Salvation

by voroshilov

To you, From a Strand of Probability

Luysifer's death was almost pathetic. Rather than some grand psionic explosion, or some other indication of his legendary strength, he just slumped over, faintly twinkling blood pouring from the fatal wound in his chest. The King of Hell himself, the master of the RiftWraiths, was now nothing more than a limp corpse, hanging from the Emperor's sword.

Godsplitter had, ironically, split after the impact with Luysifer and his throne. As Nicholas withdrew it, silvery pieces clattered to the ground, chunks of Luysifer's throne following. The chunks of polished rock that covered the ground were a far-cry from the regality of the throne they had been but moments earlier, and Nicholas saw his face reflecting in the pool of blood that mingled with the remains.

Far behind him came the sounds of greater and greater commotion. The Cult of the Deep had slain the RiftWraiths in Luysifer's palace to a man even before the final blow had been struck. Now, they had fanned out, clearing an ever expanding wedge as flashes of fire brought more and more Black Guard into the fray, Cecilia in her rightful position at their head, tearing apart the RiftWraiths and demons as they scattered in terror of their lord's execution.

Nicholas tossed the remains of his sword to the ground, and a sense of relief washed over him. Luysifer, king of Hell, had fallen with ease. One more step had been taken.

"Father."

Kaurava's voice broke through the din of his thoughts.

"What is it?"

He felt her bow behind him, as much as her constantly flying form allowed her to. He lifted a piece of blood covered stone and turned it in his hands, feeling its weight, feeling its strange power - no doubt from Luysifer's blood infusing with it, infecting its very atoms.

"Sentinel-General Cecilia sends word from the outside: your Right Hand does well in Andromeda, the Pertones have fallen." Her regal, dulcet tones were calming to the ear, and the news she brought with her ever better.

The stone seemed to warp perception of itself. On close viewing, its pattern flowed like water, as if trying to escape its current form and become something else. As if trying to build a new shape for itself.

"Excellent. Our mission here is almost complete. Once Celly has the demons scattered, I will return to Andromeda." Nicholas' voice came out no more than a mutter, he was too busy inspecting the stone he held in his hands.

Kaurava seemed to take notice of his interest. "Father, what do you see?"

Nicholas chuckled. "What do my eyes see that no others do? What does the Eternal Emperor Nicholas know that nobody else does? Ha, the thrill of a chase where the hunted is no beast but a system that keeps moving ever forwards!"

"You sense Time, father?"

Nicholas spun. "Probability. Probability, that this stone seeks out like a shark to blood. It moves according to a pattern, a design, seeking to fulfil some criteria behind the scenes. It has a little plan of its own, see? See how it morphs towards my fingers when I touch it? See how it tries to encase me, but seems to fear the power I hold. It shies from my eyesight, yet I can see it perfectly without needing mere light - an object on the stage - for I am the stage."

He reached out with psionic arms, plucking the stones from the ground one by one, and bringing them before him. One by one, they melded together, and Nicholas forced them to show him the shape they desired. The chunks of blood infected stone ebbed and flowed to a tune Nicholas slowly began to hear.

Slowly, he began to hear their music, their composition, in pieces. The first note, then the seventh, then the nineteeth, then the fourth, then the second, and the sixth. One by one the notes played, the tune build itself in order of probability, and so too did the Crown.

A cold, purple obsidian, forming a barred headdress. The stones, their tune, wished for Nicholas to wear it - why else would it be the perfect size for his head.

"An enticing siren tune," he said, "a song with no sound, that manipulates the mind, not the air around us. No vibrations of particles, only of dreams that try to force their ways into the waking world."

In his psionic grasp, he lifed the Crown to his head. Slowly, as a scientist measures out a tincture, he brought it to hover over his head, then, arms out and fingers moving as if manipulating a puppet's strings, he lowered it onto his head.

The effects were immediate.

Kaurava rushed to his side when she saw him convulse, and her mind was filled with thoughts of danger and potential despair. For all her training, all the power a Wych could master, there was no method to dispel the terrible pain that overcame her being when she saw her father in mortal peril.

Nicholas groaned, and Kaurava prepared herself to remove the Crown from his head. Only for an eruption of blood beneath the skin of his temples to herald his speech. "No! Steady yourself! You will be in danger should you touch it."

Kaurava, for the first time in her life, felt helpless, and that only amplified the painful fear that writhed within her. Her soul cried out for Nicholas' release.

His eyes burned brighter than usual, and the flames lapped around his skin from all directions. He let out first another groan, which morphed into a bellowing roar. Kaurava stumbled backwards, hearing her fear of her father's mortal corruption confirmed. A single tear ran down her pale cheek. Was there nothing that could be done?

Another convulsion rocked his frame, then another caused him to drop to his knees. Suddenly, Kaurava saw how small he really was - how he was hardly much taller than other Vortexians - and suddenly she felt another pang of pain in her soul. Could this truly be it? Had Nicholas' power left him? Where was his presence, the sheer energy about him that made him seem larger than buildings? Where was her father?

Another roar, but this one was not at all bestial. His arms shot up, grasping the Crown's sides, and with a mighty bellow from the very depths of his soul - a release of infinite eons of pain and fear - he tore the Crown from his skull and cast it aside, shattering it against the ground with his strength.

His arms fell to his sides, and his body sagged. Blood poured from needle-like wounds across his head, and the fires that darted across his marble white skin went out one by one. His eyes receded, burning normally again, and calm breathing slowly returned through a hoarse throat.

"Father?" Kaurava wished she hadn't sounded as weak as she did. Her father had just-no, it didn't bear thinking about.

Shakily, he rose to his feet, and the blood stopped flowing. The wounds of his skull closed with speed, and the blood on his face dripped lazily to the floor. He ran a hand through his long black hair, matted with sweat and blood - both his own and Luysifer's. He blinked twice, and flexed the fingers on his other hand. Then, he slowly walked to Kaurava's side, and coasted her into a warm embrace.

"I am here, Kaurava, I am here. There is nothing to fear anymore."

"I- I- I thought that was it."

Nicholas chuckled quietly. "Kaurava, there is nothing to fear. My plan moves forwards inexorably, no mere object will stop it."

"No!" Kaurava flinched at the force of her own voice, continuing quieter and just barely holding back tears. "I thought you would be gone! The plan be damned, I thought you were lost! That- That my father would become some beast."

Nicholas shushed her gently, and held her more closely, slowly stroking her hair like she had enjoyed for years. Beneath his skin, his shapeshifting powers were hard at work, forging a new throat to allow him to purr softly. He encased her and the palace in a psionic bubble, away from the ever diminishing but no less present sounds of destruction and warfare.

In peace they rested, for but a moment.

And so, the Time continued to approach.