A cheer cuts through the grim atmosphere as sand, ice, and death reign over all. Aniwye is laughing joyfully while the eight Undead fall from the sky. They sink with incredible speeds, each sporting that same dark midnight shade of fetters as the other Dominions minus Vincent, Leviathan, and Behemoth.
The names of the past Primes run through my head as I recognize each and every one of these powerful beings from the portraits in Bent. A small smile opens in my mouth, meaning Aniwye's, even as Leviathan shouts with fear, ordering Tonuyn to pull another God.
Above, in the swirling firmament, the nightmarish maw of ravenous hunger echoes a sense of unrelenting death. Yet the disgorged nine figures, each bearing the unmistakable semblance of Demigods, fall for Leviathan, Ytern, Behemoth, and Tonuyn. Aniwye sighs at not seeing Killian, but I can tell she's happy enough seeing how his strength has grown.
If he truly is the reason these past Primes are Undead... then... he might just be even more dangerous than Vincent Harvey.
In a flash of electrifying energy, the Thunderbolt Titan streaks across the sky like a living lightning bolt. Surrounding his form and making him seem a hundred times larger is a figment of crackling blue. His avatar of electricity envelops him as he is the first to plummet to the battlefield. The fastest human to ever live slams into Behemoth's leg with a roar of laughter, almost knocking the titanic demon down in one fell swoop.
"Ah, haha! Never thought you'd see me again, you ugly bastard! I've been waiting centuries for this!"
Behemoth groans as he stumbles, shouting at the third Prime of humanity. His words come out in fits of pure anger, even as another figure soars toward him.
"I killed you! Why are you alive!?"
Chuckling laughter resounds before a flash of the sun emerges in the sky. As my eyes struggle to adjust to the blinding brilliance, the Radiantal Palm descends in a streaming flash of light, his radiant aura casting an ethereal gleam across the night sky. His mere presence bathes the world in a blinding glow, and as his hand slams against Behemoth's other leg, a colossal brand of luminance sears its way into Behemoth's form.
"We don't have much time, Lazarus! Focus! This isn't one of your stupid board games!"
The fourth Prime yells at the third while Behemoth howls in pain, his shouts echoing into the sky. The demon nearly falls once more, but he's not known for his fortitude for nothing. He stabilizes himself until the fifth Prime strikes.
The Firebrand Keeper arrives amidst a fiery tempest, dark red inscriptions swirling around him like vengeful spirits. Flames dance at his fingertips but never leave his hands, unlike Bonfire's flames. Upon reaching Behemoth, he bounds upward from the earth, reaching the demon's chest in one swoop. Upon that height, he stretches out his hands as they sear into Behemoth, boiling the giant's flesh as the demon holds the God aloft. The heat spreads without flame throughout the demon's form like an infectious disease.
At this point, Behemoth loses his patience, and with a great roar, he tosses the islands of sand and lightning above his head at the ground. The Lord gives up on Hurakan and focuses on the three Primes attacking him instead.
But... not all Primes are like Vincent Harvey. The Primes of old barely held things afloat and were far weaker than the Binary Lords, not to mention they are not what they once were. I doubt as Undead, they are as powerful as they were alive. Three against one might just not be enough.
A cyclone of fury, the Hurricane Hunter lands gracefully beside Leviathan, sliding alongside the raging winds as if he commands the air. Leviathan raises a hand to the sixth Prime, but the long-dead man pivots on his foot, the atmosphere around him stabilizing under so much force that Leviathan can't move her arm. Yet, the only female Prime slides back in pain as the lithe demon still pokes into her mind.
The Crimsoned Knuckle touches down with one colossal fist in an effort to save his teacher, leaving the ground quaking beneath his immense power. His strength doesn't uproot miles of earth, but it does create a ravine that Leviathan falls into. He lunges at the demon as she tries to orient herself with the Hurricane Hunter at his back.
Out of nowhere, even with Aniwye's prophetic senses, the Heraldic Wolf emerges from the darkness of the ravine, leaping upwardly at Leviathan. Draped in wolf pelts, his predatory grace is evident as he prowls with his claws. He vaults upon the Leviathan with feral determination, sinking a claw into her back, his movements a whirlwind of claws and fur. The eighth Prime is swiftly tossed aside by a howl of psychic Ether from Leviathan, but the battle in the ravine is not over yet as it splits even further.
More Dominions exist, however, and Ytern falls to guard Tonuyn as the Pygmy continues his rapt concentration on his inscriptions. Ice walls form all over Tonuyn as the Warmaster of the Nahullo brandishes the Pale Cavity and stands upon the chilly surfaces, his unclothed chest open to the night sky.
Brandishing his massive eel-like spear that swivels and swerves, the Death Bringer plunges toward that icy fortress with a deathly intent. Literal stone-eating acid and Ether that reminds me of Virgil's Necrosis only turned up to a thousand slips from the spear as he strikes toward Ytern.
The Nightly Sentinel, better known to me as Arnold Pilner, the creator of the Vaults and Lumens, wielding an elegant sledgehammer formed of raw Ether, lands as a vigilant guardian for the Death Bringer a moment before Ytern crushes the man with a falling avalanche. With each swing of his oversized weapon, he shatters the leagues of frozen earth, gradually breaking his way to Tonuyn.
However, the tenth Prime's voice is arid and desperate despite the situation.
"Alex! Now! We need to get this Creator before he summons another! Fuck... if only the First or Second were in Death's Gullet."
The Death Bringer simply shrugs as he is sent sprawling from the Pale Cavity's force, a hole emerging where his heart should be. But the ninth Prime doesn't die just as the other Undead last. To kill them, truly, truly, ruinous injuries are required.
These Undead Demigods, though weakened from their former glory, descend upon the battlefield with purpose. Blackreach has become a battleground for the strongest to ever live, missing only a few key players from history, even if humanity managed to claw back most of ours. I want to want more, but Aniwye delivers me a warning.
"Go back now. This is beyond anything we can handle or even watch. Things are about to escalate to a level we cannot handle. The moment Vincent dies to whatever God is about to be called or kills Hurakan is the instant everything changes. Get your... friend to call me back, or I, too, will perish today. I expected a cataclysmic battle. I did not expect a clash of the Gods."
I want to protest; I want to stop and watch more. The sights I've seen today will forever be imprinted into my mind. I've learned things about Ether that I never even thought was possible, opening so many avenues that I want to try. She was right. This was good for me.
Though...
The same can't be said for the world.
"Okay. I will."
I give her an answer as I pull back my mind, relinquishing the grasp I had over her perceptions.
As I awaken inside the train, a surge of strange vitality courses through me, an odd contrast to the exhaustion that lingers from recent events. I clench my hand into a fist as a low grumble resounds in my mind. It's not quite a word, but it feels like an acknowledgment.
"Thanks."
Blodwyn took control for a while, aiding in my recovery just as Kate said would happen. No murderous tendencies or lost body.
A jolt tears me from my thoughts, and my first instinct is to look out the window, and what I see defies all comprehension.
Outside, the world has transformed into a scene straight from those canvases of Hell inside Bent's walls. A vast, relentless sea of swirling crimson sands stretches endlessly in every direction. It moves with a furious and unnatural velocity as if propelled by some malevolent will. The grains of sand aren't just sand; they seem alive, writhing and pulsating, as if imbued with some being's consciousness.
Vincent... Despite all that... He's still fucking doing it! I grin slightly for a moment until my brain computes what is inside the sandstorm, almost entirely concealing the train.
Amidst this tumultuous ocean of sand, grotesque shapes and aberrations materialize and disintegrate in a never-ending cycle. Grasping hands reach out from the sanguine as if pulling themselves from a sea of blood. These are creatures from some unknown abyss. I can't even distinguish their features beyond the shifting flesh and bone. Their forms are ever-changing, a chaotic fusion of grotesque appendages, eyes that blink in impossible patterns, some from side to side and some diagonally, and limbs that sprout and retract like awful tendrils, congealing with the bloody sands.
My eyes lock onto the creatures in the sands, realizing the warnings that we've been given repeatedly. All the times we were told to leave. This is what we were running from. Not that battle. This.
Some of these abominations have faces that appear momentarily, their expressions a physical representation of the indescribable horror they must endure in their existence. Others are more abstract, their forms defying any conventional sense of geometry or life. It breaks every rhyme and rhythm that I know. These have to be creatures from some other plane.
A lunge from one of the beings almost reaches the window I lie beside, its expression pressing against the barreling winds just inches from the glass. In its face...
I see a hunger. An insatiable hunger.
A growl from my hand awakens me from the force, and I shake my head, pushing myself away from the window.
The encroaching atrocities in the sands are not just a mindless force; they are hungry. The only question is... what are they hungry for?
I know the answer, even if I don't want to fully accept it.
Us.
I twist around, finally taking in the sight of the inside of the train.
The atmosphere is one of frantic desperation. Passengers are caught between a primal fear of the attacking horrors and a desperate need to escape. I watch some civilian without a Sigil be threatened by another that has one. While beside them, someone is tossing chairs, tables, and everything they can get their hands on outside the train.
"We need to lighten the load! That's what the Hunter said!"
The arguments are loud, and so many cross over my mind I can hardly focus.
"They aren't Hunters! They're Outlaws who took over the train!"
"Who the fuck cares!? DO YOU SEE THAT!?"
"Fuck this! You either help, or I will toss you out!"
The genuine threat rips me from my stupor. Shaking my head, I draw Lily and place it on the man's temple. He immediately falls still, and I watch as his pupils slide over to me, shaking all the while.
I return the man a smile. He wouldn't believe any other threat I could give other than my gun. I don't seem very intimidating. I know that.
"Stop your arguing. What is happening?"
A curse from beside me draws my attention slightly, but I don't remove my eyes from the burly man with two Sigils who threatened the fearful young man without any.
"Oh great. The comatose kid is awake now. What are you going to do with that toy gun? No Colts look like that pretty thing."
I glance around, examining the several dozen people crammed into this car with me. I don't even wonder why no one I know is in here. My focus is on all of their faces. Their doubt is palpable, and the tension in the air grows thicker. It's a pivotal moment where my actions could mean the difference between order and chaos, life and death.
I burst into uncontrollable laughter.
It's a wild, almost maniacal fit of laughter that seems entirely out of place. The absurdity of the situation, the fact that we're all trapped on a speeding train with unspeakable Otherplanars invoked by a man clawing toward Godhood, barely even paying attention to the world, chasing us, and the notion that Lily, the Blooming Spider Lily, is being questioned—all of it strikes me as absurdly comical.
As my laughter echoes through the train car, I see the bewildered expressions of those around me. They exchange uncertain glances, unsure of how to react to this unexpected outburst. The man I hold the gun to chuckles a bit, too, his feet sliding backward in nervousness. In the midst of this chaotic ordeal, my laughter seems like a brief respite, a momentary release of tension.
It feels good. And I can't stop.
But even as I continue to chuckle, I'm acutely aware of the gravity of our situation. My eyes scan the windows carefully, noticing that I'm at the very tail end of the train. The encroaching horrors outside are relentless, and our escape is far from assured.
I laugh, I laugh, and I laugh, almost falling to the floor as the people don't know how to act. After just a few moments, they return to what they were doing.
"What a fucking psycho. Whatever. We need to lighten the load. Those things will reach us first, which is why we're back here. The important people are all up front."
I catch a hint of the burly man's unpleasant feelings about those who run this train, although they saved him and many others. This Steam Train is severely overcrowded. Even I know that.
My knees finally hit the floor as more items are tossed out, leaving the floor empty of features other than the people within it. And the instant that the burly man looks toward me, a hateful gaze in his eye, a streak of red comes from outside. Seems as though whatever it is has finally caught up to the train.
Ether roars to life in my body, screaming with an alacrity it has never done before. It's so... smooth. The right side of my lip pulls into a deep crease.
It's from Twilight.
Arbalest lurches me forward, catapulting me past the Sigiled, who are far too slow to react as I slam Lily into the ghostly figure that is gaining lucidity from entering the cabin. The cold barrel stuns the creature for a split second, and I grab at it with Blodwyn, my left hand twisting around the thing's figure.
It tries to slip from me, to return to its formless state, but I gaze into it. And I force it not to, hinging on my recent growth with a determined Daydream. If Insight can allow me to control others, and Daydream has already had minor effects on others, who is to say I can't push it further?
A slimy feeling scratches against my mind, and I bear down on it, pressing down with gritted teeth as Blodwyn closes fully around it. The creature falls limp in my hands after fully coalescing into its proper form.
What I hold is a grotesque sight to behold that struggles in my grasp, its might rapidly increasing. The being is so emaciated that it seems devoid of flesh, with only bone and fragments of tendons forming its skeletal structure. The arms hang nearly as lowly as the arms, without any ribs within its chest despite its gaunt flesh. The red sand that courses through its form acts as a grotesque imitation of tissue, binding its limbs and body together.
Its eyes, if they can be called that, are hollow voids filled with swirling crimson motes that replace the pupils. Despite that, I can feel them stare at me, digging deep into the depths of my mind. As it writhes and thrashes in my grip, its gaunt fingers stretch and contort, aiming to claw at me with a ferocity that defies its frail appearance.
Despite its emaciated form, the creature possesses a malevolent strength that belies its physicality. The creature's clawless hand digs into the flesh of Blodwyn, the artifact groaning in pain as it shifts to capture the monster's hand.
I shake my head, waking myself up from the bits of sleep that still hold me and the effect this abomination has on my mind. The other people in the cabin retreat as far as they can from me, and I give them a slight nod before slamming the being into the train floor.
It struggles with a frenzied determination, and the sheer force of its resistance threatens to dent the train car itself—more than I already did.
But I refuse to yield. With a tenacious grip joined by my other hand as I unsheathe the blade within my prosthetic, I hold the creature down, my fingers digging into the sand-like substance that composes its body. The train rocks and rattles around us as a few more swirling figments are directly outside the window, but I stand firm.
The thing... a Crimlime, that name just sounds about right, bites at my prosthetic, rending a piece of the hardy steel off and sealing its fate. I stab it with the blade, a burgeoning Hone on the edge of the metal. It doesn't die to a knife into the brain, however, and I stab it again and again until it finally stops moving. Sand burrows into my flesh uncomfortably after every strike, but I ignore it for now.
Sighing, I shuffle to my feet and glance at the people in my cabin. I stretch a bit, releasing the tension and sleep from my body as I call out to them.
"Names Wyatt. Wyatt Graves. You all should... probably listen to me: 6th Sigiled and all that. Anyway... speed seems to be the most important factor here. So... let's tear off the sides of the train. Maybe the roof, too. All that weight is slowing us down."
They all stare at me, confused. Not a single person moves for several seconds. I don't give them all that much extra time.