinner
Did you really think you could take on all of these Gods? Precious allies already weakened, fatigued from their own battles. Could they really aid you?

His own voice in his own mind pulling at his fears, no matter how subconscious they may be. But it created a moment of doubt, and doubt was more powerful than anything at this moment. Like the devil on his shoulder, it kept whispering and speaking to him, only to soon be joined by the voice of Temperance herself.

I used to be like you. Pious and dutiful, humanity’s guiding hand on the shining path. I saw the world as you do now. But what you see isn’t real. It’s an illusion. A filtered perception created by your masters. You have no will, you have no freedom. You are imprisoned in a gilded cage. And the only thing keeping you there is you. You have the key to let yourself out. Do it Markus. Falter. Free yourself.

Temperance prayed to buy enough time to allow Damian to regroup.

The whispers clawed at Markus’s mind, their tendrils snaking through his thoughts like shadows corrupting a clear stream. Temperance’s voice twisted into his own, feeding him words of doubt, poison masquerading as insight.

Pawn. Fool. Worthless. Prideful sinner.

The accusations echoed louder with each beat of his divine heart, reverberating with the distant clashes of their battle. Markus’s golden eyes flickered, momentarily dimming as the voices sought to turn his virtue into a weakness. But then, Markus closed his eyes and steadied his breath, grounding himself. He reached inward, summoning the strength of heroes who had faced insurmountable odds—not for themselves, but for the people they served.

He channeled the indomitable courage of Leonidas, King of Sparta, who stood unyielding against an empire’s might at Thermopylae. In his mind’s eye, Markus saw the Spartan king leading his warriors against impossible odds, defiant to the very end. Strength surged through Markus’s body as his stance straightened, his shoulders squaring. His feet rooted into the ground like immovable pillars.

"You can scream your lies, Temperance," Markus muttered, his voice low but firm, "but I have stood where better voices than yours have tried to make me kneel."

Then, he invoked the unwavering conviction of Joan of Arc, the saint-warrior who faced fire and fury with divine certainty. Markus felt her fiery resolve ignite within him, burning away the shadows that tried to ensnare his mind. Her unshakable faith became his, a beacon piercing through the storm of doubt. The corrupted whispers faltered, their edges blunted by the clarity of his purpose.

"Pride blinds the weak, Temperance," he said, his voice steady and resolute, carrying the weight of countless battles waged for righteousness. "But my pride is a shield forged in service, not self. My will is my own, and it belongs to those who look to me for hope."

A golden light began to radiate from Markus, growing brighter with each passing moment. The corrupted whisperings dissolved like mist before a rising sun, banished by the sheer force of his heroic will.

Markus’s golden eyes snapped open, blazing with renewed clarity and purpose, catching Temperance’s wrist in his firm grip and stopping her attack. "Your whispers are nothing more than the screams of your despair," he declared, his tone cutting like tempered steel. "You’ve traded virtue for vengeance. You wield lies and fear, the tools of cowards. But even now, I see the flicker of what you once were. Tell me, Temperance—do you remember what true strength looks like?"

The ground beneath Markus shuddered violently, a deep rumbling like the growl of a feral beast. A sudden eruption of black tendrils coiled around Markus’s feet, their grip vice-like, before exploding outward in a concussive blast of primordial darkness.

From the swirling shadows of the crater, Damian emerged, his breathing ragged and uneven, his molten eyes blazing with fury. His posture was tense, every inch of him radiating seething rage. The mist of primordial darkness whipped violently around him like a storm barely contained.

“You think you’re better than me!” Damian screamed, fueled by frustration, fury, and Fortitude. His fists clenched, molten tears streaking down his cheeks before evaporating into the dark mist. “You think you can just slam me into the dirt like I’m nothing? Like I’m some... some pathetic mortal?” His voice cracked again, but it only seemed to fuel his anger further.

The shadows around Damian writhed and twisted, responding to his call with an unnatural, almost hungry ferocity. From the darkened air, a powerful force began to take shape, coalescing into the form of a glaive. Eclipse, forged from the very essence of Primordial Darkness, materialized in his hands. The Child of the Apocalypse's grip tightened around the glaive’s cold, dark staff as its oppressive aura filled the air, the weapon seemingly alive with a hunger that went beyond blood—it yearned for the unraveling of existence itself.

“You humiliated me,” Damian spat, his voice venomous. “But I’ll show you. I’ll show all of you!” He pointed the end of Eclipse towards Markus, his hands shaking with a combination of rage and raw power. “You’re not invincible! You’re not untouchable! And I’m going to make you regret ever thinking you could look down on me, the son of the Prince!”

He turned briefly to Temperance, his expression still twisted with anger, though her presence seemed to ground him ever so slightly. “Stick close, Temp,” he muttered through gritted teeth, his voice trembling with suppressed rage. “We’ll bring him down together. I’ll prove I’m more than some... some stupid kid!”

[RedKayne]

Kayne/Scottie Co-Op Part 1

Kabuto's Theme - Honor's Edge

Kabuto stepped forward, his presence calm yet unshakably resolute. The faint clinking of his armor accompanied his deliberate movement, his hand resting on the hilt of his sheathed katana. His golden eyes, steadfast and unwavering, met Igniteen's fiery gaze, the flames reflecting in their depths. “Dance?” he repeated, his tone measured and composed, yet carrying the weight of unspoken steel. “You mistake my purpose, Igniteen. This is not a battlefield for theatrics, nor a stage for games. When I draw my blade, it is not for amusement. It is to uphold the principles you have long abandoned.”

He unsheathed his weapon slowly, the pristine blade gleaming with an ethereal light as if imbued with the essence of his unyielding honor. He held it in a low guard, his posture effortlessly balanced, a clear sign of a master at work. "You toy with the lives of those who still hold hope, but fire alone cannot burn away the truth. Nor can it scorch the foundation of honor." Kabuto shifted his stance, his presence like a fortress standing against the storm. “If you wish to test your resolve against mine, so be it. But be warned, Igniteen. My blade does not yield to chaos, nor does it falter in the face of destruction.”

With a burst of speed, the God of Honor surged forward, his polished armor gleaming in the fiery light. His katana cut through the air in a precise, diagonal arc, aimed to test Igniteen’s reflexes while avoiding reckless overcommitment.

Smoldering fingertips were still resting out as she bowed low for the God of Honour. A sly smile twisted onto her lips as the god stepped forward to meet her request. Her head twitched to her left when he dared to chastise her. That weapon dragged slowly free, and she let a gentle chuckle float from her lips. Unhurriedly, she pulled herself back up to standing, resting her body weight back on one hip.

What a tease.

There was a laziness to her posture, almost like she was ready to flick her fingers out to check her nails. Pert lips tutted sarcastically yet her blazen gaze never left him. “Surely you do not think I have no hope…Just because my hoped outcome is different from yours. Come now, Kabuto.” Careful eyes traced over the God of Honour, how he stood strong prepared for a fight.

The air whipped after his surge of power towards her. Side-stepping, she promptly disappeared. Dropping to the floor as a smaller version of herself before snapping back to her full form a step behind him. That wooden bracelet already missing a few charms. “So be it indeed. Your blade may not falter…but you might.” Tracing her fingers together, Igni parted them slowly. Forcing a shaft of pure fire to spark up and gifting her a weapon of her own. It may be useless against Kabuto’s weapon, yet it was as hot as the furnace that birthed it.

Igniteen twirled the weapon to her side as her left hand hurled a fistful of flame toward the God of Honour.

Kabuto’s stance remained steadfast, his hand tightening on the hilt of his katana as the wave of heat radiated toward him. The glow of his blade intensified, a golden light enveloping its edge, standing in stark contrast to the infernal red of Igniteen’s flames. He turned his body with precision, sidestepping the blazing projectile and slicing through it with a single, deliberate stroke. The flame split apart, harmlessly dissipating into embers.

“Hope,” Kabuto said, his voice calm yet firm, like the steady beat of a war drum. “Hope without discipline is a wildfire. It may burn bright, but it consumes everything in its path, leaving only ash and regret. Is that what you truly hope for, Igniteen? A world left in ruin?”

He pivoted smoothly, turning to face her as her fiery weapon materialized. Despite the oppressive heat, Kabuto remained unmoved, the aura of honor around him shimmering like an unyielding shield.
“Your flames are fierce,” he admitted, his eyes locked onto hers, unwavering. “But fire without purpose is chaos. My blade, however, has a purpose. It is the will of conviction—the reflection of what I stand for. You, Igniteen…” he raised his blade into a defensive stance, its radiant glow cutting through the smoky air, “…are nothing more than kindling for the cause.”

Without hesitation, Kabuto surged forward, closing the gap between them with a calculated burst of speed. His blade arced in a golden slash, aiming to test her reflexes and resolve. As he struck, his voice rang out like the toll of a bell. “So show me—what does your hope burn for, Goddess of Fire?”

Igniteen’s smile only widened when he effortlessly sliced through her flame shot. The cut was clean and the fire floated into ash on the cold stone floor. As if in a graceful dance, she swept to one side twisting around him. The blade cast shadows across her features, caressing her in warmth. “A world left ready to be rebuilt. The slate must be wiped clean.” Her words shot towards his back before he turned to face her.

“Thank you.” She quipped quickly with a wink. His words sounded more and more like a father chastising their child. She was his elder, yet he spoke to her like a naughty pup. “I am chaos. I am kindling. Pick one, Kabuto. I am either the hand that stokes that flame or the center of it.” Igniteen was a millisecond too late, he sliced forward. His blade carved through her hair, leaving locks of darkness dashed over the stones.

The Goddess of Fire waited a second before moving. Her warmth licked out at him as she remained barely a breath away. She caught his eye and stared. The moment hung over them like the toll of the church bell. What truly was her reason for being here? Before she could crack, she moved. Her fingers curled around the hand on his sword hilt. “Change.” The word almost branding into his flesh.

Then she was gone. Almost hovering over the stones as her ‘blade’ flicked in her grip. “Do you not grow tired, Kabuto? Of those humans down there…throwing your gift back in your face.” The blade tip dragged on the slabs as she circled him. “Imagine a world where we can start afresh. Give people a chance to cherish our gifts again.” Her ‘blade’ flicked up to point at him. “Or are you as narrow-minded as the others?”

Kabuto’s stance shifted slightly, the faint hum of divine energy coiling around him like an aura of unyielding steel. “You think the slate must be wiped clean? That humanity isn’t worthy of the gifts we’ve given? You call me narrow-minded, yet you refuse to see their resilience—their capacity to rise, to learn, to honor what they’ve been given.” His blade rose in response, meeting hers in a gesture that was more declaration than attack. “I have seen humanity at its worst, Igniteen. I’ve watched them stumble, falter, and yes—spit on the gifts of gods. But I’ve also seen them at their best. Sacrificing for each other. Fighting for justice. Rising above their failings.”

Kabuto’s voice grew sharper, his blade unwavering as he met her fiery gaze. “You don’t want to rebuild. You want to erase. Because you can’t face the truth: it’s not the humans who failed,” he suddenly lowered his blade, his eyes saddened by the reality. “It’s us. It’s you.”

Suddenly, his form flickered, a surge of divine energy splitting him into three afterimages. Each version of Kabuto was a perfect replica, their movements synchronized like the rhythm of a battle hymn. “Phantom Blade: Trifold Path,” Kabuto declared, his three voices ringing in unison. "I didn't display this ability to Alatus, after all, I had to let myself get captured," he revealed. Suddenly, the afterimages moved as one and rushed directly towards the Goddess of Fire, attacking from three angles at once—one sweeping low, another striking high, and the third aiming for her center.