Fiction:Realities Altered/Dysnomia/Episode 1

Part 1
Within the bleak and obscure void of abyssal space, a planetoid. Nothing more than a piece of rock, lost within the darkness of the Andromedan Depression, an age of discord and chaos, where the remnants of former empires now stand as just small organizations bent on simply surviving rather than trying to improve the current state of Andromeda as a whole. Economic failure, societal collapse, environmental devastation, it was as if Andromeda was the incarnate of all things that civilization had strived to prevent. It was a living, breathing Hell, with every single miserable mortal which inhabited every single insignificant piece of rock being the cells that constantly broke down in their sadness and regenerated in their anger. The planetoid was an asteroid, or at least a dormant one. It was held inactive by outdated technology, keeping asteroid in a state of perpetful day and perpetual night on either end. Within the center of this light and dark stood a small town. It was nameless, but people lived here, usually refugees who were looking for extra resources or necessities. Nothing here was really worthy enough to be called a "luxury", everything was old and past its sell-by date. The food, the liquid, the buildings themselves. There were only so many working energy resources as well.

The local public house. A grimey place filled to the brim with odd sorts. Elders, gangsters, widows, all types of people came here, although obviously not for the company. The drinks, they were lukewarm. Nothing really deserving of praise or insult. The food, or what was left of it, was better off left alone. The staff? What staff? There was just a measley bartender and even he looked past his date of expiration. No waiters, no waitresses. Bizarre thing was that the public house wasn't even accepting new employees. There was no real business to be had here. The place was doomed anyway, it's just a matter of time until official authorities rediscover it and decide to demolish it for being useless. This place was more like a therapy group, except nobody communicated. There was no real need for it, everybody knew what each other was thinking. They had either lived long enough to experience the downfall of Andromeda's golden age, or were born into this depressing pit. It doesn't matter, the experience was shared. One could really consider this public house one of the last places in the entire galaxy that still held at least some decency outside of the Draconid Imperium, which surprisingly still stood strong as both a refuge and an empire, although unfortunately to say, it is the only rose left within Andromeda and even then it is slowly wilting.

A figure approached the public house. He was of moderate height, around 7ft. He wore a long, flowing coat over his body, with a large collar to hide his face from the crowds and public. He appeared vaguely Zazane at least, judging by his crest and tail. However, it doesn't matter much about his appearance. No organizations are racially specific anymore, they're taking all they can get. Everybody's a survivor, one way or another. However, there was something that still made the presence of the individual unsettling. The fact that Zazane had become known for brutal, incriminating acts of violence across Andromeda both before and after the Depression didn't help the situation any further, although they had fallen from the ideal of being honourable warriors into vile scum. And as he stepped into the pub, the rules of probability were definitely at play. As expected, all eyes on him, although the figure returned no such courtesy. He simply sat by the bar, alone.

Figure - Bartender, how about a drink? Bartender - ''What did you want? If you're looking for any of that fancy stuff, I'm afraid you're in the wrong pub.'' Figure - Do I appear as the fancy sort to you? Bartender - ''You're more talkative than this sad lot. It's been a while since I've seen somebody with a bit of fight. Ever since the Depression...'' Figure - Paa'go, my good man. Bartender - ''...Right. Are you sure you're okay?'' Figure - ''What sort of question is that? Ever since the Depression started, I've had the time of my life. I'm never out of a job!'' Bartender - What do you mean by that? Figure - ''Oh, it doesn't really matter. I'm just rambling on.''

Paa'go. A brand of alcoholic drink that had a similar feel to soda, although it was as strong and addictive as any other lager or beer. It was cheap and affordable, coming in a variety of colours which displayed the flavour of the product. The manufacturer for Paa'go went bust and shutdown more than 50 years ago, making the drinks within this pub antique. As the figure gripped his glass of yellow Paa'go in his hand, he looked over to a small black and white holo-screen at the counter. Coloured holo-screens were a luxury, in fact monochrome screens were a luxury these days. A news broadcast, breaking news apparently. News about the Depression had stopped long ago, mainly due to the fact nobody needed to be told twice about it. At one point, the news was so frequent about the Depression, suicide rates had been at an all-time high. It's a wonder why nobody had thought about a mass galaxy-wide suicide before.

The crowd began to move to the windows, perhaps the highest amount of synchronized activity within the last century, aside from the constant drinking and sobbing, brought on by the fact that all of the individuals who had come here had lost something dear to them, whether it'd be property, family or both. Everybody could hear it. The sound of sadness had been placed on hold, interrupted by a melody of roars and screams. The crowd of saddened residents leaped out of their seats as blood splattered against the windows, turning their sadness into horror. The figure, however, paid no attention to the ruckus outside. Instead, he drank his Paa'go casually, not a single care in the entire world given for this moment.

The doors were thrown off their rusted hinges, crashing into the wall and smashing effortlessly. The pub residents cried out in surprise and shock, jumping back away from the windows. It would have been better for them to have jumped out of them, in all honesty. They had just lost their chance for escape and survival, although there wasn't much chance of them surviving outside anyway. Within moments, the pub had gained a few new foreign visitors; they stank of corruption, chaos and evil, not to mention the secondary smell of anger and rage. Only few people referred to them by their real names now, since most people would not be able to due to the fact they had been butchered before they even had a chance. . Demonic beings fuelled by the fire of madness and driven by the mere thought of violence. The opportunity to shed blood was perhaps a Nirvana tenfold for them. One must wonder how content they were with their own existence, always at the scene of war and battle. Perhaps they lived in a constant state of ectasy, displayed through their incredibly aggressive actions towards others for more and more. Just a passing thought.

The figure didn't bat an eye. Perhaps he had not heard them, despite the amount of cackling laughter and agitated roaring that occured behind him, along with all the screaming and yelling that the pub residents decided would be a good idea to get themselves noticed. It couldn't be helped. The only real thing that got his attention was the bloodied dismembered leg that flew past and knocked the bottle of Paa'go out of his hand, shattering on the counter and spilling all over the floor, as well as the figure's long coat. A quiet sigh.

Figure - ...Another rough night on the town?

One of the Malcaeum took his brief words as a summon. It approached him, sniffing at his coat like a curious dog or some other animal. The Malcaeum appeared to be communicating, although nobody could really make out what they were saying as it consisted almost entirely of loud, bellowing groans and laughter. The language of the mad, the dialect of the angry. The figure continued to ignore this and looked down.

Figure - Indeed, the service in here is terrible.

There was no real agreement in the tone of the Malcaeum's voices, although it didn't take a demon to notice how run-down the place really was. The figure was met with roars from the beasts, as well as a strong assault across his front. The long spike that portruded from a Malcaeum's wrist was perhaps one of the most pain-inflicting melee weapons within the Gigaquadrant. A curved, organic spike dripping with Entropic energy, thrusted across or into one's body at a speed fast enough to break walls. Not many people survived direct contact with such as they were usually killed or comatosed by the experience, although you get the occasional lucky fellow. The figure was sent flying across the width of the room and smacked against the nearest wall, as well as the closest vending machine which was now bent in the center from the impact. Soon, it became more than just a slash. A mix of blood and soda now covered the floor and walls as the Malcaeum monsters repeatedly stabbed their long, impure spikes into the flesh and sinew of the figure. He attempted to stand, but was knocked down and assaulted over and over. Penetration was overrated and got old quick.

During this little game that the Malcaeum were enjoying so much, the men and women who had not been carved and dismembered into bloodied husks tried to escape via heading for the entrance. It was a pity they had been so close, if they moved a little faster perhaps they could have gotten out before it appeared. Just in front of the entrance, a crushing hope had materialized outside of the shadows; a Balanar, a Night Stalker. The vampires of the Corruptus. It's mere presence froze all within the bar, except for the figure who had become some sort of play doll for the Malcaeum. The massive beast began its feast of fears and shames, draining the survivors of all of their souls or at least what had remained after the devastating mental effect of the Depression. The Malcaeum on the other hand sniffed at the bloodied figure, curious as to whether he retained any life within his ruined, penetrated body.

Boom. A Malcaeum fell dead, its brains and other essences splattered across the ceiling of the room. This caught the other Malcaeum by surprise and they stepped back slightly as the figure slowly stood, covered in his own blood and wounds dealt by the angry beasts. A smile appeared on his face, revealing his incredibly sharp jaws and his black tongue, perhaps blacker than even the darkest of nights. The figure removed his hat, revealing his face to the Malcaeum; he was definitely a Zazane of some sort, a mix of black and red. But it wasn't his face that surprised the Malcaeum; it was his aura. A burning, darkening aura that appeared as if it came from the deepest reaches of Hell just to rise and terrify all that saw it.

Figure - I think that's enough for tonight, gentlemen.

The wall was like paper as the figure was thrown through with immense force. It wasn't always wise to pick a fight with Malcaeum, especially considering the fact they were one of the Corruptus' most aggressive and angriest soldiers. Wherever there was mass destruction, Malcaeum were usually the cause. They were a force of nature, the killers of any hope and joy one had hoped to keep with them, especially in the times of the Depression. However, today would be an exception. The figure, bloodied and riddled with wounds and deep injuries that riddled with Entropic energy, balanced himself on his own two feet, no effort spent. The fact that the Malcaeum could turn metal surfaces into shattered glass just by a strong punch made this feat all the more unbelievable and seemingly impossible. To add to his already impressive effect, he grabbed the coller of his coat and in one swift movement it flew across the room, revealing the figure's torso; three impressive pairs of portrusions appeared almost shield-like upon his chest, with a slim yet compact muscular build as his general body type. His body was covered in deep, horrifying holes, tears and rips from where the Malcaeum had assaulted him. He was definitely Zazane, yet not completely Zazane.

Figure - ''Ever thought for joining a wrestling team? A tackle like that is certainly impressive.''

The Malcaeum were less than impressed. In fact, they were angry and presumably incredibly irritated by his survival and resistance. Even after being sliced to pieces, the figure still stood and talked as if he was in perfect health. One Malcaeum stepped forward, opening its sharp jaws to speak against the figure in a rather interesting and original display of its individuality.

Malcaeum - FEAST ON SOUL!

The figure simply chuckled at the Malcaeum's remark. Nothing new, nothing original. Guess that the dialogue of the Corruptus had vanished along with the economy. The figure's smile widened as he held his left hand up to his right pec and closed his eyes. The Malcaeum gave an almost confused look for a second or so before returning to its usual angered state, although it did not suspect a small, silver and ornate dagger to appear within the figure's hand, nor was it intimidated by it in the slightest. The figure looked at the dagger within his hand; it was of Divinarium origin, crafted and built by the most advanced of machines. The blade looked astoundingly sharp yet thin, with the handle being rather decorative, with lots of curves both in the portrusions at the side and in the center, which one would use to hold the dagger. It gave off a white, pure aura, which began to irritate the Malcaeum. It was nowhere near as large as the organic blades of the Corruptus aggressors, but the figure simply shrugged at the comparison.

Figure - Well, it seems you have the bigger blade.

The group of Malcaeum charged at him, roaring and laughing in their degrading and demonic tone. To make matters somewhat worse, it wasn't just the Malcaeum who were going for him. The massive Balanar slowly made its way towards the Zazane, its massive maw stretched to reveal its grotesque and disgusting tongue as it screamed in fierce anger. The figure gave a simple smile and made a slashing gesture with the dagger. It took one unlucky Malcaeum by surprise as the blade extended from the handle on a long, glowing white chain of Essence energy and pierced itself into the side of the demon's face. With a confident pull of the handle, the Malcaeum was swung off its feet, much to the shock of the others. The unfortunate damned creature was swung in circles over the figure's head, a living wrecking ball. It only took a throw to dislodge the blade from the Malcaeum's face and have it crash into one of its demonic comrades, the resulting impact killing both of them in the process. The dagger's blade retracted back to the handle, the figure looking to the last two Malcaeum.

The Balanar got ever closer, it's dark and murderous presence approaching at a slow and patient rate. There was a look of desire within its eye, a look that told all that he wanted to do nothing more than rip this Zazane to shreds until he was nothing more than mere strips of burning, rotting flesh. Another Malcaeum approached. The figure slammed his foot down on the floorboards, sending the beast upwards towards the ceiling. Another fish has been hooked. The Malcaeum was launched by the figure to the other side of the room, dying from the Essence poisoning and assisted by the impact. The remaining Malcaeum had narrowly avoided being struck down, for now at least.

Figure - Whoops, I missed.

The remaining Malcaeum had not learned its gruesome lesson. It had a chance to run, but it refused, or rather had not noticed in its blind fury. Driven purely by its rage, it did not care for the deaths of its comrades or how they were dealt with, but the fact that this unknown figure continued to resist against the wrath of him and his allies drove it near insanity, or further into it. This was displayed by the strong headbutt it delivered against the Zazane's head crest, a somewhat useless idea due to the strength of the crest itself; pure naturally-occuring Shidium. The Malcaeum's eyes widened as it then felt striking pain to its left. Its arm twitched as it dropped to the floor, dismembered rather bloodily by the figure's second blade; a Kicathian sword of considerable length, flowing with an Essence of some kind. Before the Malcaeum could recover, the figure delivered his own headbutt against the demon's face with his incredibly powerful head crest, shattering the beast's skull.

The creature fell. Broken beyond repair, as was the way of Andromeda nowadays. The Balanar, the mighty Night Stalker, stood among the center of this massacre of demons. The vampire's hand was outstretched, with the bloodied and beaten corpses of the Malcaeum slowly dissolving into incorporeal spheres of Entropic energy, gathering within the Balanar's palm as if it had degraded the Malcaeum corpses into such a resource itself. The figure looked up at the Balanar and he simply stood in a casual stance, looking to the monster's face with a disappointed look and an amused tone in his voice.

Figure - ''Sorry, bar's closed. Come back tomorrow.'' Balanar - Wrong answer.

The figure was sent through the wall behind him by a powerful blast of Entropic energy, created from the gathered resources of the deceased Malcaeum. One could see as Entropy blasted itself through the stab wounds upon the figure's body and come out the other side, an example of how badly wounded he had been. He landed on his feet once again, although he was covered in both his blood and that of his enemies. He watched as the Balanar thrusted itself forward, its arms outstretched to grab him if it got the chance. No, not here. Fighting here would be no good. The figure ran forward, charging at the Corruptus assassin confidently. This was ridiculous, surely he wouldn't survive. The Balanar is one of the Corruptus' mightiest demonic assassins, there's no way...

The Balanar was shocked. The figure had not gone on the offensive, it had misjudged him. It was typical of Zazane nature to charge at your enemy in desperation to get a few last hits, but this was different. Instead of delivering a punch or a kick, the figure had rolled between the monster's legs. The Balanar's effort had just been wasted, its fierce reputation squandered. When the creature turned itself around, the Zazane figure could be seen within the entrance room for the pub, holding a pair of pistols; Adrasteia and Nemesis. Adrasteia was a customized plasma energy pistol of the Dei'ar Theocracy, designed to fire energy bolts at an incredibly fast pace in a similar fashion to bullets, although reloads were unnecessary as this was one of the most advanced hand-held weapons within Andromeda as of the Depression. Nemesis was a customized pistol of the Brood of War, designed to fire solid Shidium bullets at an amazingly fast pace as well as deliver an increased amount of damage from explosive rounds.

The figure turned his head to the paralyzed survivors. He could see a mix of emotions upon their faces, such as sadness and fear. Their lives had come short, or whatever lives they had anyway. There wasn't much "living" to do within Andromeda, the simple philosophy of "life's a bitch and then you die" comes into play when applied to the Andromedan Depression.

Figure - So, is this how you get so powerful? Balanar - ''My power comes your inner fears. Your hidden shames. Your past experiences. Your soul will be collected like the rest.''

The Zazane fired. The paralyzed victims of the Balanar were dispatched quickly, although there was no real mercy to be had. The Balanar's influence would only last for how long the Balanar itself survived, they would have been fine. They could have survived this nightmare. Instead, the last thing they shall ever feel is either a solid Shidium bullet burst through their body and out the other side, or feel their bodies burn intensely as rapid plasma fire assaulted their very being. The Balanar watched the massacre and let out a bellowing laugh once the last survivor was shot down. A swift bullet through the head.

Balanar - ''Is that an attempt of depowering me? Ridiculous!'' Figure - ...That wasn't my reason.

The Balanar refused to listen any further, it was tired of this fight. It wanted to end this quickly now, with the satisfaction of possessing the knowledge that it had killed this worthless pest. As it charegd, the figure sighed and shrugged his shoulders, looking down and away from the monstrous beast. As the beast was too busy roaring, its ears drowned in its own desires and thoughts, the figure stood patiently and muttered under his breath.

Figure - My reason was to spare those people from what I'm about to do to you!

The Balanar's maw wrapped itself around the figure's face. Darkness, abyssal darkness. The horrifying absence of light, except for that tongue. That corrupted, terrifying tongue, rotted and mangled from the Night Stalker's diet of fears and shames, memories and souls. It seemed to be the end. Engulfed in blackness, the light begins to die. Feel one's self slowly crawling away, escaping the fleshy vessel it has resided within for so long...

Blood splattered. The maw was ruined and light returned. The figure's claws were covered in the corrosive, Entropic fluids of the Balanar, a smile upon his face. But this was no smile of happiness, no joy, no relief. It was excitement, it was arousement. The Balanar's face had become horridly distorted and twisted, it's mouth now ripped in two by the Zazane, who looked up at the beast with an expression that would perhaps anger even the most calm and patient of demonic entities. The Balanar's rage expressed itself through one action, an action it would soon regret. The beast placed its sharp, wrenching claws upon the figure's chest, digging its piercing nails into his flesh. More blood surfaced, a few more wounds. The Balanar groaned, clearly in unbearable pain and agony from having its maw ripped in half by the mysterious figure.

He had enough, he finished this. The Balanar's pained groans soon transformed themselves into a screech of agonizing fear as it was sent hurling across the pub, as if it had just been shot out of a cannon. The figure stood with his back turned, a great many wounds and holes across his body, with plenty of them reaching from the front to the back. There was blood everywhere, both his and not his. The Balanar's forced flight wrecked the counter, the seats, the tables, the walls, the corpses, everything. Nothing was spared from this monster's plentiful mass. Such a throw would not have been possible for most Andromedan natives, perhaps a good shove but nothing such as this. Silence. Everything went quiet after the devastating crash that followed, that is all aside from pitiful whimpers. He turned his head slowly to look upon his victim, it twitched like a freshly mutilated corpse. A smile spread across his face as the once great Night Stalker soon turned into nothing more than just leftover remnants of Entropy that soon disappeared into the air. What was once a place for locals and foreigners alike to visit and drown their sorrows is now a mere memory, replaced instead by a wake of destruction and death, blood and flesh.

...

A blade, a dagger. A skeletal, Entropic dagger. Such could now be seen piercing through the chest of the Zazane figure, entering from behind. He fell to his knees, the blood from his wounds forming a puddle where he kneeled. Behind him, two shadows. One of which was his own, the other was a foreign entity, although not completely unknown. Another Corruptus monster, a Garvathae. The spies and assassins of the Corruptus, a recent addition seen within the last century, although they remained absence from the sites of large battles, preferring to strike alone, as evidenced by this brutal kick in the head that took the form of a corrupted blade through the chest. The figure attempted a standing position, cut short by the fierce, merciless and honourless Garvathae. Another wound, another insult to injury. The assassin poised its blade, the back of the figure's head being the bullseye of this little game. Some fun was about to be had.

The wounds, the uncountable, corrupted wounds of Entropic weaponry completely covered the poor man's body. Blood dripped from them as if they were taps placed on full power. It was painful, it was agonizing. It would have killed any normal soul several times over. But why, why have they not yet claimed this Zazane's life? Why have they proven themselves so ineffective? The answer was simple; they no longer existed. Within an instant, the deep wounds pulled themselves together, reforming into fresh scales and flesh with not even a trace of the slightest cut. The figure looked to his assassin, a look of joy upon his face as the battle had not ended yet. An arm for a stab wound, it was easy. The Garvathae stumbled, a gross and rather disgusting wound replaced where an entire right arm should be. Instead, the arm in question was in the figure's hand.

Figure - You know, it's rather rude to approach a guy without introducing yourself.

It did not take long for the wound to seal itself. In fact, after around a minute of idleness and contemplating what the hell had just happened, the Garvathae's arm had already grew into a fleshy stump, almost ready to burst out another fully-developed skeleton-like arm. It looked upon the figure's impressive figure with utter disgust.

Figure - ''I assume that you're an assassin, that's cute. How about telling me who you work for, sweetie?''

No response. A kick was delivered to his face by the disgusted and disgraced assassin, it wouldn't take this from some mortal. The figure, however, didn't move from his position. The kick would have knocked anybody off their feet, it would have thrown even Draconis across the room. But he didn't move from his standing position. The only thing that happened was an aggressive and hostile hand wrapped itself around the Corruptus' thin throat and slammed the beast into the floorboards. The figure was no longer standing, he was now kneeling down with the demon's life within his palm.

Figure - Now that you've calmed down, who sent you here and why?

The Garvathae could have gotten out easily, it could have just teleported itself out of his palm. It could have attacked him once more. But it didn't. It was almost froze in terror as it looked into the man's eyes. The eyes, the windows of the soul. While usually a Corruptus minion would perhaps feel hunger and desire upon the sight of one's soul, it was different this time around. All it felt was fear. There was something dark within his body, deep inside his vile, beating heart, his fiery blood. The Garvathae had no choice.

Garvathae - ...The Perfectionist.

With that, the figure released his grip and the Garvathae teleported as far as it could away from the Zazane. He stood up proudly, not even turning to look at the angry and incredibly agitated demon. He could still detect its presence, he didn't need to see it to know it was there, like the depression that struck down most of Andromeda's sad inhabitants. He let a chuckle pass from his jaws, his eyes slowly returning to their usual state of normality, if there was such a thing for him.

Figure - Tell him I said hi, won't you?

In a state of anger and annoyance in the most extreme category, the Garvathae raised its Entropic dagger once more. But reality kicked in and cleared the assassin's head. It wouldn't be a good idea, at least not now. Not while this man was still at his full, aggravating strength. It would be better to run today and fight once more another day. The black fog claimed the assassin's body as it growled and grunted in anger and impatience, now safe from this mysterious man. The strength of several thousand men coursed through his very veins, an anger and violent passion burning deep within his black heart. Who was this figure, this Zazane? This killer of demons, this punisher of the damned? He goes by several names, but either way it's all the same. To gain his favour, it would be wise to address this man by the name he had chose for himself so very long ago, since the days before this Depression ever came to be. He had claimed it then and he continues to claim it proudly now.

Kithanan.

Part 2
Carnage. This was an understatement. There was no real word to describe what had happened here today. Apartments had fallen to rubble, shopping malls collapsed into piles of trash and dirt, public and social places burned to a crisp. What was once a sad, lonely and broken town had become nothing more than ruin, shattered by chaos and demonic forces. The foundations for this modern ruin were the corpses and blood of the hopeless, damned civilians. They didn't even put up much of a fight, even if they were not fighting at their puny maximum potential. Nothing could have stopped this massacre, it was already too late as soon as the demonic forces of the Corruptus arrived here. A refuge for the damned, their time had come to collect their hopeless souls and spare them from the rest of their tortured lives. It didn't matter, this place wasn't even a speck on the galactic map. Nobody would care for it if it completely disappeared into blackness, nobody would even notice its insignificance. A slaughter had gone without any official punishment, it was uncommon for it to be treated anyway.

Kithanan watched the blaze, the burning fireball that was once a town. It was nothing new, but it never got old for him. For some reason, he enjoyed this. The sight of burning, incineration, melting. It was an ecstatic feeling, a feeling that made him excited, at home. A warm emotion of maybe joy, perhaps happiness? Arousement? Nobody really knew what this feeling felt like for him, nor did they really want to know how or why. Kithanan's teeth were bared into a terrifying smile, bloodied and still dripping with whatever fluids he had exposed his fierce, powerful jaws to, most likely some unfortunate demon that hadn't ran away in time or had been too stupid to escape. In this urban inferno, Kithanan felt a rush through his spine. And then, he was brought back to reality by a voice. It was a familiar voice. Who needed communicators when you had the power of telepathy within your arsenal of casual abilities?

??? - Ah Kithanan, what happened?

Kithanan leaned his head back and his jaws opened, releasing a cackle, as if the question was a result he had been expecting and just a mere mention would provoke his humour. It was a devious cackle, as if he had just performed an evil deed.

Kithanan - ''You mean what didn't happen this time? It's like I'm always stuck on repeat.'' ??? - ''Shouldn't you, you know, take care of the survivors? They're dying around you, and you do nothing.''

Alas, amidst the corpses and the dismembered pieces of once intact bodies and flesh, hid the dying. Overcome with pain, distraught and misery, they refused to stand amongst the chaos. What had been their worthless and hopeless lives had just been shattered even further, as the only company they enjoyed was taken from this realm and claimed within the demonic clutches of the Devourer's armies. All that was left now was excruciating pain, fatal suffering. All had been taken away, aside from their lives which slowly drip until dry. Kithanan paid none of his attention to it, it didn't concern him even in the slightest. There was nothing that could be done for these people, they were already dead.

Kithanan - ''They're dead anyway, either from corruption, injury or internal bleeding. I can't save these people. Anyway, the Corruptus are bound to come again for another round.'' ??? - ''The Infernals? Again? Ugh, seems that things are only getting worse. It's an eleventh time demons showed up already... and the week is just beginning.'' Kithanan - Hah, you talk like "worse" is still possible. ??? - ''Yeah. It isn't, really.'' Kithanan - ''Even if I did save a few lives now, they'd only die later. It'd be a waste of my time, effort and energy which would be put into something far more enjoyable, such as sport.''

The voice became angrier, a sense of at least some passion in its tone. Kithanan found it amusing how some people still held onto hope, how some people believed that Andromeda could still be saved from itself. The only real way to truly ensure your safety in Andromeda is to not be in Andromeda, yet extragalactic travel had become lost in this century of technological reversal and degradation, not to mention the countless number of demonic entities and Lovecraftian monsters that patrolled the void abyss. He found it amusing that some people did not let go of the Andromeda they once knew or heard about, how they had not come to accept that Andromeda's people were just waiting to die.

??? - ''But they're the reason we're fighting, Kithanan! All I want is to make Andromeda a slightly better place to live. Why do you not care for those we are meant to protect?'' Kithanan - ''Who said it was my task to protect them? It's my job to fight demons, criminals, mercenaries and pirates, not protect the hopeless. I think you're asking a bit much.'' ??? - ''Do you remember it, Kith? The time before the Depression?''

Kithanan thought for a few moments. He often did not intend to think about the past. He suppressed his memories through his mental will, placing barriers upon the memories he refused to believe. He tried not to delve so far back, he didn't really need to nor did he like being asked about his past. After a minute or so of silence between the two, Kithanan nodded and gave a hum of acknowledgement, alongside a humble chuckle.

Kithanan - ''Ah, just barely. A full century has passed since the Depression occured. Things have hit rock bottom. It's not possible to get any worse, or any better.'' ??? - ''I do. Back then, I was a captain of the Commonwealth's fleet. I saw the era of light: I saw it ushering, I saw it thriving... and dying. We can still fix this mess, like my father did during the First War.'' Kithanan - ''People continue to die, every minute of every hour of every day. It matters not what we do, or what methods we use, or what we believe in, or how many people we kill, the galaxy will always stink of death, it always has and always will. Those who fight to save lives must focus more on saving themselves if they truly wish to make a difference. It's not that I mind it, of course. People will die and there's nothing I can do to change it. I find it strange how people can't accept that fact.'' ??? - It hasn't *always* been like that.

As if to calm itself, the voice's tone and volume lowered into nothing more than frantic, excited whispers. Kithanan listened in on the whispers, but he didn't try making any sense of them. It wasn't unusual for the voice to do this, although no matter how much it broke down into this fit of whispering, Kithanan could make no sense of what it was saying. He just found it rather amusing, really. How somebody could just randomly break down into whispering and gibberish like some insane prophet. And then it rose again, in volume and tone and boomed through Kithanan's head.

??? - I, Quendor Telnhao, hereby vow to protect Andromeda and its inhabitants by all means and at all costs; I shall never surrender and I shall know no fear for I am fear incarnate; I am the Guardian of Light. Kithanan - Guardian of Light...Heh, yet you see in darkness. Quendor - ''It was an order of warriors dedicated to defending the galaxy. After the Depression, it was dissolved; some of them fled in the Imperium, others became warlords and bounty hunters... I might be one of the few who still remember our original mission.'' Kithanan - ''And what was your mission, Quendor? To protect the people of Andromeda? To exile all threats from this realm of living? To fight for a cause that would bring a greater benefit?'' Quendor - ''Indeed. Well, there was another one...''

Quendor's voice became quiet again, though not to the extent of just a mere whisper, as if he was hiding something or didn't want Kithanan to notice something. Kithanan didn't really care for what secrets Quendor held or what happened in his past. There was not much to care about now, really.

Quendor - But I'd rather not tell you about it. Kithanan - ''It probably doesn't matter much now, anyway. Save the history lessons for another time, I have a bit more info on the cause of the Corruptus infestation.'' Quendor - I'm interested.

Kithanan chuckled and looked up. Another devious, horrific smile appeared upon his jaws. His eyes closed and he spread his thin, yet muscular, arms, as if he was pretending to be uplifted into the sky. And then from his jaws, he blurted out his command.

Kithanan - Beam me up!

Within moments, Kithanan's entire body became little more than particles in the air, surrounded and engulfed in a light from above. Teleportation, the process of one's entire being seperating and dispersing to a set area only to reconnect and reform, travelling at an incredible speed and pace across distances thought unimaginable. Where was the reciever? It resided kilometers above this ruined settlement, onboard a ship. But it wasn't just any ship. It was unique. A warship, constructed from parts and pieces found only in certain civilizations and societies. Materials, weaponry, resources, all of it had been constructed from scavenged pieces from all across the Andromedan field, from core territories to the furthest reaches. This ship was formerly known as a symbol of hope and discovery to mark an age of exploration and interstellar adventure, to reach out to alien worlds and societies and uncover the hidden secrets and enigmas of Andromeda's darkness, bringing light to all. However, no longer was it a symbol of hope and peace, but an icon of survival and conflict. This single ship had become a fleet-killer, armed with some of the most powerful technology and weaponry of pre-Depression Andromeda. It was known by two names; the Eventide Sorrow by those who had come to accept their grim fate, the New Dawn by those who still retain their hopes.

Quendor - Welcome back, Kithanan.

Kithanan shrugged his shoulders as his particles reconstructed upon the ship. It wasn't his favourite method of getting around, he would have preferred to have used his own physical methods of travel, although teleportation was definitely faster. Kithanan took a few steps away from the teleportation receiver and turned his head to face Quendor. A smile appeared on his, exposing Quendor to his bloodied jaws. He had gotten used to this now and simply folded his arms.

Kithanan - You may be happy to hear that the hunt today came up with some...interesting results. Quendor - ''Good, good. What happened?'' Kithanan - ''The usual. I was just enjoying myself, ordering a drink or two while everybody sat around sobbing and then suddenly, in come these Corruptus guys looking for a fight! Oh, that reminds me.''

Kithanan reached behind and pulled out a gift, seemingly materializing from nowhere. A bottle filled with a bright blue liquid, refreshingly cold with a rather fruity scent. Kithanan launched the bottle forwards, sending it flying through the air towards Quendor as if he had thrown it with the intent to strike him. It stopped just a few mere centimeters away from the Radeon's face, the cold feel barely touching his fur. A smile appeared upon the Radeon's face as he took the bottle with his hand, plucking it from the air he had managed to suspend it in. Blue Paa'go, scavenged from that wreckage of a pub. Nobody would mind its disappearance.

Kithanan - ''Apparently, they're not just blindly charging in. They're working for a guy they called the Perfectionist.'' Quendor - ''Interesting. So the Corruptus is preparing to strike now?'' Kithanan - ''They seem to be going on the offensive rather than just random attacks. They're organized, planning their attacks. Gotta say though, their strategies aren't the best.'' Quendor - So that Perfectionist isn't that perfect after all, huh. Kithanan - ''That or his soldiers are just incompetent. A few Malcaeum and a Balanar, it feels like he wants to give me a small warm-up before the main event.'' Quendor - We must be wary then.

Quendor turned his head to Kithanan. Scars. His face was covered in scars. His cheeks, his muzzle, his forehead, his ears, all of it scarred. But perhaps the most noticeable scars were his eyes, or lack thereof. What Kithanan saw, most people would try to hide. Kithanan looked into Quendor's black, eyeless sockets as his eyebrows moved into a position of aggression. It happened many years ago, back when the New Dawn was still accepted as such. A horrific accident, an infestation. It was the victory of a conflict that cost Quendor his eyes, a battle between perhaps one of the more dangerous beasts of the late tyrannical madman known as Kol Daren, whose efforts for godhood contributed to Andromeda's catastrophic spiral downfall. He wore nothing to cover up his black sockets, he felt no shame or embarassment in them, nor any real consideration for others about it.

Quendor - The Corruptus does not come alone. Kithanan - ''Wary? Of what? They've never been a problem for us before, why would they be now?'' Quendor - ''There are... others. The Mali'Nar.'' Kithanan - ''Oh, those guys. I remember them. They proved much more of a challenge than any Corruptus demon, that's for sure. Heh, I'm hoping they join in.'' Quendor - ''Huh. "Challenge". I was once like you, Kithanan...''

A smile emerged upon Quendor's face. A century has not been good for him, a mix of aging and scarring had ruined most of his physical image. However, this did not bother him even in the slightest. He simply remembered the days of his youth, as if he was playing a movie within his head. His memory had not failed him. He was a young, devoted fighter back in those days, willing to take on even the most powerful of enemies just to prove he would fight to protect those he truly cared about. Thoughts of his mother soon came to mind, he was quick to evade in order not to ruin the mood.

Quendor - Where are we going then? Kithanan - ''Anywhere but here. I cannot be bothered to do a repeat of what just happened, it gets boring quick. How about Alkhuse Strip? You know, that place with those fancy waiters and the cyber-Radeon dancers? I hear they also have some Paa'go there, if you got the money for it.'' Quendor - ''Good idea. Let's go!'' Kithanan - ''Good. Oh and uh, take your time. I want to go have a lay down.''

The co-ordinates had been set, the destination selected. Quendor leaned back in the rather comfortable seat of the Eventide Sorrow. This seat once belonged to somebody else, an experienced captain and once his superior. However, she wasn't here anymore. It was just Quendor now, the last living member of the New Dawn crew. Generations had come and gone, Quendor was by himself once more. He didn't mind much, he liked the silence and the peace. He liked not having to live a hectic lifestyle upon this ship anymore. However, he wished it was for different circumstances, better circumstances.

Within minutes, the ghost ship vanished, a lone speck of light in the dark galaxy.

While many have given up their hopes and dreams in order to simply survive in the Andromedan wasteland, one burning candle has not yet extinguished, but instead glows brighter than ever before. Billions of people have lost their families, property and money within the first years of the Depression, yet they continue to grasp ahold of their lives dearly. What would have persuaded them not to give up the only thing they had left? What caused them to hold onto life instead of throwing it away for a perhaps better future in death?

...Religion. A common hope for salvation and redemption. A united, organized cause to carry on and fight for something other than money and survival. Refugees from all across the Andromedan fields have gathered to follow the teachings and scriptures of perhaps one of the most infamous religious factions that had ever existed within Andromedan society, a faction once dedicated to keeping the balance in their favour and doing what they believed was right, utilizing any and all methods to achieve this goal. The Grand Inquisition of Drakon, Andromeda's once most secretive and mysterious organization. The Depression had not spared them, either. They had become overwhelmed and small, although not due to the Depression itself. Many years ago, perhaps at the start of the Depression, the Inquisition faced the full fury of two entities; a demonic being, whose rage made him nigh-invincible to nearly all normal methods of death and injury, and a fallen angel, who wished for nothing more than to enlighten his kind and break the corrupt bonds of the Inquisition. In the end, the Grand Inquisition was shattered and they lost nearly everything. The Reliquary and the Realm of Absolution were lost in time and space, with no hope of access ever again. Everything was lost and forgotten.

The Inquisition still held a considerable number of worlds, hidden by advanced technologies which were scavenged from the remains of the pre-Depression Inquisition. Upon these worlds, refugees and orphans were taken care of and nourished, as well as being given a purpose in their life from the readings and tells of Drakon, the almighty deity that the Draconis race had revered to in their times of need. The Inquisition were his angels, his holy knights of fire. This tradition carried on far into the Depression, despite the breaking of the Inquisition's society and organization. A phoenix, risen from the ashes of galactic collapse. This was evident upon one thriving world, as two Inquisitors docked their ship and approached an impressive building, designed with religious architecture and sturdy structure. The grass outside was bright green, the skies were a lovely bright shade of blue and there was not a cloud to be seen for miles.

One of the Inquisitors was a new recruit in comparison with his partner. This Inquisitor was young, not even reaching his first century just yet as he was around 87 years old and fresh out of training, he was equipped with standard Inquisitorial technology and weaponry. His partner and mentor was a grizzled old man, somewhere within his 200s. He had a sad expression upon his elderly face as he watched the youth and healthy adults enjoying themselves under the good weather, free from the threat of annihilation and death at the hands of demonic entities and pirates. They approached the Temple of Saint Aradensia, one of the leading figures of the Inquisition in these dark days. The temple contained several stories and many rooms to hold the refugees who needed the shelter, though only so long as they revered to the name of Drakon and promised to live under his words and promises. The veteran Inquisitor was old enough to remember the days before the Depression, when the Imperium was a mighty galactic superpower that was rivalled by only so few empires across the Gigaquadrant. But this only brought on an upsetting nostalgia, he knew the galaxy that existed a century ago was a crumbled shadow, just a mere memory of a memory. The younger recruit possessed no recollection of the time before the Depression aside from vocal stories and history books. He looked into the veteran's eyes and saw his pain, although he could not fully understand it as he had not experienced life before the Depression and was born some time after its beginning. He smiled at the refugees, who gratefully waved back at him as he passed with smiles on their faces.

Recruit - ''Mentor, what ever is the matter? It is not like you to appear sad on a report check.'' Veteran - ''It's nothing. Old memories visiting me, that's all.'' Recruit - Do they visit you often, mentor? Veteran - Sometimes, mostly it comes fom a time before you were born. Recruit - ''I have dreams sometimes, mentor. Of spires that reach into the sky, with entire cities made of gold. Was it ever like this before I was born?''

Hearing this, the old war hose was almost speechless. Out of shame, he turned himself away, looking saddened by the recruit's words. He winced as though pained, an expression upon his face that would usually signify the beginning of a bout of crying and tears. He did not like remembering the past, the time before the Depression. It distracted him, he thought, conjuring what was essentially a dream. But his student asked a question and he had an obligation.

Veteran - ''...It-- it was. Spires of glass and gold, stretching out infinitely, your every wish granted by machines...compared to now it may as well be a dream.'' Recruit - ''What happened to the Inquisition, mentor? I heard it used to be larger than now, with many more brothers and sisters at our sides. Did Drakon lower our numbers?'' Veteren - ''Our Order's task has always been dangerous but in the last century things became even more difficult. It was as though the infernal realms had opened their maw to Andromeda and flooded us with all manner of demons and corrupting forces. Even those who take shelter here were most-likely affected. But we must do what our Order has been doing since its foundation. We cannot waver, especially not in these dark times.'' Recruit - ''I heard some of the older brothers speaking about daemons the other night and a man called "Tyraz Breek" appeared in the conversation. When I asked who he was, the older brothers scolded me for being up so late and sent me to my chambers.'' Veteren - ''That's a pre-Depression name. But the less you know of him now the better. Only know that his actions have caused little other than chaos for the galaxy. One of the worse threats came directly from him.''

The young recruit lowered his head in silence and sadness, a gut feeling that the knowledge he desired was to be kept in darkness away from him, like the times of the pre-Depression were forbidden to be talked of and his dreams were a simple tease. As the two Inquisitors approached the temple, they could see a group of six guards gathered outside. They were female Inquisitors, they were obviously young judging by their size although their faces were hidden by rather intimidating and fierce helmets. They carried pole weapons, designed to utilize plasma energy as well as brutal melee techniques.

Veteran - ''Look, I'm sorry. I did not mean to tread on your dreams but...for me the less I recall of that time the better. It is in the past and we must focus on the present.'' Recruit - It is fine, mentor...After all, despite my dreams, it sounds like the place was riddled with heretical filth and scum.

The veteran chuckled at the recruit's remark. It was a similar attitude to most of the recruits that he had seen in his two centuries of life, in fact he also had this attitude back when he was the recruit's age. However, time had ran its course and the constant stench of death and suffering had transformed his cocky and confident attitude into passing thoughts of sadness and negativity, the dying embers of happy memories.

Veteran - ''It had its upsides, things were a lot more peaceful, especially after the First War. Such a glorious time it was. I'm sure there are digital books and holoprograms about it. Sadly such things are becoming rare.'' Recruit - ''But we're Inquisitors, Drakon's last battallion! We don't need things like that to keep us going. They can take everything, even our lives, and we'll keep fighting! That's an Inquisitor's way, right?''

The veteren smiled at the young recruit's fire. He was confident, a good trait for an Inquisitor as the tasks they would be facing often involved horrifying and scarring aspects. At the same time he saw something else; he realised deep-down he was tutoring another killer, another murder. That was all the Inquisition had become these days; executioners for the sake of order and decency, as well as survival. At one time they were trained in diplomacy, or as infiltrators. But now the only thing they could do reasonably was kill and hurt. The veteren himself was an ancient relic, an example of an age now lost and nearly forgotten. As he gave a pained, forced smile to the recruit, all eyes turned to another figure who emerged from the temple. He was tall, he was muscular, he was very physically imposing. The recruit looked to figure and almost immediately stopped in his tracks. Despite his courage and bravery, he felt nervous around this particular individual. He stood taller than both of the other Inquisitors, with impressive armour and a powerful atmosphere and aura around him. In fact, the female Inquisitors that guarded the entrance even felt a shiver go down their spine from the mere sight of him.

The muscular Inquisitor caught sight of the veteran and walked over with thumping footsteps. Everything about him radiated power, his body, his eyes, his armour, his weapons, his presence. He stopped, towering over both the recruit and the veteran and gave a respectful nod to the latter, a warm smile on his face as he did so.

Veteran - Afternoon brother.

The younger, far-less experienced recruit gulped. In one single motion, he swallowed his pride and submitted his confidence to this figure. He bowed, an incredibly nervous look upon his face as he did so out of politeness, respect and outright fear. The recruit couldn't help but think about him. Something was definitely off about this Inquisitor, but it wasn't completely negative. It wasn't off in the sense of demonic or treacherous aspects, but more along the lines of power and energy, perhaps even along the same lines of...holiness.

Recruit - G-Good afternoon, father! Inquisitor - A new recruit, brother?

The Inquisitor's voice echoed throughout the area, yet it didn't seem to be the work of his vocoder. It seemed as if there was even power in his voice, resonating in the form of echoes as he spoke his divine words.

Veteran - ''The elders have asked me to take him under my wing. They told me he has the neccessary effectiveness and could excel.''

The Inquisitor lowered himself towards the recruit's height and reached out his armoured hand. He pinched the recruit's unarmoured jaw and looked at him from side-to-side, tilting the recruit's head to further examine him and taking a good observational analysis of his facial structure. As the large Inquisitor examined him, the recruit could hear a low but noticeable growl comming from him, something that intimidated him further. If he didn't know any better, he would have assumed the Inquisitor was about to rip his head off.

Recruit - M-May I ask...w-what exactly are you d-doing, father?

The Inquisitor examined for a few minutes further before standing back up on his two strong, muscular legs and looking back down at the young recruit. Another smile appeared across his face as he gave an acknowledging grunt and turned his sight back towards the veteran Inquisitor, who had watched the larger figure's analysis of the recruit.

Inquisitor - ''He has fire, and potentially strength. Good.''

The young recruit rubbed his jaw once the Inquisitor had let go and looked up at him with a look of discontent, although really he just wanted to run and escape from this. He didn't want to be here any longer than he should be. This Inquisitor was definitely different to others he had seen. While he had been taught for many years to fight by his mentor personally, the recruit had never been so nervous around a fellow Inquisitor in his entire life and probably never would be again.

Inquisitor - ''He still feels fear. I hope you plan to work on that.'' Veteran - ''I am doing my best, father. He has the passion and I will do my best to temper it.''

The Inquisitor chuckled slightly, looking back to the recruit with a smile. The recruit responded by taking a step or two back, in case the Inquisitor had plans to investigate his potential further. However, it seemed the larger Inquisitor had no further plan to even lay a finger upon the recruit as he turned back to the veteran. The recruit stepped back into his original place.

Veteran - You must have business elsewhere, I apologise if I have kept you waiting. Inquisitor - ''No need. I am in no hurry.''

The Inquisitor then stepped forward, walking past both the veteran Inquisitor and his student. However, he stopped for a moment and rested his hand on the recruit's unarmoured shoulder. A grin manifested upon his face and he produced a quiet, rather intimidating chuckle.

Inquisitor - I hope he survives past his tenth mission.

The recruit's scaled eyebrow raised and he looked towards the Inquisitor with a hint of confusion. However, before he could ask, the Inquisitor wandered away calmly and waved to the refugees outside, who waved back and said their goodbyes. The veteran chuckled and began walking towards the temple once again, followed reluctantly by his young student who appeared somewhat shaken by their encounter with the Inquisitor, almost comparable to somebody who has survived a vehicle crash.

Recruit - T-Tenth mission? Veteren - ''Like I said, our task is a dangerous one. Don't mind him.''

The young recruit looked back to his elderly mentor. The veteran Inquisitor saw the nervousness and slight hints of fear upon the recruit's face and chuckled, looking to the Inquisitorial female guards and approaching the entrance once more. These Inquisitor guards were virgin girls, selected from assigned parents within the Inquisition's ranks whose marital status was null, their intent for reproduction being not for love but for dedicated and loyal soldiers. These virgins were to remain unmarried and devoid of any form of romantic or sexual relationship, to save their physical energy purely for combat. The lack of sexual intercourse or romantic interaction meant neither vital nor excess energy was wasted away. They were always prepared for when a combat situation arose in their presence. They had been trained by experienced Inquisitors to remain indifferent to any form of interaction that wasn't a superior command or order. The young recruit looked to his mentor, though not to question the origin or purpose of the females.

Recruit - Did you sense it as well? Veteran - ''You mean his aura? I have sensed it before, we know each other in fact.'' Recruit - I have never seen a guy like him before...I may be young but I have been around many Inquisitors and none of them have ever displayed an aura like that! Veteran - ''He is a Templar. Five years ago, he agreed to partake in a special programme to make him a more capable warrior against demons and the like. That aura is part of the result.'' Recruit - ''A Templar? What sort of process did he go through? What makes him...different to everybody else? I mean, aside from his muscles, height and aura...he looks like any normal Inquisitor.'' Veteran - ''That is...classified. It is perhaps better that way. You will learn one day but for security's sake we cannot have everyone knowing how such warriors come to be. Know that if he wanted to, he could have crushed your skull as easily as you would a plastic cup. What makes him different is what he was given under this programme.''

The recruit gulped, his questions falling silent, as did his voice. He quickly turned his eyes back towards the temple, staring upon the Inquisitior entrance guards. They were around his age, but he knew they had decades-worth of experience, experience that he wouldn't be able to match as of this current moment. He nodded to them in respect, receiving nothing back, not even worth a stare. He simply walked past them with his mentor, entering the holy structure he had been assigned to check and write a report on. Inside, a great crowd was dispersing, as if they had just been gifted with a religious service, teaching or ceremony. The attendants were of both Draconis and alien origin, a few noticeable races being seated here and there. In exchange for shelter, food and hygiene, they had pledged their alleigance and beliefs in the words of the Path of Drakon, uniting under a common cause without the need to fight or conflict with one another. Not only were the agents and soldiers of the Inquisition trained to fight and kill heretical scum and daemonic monsters, they had also become beacons of hope for the lost refugees of harsh Andromeda through the teachings and stories of Drakon and his followers. In effect, the Inquisitors were Drakon's messenger angels.

The veteran stood up straight and smiled happily and positively as people filed out of the church. As they passed him and his student, the veteran offered his condolences, best-wishes and gratitudes to those who had attended to the service today. Many, if not all, of the people who had come here today had lost their families, friends and loved ones amidst the chaos the Depression, with their only hope now being in Drakon and his pure, bright faith.

Recruit - ''I never knew Inquisitors gave services like this. I thought we were simply weapons of Drakon's will.'' Veteran - ''That is one aspect of us. Another is that we must give people hope. At one time, that duty was left to the clerics that lived in monastaries like this. With so many either suffering, dying or out to war, it must fall to us to hold peoples' faith. Strength offers as much hope these days as passion and dignity. Perhaps more.'' Recruit - ''Heh, I hope I don't get shipped off to work in a monastery like this! My place is on the battlefield, crushing worthless cultists like they were paper, not standing around all day.'' Veteran - ''Inquisitors are adaptable. If you want to be useful you must tolerate being able to perform both tasks.'' Recruit - ''Well...I guess you're right, mentor. Hey, maybe one day, I could be like that Templar! Surely the process is voluntary?'' Veteran - It was when he took it, but times change so fast these days...one day it may not be.

At that point, the elder turned his head and refrained from making eye-contact with the young Inquisitor. A shudder rolled up his spine like a freezing chill and his voice became rather quiet. This was an indication that the process of Inquisitor to Templar was not an easy, appealing or attractive process, perhaps even horrifying and emotionally and physically scarring. He would rather not imagine the youngster going through such a process, it was an upsetting thought.

Recruit - ''Well, I think we should go get some rest. I wonder where the Templar guy is going though, do you think he has been called out on a mission?'' Veteran - ''Most-likely. They are one of the Inquisition's most powerful assets these days, but to become one is not easy, so they must be effectively everywhere.'' Recruit - ''Must be a pretty important mission if a Templar's being called out. I don't imagine they're used very often, especially nowadays.'' Veteran - Only when things become their most dire are they called into service.

The youngster looked up in silence. At the altar of the holy monastery, a long, fierce dragon curled itself around one of the monastery's major supporting pillars. The dragon itself was carved out of gold and other exotic materials, with diamond-encrusted eyes, bejewelled jaws of intense size and ferocity and a tongue marked with a single, significantly large, shining blue sapphire of amazing size and value. Dragons had always been symbolic in Draconid imagery and structure, considered manifestations of Drakon himself. The young Inquisitor had been brought up to believe he was an agent on a mission from Drakon himself, yet as he stood here before Drakon's golden manifest, he felt like little more than a mere insect. Just a small concept of how powerful the Templar was and what missions he had endured in his time as one of the Inquisition's greatest assets scared the young Inquisitor, the thought that he had no chance in this reality against this divine and holy sword of Drakon's sword made him feel insignificant, despite the fact him and his fellow Inquisitors were all that brought hope to the people of Andromeda in this abyssal end of days.

Part 3
Alkhuse V, an extraordinarily large gas giant that resided within the Alkhuse System, a system formerly under the protection and residence of the Divinarium, otherwise known by titles such as the Masaari Crusade or the Church of Spode for good reason. The Divinarium was constructed and guided on the foundations of religion, a zealous movement and cause to believe in. However, the bonds of Spode's faith had not lasted the Depression like the Path of Drakon. Instead, the Divinarium had become splintered and fractured into many seperate factions, nearly all of them corrupt and forsaken, blind to the comfort that Spode once offered to his worshippers. Even the purest of Spode's worshippers, the, had surrendered their fate and accepted the End of Days. There was no afterlife, there was no divine truth, there was only darkness within the deepest depths of their souls and hearts. Most Radeon now find their place not in Spodist monasteries, but within pleasure churches and brothels, their bodies corrupted and ruined by performance-enhancing drugs and machinery. The only comfort they saw was in money and enhancement, not faith or tradition. They had gone from the fanatical but proud warriors of Spode, to whores and addicts of Andromeda.

The Eventide Sorrow, alongside many other large, cruiser-class ships that had been around since before the Depression, were rendered dormant and parked within the skies of Alkhuse VB, the giant's second moon and the most colonized out of the two. The moon was covered in snow, with environmental factors placed here many eons ago by the Radeon although since the start of the Depression it has began to malfunction and transform the world from a once lush and shining forest into a cold, dead wasteland that was marked with small cities and towns across the landscape. The majority of the native population here was Radeon, their society dominated by the rules and trademarks of capitalism and gang rivalry. Sabotage was everyone's business now, especially that of the Radeons. They had become the money-grabbing plague of the Gigaquadrant, alongside pirates and mercenaries.

The snowfall was light today. Here, it was always night, never day. This world had not been touched by sunlight for a long while, lit only by large generated lights that covered the edges of streets but even they would soon die, since they required solar power to continue running. Kithanan and Quendor trudged through the snow-covered ground, it was up to their knees. Nobody had decided it would be a good idea to clear up the streets, although there really was no place to put the snow. It would have just crowded back up again after a storm or such. The grizzled duo approached a moderately-sized building, designed to withstand the cold temperature and weather. Kithanan had noticed a large amount of skycars parked nearby, most of which looked worn down and tattered although there was one there that actually looked like something somebody would be proud to own, even in pre-Depression times. It was a miracle seeing something worth owning in times like this.

Kithanan - ''Seems to be a busy night tonight. Heh, ever since the Divinarium fractured, the money has just been flowing since, at least for your people anyway.'' Quendor - ''Huh. I visited this world when I was a teen... everything has changed since then. I can feel it... well... It is hard to describe to a non-Radeon.''

Quendor stopped for a second, as if trying to remember what he had felt back then, as well as trying to figure out a way of wording it. Dual-thinking was not exactly Quendor's specialty, although he did try.

Kithanan - All I can feel is the smell of skank. Quendor - ''It's... an aura. When you came to a Divinarium city, you could feel it. The collective devotion of all its inhabitants... it compelled, compelled you to serve the Divinarium, to believe... and that aura is gone. No more cause in anyone's heart.''

Kithanan released an amused chuckle and turned his head slowly to Quendor, before placing a gentle hand on his scarred shoulder and shaking him softly for a moment as if to break him out of some sort of hypnosis or memory trance. Kithanan disliked it when Quendor dozed off into his little historical and philosophical lessons.

Kithanan - ''The old days of tradition are gone Quendor. Nobody has time for tradition anymore, or culture.'' Quendor - ''I know. Just saying.'' Kithanan - Come on, no use dwelling on something you can't see or feel anymore.

Kithanan let out another chuckle of amusement as he trudged on through the snow and approached the entrance to the Alkhuse Strip building. One could detect the vile scent of cheap perfumes and fresh, low-quality medical enhancements from miles away, burning at their nostrils with the scent of decomposing flesh around the edges of machine parts. This had what the Radeon here had been reduced to. This smell was usually associated with prostitution, sex and other hedonistic acts of pleasure that would incinerate one's nostrils and eyes. The automatic door opened upon Kithanan's presence, although it was obvious that the door not been standing against the test of time or temperature well, as displayed by its stiffness upon opening. Above the door were words written in Radeon translation, lit brightly by neon lights that had been installed into each letter.

Quendor - ''Back in my days, this place was a theater. My father liked it.'' Kithanan - I thought for an advanced society, they would've had this door fixed by now. Quendor - ''Duh. All the advanced ones had left these worlds long ago. Enjoying civilisation on their huge starships while leaving the rest of the species to rot. Disgusting.''

Kithanan and Quendor stepped forward beyond the door into a small, claustrophobic and compact space which led forward towards another interior door, which itself would lead into the main hall. Even with the door closed, the two of them could hear boistrous cheering, thumping and pounding music and cries of excitement, as if escaping from the mouths of females. The duo felt a warm breeze enter the space as the exterior door closed, trapping them inside for a few warming seconds until the interior door opened itself to reveal all the activity within this large hall. They walked through and all they could see were huge crowds of people, gathered into a single space and hording themselves around glowing platforms, all hoping to get a glance at the dancers, a majority of which consisted of mechanically-altered Radeon women. They exposed their nude, thin bodies up against cold, metal poles in rather erotic styles to provoke the male crowd beneath them. Their bodies were a whole flurry of colours, brought on by the flashing lights and lit-up platforms that they danced upon. Kithanan was not so easily distracted by this, although he did not dislike this feeling. A bar could be seen nearby through the immense horde of testosterone, selling exotic drinks that possessed a large variety of flavours, temperatures and colours.

Quendor - ''Wow. This place has a lot of minds within it. Mostly filled with... eh...'' Kithanan - Yep, definitely the smell of skank...Hedonism and nudity at its finest. Quendor - ''I can only sense the former. No eyes, you know.'' Kithanan - You're missing a lot of ass.

At the far end of this mass of arousement was one particular dancer. She was not of the Radeon nor cyborg sort, instead appearing near-completely organic on the exterior. She was of the Zazane race, her scales of a pinkish hue and colour which went alongside her slim, lithe, well-toned body shape, although it was evident she possessed at least a moderate amount of muscular tissue, though one could expect this from most female Zazane. This trait showed how healthy and active one was. In the eyes of both Zazane and aliens, she was beautiful, a golden prize. Around her, men were engulfed in a powerful stink of pheromones that wafted off her body as she danced against the cold steel pole, moving gracefully and fluidly as if her entire body was liquid or some other form of substance that went beyond physical. It didn't take much for her body to become the magnet for Kithanan's eyeballs, as they were drawn to her almost immediately. She had gained his attention much easier than any of the other life-wasters in the hall, they were easy bait, nothing but trash and low-quality merchandise. A short laugh escaped his jaws as he approached the bar with Quendor, shoving and pushing past people within the crowds as they launched money and other materials at the dancers, most of which consisting of undergarments and items of clothing.

The pink female turned her head for just a single moment. This was all it took for her to catch a glimpse of the rather noticeable Kithanan, he could be easily identified through the jumping and cheering crowd. She had managed to catch him off-guard, albeit slightly, as he did not expect her to turn her attention towards him for a single moment. Within the space of a second or two, eye-contact was made and a wink was passed from the unknown female. Kithanan was left speechless for just a few moments, before turning to his comrade, a smile upon his face.

Kithanan - Hey Quendor, you getting "filthy" tonight? Quendor - ''Hm... Not sure about that.'' Kithanan - I've caught myself a juicy fish tonight, looks like she's up for a bit of rough and tumble.

Kithanan turned his attention back to the bar counter and grabbed a random shot, filled with an orange-red liquid that tasted incredibly strong, a hint of citrus alongside the texture. The man who had originally bought the drink was not watching at the time, his mind distracted by a next-to-nude Radeon nearby, although even if his mind was focussed on his drink Kithanan wouldn't really have cared for it, he would have taken it anyway. He just needed something to persuade him to go through with this idea, a tribute to the old term "you only live once", often used by degenerate, street-native scum. In the corner of the hall, a large, red-scaled Draconis sat at a small table. In his hand, a glass fit for a few pints of perhaps the strongest of alcohols being sold at this pleasure resort. When he had the chance, his eyes moved to the side to take quick, short glimpses at Kithanan, who was quickly approaching a certain platform. To Quendor, the aura of this peculiar individual seemed somewhat...off, although the auras of all the other individuals in the room disrupted his senses somewhat. The Radeon's eyes were focussed on Kithanan as he approached his destination.

Quendor - That ug- oh, yes, you're a Zazane.

To Quendor, he could not help but notice something rather off-putting about not only the Draconis' aura, but also that of the pink Zazane. For one, most prostitutes or "essence thieves" didn't have much of a noticeable aura, yet the Zazane female happened to possess one of seemingly immense strength and individuality, something Quendor didn't see too often in most people. Kithanan was now just a meter or so away from her platform, he had definitely caught her eye. A smile spread across her face, revealing her long, sharp, glistening jaws and a crimson tongue, large for even a Zazane. She continued the process of her erotic and suggestive dancing ritual up against the pole, her feet stamping upon whatever materials were thrown at her, mainly money and men's underwear.

Quendor - ''Hm... For a thelramavinai... ''

Quendor coughed, slipping into his native Radessic tongue for just a moment.

Quendor - ''...She is... strong. A powerful mind.''

Kithanan budged his way through alien after alien until he managed to reach the platform, a relatively easy feat considering his natural physical strength. At the base of the platform, money, credits and underwear had gathered into puny hills. Not one to waste such an opportunity, Kithanan reached down and grabbed a pile of credits and notes, coming back up with an equivalent to around 2000 credits at least. A grin on his face, Kithanan looked up and whistled to the Zazane dancer. Her attention was instantly captured once more, as his whistle echoed over the cheering and shouting of the crowds below her.

Kithanan - And what would your name be, lady? Zazane - ''You can call me... Blossom.'' Kithanan - Not very Zazane-like, then again who is nowadays?

Kithanan quickly raised a free hand up to her, making a slow gesture for her to take it with her own and come down to his level.

Kithanan - ''How about a round of "special treatment"? I feel like I have a cold coming in.'' Blossom - Private rooms are 500 Units an hour, cutie. Kithanan - I guess we're gonna be there for a looooong time.

As the two of them talked, the large Draconis peered up from his seat. His crimson eyes shined as he watched her take Kithanan's hand before being helped off the platform by him. The crowd began to cheer and exclaim remarks at the two of them, with many of the comments being inappropriate phrases and sexual innuendo. As this was going on, Quendor sat peacefully at the counter with a bottle of Paa'go in his hands, although his head quickly lifted and he whispered to himself to escape attracting attention.

Quendor - ''Huh. Wait... what's that? The feeling... reminds me of Althron.''

Her foot stepped onto the tiled floor, which had been layered and reinforced several times before the Depression. Kithanan could hear the sound of something cracking and thus looked down as his first reaction. When Blossom lifted her foot to walk, she had left a heavy imprint of her foot upon the tiled floor, shattering inches into the ground. It appeared that despite her slim, curvy and overall attractive figure, the weight she was carrying was more than met the eye, at least to most of the people within the club anyway, including Kithanan.

Kithanan - Damn lady, you're not one of *those* types of girl, are you?

Blossom's once sultry expression turned into a look of slight offence rather quickly upon Kithanan's comment. Zazane females were the same to other females in most aspects; they hate their weight, hate being ignored and always accuse the male of the relationship that it was his fault, no matter the situation. Although, at least they don't obsess over clothes, but rather the lack thereof. In many Zazane cultures, nudity was considered rather dishonourable to oneself yet females would go out of their way to appear the most physically appealing via wearing as much revealing and skimpy clothing as possible.

Blossom - "Those" types? Kithanan - Oh, it's nothing.

Upon seeing the two approaching the private area of the club, reserved only for VIPs, highest-paying customers and certain members of staff, the large Draconis stood up and finished whatever was left of his drink in one swift gulp. You didn't have to be sitting at the table to know that the glass had more than one pint left, yet all of it vanished within the space of a second or so. A look of determination upon his face, he began to weave his way through the crowd, shoving them out of the way violently yet blending in rather well as he muttered into an earpiece attached to the side of his head. As Blossom let out a giggle as she and Kithanan walked towards the back rooms, Kithanan had realized the Draconis had gotten up, he knew instinctively he was being followed. He wasn't blind to this sort of thing, he simply did not care much for it. He didn't even look back, not giving the Draconis the satisfaction of letting him know that he was alert to his presence.

Blossom - ''I hope your account is healthy. I'm not exactly cheap.'' Kithanan - I just hope you're worth paying for. Blossom - Oh don't worry, I am...

Blossom turned her head slightly, taking a swift glimpse at the Draconis following them. A small, unnoticeable smile spread across her jaws and she looked forward once more, with Kithanan pretending not to notice it. Blossom took a quick glympse behind to see the Draocnsi following them. She smiled out of Kithanan's view.

Kithanan - Good, clean service I hope.

It would have been warm, it would have been fierce. There would have been much thrusting and much pulling, much pushing and much pulling. This was the only real excitement that Andromeda had left to offer that didn't involve the thrill of killing, massacre and bloodshed, but yet it was still primitive and basic. Then again, with foul demonic beings and monsters having almost complete domination over the galaxy, people weren't as much people anymore as they were cattle or farm animals, so they acted like animals to gain their thrills. It would have been vigorous and aggressive, degrading and messy. It would have been, if it wasn't for an interruption. As the two of them walked towards a private room, they heard a *CLANK* nearby. Kithanan looked down and noticed it almost straight away. A metal ball, neatly designed, a logo or branding on its side, similar to a dragon. Beneath this logo, there were a few words, probably detailing its origin. "PROPERTY OF THE CORE SYN--"...

There was a bright light, blinding and disorientating. Everything was white for a few moments, Kithanan didn't know whether he was standing or had fallen on the ground. Suddenly, boom! That scent was in the air again. That scent of scum, that diseased smell of insidious criminals and mercenaries. Kithanan could recognize it from a mile away, although he wasn't a mile away. The Draconis' large, muscular arm had wrapped itself around Kithanan's throat tightly, keeping him still while the Draconis breathed his rotting breath down the back of his scaled neck. Kithanan's wings stayed folded, however. All that happened was that a cringe appeared upon his face.

Kithanan - ''Urgh! Manners these days...''

Kithanan felt himself pressed tightly against the Draconis' chest, his mighty hands wrapped around his head and poised in a position that indicated he was going to attempt a swift, quick and clean kill; he was going to snap Kithanan's head off, or rather, attempt to tear his entire head off his shoulders. Kithanan's cringe soon disappeared and was substituted with a smile as his eyes rolled around within his skull. Blossom was nowhere to be found. Just as well.

Draconis - ''Your head is worth a lot, mutant! And I could do with a new estate!''

The Draconis then moved his massive arms in the way someone usually would to snap a neck. He was laughing as he did, he had managed to secure himself a generous reward and rid Andromeda of one of its biggest scumbags, one of its nuisances, one of its biggest vermin. This was what would have happened if it went as smoothly as it should have. Half-way through the fatal neck twist, it stopped. He couldn't twist anymore, yet he didn't hear a snap or crack. It was as if he was trying to snap the head of a statue constructed of some kind of unbreakable material, yet he knew this guy was just flesh and bones!

Kithanan - ''I saw what you did there. Funny.'' Draconis - What--?

The desire to fly had always been imagined at some point by flightless species. It had been the foundations of empire all across the Gigaquadrant, inspiring them to build spacecraft and extend their reach to the stars above their very heads. The Draconis hadn't gone quite that far but he was definitely flying, though not on his own accord. The floor was left with something of a dent, though admittedly it sustained more damage this time than before when Blossom had stepped on it. In a spastic moment of anger, he slammed the floor and looked up at Kithanan, baring his mighty teeth and snarling aggressively like some sort of rabid dog.

Kithanan - ''I suggest you get out of here and leave me alone before I show you how much your head is worth. And I'll tell you now, it won't be a lot once I'm finished with you.''

The Draconis' lips rippled as his growl intensified. It was true, he really was a dog on a short leash. A stupid dog, a worthless mutt. If he was a clever dog, he would have crawled away with his tail between his legs. Instead, he mustered his strength and stood up, saliva dripping from his knife-filled maw. Kithanan responded to his rabid growling with an annoyed sigh, shrugging his shoulders casually as he noticed something emerging from the Draconis' hands; it was black, vapour-like energy. There was a tone of annoyance within the Zazane's voice as he spoke.

Kithanan - It's gonna be one of those nights, is it?

Kithanan's chest felt the full force of the Draconis' punch. You'd have to imagine a truck driving around at full speed, with its bumper made entirely out of concrete bricks in order to get just an idea about how much force was behind this punch. Kithanan found himself colliding with a variety of objects upon being at the receiving end of this strike, such as metal and wooden tables, chairs, people. Quendor sighed and slowly turned around from the bar counter, watching as Kithanan lifted himself up from the floor, bleeding quite a bit from the mouth and taking a moment to spit it out, spilling it onto the floor. The Draconis took the opportunity to approach Kithanan, a devilish smirk across his face. It soon vanished, however, as soon as Blossom's knife was plunged into his back with immense force. This didn't really do much, aside from annoy the Draconis even further, resulting in Blossom's leg being grabbed by his mighty, Descension-fuelled hand and thrown through the air like a ragdoll, crashing through a wall or two. It was only the grace of a cold, metal dance pole that stopped her launch, though the resulting impact meant the pole was no longer usable as it had just been bent in half with very little difficulty. Kithanan watched on and chuckled, slowly turning his head back to the approaching Draconis.

Kithanan - Damn, what drugs have you been using?

There was no vocal reply, aside from a few grunts and an excited roar. Typical hound. The hulking mass of Draconis ran at full speed, as if he had gone from a simply Draconis to an actual animal, born and bred to chase and hunt. Kithanan could have avoided in the blink of an eye, he could have countered his attack and have him against the nearest wall. But he didn't do any of that. The Draconis' hand wrapped itself around Kithanan's throat tightly, not letting go. Kithanan felt the choking sensation, he didn't resist. He could feel the black Essence against his scales and flesh, indeed it was very familiar. He had not seen somebody use this Essence for a long while, it was definitely thrilling to see an enemy using it after so long. Of course, the demons used this Essence but...a mere man? He stole a moment to take in this foe's ability, to analyze the situation.

SLAM!

A crater had formed. The Draconis smirked down at Kithanan with a wide, aggressive grin. Kithanan let out a quiet gasp as the Draconis chuckled to himself, resulting in the Zazane receiving a fist against his head. And then another. And another. And another. Another. Blood spilled across the floor as the Draconis used its fist to smash against the well-defended crest upon Kithanan's face, black Essence leaking from the dragon's scales as the punches became faster, stronger, bloodier. Two minutes, that was how long the crowd had been watching for, both civilians, staff and whores alike. The bloodbath was soon filled, the Draconis stopped. Lifting his bloodied hand, he got to his feet. In the grips between his large fingers, he held Kithanan's beaten, bloodied and bruised face. The monster that had beaten the soul out of this messy pulp was so tall, Kithanan could not feel his feet touch the floor, that is if he could feel his feet at all.

Kithanan - ''Agh! Okay, okay...! Y-You beat me...''

The Draconis smiled, licking the blood from his scaled lips. He stared into Kithanan's eyes, growling proudly as he did as if to prove some sort of dominance over Kithanan. Kithanan could still feel the black energy leaking from the Draconis' hand, he could taste it, smell it. It was definitely what he thought it was. Descension, the process of sacrificing one's soul and being towards becoming a new entity, as well as gaining several benefits such as nigh-immortality, regeneration, enhanced strength. This Draconis had lost himself, he was little more than a bug, leeching off a higher source of power to sustain his own. A parasite should be treated like a parasite.

Quendor - ''Hey, hey. Forgot about me?''

The Draconis swiftly turned and observed the Radeon smirking. His hands in his pockets, Quendor could feel the corrupted presence of the Draconis, it wasn't hard to find. The Draconis glared into Quendor's empty eye sockets, surprised by the Radeon's lack of eyeballs but also amused.

Quendor - Ah, so you're the source of the echo!

Quendor looked to the Draconis attacker and smirked deviously. Before the Draconis could register what had just happened, there was another dent upon the floor. Within the last few seconds, the Draconis had just been levitated off the ground and slammed against the floor tiles, as if he was a mere toy in Quendor's grasp. But Quendor didn't even touch the attacker, or at least not physically. From his mouth, a single word was released in a rather confident tone of voice.

Quendor - Telekinesis.

Kithanan, the bloodied and beaten Zazane, rose to his feet in an instant. His face had been devastated, his chest had been almost completely obliterated, his neck snapped and broken several times, his limbs slashed and incapacitated. They had been. Now, as Kithanan stands to his feet on his two strong legs, he appeared unwounded and unscathed, as if he was fresh into the battle. It appeared as if he had sustained no injuries at all. He was completely unharmed. His wounds did not simply heal, they had vanished completely. The Zazane looked to his Radeon companion and a jaw-filled smile spread across his face, which Quendor returned with a smile of his own.

The Draconis lifted himself off the ground, growling and seething with rage at both the Radeon's attack and the Zazane's mysteriously quick recovery. With anger-filled eyes, he looked to Quendor in a bestial manner. Using his large, clawed hands, he began to go into an all-out rage and ignited the tables around himself, before swinging and throwing them towards Quendor with the intent of both burning him and knocking him over. Unprepared for such an assault, the former Guardian of Light was knocked back and slammed against a wall. While most people would have been knocked unconscious with major burns across their body, Quendor was saved by the power of his armour's inbuilt shields as he dislogded himself from the wall and landed on two feet back on the floor. His patience had been tested and his thirst for revenge had now surfaced, he returned the snarling gesture back to the Draconis. Kithanan, meanwhile, shot at whatever tables were sent his way, exploding them into mere pieces of wood and metal and sending bullets straight at the Draconis, penetrating his sclaes. As he was shot with both plasma energy and Shidium bullets, he seemed to care little for it and he gave Kithanan a sly smirk, baring his large jaws.

Draconis - ''I'm surprised the Syndicate is offering so much for your body! You fight like a child.'' Quendor - ''Now it is... the Syndicate?''

The amused Draconis took a firm hold of a sword that had been strapped to his belt and wrenched it out with immense force. The blade made Kithanan chuckle, he had seen something similar in design. The sword's blade was engulfed in fiery Descension energy, incinerating the air around it and making it appear more fierce. With a flick of his wrist, a ribbon of fire was sent through several nearby tables, igniting them quickly and effectively. The Draconis wore a smile upon his face as he held the sword. All this made Kithanan chuckle, followed by a rather devious, yet terrifying, smirk which spread across his jaws. This smirk was something Quendor had learned to fear, he had seen this before. The result of this smirk often meant not only trouble, but destruction and death.

Kithanan - ''A mercenary, sent by a joke of a military organization. All they really are is a group of glorified criminal scum!'' Draconis - ''Watch your tongue. boy.''

As the Draconis spoke, Kithanan outstretched his hand. The tips of his claws began to burn, smoke and fire quickly becoming visible as it spread from his claws to his palm. Kithanan felt his hand burning, as if it was being charred constantly over and over, although he didn't mind in the pain, he loved it. His eyes narrowed upon the second phase of this action. From the fires that burned at Kithanan's palm, everybody gasped out in shock as the fires extended at the sides, burning through the air and incinerating particles. The fire that had erupted out of his hand shaped itself into a more familiar form; a sword, an incredibly long sword. It's appearance was striking, horrifying. The blood of those nearby began to boil at the mere sight of the blade. This was no ordinary sword, this was not even an ordinary Essence-enhanced sword; this was a Firesword. The smile that the Draconis once wore soon dropped into an expression of horror and disbelief.

Quendor - Uh oh...

Quendor ran to the nearest exit, pushing past innocents and prostitutes as he did. He moved swiftly, despite not having any eyes, though it didn't matter much since he could see through the use of his psychic potential. The Draconis analyzed Kithanan's blade for a moment or two, before readying himself into a defensive stance. Perhaps it wasn't a good idea to pick a fight with this one.

Draconis - I wonder how long you have been swinging that thing around... Kithanan - You know what they say, don't you...? Draconis - What? Kithanan - If you can't take the heat...

Kithanan slowly raised his right arm, his blade-holding arm. The fiery blade was now being held above Kithanan's head, the aura around the room had become immensely hot. People stood back as he held the sword up for all to see. The Draconis, however, let out a hearty laugh at Kithanan's chuckle.

Draconis - ''Boy. I've thrown people into the furnace!'' Kithanan - ...Stay out of the KITCHEN!

With a casual downwards flick, there was hell. Everything in front of Kithanan had turned to hell. Chairs were scorched, tables were roasted, poles and machinery melted, people were incinerated, everything was being reduced to little more than ash. The only way the Draconis had avoided this painful, suffering death was because he had leaped out of the way in time, although not even he emerged unscathed. The left side of his body was seared with the demonic hellfire, rather painfully. Everything in front of Kithanan was engulfed in ruinous flames. Kithanan turned his head slightly to watch as the Draconis charged at him, swing and slashing his sword in varying directions, unleashing ribbon upon ribbon of fire from his Descension-based blade. These fires were nothing compared to Kithanan's blade, perhaps mere sparks if they were hot enough.

The Firesword slashed once more upon a mere flick of his wrist. It was stronger this time, evidenced by the larger ribbon of horizontal fire that completely oblitered the Draconis' blade, melting it and transforming it into nothing more than mere ashes that vanished with the wind. The transformation and degradation was almost instant. Quendor watched this from the safety of a wall, behind Kithanan's back. He would rather not get involved in these fights, collateral damage was a common result and he didn't want to be part of it. It did not matter how close they have become in time, Kithanan would not stop for anything. It was as if Kithanan became the manifestation of the meaning of the word "damage" itself when he engaged others in battle. One would not be far off.

The Draconis was knocked back in shock as his sword became nothing more than dust, but he continued his charge. Syndicate agents were near-zealous in completing their mission objectives, it did not matter if death became an obstacle, they would not die without making at least the smallest of efforts. This was their way of life, yet this was no warrior philosophy. Any sane or smart man, even a warrior, would not risk his entire being just to complete a mission. They would have chose the easy option of escape or suicide, not continue to fight and provoke this incarnate of pain and damage. The Firesword, within mere moments, was reduced to just tiny flares as Kithanan switched to another weapon upon his person; the glowing, shining dagger that radiated with bright, pure Essence. The Draconis went in for a tackle, but was met only with pain. An intense pain as the dagger's blade, connected to the handle by a long, seemingly infinite chain of Essence, pierced through his scaled shoulder, splattering his black blood across the floor. The blade's presence within his body disrupted his own Essences, they began to fluctuate negatively and react violently to this mirror energy that had just breached into his being.

Kithanan's terrible grin transformed, evolving and twisting into a rotten, wicked laugh that shook every air molecule to its very core. As blood spilled and spat out of the Draconis' wound, he found himself lifting off the air, as if he had been placed upon a rollercoaster with no ticket, no seat, no track, no willingness. Kithanan swung the agent across the room at the end of the Essence chain, slamming his tough body against walls, floors, people and poles, hoping to break his body in almost every aspect. Shatter his bones, bruise his scales, damage his brain, explode his eyeballs, crush his horns, have his body ache from intense pain all over. As this occured, Blossom had regained consciousness from her impact and opened her eyes to witness the corrupted Draconis in mid-air, at the end of a chain of light, slamming into every possible object. All the while, Kithanan laughed. It was horrid, it was manic. He enjoyed this sensation of receiving and dealing pain, killing and slaughtering those who were not worth life.

He grabbed the chain. The Draconis had enough of this "game" as it was seen by Kithanan. Upon touching the extended chain of Essence light, he felt the intense beams burst through his skin scales and start to char his hand. Descension was the way of Essences that corrupt and malform, yet even though he had been a twisted monster of dark magics already, the light furthered his disfigured and unnatural appearance through burning sears and purification of the Essences within his dark soul, not only destroying what trace of Descension was there but also his soul alongside. To add more pain to his injuries, Kithanan decided that he too has had enough. The chain withdrew back to the handle, the dagger going back with it. The Draconis was sent flying across the room, a dragon who has not yet earned his wings, or rather has had them injured and wrecked beyond repair. The wall that the Draconis crashed through was several layers of strong alloy, designed to keep out the cold and contain the warm. Not even bullets of Shidium grade could get through all the layers of these walls.

It is amazing what momentum can do.

Kithanan - You'd better run, boy, before I call you back for a round two.

The Draconis found himself panting and spluttering, his bones broken and his flesh torn with a burning Essence gash that went from his shoulder to his chest. His blood stained his skin, his clothes and the body of a rather expensive looking skycar that had been parked their before Kithanan's arrival. At least, that was what it was until the mass and speed of the Draconis had crushed it completely, totalling and flipping all the neighbouring cars alongside it. This was the collateral damage Kithanan usually caused. It was almost as if he had intentionally aimed for this particular vehicle, as revenge against somebody who somehow managed to find a way to not only ensure their own survival but also find ways to gain or claim a position at the top of the foodchain, evidenced by the fact they could afford to blow their money on things they don't particularly need yet buy anyway in order to create a higher and more important image of themselves. Kithanan disagreed with the ideas of value and supported the ideals of survivalism. Nobody needed nice things. Blossom had been injured in the fight, being thrown against a solid pole of alloy does that. Instead of running to Kithanan to give him a reward for saving her life from the Syndicate madman who decided to screw around with him, the Zazane whore had gone outside to get a good view of the steaming pile of junk that the skycar had become, topped with a fine decoration of a dying Draconis.

Kithanan - ''Hey lady, where you going? I sorted him out just fine, he won't hurt you.''

Blossom stopped in her tracks for a moment, before pacing towards the large, steaming hole in the wall. She gave a simple glare to Kithanan as she did, her stare was one that would both arouse and scare full-grown men. She was authorital, she was strong. Yet, for some reason, her glare appeared false. As if it wasn't really real, or there.

Blossom - None of your business.

The Draconis was partial-way through lifting himself off the smoking wreckage that was once a car. His bullet injuries were healing slowly, the flesh struggling to pull itself together. The Essence wound wasn't so easy, it continued to burn and sear his flesh as the two Essences conflicted within his body, his tainted blood spilling from the immense injury. Blossom teeth bared as she saw it, clamping her jaw with enough strength to bite off her own tongue like a vice. She watched the red, bloodied Draconis picking himself off the car - her car.

Blossom - Please tell me he didn't! Kithanan - ''Wow, seems like she's in a bad way. Heh, perhaps she's still sore over the fact she's one of *those* girls.''

She approached the Draconis, who could do nothing but crawl. His body had been broken in almost every way, a cruel fate to bestow upon a creature so powerful. Draconis were not meant to crawl, they were living powerhouses and yet this one could not even stand upon his own two feet, despite the fact that he had a big advantage over the rest of his kind. He was shown no mercy as the immensely angry Zazane seethed with a burning rage, leaking pure anger as she lifted her foot above the agent's head and slammed it down. Kithanan's ears rung with the sound of the Draconis' skull being crushed. She continued to stamp her foot more and more, growling as she massacred the corpse. She only stopped when there was nothing more to crush, all that was left was a broken and bloodied mess rather than a solid head. It stained the snow, though it would not have been the first bloodstained patch in this area. The Zazane was panting and growling furiously, wiping her foot across the ground to remove it of any bits of flesh or some remnant of an organ.

Kithanan - Hey Quendor, what do you think is up with her?

Before the Radeon had a chance to reply, Blossom turned around to face the amused and humoured Kithanan, who was smiling and holding a half-filled bottle of yellow Paa'go. Her eyes flared in a state of absolute animosity, as if she was losing all senses that seperated her from a fierce and monstrous beast.

Blossom - What's FUCKING "up with me!?"

Kithanan placed a hand to his head and scratched his crest in an expression of confusion, shrugging his shoulders alongside. The blind Radeon walked towards Kithanan once he was certain the fight was over and tried to examine her mind with his telepathy, although obviously she was in such a rage that he couldn't make out clearly what it was.

Quendor - ''I have no idea. Her mind is way too strange.''

The female Zazane paced angrily towards the duo, her footsteps getting heavier and heavier, evidenced by their depth in the snow as well as the increasing volume of her stomping. Kithanan narrowed his eyes towards Blossom, something definitely was not right. The depth of her footsteps did not equal to her visible weight. But it began to make sense soon enough, as her flesh began to ripple like water, her scales appearing to be a false solid. As her skin rippled, one could see her legs and torso began to increase in height in a somewhat disturbing matter, like she had broken out of a watery shell. From her skin, spikes of considerable mass and size erupted and solidified. Replacing her slim and slender figure were swelling muscles which made her appear more masculine if it wasn't for her generous bust size.

Kithanan - ...She's one of *those* girls.

Perhaps the most disturbing of these changes was around the face. Not only did her crest and horns change in size, her large, glossy and attractive eyes were sucked and absorbed into her head, as if she had never had eyes in the first place. Just as this change occured, she had reached the adult delinquent that was Kithanan and would have glared down at him if she had the eyes to. Kithanan took a single step back, he had finally seen the full extent of her aura now. It was her hiding it in the first place that made him feel uncomfortable.

Quendor - Now that's what reminded me of Althron. Blossom - ''You think this is funny asshole!? Thanks to you, my car is now a wreck! I could have taken my target then and there, you ruined a strip club!'' Kithanan - ''Prositute-slash-stripper assassins? That's fucking awesome.''

Kithanan felt a firm, anger-filled hand wrap around his throat as he finished his comment. He could feel his feet lift off the ground and watched as he was brought closer to the monstrous Zazane's sharp, piranha-like jaws. They were made for shearing and serrating flesh, different to most Zazane teeth. He could smell the stench of her last meal as she breathed her warm breath onto him.

Blossom - ''Oh I hated posing around as whore! I'd rather gut hapless weaklings with my claws than deprive myself with them.''

Kithanan shrugged with an acknowledging grunt and moved his hand downwards, wrapping it around something solid and hard. He tugged at it multiple times before finally releasing. He raised his pistol upwards in his hand and slammed the barrel against the side of her impressive crest. There wasn't really much to look at on her face, so Kithanan's eyes wandered downwards towards her chest.

Kithanan - May I suggest putting me down before it's more than just a cap that goes into your ass?

At first denying him of this, she raised him up an extra few feet in her strong, muscular arm before opening her hand, allowing Kithanan to drop to the floor. Thinking he'd land on his back like most would have done, he landed on both feet and proceeded to maneuver himself backwards in a flip motion, standing in an upright position as he finished his little performance and placed his pistol away once he knew he didn't need it. The Zazane female grunted, still baring her teeth at him while her almost hung from her mouth as she panted to keep herself calm.

Sakura - ''By the way, my name isn't Blossom. It's Sakura.'' Kithanan - ''Sakura, huh? Heh, whatever you say, Blossom.'' Sakura - I hope you plan to compensate me for the destruction of both my car and a Corporation club. Kithanan - ''...Corporation? Huh, never knew Alkhuse was Corporation territory.'' Sakura - ''You'd be surprised. By the way, I am not interested in "that" kind of compensation. So you'd better bury that thought deep in your mind before I physically tear it out.'' Kithanan - ''Hey, I'm not in the best of moods either, you know! I just had my sex interrupted before it even began, followed by another fight today!''

Sakura huffed in annoyance and turned away from the two of them, walking several steps away to give herself some breathing space. She had a micro-earpiece connected to the side of her head, probably used for communication. Both Syndicate and Corporation agents used these, they were easy to make for them although many other smaller companies did not have the right equipment or resources for it. She was contacting none other than her benefactor, the one who had sent her to this decrepid, frozen wasteland.

Sakura - ''By the way boys. Keep your distance if you like your entrails inside your body. D, it's me.''

Kithanan gave Quendor an amused expression and chuckled. He could see Quendor was covered in dust and ashes, although Kithanan wouldn't even lend a hand in getting that of. It wasn't any of his concern if it got stuck in his fur and dirtied it. Kithanan could overhear the conversation the Sakura was having with her benefactor, he took at least a little interest in it.

Sakura - General Forstius is dead however there have been...complications. D - 'What sort of complications? I hope they're minor, at most.' Sakura - You are going to be dissapointed. D - Ugh...what is it now? Sakura - ''Kithanan was at the mission site. He did aid me in baiting the general but...not without losses. The club on Alkhuse V's lunar colony was destroyed with most of the staff dead or mortally wounded from severe burns. The brat also destroyed my car via the general.'' D - ...Have you informed him that you are an employee of the Corporation? Sakura - No. If I could guess I'd say he's not smart enough to work it out. D - 'You're right about that one. My only suggestion is to gain access to his vehicle and convince either him or his pilot to drop you off within Corporation territory, preferably my office.' Sakura - I see what you are suggesting...Yes. D - Oh, and Sakura. Sakura - Hm? D - I want you to provide any aid available to him, even if it costs you your life. Sakura - ...Excuse me? D - Are you questioning my authority, Yidda? Sakura - But...The first time we met he was convinced I was a prostitute...What if he-- D - I'm not asking you to provide *that* service for him...although, it would help greatly in trying to convince him to come here. Sakura - ''Urgh... Fine. I'll see what I can do, but if it does come to..."that". I want a bonus.'' D - 'Your wages will be doubled over the days that you are out of Corporation territory. You shall be rewarded generously.' Sakura - ''Hmm. Fine. Agreed.''

A wide and grizzly smile emerged upon his face as Kithanan approached her. His smiles weren't always a good thing, as the burning structure and all those who had been incinerated within it had found out. They were grotesque and vile, always exposing those damned teeth that could be used as knives if they had been forcibly removed from his insult-spewing mouth. His arms were folded as he walked, as if he had been expecting Sakura's look of disbelief during the conversation the whole time, eager to view that one expression for the whole time as if he took pleasure from it. Sakura turned sharply around in his direction to pass a growl to him.

Kithanan - Was that the big boss lady? Sakura - None of your business. Kithanan - Do you want a ride home or would you rather try and find shelter on this cold rock?

At the moment he asked that one question, everything changed. The expression on her face transformed from frustrated to surprised, her aura shifted into a brighter shade. Then, a smile came over her. Perhaps he wasn't so bad, maybe she had misjudged him. Or he was doing her boss a favour and was eager to get rid of her, or perhaps taking her in like a lost puppy that had turned up at his doorstep. Maybe it wasn't just any kind favour, just pure pity. It was uncommon for Kithanan to feel guilt and he didn't feel it now.

Sakura - ''Well..yes I could do with a ride. I hope you don't mind.'' Kithanan - ''And look who perked up. Quendor! Get the Sorrow ready, we're taking Blossom with us!'' Quendor - ''Erm... Kithanan... can I speak to you for a moment?''

Kithanan nodded to the eyeless Radeon and approached him casually, he recognized that tone of unsure emotions and thoughts in his voice. He was welcomed with it whenever Kithanan proposed an idea, though Quendor would almost never succeed in putting Kithanan off it, no matter how much of an arguement he made. Sakura turned away from the two and spoke into her communicator in an excited tone, she was finally getting away from this freezing ball of snow, ice and filth.

Sakura - ''Kithanan offered me a ride out of the blue. This is perfect! I'm not so sure of his partner though. My HUD labels him as ex-Guardian. That can't be right.''

Kithanan smirked when he reached Quendor and placed a bloodied, heated hand on his furry shoulder in a friendly manner, though really he was using Quendor as something to lean on.

Quendor - ''Are you insane or something? This girl has "problem" written all over her!'' Kithanan - I think it's cute, you and her have something in common. Quendor - ''Kith, I saw her mind. Her will is way too powerful for me to read but... as I said, she reminded me of Althron. And that's bad.'' Kithanan - ''Hey, you have me as a crew mate. She couldn't possibly be any worse.'' Quendor - ''But... but... fine.''

Quendor, his face looking rather unamused judging from the position of his eyebrows and his frowning mouth, turned to Sakura and grunted acknowledgingly in a grumpy manner. He took a firm sniff of the air and let out a deep sigh.

Quendor - ''Welcome to the New Dawn, Sakura. Enjoy your stay.'' Sakura - Thank you. Kithanan - ''You might want to wash your hands though. We don't appreciate dirt on our ship.'' Sakura - Excuse me? Kithanan - Like I said, you're one of *those* girls.

Sakura grunted, she was getting rather tired and frustrated of these insults that seemed to bombard her one after another. She would have torn her hair out already if she really had any.

Sakura - ''Fair enough. I'm sure your ship has a decontamination unit anyway.'' Quendor - ''Kithanan has a point. Who knows what those hands touched...'' Sakura - I have standards as well. Kithanan - ''Ooh, standards? In a place like Andromeda? It seems you haven't been getting with the times recently.'' Sakura - And when was the last time you visited the Imperium? Kithanan - That old relic's still around? Sakura - Unfortunately yes.

Kithanan's grin vanished within mere moments, replaced with a surprised expression. The Draconid Imperium had existed for 252,500 years, eons compared to the average lifespan of most Andromedans. They were an ancient empire, a diamond that had tested time itself up until this day and will continue to for centuries past, no matter how degraded or corrupt they had become. They were influential before the Depression, they had united and protected races of all kinds across the galactic fields with their powerful fleets and soldiers, though what they were probably more known for was their vast collection of "Houses" - clans composed of many hundreds of family members who filled different, often political, roles in their society. The most well-known and the supposedly "most-deserving" of these Houses was House Ultanos, the House that had laid claim to the Imperial Throne and known for birthing inspirational leaders and warriors such as the great Uriel XVI, a mere mortal who had challenged the wrath of gods and monsters that resided outside the borders of this ruined place that most Andromedans reluctantly called "home". A smile perked upon Kithanan's face and with some excitement he turned to his Radeon companion.

Kithanan - ''Quendor! Set a course for Imperial territory once we get back aboard the Sorrow!'' Quendor - Aye aye. Kithanan - Blossom, I gotta thank you for giving me one of my greatest ideas yet. Sakura - My pleasure...I guess.

And so, the course was set. The decision had been made. The demand has been given. The Eventide Sorrow thus embarked on another journey, a journey that will maybe lead to some great, if not horrific, revelations and events. The ship was heading towards one of the last great bastions of order in Andromeda, a surviving sanctuary, a safe haven.

Part 4
He looked over the golden fields of long grass blades as the wind blew gently, clutching an old and tattered book of Drakon's teachings at his side within his hand. He enjoyed the cool, smooth breeze as it crossed his scales, refreshing him somewhat, washing away his memories of chaos, death and every other aspect that this Depression had inflicted upon him and quadrillions of others, at least for just a short while. His youth had been good to him, he would have aged well if it wasn't for several scars that marked his left cheek. Beside him stood virgin guard, equipped with Inquisitorial standard rifles, pistols and blades in the event that a situation arose. The Inquisitor let out a content sigh, this world was the paradise he had been looking for until he would pass and be accepted into Drakon's gracious arms to walk among him and many others within his Garden. But it would be a long time before he would be chosen for that, he still had his duties to do within this realm that Drakon required of him.

It was an outside picnic day today, organized by the Inquisitor to help get the refugees that resided at his monastery some air and enjoyment. Most of the refugees were adults, although some of them consisted of orphaned children who had lost whatever parents or carers they had during the Depression back at their homes. These children were only young, yet they had probably witnessed their first murder already, if not their first suicide viewing. Some parents would simply abandon their children in favour of escaping this hellhole, to spare their souls of the greater threats that were willing to do more than just seperate soul from flesh. Despite this sad fact, the children, of whom were multiple species, talked and played together in the grass while the finally began to socialize for once. It was true, some fresh air was good for a troubled and pained soul. It helped these survivors of war and murder find some time to talk and reference topics that were not related to the Depression, helping them find themselves again in each other. The Inquisitor had a humble smile on his face as he looked over those who he had been charged with caring for, alongside his virgin guards who, for once, also smiled as they could relax and enjoy what they had been gifted with.

It would not last long.

The clouds blackened in their unnatural rage, the skies appeared red as if bleeding from an invisible, yet severe, wound that had been left untreated. The once calm and peaceful atmosphere had been murdered and slashed to pieces, torn apart by this unholy wrath that was soon to fall upon the men, women and children of this world to quench its own thirst for blood. It was almost as if Andromeda had become its own living, breathing entity that knew nothing more than utter chaos, searching for any place of peace in an effort to utterly destroy it and leave nothing left aside from mere bloodstains. Across the plains of grass that the orphans played within, the green was stolen and destroyed by purple and black shrouds that manifested across the field. And from these portals of destruction and blackness came the pawns of the nightmare god; Malcaeum Knights. Fierce, merciless, bloodthirsty, the Malcaeum had taken to riding and co-operating with the Sarungerak; large monsters who were known for their goring their prey upon their massive tusks. Like war horses, they charged towards the monastery, their only goal to wreck havoc and purge this world of the pitiful, heretical lives that resided on it.

They were met with fiery resistance from the Inquisitor and his guards, unleashing a rain of plasma fire upon the demonic entities that threatened them. This was their duty, this was what they had spent their entire lives training for. While a century ago this would have not been a problem for even a single Inquisitor, the Depression had changed the competition. Demons had gotten much stronger than 100 years before, they had become more fierce and they had taken advantage of the technological degradation over the course of time. The Inquisition, despite the capabilities and achievements it had accomplished in the past, was now in a more vulnerable and weaker state of existence, with their weapons hardly comparing to those that were standard issue all those years ago. Nearly everything had fallen out of the Inquisition's favour, now hoarded by the forces of the who had made themselves comfortable in this galaxy, using it to gain resources and soldiers if they ever needed them. Aside from this, Andromeda had become their hunting ground, they had become the only other method of enforcement aside from the Inquisition and the Imperium.

From the soil, malformed monsters of flesh and iron arose and struck at the defenceless, vulnerable civilian population with decomposing, rotten tendrils. These death-bringing tentacles wrapped themselves around limbs and necks, suffocating and strangling the poor refugees with unholy force before either crushing or tearing away the trapped appendages. People dropped like flies, adult and child alike. The Corruptus would have spared nobody from the fate of brutal, suffering demise. This became clear as the old veteran Inquisitor watched as his virgin guard had went from strong warriors of virtue to little more than strips of bloodied flesh, his charge turned to mere ruined corpses, and as he was forced back against the cold, solid wall behind him. He was soaked in blood, most of it his own. He panted out in panic, there would be no Garden for him if he was to succumb to this fate, only the harsh nothingness of the Void. A storm had been brewing above his head, violent and angry. It had finished its begging for vengeance, it would take matters into its own hands now.

And so a storm was born, moulded by Drakon himself.

As sudden as the demons had appeared, the answer to the Inquisitor's prayers had descended upon this world in a blazing white fire of purity and cleansing, scorching and burning any foul beast or minion who had thrown themselves away to gain power within the grips of the Dominion. The answer manifested itself in a stunning and almost beautiful physical form; at the center of this blinding, godly fire, a Draconis of unnatural and impressive stature and size stood unharmed, almost as if the flame that burned around him was a product of his immense aura. Upon his scales was an elegant and graceful, yet intimidating and powerful, set of armour designed to withstand the unholy strikes of demonic assault. In his mighty hand, a blessed axe that generated the same searing white blaze. He was born a man, he had been baptized in fire. Under his mighty strike, the ground erupted in all directions, sending the undead, decomposing cyborgs, the Kheora'Err, and the bloodthirsty savages, the Malcaeum, flying.

Several of the other stronger demons turned their attention away from the simple mortals and stared at the Draconis, roaring with all of their unnatural and twisted might in a petty attempt to intimidate him. As one would expect from any angel, he steeled himself for the challenge ahead and a smirk spread across his scaled face. The heretics began their charge, their swords and tendrils raised high into the air, preparing themselves to carve and cleave at the fool who had trespassed upon this newly-established pit of death that they had took pleasure in creating from the monastery world. They were met with a ribbon of intense bright fire that slashed straight through the torsos of several unfornate monsters, who had not noticed in their blind, thirsty rage. These waves of fire conflicted against and purified the demonic essences that the Corruptus had been moulded within and created from, destroying them from a molecular level all across. These incinerating shockwaves were generated from the axe blade itself, having been blessed and upgraded by the highest forms of pre-Depression technology that would have been considered rather efficient even back in the days of old.

An angel had come to deliver judgement upon the sinful, sent by a righteous god.

A century ago, before the time of the Andromedan Depression.

The Dagonris sun began to set that day. Mired by storm clouds brewing and conceiving, the sun's striking rays managed to shine through at least a few cracks in the darkening clouds. It was a beautiful evening, although it appeared as if the night would proceed to descend downhill from this point. As the first few drops of heavy rain began to fall upon the city below, two obscure and hooded figures made their away across the landscape, keeping to themselves as they travelled and walked past innocent bystanders and city residents. One of them was a rather muscular and tall purple Draconis, who had a casual expression upon his impressive and handsome face. His partner was a shorter figure, a Zazane. Upon his face, he was not so handsome; incineration burns marked his broken crest and scarred the entirety of the left side of his face, rendering at least one of his eyes useless. He did not bothering patching this up; a Zazane was meant to their scars of war like badges of honour and achievement, brandishing them as if to be proud of them. The scars he had sustained would have been considered incredible amongst Zazane culture and society, but these were not marks of honour or achievement for him. For him, this was a reminder of his flaws and mistakes.

The cold, drenching rain dampened and darkened the white sections of the massive statue that had become an iconic landmark within the city. Tyraz Breek, a man thought of highly within Imperial society as a protector, a warmaster, a philosopher and overall a bringer of death to those who commit injustice against the Imperium, or even the Draconis species itself. He had been known for being an oddity amongst his race; instead of desiring violence, he wished to solve it and bring it to an end. He had led his kind into an age of prosperity and unity, despite the fact he was hated for his heritage and past by many other members of Zazane society for many different reasons. However, it was from these reasons Tyraz had grown to become a man bent upon bringing justice through ultimate injustice towards those who threatened his friends, family, allies and the galaxy he had called home and shelter. While Tyraz's people hated him for his differences, the rest of the galaxy valued him as their protector. This historical monument had been built just over a decade ago, when the hero himself had saved Alcanti from the treacherous and downright filthy renegades that called themselves the Khaxvis Resurgence, as well as nearly slaying their desperate leader,.

The Draconis had an uneasy feeling within his gut. He had not felt truly nervous for a long time, not even against perhaps the most powerful of Essence manipulators and exploiters and yet now he felt reluctant, as if his confidence had been drained almost completely into a sewer of agitation and fear. Within his head, in the deepest reaches of his cranium, he yelled. He cried out, telling himself to carry on and that it is far too late to turn back. He could not give in now, he had come so far. For the Zazane beside him, he stared. He stared at the massive statue of the hero that many wanted to be, that many looked up to. As the hero himself had said, he was an "angel of death". However, none really know how tortured the man was. So few saw the man behind the powers. He had lived his whole life in conflict, when all he desired was to stop all the wars, all the battles, all death. In his twisted and troubled mind, he was the Grim Reaper of the Andromedan plains, he was a destroyer of souls and lives, a slayer of men and women. Many had tried to justify the loss of lives in wars, but there was no real justification, at least not for him. While he slew one enemy, he made 100 more and each enemy he made was completely justified to take his life if they could in his eyes. "I am no hero," he had said to himself. "I am an angel of death, I need no glorification."

Draconis - Are you still certain about this?

The Zazane slowly looked to his partner, an expression of guilt was worn across his face like a decoration of his feelings. If one had looked close enough, they could have sworn they witnessed a glimpse of a single tear make its way down the warrior's cheek.

Zazane - ''I am an angel of death. I work upon my morals, even if I dislike them.'' Draconis - I hope you're not succumbing to the "I am a weapon not a person" idea you told Arsac to get rid of. Zazane - ''I wanted what was best for her...This is the reason why I do this...You're right. I do this as a person, not as a tool for anybody else.'' Draconis - Just...try to remember that there is more to your life than causing destruction. Tyraz - Fitting words for what we're about to do.

A smirk crossed the Draconis' face, as if amused by the Zazane's comment, however he did not slip a reply back and instead continued walking. Dagonris was home to more than one Imperial monument that many would come to observe, it was also the home of the Grand Cathedral, the home and beacon of power for the Grand Inquisition of Drakon, a secretive and powerful organization whose influence was spread across Andromeda like an infestation, utilizing Inquisitors and other personnel to full extent in order to achieve safety for the greater good of the galaxy, usually at the cost of lives, either their's or their enemies'. The Grand Cathedral was the Inquisition's headquarters, as well as the primary training center for some of the more skilled and elite members. This was where artefacts and other sorts were stored to keep Andromeda's public safe, to keep the Gigaquadrant balanced. As expected, young Inquisitors guarded the entrance of the Cathedral, armed with weaponry they had been taught the basics of but probably had no real use of before.

Sarec - We can slip past them if you let me disguise you. Tyraz - ''...Go ahead. I'd rather look different to the statue of a hero.''

The Draconis beckoned the miserable Zazane over with a hand, who approached his partner with a sad look upon his face, giving one last glance to the statue that represented the man that everybody once looked up to. He knew that as soon as he was beyond those doors, the statue would be meaningless. He would become a villain in the eyes of those he once sought to protect, he would become the demon that his enemies made him out to be. Soon, it was done. He was no longer the Zazane he once was, but was now standing in the body of a large, muscular and compact Draconis, with pitch black scales with red tints and long, flowing black hair. His wings spread out with pride, he clenched his large fists in order to gain a good grip with this new body. He felt taller than before, much taller. Not only did he feel empowered, he felt masculine. He felt more proud, at least of his appearance.

Sarec - Ready?

The Zazane gave a brief nod, examining and observing his clenched hand before opening it and taking a glance at his palm.

Tyraz - It feels strange as a Draconis...I feel like there is less space around me. Sarec - ''You might want to watch your tail. I reckon it is a good deal more powerful than a Zazane tail.'' Tyraz - This shall come in handy if I get discovered in this form. Sarec - ''Also... ''

He indicated to the powerful wings that had erupted from the former-Zazane's back. They were large and bat-like, giving off the appearance of a demon from a distance alongside his glaring, crimson red eyes that would stick out even in the deadest of nights.

Sarec - ''Again. More power.'' Tyraz - I suddenly feel claustrophobic. Sarec - ''You get used to it. Luckily we are on a world with architecture intended for my kind's needs.'' Tyraz - And we're about to collapse it all.

Knights were launched back like playthings, several of them seperating in half in a bloody and gory mess of blood and Essence as the immense, holy fires purified their rotten, corrupted flesh. The merciless savages who had just a few minutes ago gored virgin Inquisitorial guards and civilians, were now in pain and dying as their bodies became engulfed in white flames of purging. The Draconis watched as their bodies began to reduce into little more than ash and dust, but his mission was not over. From all around, the dark, decomposed tentacles of the Kheora'Errr came close in an attempt to impale and penetrate his flesh, to mark his armour with their shadowy fluids and his own blood. He was not oblivious to this assault of filth and closed his eyes, clenching the tendons and muscles all across his body as if he was placing himself within a position of physical stress and mental concentration. Rising up from within the regions of his pure soul, the tentacles were inches away as they became the next victim of acrid burning gained from coming into contact with the white, clean conflageration that erupted across the angel's body. He had transformed his blessed aura into a sacred blaze, and from his mouth he spoke boming words of truth that resonated within the ears of all who could hear.

Draconis - All who oppose Drakon's grace, must perish in his light.

The Corruptus demons screeched out in agonizing pain as they were cleansed and washed away into nothingness by the flaring discharge, their bodies bored through by rays of light. As they were sent back to whichever Hell they had arrived from, the Draconis' attentioned was turned towards something more of a threat. In the distance, grass and soil was devastated by the sudden appearance of a large, purple whirling portal that stank of Entropy. Somebody had decided to respond to the Draconis' actions upon this world, as shown displayed by the massive, clawed hand that emerged from the horrific whirlpool of the land. A smile spread across his face as the Draconis lifted his battle axe above his head, before slamming it down fiercely into the ground at his feet. Through the magnificent blade of this blessed weapon, the remaining demons were swept away and destroyed to clear a perimeter around the angelic, divine soldier within a circular wave of aurora.

Twitchingly dragging itself from the whirlpool, the grass and trees began to suddenly wilt, their leaves and flowers dying in a floral massacre of sadness. The Draconis stood with a growing smirk as the entity became more and more visible to his determined eyes. It was nothing new, but it did not matter as, to most mortals, it was still a horrific and terrifying sight to see on the grounds of battle and bloodshed; a Mari'verao, the undead behemoths of the Corruptus legions. Their very presence corrupted the ground they touched and killed the plants that came into contact with their aura of death. The angel watched as the goliath lifted itself into sight, exposing and revealing the entirety of its upper body while releasing a dreaded roar, drowning out what remaining hope the survivors inside the monastery had held on to. The appearance of the Corruptus was enough to shatter one's faith, the appearance of an elite needed to mention of the psychological effects.

The Draconis held firm. He would not allow himself to become scared of a single demon, no matter how large, powerful or devastating it had made itself out to be. He would not cower away in shame or fear, he would not walk away and allow his pride to become stained. He would live to fulfill his purpose, he would live to serve the Order that had raised him and empowered him. He was no mere mortal Inquisitor, he was a gift sent from above by unearthly forces at work. He was a weapon of godly origin, a bayonet of an omnipotent master. He had not been placed within this realm to simply back away at the mere sight of a hostile enemy, this was not the point to his existence. While many of the lowly, fragile animals of this corroded galaxy had surrendered all purpose of their existence to accept that Andromeda could not possibly be restored to the former glory it once was, this was not the Templar's way. Just because everything had been broken and stolen before your eyes, it did not provide any form of excuse to waste the life you had been given. It was not your right to have life, it was a precious gift. The Templars knew of this well, as they had sacrificed certain pleasures such as craving lust, engorging gluttony, excessing greed to empower themselves and seperate from the unevolved parasites that fed off their strength and protection while hiding within the monasteries that their ancestors had built for them. They were Drakon's Templar, and they knew no fear.

He swung the axe behind him, before proceeding to run forward. He took large, powerful strides that inflicted craters upon the ground, getting deeper and deeper upon every step, leaving a trail of heavy, illuminated footsteps behind him. His eyes were filled with assurance and courage, bravery and dedication. Suddenly, with power rushing all throughout his body, he forced his body from the limitations of the ground and ascended into the sky, keeping a steady and tight grip upon the handle of his holy weapon, which became brighter as its range with the Mari'verao was being closed. The colossal demon, however, had its own offensive in mind; from its jaw-filled mouth, obscure and dark appendages poured out and threw themselves towards the angel's body. These were not any normal appendages like arms or such, they were tentacles, not dissimilar to those launched by the undead cyborgs that the Templar had dispatched earlier. This time, it was different. Several of the corrupted appendages were sliced off and became lifeless as they struck the ground, but it was not enough to prevent injury. The Templar's burning gore was splattered into the air as tentacles impaled themselve into guardian's chest and right limb, with one tentacle slashing straight across his face.

These were mere flesh wounds, at least in the eyes of the Templar. In fact, this was beneficial, if anything. He had managed to secure getting close to his hellish foe, just as he wanted. The Meri'verao, however, was closing in on him fast. The Templar looked down and his concerns only bloomed when he saw the goliath heave itself further out of the whirlpool, opening its horrid mouth to reveal several rows of shark-like teeth, perverted and enshrouded in despicable and downright vile Essences. Each and every tooth pulsated with the disgusting energies, giving them a decaying yellow appearance. Thrusting his powerful arms forward, the Templar released a wave of immense pressure towards the head and torso of the beast. This pressure wave launched the Mari'verao back, disorientating its field of vision as it flailed its tentacles uselessly. The Templar was released from the demon's grip and landed on his two feet as he impacted against the ground, another crater to mark the land. He looked up towards the beast in its confused state and an expression of anger came upon him. It was time to finish the job, as the creature of evil had its tentacles slashing and striking the monastery that held the survivors. The Templar stepped forward, clenching his fist in rage.

Templar - You desecrate holy ground!?

Tyraz walked alongside Sarec, keeping his eyes off the Inquisitorial guards that protected the entrance of the Grand Cathedral oh so proudly. As the two of them walked towards their destination, which was just a few meters away or so, Tyraz took one last glance at the statue that had been constructed outside. He was once proud to have been praised so highly within the Imperium, but it had all changed now. He was ashamed that he was about to turn his back upon it all, or rather throw it all back in their faces. But as Sarec had said, this needed to be done. There was no other way. They had not come all this way for nothing. The Inquisitors who protected the entrance of their home simply glared as the pair walked past them, giving uneasy looks towards the black and red Inquisitor they had just seen. Sarec had made it past just fine, he was convincing enough. However, as for Tyraz...

Sarec - ''Once we get inside we need to head to the basement level. Stick close to me--'' Inquisitor - Halt!

Tyraz stopped in his tracks, keeping his head down to avoid eye contact with the guards. To the Inquisitors, what struck them was both the bizarre and rare colouration of the scales and the glowing, bright crimson eyes that Tyraz possessed. Those blood red, intimidating eyes. If anyone could guess, it seemed as if this particular Inquisition possessed perhaps some form of black magic, or a dark Essence...Whatever it was, it was enough to provoke the attention of the Inquisitors. One of the Inquisitors stepped in front of Tyraz to try and interrogate him on the spot.

Inquisitor - ''You. Inquisitor. I don't recall seeing you before.'' Tyraz - ...I am a member of the branch located on Partikran V. Inquisitor - You must have come a long way then. Tyraz - ''A very long way. I am here to receive orders from the Inner Circle themselves.'' Inquisitor - ''Hm, unusual. Do you have clearence?'' Tyraz - ''Are you trying to stop ME, the leader of the Partikran V Inquisitorial branch, from accepting a mission from the Inner Circle? Didn't your mentors discipline you to respect authority?''

The inquisitor took a nervous step back, intimidated and regretful of his decision to halt the Inquisitor. He gulped, he felt as if he had just been slapped across the face due to making the mistake of crossing him. "Perhaps I should have let him go" came to mind.

Inquisitor - ''I had no idea father. You don't seem...well.'' Sarec - ''He is one of a rare few. Quite an accomplishment, don't you agree?'' Tyraz - ''Now if you do not mind, I shall resume to attending business. But try and halt my progress once more and I shall see to it that the High Inquisitor suspends your Inquisitorial rights for several decades. Do I make myself clear, youngster?'' Inquisitor - ''Y-yes father... my apologies.''

Tyraz gave a severe grunt of acknowledgement and aggressively turned away from the young Inquisitor, pacing into the Cathedral's entrance alongside Sarec with a rather convincing expression of anger and dissatisfaction being worn upon his face. Other Inquisitors stepped aside as to not get in his way, it appeared as if the look of rage was enough to keep other Inquisitors away from him. Sarec quickly caught up to Tyraz, chuckling as he approached as he was rather impressed by Tyraz's acting skill during that situation. They both kept a steady pace and began to whisper to one another, so no other Inquisitor could hear a hint of their conversation. Otherwise, their mission would've become even bloodier than it should have been. Their fight was not with these young Inquisitors, they were to be spared if possible and only fought if necessary.

Tyraz - ''What did you think of my excuse? You thought I would resort to turning him into a crisp, didn't you?'' Sarec - ''Well... It was some nice improvisation.'' Tyraz - My hatred is directed towards the Inner Circle, the younger Inquisitors have nothing to do with it. Sarec - ''The Circle is guarded by soem of the most elite of the Inquisition. We may have to force our way into their chambers.'' Tyraz - ''...A shame. Sarec...will it come to having to harm Arsac?'' Sarec - ''She is their liason. And she would defend them with her life.'' Tyraz - ''She had taught me to control my anger, to control myself...I am forever grateful to her for everything she had done. Why...Why must it come to this?!'' Sarec - Remember we are doing this to save her. Tyraz - I know...For a better Arsac and for a better Andromeda.

Soon enough, the two found themselves trekking through an extensive maze of channels and tunnels, crosscuts and passages. The Inquisition had constructed this maze to ensure that only truly experienced Inquisitors could reach the doors of the Inner Sanctum, the headquarters of the Inquisition's leaders, captains and chosen warriors. This was where the people of higher standing resided, this was where it all went on. These men and women were the ones who decided the fate of entire sectors, these were the people who had an entire galaxy's worth of artefacts and soldiers to manipulate and deploy. They were who Tyraz and Sarec were going to see today, they were at the very top of their hit list. Today, this would be their end and undoing. Today, this would be their bloody and excruciatingly painful demise.

Sarec - How are you holding up? Tyraz - I left my tears at the doorstep. Sarec - And the disguise? Tyraz - It's comfortable, in fact...somewhat preferable.

Sarec gave Tyraz a rather humorous chuckle and a smile, rising his eyebrow while Tyraz looked back at him with an expression of confusion and, to some extent, embarassment. Tyraz had always been rather ashamed about his height, since he was considered rather short to most other Zazane. Whenever somebody ever brought up the subject of his height, he was prone to getting angry and resorting to any excuse possible to fire back at whoever mentioned it in the first place, although around a select few people he became rather flustered instead of angry and his embarassment would show clearly. Sarec knew Tyraz like the back of his hand, at least he knew about his emotions.

Tyraz - ...What? Sarec - Well...If you want you can keep it. Tyraz - I fear I may need it...after all this. Sarec - You like being taller don't you. Tyraz - ''So what if I do? You can't prove that.'' Sarec - ''Well...it's only psychological. Size is propoortional to how powerful you feel.'' Tyraz - Well...let us carry on forward before suspicion is aroused and we end up having to kill more people than we should.

Sarec gave a nod and said no more about it. They could not risk getting discovered now, they were getting close. Close to target, close to this journey's end. There was nothing right with what they were about to do, and yet their intentions were good and beneficial. In their minds, they were doing just through injust. Or at least, this was Tyraz's reasoning. For many years now, he had seeked redemption for his actions of madness and believed himself punished with the inability to die from any normal means. Deep within his mind, he found hope in that perhaps assisting the galaxy through its hard and treacherous times by ridding it of all the villainous scum that threatened it, he would finally be allowed to gain back his mortality, his right to die. Tyraz did not want to kill, but it seemed fate disagreed and always pushed him in the direction of where death is necessary. He was to carry around the ultimate sin, as a means to redeem himself.

Tyraz and Sarec reached the broad, massive doors that led into the Inner Sanctum. Yes, they were finally here, where no alien or heretic had ever reached before the Battle of Alcanti, where the forces of the Khaxvis Resurgence forced there way into the Grand Cathedral and almost unleash almighty hell upon the realm of the living. Tyraz would remember this well, he had been here before. This was where he had slain one of Volkarus' cronies in cold blood. Ironic, considering now he seeked to bring downfall to the Inquisition rather than save it. The only thing that blocked Tyraz and Sarec's way now were the two powerfully-structured, heavily armoured Inquisitors that stood outside, carrying customized Inquisitorial rifles and blades.

Sanctum Guard - No unauthorised access. Tyraz - I am the leader of the Partikran V Inquisitorial branch, I have been requested to see the Inner Circle for an important mission briefing. Sanctum Guard - We were never informed. Tyraz - It is none of your concern.

The Sanctum guard approached, he had been born to know nothing else aside from discipline and order, and right now Tyraz was disrupting it. He must have been brave, or oblivious to who Tyraz really was. After all, he was never informed of the disguise, all he saw was a foolish Inquisitor stepping out of line. He took a long, satisfied and confident glance into Tyraz's eyes, staring as if to aggravate and provoke him.

Santcum Guard - ''Oh it is. Everyone who goes through this door is to be cleared by us.''

The enormous entity unleashed a frenzied roar as it thrusted its titanic body forward and slammed its claws into the ground, regaining whatever senses it had before the disorientation, as it was certain it possessed not many of the original mortal senses it possessed in life. It was a machine driven purely by instinct and anger, animalistic needs and desires to rip and tear flesh away from shattered bone. However, the monstrosity had reduced its speed and became sluggish, with purple blood spraying from the wounds across its rib cage and cranium. It took several breaths, regaining composure before spreading its immense jaws and allowing for a copious amount of decaying, putrid tendrils to burst forwarth from its orifice. They possessed a rotten and obnoxious smell of degenerating flesh and unmentionable waste. However, despite all of its physical and bewitching power, the Templar did not cower even in the slightest. In fact, he progressed on, running towards the behemoth with an enraged mask worn upon his facial features. The sanctified weapon that the Templar wielded as his companion easily carved through the curling appendages that were birthed from the demon's mouth.

The potent wings of the Draconis flung open, throwing back whatever tentacles that had aimed to strike upon his body with a forceful gust of wind that cut like razors. As another black tendril went in to strike and pierce, the Templar lifted himself from the ground as he thrusted his body forward. Within moments, the Mari'verao found that his victim was ascending upon the tentacles he had spewed and quickly approaching the source - his head. The energized axe that was clasped within the Templar's hand swung beautifully and gracefully, dismembering the putrid tendrils as they tried to advance upon him. The crazed, demonic eyes of the wicked colossus began to show the internal rage that would soon display itself on the surface; they shined a bloody crimson. From the mouth of the beast not only came tentacles, but incinerating fire. The Templar could feel it. He could feel all of his molecules burn and die as he was engulfed, as if he had dropped and fallen into the burning depths of Hell itself. He could feel his armour wearing away, blackened and charred by the inferno. But he continued to run. Just as he could feel every individual molecule come under attack, he could feel every single fibre in his body brace themselves like he didn't have any choice. What's more, he could feel that familiar taint of Entropy, its taste, its smell. He wanted to end it.

As the last blazing streams escaped from its jaws, the titan could only watch as the Draconis got closer and closer, approaching faster than before, like a comet on a set course. The demon no longer wanted to play, it wanted to kill this reckless piece of meat and flesh. Lifting up its large, clawed fist, the Mari'verao sent it speeding towards the angelic Draconis at full speed, hoping to catch its prey underneath its mighty fist and reduce him to little more than mere gooplets of skin and blood. As the demon's hand came in, the Templar made sure his hands were stiff and wrapped around the axe's handle. They were, and so he launched. He launched himself from the tendril he had been running across, allowing the giant's fist to crash into it while completely missing its target, dismembering its own tentacles. The Templar landed upon the wretched shoulder of the beast, he could feel the tainting energies increase within the monster's aura. He could feel that the fight was drawing to a close. Clenching his mighty, armoured fist, he had chosen his target carefully. Mustering all the force his divine body would allow him, one could see a pure, white flame develope and come into being around the fist of the Draconis as it became pumped with energy and power.

The demon's skull was no match for it. The cranium collapsed and exploded as the energized fist made its way through the scales at the back of its head, burning the contents inside with a blessed, holy flare. The demon's ghastly sockets exploded into purple, ghostly fires of defeat, while its mouth constantly leaked and flooded with its vital fluids amongst other things. It was a ghastly, yet somewhat relieving, sight. One, final moan escaped the drowning jaws of the Mari'verao before its entire body fell forward, crashing against the reddened dirt and becoming little more than a sign of retreat or surrender. As the Malcaeum Knights, the cavalry of the Corruptus, evacuated the immediate area to avoid getting struck down by the immensely powerful foe that had arrived from the heavens, the Templar slowly descended onto the ground with his massive wings outstretched to provide an almost-angelic appearance, his aura glowing a sparkling white. The massive corpse of the Mari'verao began to dissolve into a rippling, liquid substance that would become just a puddle of Entropic fluids and energy, although to prevent the risk of it ever returning to this young world, the storm clouds above were frenzied in their anger and struck the pool with bolt after bolt of burning lightning.

The lone, elderly Inquisitor was the last of the Inquisitorial presence upon this world aside from the large Templar who stood proudly as the clouds began to clear, the sky returning to its blue and clear atmosphere to settle the mood of threat and fear that had inflicted the mentality of whatever number of survivors were left. The Inquisitor was slow in his movements, he had sustained sufficient damage to the area around his legs and waist, as well as most of his right hand becoming little more than a gorey mess as he reached out towards the guardian sent by Drakon.

Inquisitor - ''A-A Templar...h-here? A blessing of...of Drakon?''

The Templar turned his head and observed the wounded Inquisitor, before beginning to approach. He had a stern frown upon his face as he looked at the Inquisitor, he was but a mere mortal. One of the primitive, vulnerable and defenceless animals that needed the protection of the Templars. A mere child when compared to the might of Drakon's greatest warriors.

Inquisitor - ''An agent of Drakon's holy will, his messenger of divine force, a soldier of higher standing...! A Templar stands upon holy ground today, to cleanse these filthy souls of life and eviscerate their essences back to whence they came.'' Templar - Show me your injuries.

The Inquisitor dropped onto his wounded, bloodied knees and coughed up what seemed like an ounce of blackened blood. He had been weakened in the Corruptus assault, gored and stabbed by Malcaeum Knights as well as slashed and struck by the Kheora'Errr. It was a wonder he was even still alive, most people would have succumbed to their wounds as soon as they gained them. However, he was still injured and would die if the Entropic wounds were not treated as soon as possible. Left to linger for too long, he would become hostile to those he had made an oath to protect. His armour dropped to reveal what injuries he possessed to the Templar, who grunted and groaned as he placed a forceful hand over one of the more severe wounds. It was a gore wound, the damaged flesh becoming purple from the Entropic exposure. Indeed, these wounds were severe. As he placed his hand upon the damaged flesh, the Inquisitor gasped out as it began to seal. It was painful, yet relieving. The Entropic presence was washed away as the internal meat and flesh forced itself to become one once more, with other wounds across the Inquisitor's body sealing as well, flesh was being fixed back together. The Inquisitor looked upon his saviour with an expression of utter surprise, feeling clean and purged of whatever dark presence had infested his body beforehand. He felt as if he had been baptized once more.

Inquisitor - You...You truly are a child of Drakon, an apostle of His Path. Templar - ''Your time has not yet come brother. It will be a while before you are ready to join Him in the Garden.'' Inquisitor - ''Those who have been lost today...I fear that they shall not see His holy light as they pass over. They say a death by demon is a passage to the furthest reaches of the Void...'' Templar - Then we shall pray for them. Inquisitor - ''Father...Are you to return to your monastery? If so...I request that you bring the children and the rest of the survivors with you. They cannot stay here, it is no longer safe.''

The Templar looked at the Inquisitor impatiently. Just because he had made an oath to protect those lower than himself who had joined Drakon's Path, did not mean he had to enjoy this. Rather, he yearned for the call of battle and bloodshed, the chance to rip demons to pieces and shreds, that was his idea of real protection, not trying to relocate the damned primitives that fed off his strength. However, this needed to be done. He did not want to become the cause of more civilian deaths for not relocating them to a safer area.

Templar - How many? Inquisitor - ''This monastery used to hold over 200 refugees, including orphans. Now...I am not so certain. Less than 100, for certain.''

The Templar's eyes focussed on the Inquisitor for several moments, before slowly looking towards the damaged monastery. This was not a responsibility he enjoyed handling, yet it was integral to a Templar's duty. It was too dangerous to keep them on this world, the Corruptus knew of its whereabouts. It was probable that they would attack later to finish off what they had started. He breathed a heavy sigh and held out a hand, while in the other he was holding a rather arcane-looking, perplexing orb about the size of a human head. Using his free hand, he clutched a lump of gravel from the wet soil and held it firmly within his hand, muttering words in a tongue unrecognizeable to the old man beside him, although it sounded somewhat akin to Dracid. The Inquisitor watched curiously as the Templar threw the dirt from his hand and over his shoulder armour. This action resulted in the sudden and surprising appearance of a wide, circular space which seemed rather out of place compared to the surrounding environment. Within this space was an image of brighter, greener grass, with brighter skies and a familiar structure; a monastery, except larger and in a much better state than the one located here. It was a portal.

Templar - ''This gateway will take you to a monestary on Arfanne III. The refugees will be safe there, but I have other business.''

The old Inquisitor nodded with a thankful, grateful expression on his face. He slowly turned so that both he and his Templar saviour could witness the many wounded and scarred commoners, whom most were supporting each other while limping and spluttering up their respective vital fluids from their mouths and gaping flesh injuries. The Templar stood stoic and indifferent while the weakling churchgoers chanted and gave their thanks and credit towards him, although he merely grunted as they passed through into the space that allowed them to escape from this defiled, ruined world. It was always a waste when such a thriving, flourishing planet had been found and in the end it would be lost to the malevolence of the Corruptus, or the Dominion. Either way, the Order of the Inquisition had lost yet another fresh apple to the hoggish worms of Void. Before the elderly Inquisitor passed through, he gave a slight turn towards the Templar and lifted his hand, placing it upon the angel's shoulder. This provoked an aggravated and somewhat disgusted grunt of acknowledgement from him, as he gave a piercing glance towards the Draconis. In weak, quiet words the Inquisitor spoke.

Inquisitor - ...Amen.

The Inquisitor removed his hand and stepped forward. It was probably the last time that he would see the former residents of this world, or at least he was hoping. Interaction with them felt abominable, they were just animals who had no idea how to control their primal desires by themselves and so required prey to leech off influence and hope. The petty creatures knew nothing of purity or Drakon's word, they were not his chosen. They merely interpreted the word of Drakon, they believe they walk down His Path. The true Path was reserved for those who did not try to find shelter or form resistance, but for those who had surrendered their shelter and their pleasures to attack offensively. Those who dedicated their whole existence to assault those who would dare misuse or attack Drakon's name itself. Acceptance was not an option, intolerance was Templar's law. The Templar raised an eyebrow as he heard the sound of beeping, it was high-pitched and constant, a pattern of two beeps with a one-second space between each pattern. After several seconds, there was a single beep with a tone different to the others that lasted for around a second, and the Templar could hear a voice. This was a communicator that had been specially adapted and implanted to fit within the deepest level of his eardrums, so only he could hear the beeping and the voice that was patched through.

Templar - Reporting. ??? - ''Brother Volennor, this is Templar Command. We have another assignment for you. This is not a purging, this is an assassination.'' Volennor - ...Who is the target? Templar Command - ''He refers to himself as Kithanan, he travels alongside a Radeon and an assassin of the Corporation under the code-name "Sakura". Our intelligence suppliers have confirmed them to be heading towards Imperial territory upon a ship designated the "Eventide Sorrow".'' Volennor - Is he tied to the Corporation? Templar Command - ''As far as we know, he has no alliegance to either the Corporation or the Syndicate. In fact, he seems to show hostility to both factions, as evidenced by him attacking a Syndicate agent who happened to be the assassination target for this Sakura person.'' Volennor - Was a reason given for the mark? Templar Command - ''The Corporation and the Syndicate have been at each other's throats for years. We can only assume this was an assault on the Corporation's part, but Kithanan's appearance resulted in...unnecessary casualties and collateral damage.'' Volennor - ''Understood. Will pursue and eliminate.'' Templar Command - ''Take extreme precaution. Kithanan is known to possess a variety of Essence-based weaponry, including a supposed Firesword, not dissimilar to that wielded by the demon Zazane a century ago.''

Volennor, upon hearing these words, let out a noticeable and distinct growl of aggravation and annoyance, although it was kept quiet.

Volennor - ...Aknowledged. ??? - ''Permission to use RA-302 has been authorized if required. Due to the nature of our foe, collateral damage is not an issue. All efforts must be focussed on his annihilation, do not stop even if interrupted by Imperial civilians or otherwise. Expect regeneration and false damage from Kithanan's side, as well as allied assistance. He must be cleansed, no matter what.'' Volennor - ''Understood. No restraint on objective, ignore collateral damage. Annihilation of target by any means neccessary.'' ??? - ''Affirmative. Co-ordinates have been uploaded to neural navigator and locater. Now go. Search and destroy.'' Volennor - Amen!

Within moments, Volennor was gone. Disappearing within a blinding flash of immensely hot, scorching light, the Templar made no hesitation to reach his objective before his mark. Drakon's very blood boiled as it coursed through his iron veins, pumping vigorously in and out of his heart of cold, hardened steel as if his blood was pure fire and his lungs were immense, volcanic mountains that had been awoken from a dormant sleep into a state of punishing, violent and bloody rage. The heart of every and all Templars would race upon being assigned a mission to fight and exterminate the most powerful of demon scum. They were Drakon's men and women of courage and bravery, they sacrificed their lives to save those of others.

It is said that the eyes are the windows of the soul. What the Sanctum guard saw within Tyraz's eyes was definitely no soul he had ever witnessed before. What he saw within Tyraz's eyes was anger and infinite rage, piling upon one another and preparing to break out from Tyraz's flesh if necessary. It was like Tyraz's eyes had gone from a watery, jelly-like substance into heated fire. What made this imagine even worse was the row of sharp, baring teeth that displayed themselves to the Inquisitor. It was obvious now that the Draconis that stood in front of the Sanctum guard was not entirely who they claimed to be.

Tyraz - I demand access to the Inner Circle. Sanctum Guard - ...Code black!

The second guard turned to his side and stretched out his muscular arm, taking a firm hold of a double-sided longsword, with the size of each blade being equivalent to the size of a large human claymore sword. Twirling the immense weapon around as if it was easy, despite all the weight and balance required to not fall from handling such a heavy object, the Sanctum guard looked towards the black and red Draconis with a challenging and confident look within their eye. However, this look soon turned into an expression of shock and horror, as he witnessed the black dragon leap forward and clasp his partner's throat within the tight, piercing grasp of his insanely sharp jaws. Around Tyraz's blood crimson eyes, yellow, luminous cracks began to appear upon his scales, to add to the effect of wrenching the Inquisitor's throat out. To try and resist against this downright bestial assault, the guard grabbed the large combat knife that was strapped to his belt and plunged the blade, lined with plasma, into Tyraz's stomach in an attempt to gore him and split him open. However, it only seemed to add more fuel to the fire.

Sanctum Guard - Die abomination!

The screech that followed signified the guard's failure to save himself, along with the blood that erupted out of the headless neck of his twitching body, falling to the floor in a lifeless and dead state. Tyraz released his grip and allowed the Draconis' head to fly across the corridor, showering him, Sarec and the guard's partner in trickles of blood. Tyraz already had most of it upon his teeth and tongue, however. It was almost like indoor rain, except the cloud was a disembodied head that still held some trace of life in it, demonstrated when it landed onto the concrete floor and began twitching as life poured out of it. The remaining Sanctum guard was petrified from what had just happened, his mouth wide with shock, releasing a silent scream of outright terror and anxiety. They began to tremble, slowly looking towards Tyraz before mustering whatever courage and strength they had left within their emotional reserves. Their twin-blade was effortlessly parried and countered by the purple Draconis, Sarec, who blocked with one of his gauntlets. The latter Draconis responded with a strong, gravity-defying kick that slammed the guard into, not against, INTO the brick wall beside them. To make sure that they didn't get up to try and fight back, Sarec outstretched his two arms and opened both of his palms, unleashing a massive, invisible wave of pressurizing death. The Inquisitor was stuck between a wall and a hard place, although soon it didn't matter as they were near-instantly reduced to little more than a large, expansive, wet stain across the brickwork. Tyraz panted as he looked down at the head, his eyes widening in realization at what he had just done.

Tyraz - I...I tore his head off, Sarec... Sarec - ''He provoked you, he saw through your disguise. There was no other way. Now, we'd better finish off. Code Black means every Inquisitor in the building will be putting on their demon-hunting face looking for us.''

Sarec reached out for Tyraz's hand, wrapping his fingers around the latter's and gripping it tightly as if to reassure him somehow, yet Tyraz didn't see how this would calm him. But perhaps it wasn't an attemp to calm Tyraz, but calm himself. He was about to massacre the people who had taken him in and raised him into his adult years, after all. These were the people who had given him family and everything he knows about combat and survival. Yet, he knew that it was all a lie. He was no member of a greater family, him and all the other Inquisitors had been reduced to mere weapons for the corrupt, power-hungry men of the Inner Circle to wield. This had to stop, the Inquisition grew too reckless and many Inquisitors, who have had their rights and social capabilites stripped away from them, were sent on hopeless suicide missions just to evaluate a threat, a pointless loss of life. Sarec knew he was no longer a weapon in the Inquisition's hand, but he had to free his brothers and sisters from the carefully planned out methods of extermination plotted by the Inner Circle's members. Alas, Arsac had remained blind to such claims.

They arrived on the other side of the door, stepping through the several layers of thick alloy that seperated them from the Inner Circle. The doors would have been capable of opening if it was not for the Code Black alert, which had automatically locked and sealed the doors, preventing anything that wasn't an Inquisitor from getting in or out. However, the doors design did not rely on Sarec's ability to transform the physical flesh into an incorporeal shape, allowing himself and anybody he willingly touched to phase through objects as if it was air. Upon reaching the inside of the chamber, all talk was ceased. The duo were welcomed by the aggressive, hostile eyes of a dozen Inquisitors whose attention was now drawn to them. Arsac in particular felt her attention forcefully pull her head in the direction of the black and red Draconis.

Arsac - What is the meaning of this interruption...and how did you do that?

Tyraz's eyes flared as he analyzed and examined the members of the Inner Circle. Each one, a trained Inquisitor of several centuries of experience and age. They could all hear the barbaric, animalistic growls fight to escape Tyraz's maw as he stepepd forward, his bloody eyes glaring into the souls of every single Draconis in the room that wasn't Sarec, who held back to allow Tyraz to have his moment. It was Tyraz's idea to do this, he should claim this moment for himself. Arsac could feel it now, she recognized the signs. The aura, the aura that emanated from the very scales of the two intruders. One showed signs of calm, yet the other displayed severe anger and rage. Her eyes widened in revelation as she stepped back, hoping her guess was not correct.

Tyraz - Your corrupt hold upon the Inquisition dies today! Arsac - That aura...Tyraz?

Arsac swallowed nervously as one of the Circle members who were standing tried to restrain his breath, panting heavily at the Draconis' claims of corruption within this society that had protected Andromeda, as well as the entire Gigaquadrant, for many millennia now. He was not going to allow such words of heresy and untruth to survive within this further, nor the one who spoke it. Arsac simply continued to stare, the signs were all adding towards the Draconis being Tyraz, yet she had no idea why he would...It all made sense now, now that she had remembered why Tyraz had been fighting for her.

Tyraz - ''Your Circle has abused man, woman and child for too long! You have corrupted your members to become weapons of your will, not Drakon's! They do not answer Drakon's commands, they answer yours! You do not pass Drakon's commands, you pass your own for your selfish reasons!'' Circle member - Who are YOU to judge US!? Arsac - Senior...It's "him" or..at least I think it is. Tyraz - ''Every man has a voice, I choose to speak with mine! You are not "soldiers of Drakon", you are corrupt men of greed who train orphans and the hopeless how to become murderous weapons who know nothing but death while you sit behind your desks, commanding them like pieces on a board!'' Circle Member - ''And with these sacrifices we have achieved a state of order, a sense of balance among the infinite numbers of faiths in the universe. Surely a few sarcrifices here-and-there are outweighed vastly by the peace we bring.'' Tyraz - ''Who are YOU to decide the value of life?! You know not death, you know not true suffering!! You proudly send your men against monsters and demons, to where many die fighting for something you have twisted and manipulated! I remember a time where people fought for what THEY believed in, not for lies and exploitations!'' Circle Member - ''You think us blind to the truth? All of us in this room have seen the horrors that plague this universe with our own eyes. We know what lurks in the minds of all beings.'' Tyraz - What lurks within your minds is an exaggerated sense and desire of self-worth! Circle Member - ''Is that a bad thing? We all strive for such a thing... Even you.'' Tyraz - ''I am worth nothing! And neither are you! I am a murderer, a slayer of gods and monsters, a ruiner of families, a widower! I have no worth for I am scum in the eyes of the entire Universe! However, I am not blind to the pain of others! You have not yet realized how truly corrupt and despicable your Circle truly is! You call yourselves leaders, and yet you cower away while your soldiers die! If I am considered scum, then you must be the lowliest form of life!'' Sarec - Tyraz maybe this isn't such a good idea.

With Tyraz's words defiling the air and atmosphere of the chamber, the Circle members began to stand once more. Their eyes narrowed towards the demon of anger, the spirit of rage. Their fists clenched as each Circle member drew their respective weapons; power claws, axes, blades, pistols, Inquisitorial experimental shuriken. Each and every weapon was designed for a different method of killing, customized to suit the wielder's style of combat. These were not standard Inquisitorial weapons, these were incredibly powerful and astonishingly valuable arms. One Circle Member stepped forward and barked out towards Tyraz.

Circle Member - ''Enough of this. Our doormen called a Code Black just before you entered. And to listen to the words of a demon is pure folly.'' Tyraz - ''Come at me! When you are gone, men shall follow their own paths, not the lies of selfish zealots!''

Within Tyraz's burning hand, a conflageration of black and crimson fire erupted. Slowly, the blazing fires transformed and morphed itself into the shape of an unimaginably long, powerful sword that reached out to 14 feet in length. The hilt and handle materialized into a solid material, while the blade of this monstrous weapon remained as a raging fire, as if to symbolize Tyraz's bursting passion that displayed itself through the glowing, bright yellow scars that began to appear and tear across the Draconis' muscular body. The Inquisitors could feel the temperature of the room itself rising as Tyraz began to slip into his dreaded state of seperate personality, to match the temperature of his wrath. His crimson eyes had become an immense gold, with his pupils transitioning from pitch black into bright white.

Circle Member - ''Arsac. You are to defend the Circle!'' Arsac - I...I'm sorry, Tyraz...but I...I have my orders.

Tyraz took only one step back upon Arsac's statement reaching his ears. It felt as if they had gone inside his head and ripped his emotional strings to shreds, tearing them into little more than morsals to be devoured by the hulking monster that existed inside the Zazane's soul. As the pieces of his emotions were quickly feasted upon by the anger that welled up inside, Tyraz felt himself die and rebirth within the space of seconds. All sadness he would have felt transformed into a resource for his fury, which teared through into his brain and invaded like a powerful army. He looked to Arsac for just a moment, before his lips rippled as he growled.

Tyraz - ...I do this for you, Arsac...and not even YOU shall stop me!

At this point, the clash began. The entire Circle leaped from their seats, their weapons of energy and power gripped tightly in their hands. The Circle members roared out at Tyraz, shouting to purge and slay the beast that stood before them. He who was once a knight was now the fire-breathing dragon. He had gone from a noble hero to the worst of villains. Or at least, this were what the Circle saw in Tyraz. Where the Inquisition saw necessary sacrifice, Tyraz saw needless bloody conflict. However, it was obvious that in the end, no matter who was wrong and who was right, the end result would always be violence between the two. When the sword of adamance clashes against the shield of obduracy, sparks of brutality and vehemance fly like birds. Tyraz's hand gripped the blazing sword of inferno tightly as his legs pushed him forward, terrorizing his muscles to make him go faster. Sarec threw his hands outwards with opened palms, launching a large wave of pressure against the incoming Circle members who had decided to take up their arms.

While several of the Circle were thrown back by Sarec's waves of pressure, a certain High Inquisitor had managed to resist and ducked underneath as she ran, emerging from beneath the wave gloriously as her power claws charged and overflowed with energized matter. She raised a powerful arm in an effort to strike against Tyraz, aiming directly for his jaw. Tyraz felt the hot, ardent nails of steel and iron smash against the scales of his face, digging into his skin as it tore up flesh and allowed black, boiling blood to pour from the open wounds. In response to this tri-bladed assault, Tyraz threw his head forward and slammed his head against Arsac's crest, stunning her for a few moments. As she regained some sense of balance and recognized her surroundings once more, she glared furiously in Tyraz's direction. There was another swing from Arsac's power claws, although no damage had been dealt this time, at least not towards Tyraz. Not wanting to involve her in his rampage, Tyraz's clenched fist slammed against Arsac's gut, throwing her across the room before swinging himself around and impaling his entire hand and wrist into the stomach of another Circle member. He wrapped his hand around Tyraz's arm while growling, alongside spluttering up burning blood.

Circle Member - ''Ugh...! Go on, demon. Savour my blood!''

Tyraz's grin grew wide as he threw his arm upwards, ripping the Draconis in half from the stomach upwards as precisely as a blade, allowing his blood to spit and splatter like a gore-filled fountain. Tyraz allowed another roar, this time sounding like laughter, to escape his jaws while turning around and swinging his muscle-filled arm into another Circle member, making an impact against the Draconis' face which caused his whole head to cave in on itself. Tyraz's smirk disappeared, however, when he felt the sharp, energized blade of a halberd penetrate into his back. The smirk did not turn into a frown, but rather into more of an excited, wide smile of excitement and twisted enthrillment as he span his body around and wrenched off half of the Inquisitor's face in a single slash, with bone and blood soaring across the room. It was at this moment that the surviving Inquisitors, veterans of centuries of combat and demonic engagement, grew wary of the black and red Draconis before them. As Tyraz watched them pant and back away, some sanity was restored and the scars around his body began to fade slowly.

Tyraz - ''You challenge not a demon, but an angel! An angel of death and punishment! I shall serve my sentence by ridding this world of injustice through injustice!''

Two members of the Circle, disregarding Tyraz's comments, nodded to each other in unison. Running forward to flank Tyraz from behind, the male member wielded a pair of long knives sheathed in burning plasma, while the female carried a massive broadsword in her hands, running with it like it was nothing however. The next moment, Tyraz let out an echoing, pained roar as the blades plunged themselves into his body. In those painful, blood-soaked moments, Tyraz's mind flashed back to a recent memory. He began remembering Sarec's words, about the Draconis physiology. About how powerful Draconis wings really were... The female was knocked back by the physical force of Tyraz's wings as they opened with an incredible amount of strength and speed, while the male was thrown back by the pressure released by the unfolding of these powerful limbs. The purple Draconis, Sarec, watched with a smile as the head of another Circle member was reduced to little more than a sanguine mess of organic matter that spilled out of the spaces between Sarec's fingers. Tyraz now possessed four blades that had been plunged deeply into his body; a broadsword, a halberd, and two plasma-coated knives. Despite this, there was no stopping, not at this point. Tyraz's pain receptors inflicted all the arduous, agonizing sensations they could but not even they could calm Tyraz's enraged soul, the very essence of which ripped itself out of Tyraz's scars, illuminating them all across his body while his eyes narrowed, his pupils reducing in size. He was about to lose himself once more.

Demon Tyraz - You wish to hunt a demon, you shall HAVE a DEMON!

There were three survivors left from the original 12 members of the Inner Circle. A majority of the Circle had been painted beautifully across the walls to add to the already impressive dragon-themed decorations, giving them a nice, glossy crimson look. Across the floor, heads and appendages remained silent and still if one was to exclude the twitching nerves that made them look as if they still crawled or looked around at the terrifying chaos around them. Their organs were turned into ornaments that were scattered across the room, freshly picked like the most beautiful and fragrant of flowers. Their arrangement was questionable, but aside from this, they provided a stunning display for all to stare at. Arsac, one of the three survivors, stumbled out of the crater her body created against the wall when Tyraz had thrown her at it. She was coughing and spluttering, barking up a little excess blood although no serious damage had been done, at least not from the outside. She looked on in horror, however, as one of the other survivors approached the ravenous, hostile being of malevolence who stood his ground at the innermost point of the chamber. While an expression of caution was planted upon the Inquisitor's face, twisted and sick-minded amusement was what crossed Tyraz's features. His smile was absolutely terrifying. This wasn't Tyraz, at least not anymore.

The Inquisitor took his chance and leaped, his strong body pushing him into the air with a forward thrust. In each of the Inquisitor's hands resided an ornate, plasma-sheathed blade that resonated with power, although compared to the monstrous inferno that Tyraz's hand steadied, it wasn't even capable of holding a candle. Tyraz's body had found itself becoming not unlike that of an active volcano, as fire tore its way out of his scars just as magma leaked its way out of the cracks upon the monsters of mountains. The plasma of the blades felt like an irritating, itching presence that radically evolved into a severe burning sensation as they crossed with Tyraz's mighty draconian wings, his jet black blood spitting out of the wounds. He could have moved out of the way if he wanted, but he didn't. He stood still, like a statue with a crooked, ferocious grin. The Circle member had a good view of this as he was raised into the air by the hand that was wrapped around his throat, with an added extra of snarling and roaring from the black, illuminated Draconis. There was an echoing clang as one of the Inquisitor's blades dropped to the floor.

There was a tug against the muscles of Tyraz's blade-wielding arm. Arsac growled as she gripped the demon's arm with both hands, trying her best to pull it away from her colleague in an attempt to allow him some mercy, perhaps even a chance to escape. She grunted as she struggled, the arm did not budge and it seemed as if the ferocious demon refused to heed her, if even acknowledge her at all as his eyes remained clearly fixed upon the Inquisitor within his grip. She continued her attempt, each tug becoming more forceful. With every failed attempt, the grip around the Inquisitor's throat got tighter and tighter, placing his neck under more pressure and stress than it should have been. He could feel the nails of the possessed, frenzied creature digging into the scales of his throat. Arsac had proven to just irritate the beast further to the point where it could no longer tolerate her actions of resistance for the Inquisitor; he turned around and swung his arm back, throwing the High Inquisitor through the air gracefully. To add to the effect, blood poured from the open, gaping wounds on her arms. The black Draconis had struck with so much force and velocity that the Firesword he wielded cut cleanly through both of her arms, severing one limb almost completely while slashing the entire forearm off the other.

Blood gushed from the poor Inquisitor's mouth as his neck succumbed to the intense chunk of compression that Tyraz had placed him through, dying painfully with his twitching body striking the cold, wet floor, with the contents of his throat slipping between Tyraz's fingers like some form of gory, melted ice cream. Arsac's back had become damaged and her wings broken upon making punishing contact with the wall behind her, spitting out a small drizzle of blood from between her jaws and coughing, observing the damage done to her arms. They were completely gone, with their wounds beginning to burn as an after-effect of coming into brief contact with the demonic Firesword. She could even make out the bone as the tips of it slowly degenerated into ash, her blood beginning to evaporate from the heat inflicted upon the openings. She was not the only one who had lost her arms, however, as the last of the surviving Circle members excluding her was shortly dispatched via having both of his arms ripped of simultaneously with brute force by Sarec. Tyraz's scars slowly began to fade and calm as his eyes focussed on the injured Draconis behind him, letting out a gasp at the revelation that he was the cause behind the current condition she was in.

His eyes began to calm from their previous fiery, enraged, animalistic state and assumed an expression as if to display great regret and sadness, the sort of look a vulnerable animal would give to its owner if it felt ashamed or in pain. The whites of his eyes emerged from the former glaring yellow, providing Tyraz with an atmosphere of melancholy both within and outside his soul and body. Taking a few gentle, concerned steps forwards, Tyraz's lower lip quivered as he looked down upon Arsac's ruined state, her body broken and damaged like a cheap, overused doll or toy that had been abandoned by their previous owner, left to collect dust while carrying the scars of desertion upon her body and soul. A tear had found its way through the space between the eyeball and the socket and made its journey down the side of Tyraz's cheek, soon joined by its watery, salty kin. The cursed blade of widowing fire ceased to exist from Tyraz's palm, dissipitating into mere sparks of red and yellow. The doll was unable to move her legs and the shattered demon was forced to endure the sight of blood trickling from her quivering jaw.

Tyraz - Arsac...You're bleeding, l-let me help you! Arsac - G-get away from me!

The tone in her voice was harsh. Although the words themselves were not shouted, in fact they manifested more as pained whispers that had struggled to exist at all, yet they boomed and echoed inside of Tyraz's very being. They took the form of an angry, vengeful beast who had been sent from the depths of his fears just to shatter the reality for him as he knew it, to wake him up and make him realize the moral crime he had committed. The only thing he ever desired had now wilted away to almost nothing, and it was all his fault.

Tyraz - ''You need help! You're injured!'' Arsac - N-no thanks to you!

Sarec pressed his bloodied, tattered hands against the metal door that led into the chamber. What seperated the three of them from an army of angry, aggressive Inquisitors was just several layers of alloys constructed from the strongest and most resistant of materials ever uncovered and exploited by the Imperium and its miners. Sarec could hear ever note of banging and shouting that erupted from the other side. Despite his immense, overwhelming strength, he would not be able to keep out the flood of rage that beckoned for their blood. But Tyraz couldn't hear it, he couldn't hear anything but Arsac's words until Sarec forced his voice to intervene, causing Tyraz to break from his unforgiving trance for just a few mere seconds that would soon become lost. While Arsac's voice was painful to listen to, Tyraz's voice had become quiet even for Sarec.

Sarec - We've got reinforcements Tyraz. Tyraz - Give me a moment...

Tyraz lost his balance and fell forward in his grief, his knee splashing into a pool of glossy, crimson fluid. One could see Tyraz's body begin to shiver and twitch, barely holding back another kind of emotion that had troubled Tyraz more than his anger ever would; sadness, it was the emotion that poured salt onto the open internal wound after the anger had subsided, it was the essence of memory and confirmation. For Tyraz, the tears he would have cried circulated around his desolate thoughts just as blood circulated around his fuelled veins.

Tyraz - We can get you treated, we can go to a hospital and get you medical attention! Arsac - ''Why, so you can injure me again? So I can falsely be used as a tool for the Order?'' Tyraz - ''I came here to rescue you from the Order! I felt like you were being used, they treated you and all the others like weapons instead of people!'' Arsac - ''And yet when I tried to save a life from damnation you did...this! Tyraz - ''I...I wasn't in control of myself! It wasn't me, it was somebody else! Honestly, why would I ever wish...to hurt you?'' Arsac - ''That "soemone else" wants me dead. Just another enemy.'' Tyraz - I come here to rescue you and you treat me as if I'm an active hostile... Arsac - LOOK AT ME TYRAZ! Do I look like I've been saved?

Tyraz's eyes could do nothing more than close softly. All around him, he could feel the chamber demolish itself and disappear from his senses, dragging Sarec and Arsac along with it. All Tyraz was left with now was an isolated, forsaken blackness with just himself as its only resident. No blood, no stray organs, no survivors, no corpses, just himself. He could not tell what was up or down, left or right, for he was exposed to the darkness in its purest form; nothingness. It was as if he had been plucked from his realm of existence and dropped coldly into another, incomplete and imperfect. This was Tyraz's world. This was his all that remained after Arsac's words had finished their war against his spirit.

Sarec - Tyraz...

Arsac's brutal stare continued its assault, analyzing and observing every individual movement Tyraz's body made as her blood dribbled onto the surface of the cold floor. Her stare was as unforgiving as her jagged, pointed teeth which would carve through flesh like cleavers. They were cold as well. One could not really tell if her teeth were baring from the agonizing pain or the bursting fury. For just a moment, Sarec forgot about the reinforcements, the massacre of the Inner Circle, the doors that seperated them and his mind became witness to something he never thought he would see once in his entire lifetime; Tyraz holding his head in his hands and sobbing on both knees.

Tyraz - I...I-I didn't mean to...to hurt you, Arsac... Arsac - ''You've spilled what worthwhile blood there is. Go.''

The crippled demon struggled, both physically and deeply. His weak limbs barely supported his shaking body, he just wanted to collapse. It was times like these that he wished he was gifted and praised with mortality, just so he could waste it, just so he could assure himself that he wasn't a demon or an angel or anything in between. He wanted to be mortal, he wanted to really live, not just exist in a state of neutrality that allowed him to possess what cursed strength he had, no matter what he did with it. The price of even existing was cruel, for he could not die, he could not live. He was different, he was neither yet he was both. He knew there was no real way out of this, he knew that whatever his efforts amounted to would never be enough to restore the essence of his former self. The concentration was broken as all three heard a loud clang at the metal door, Sarec was beginning to become impatient.

Sarec - Tyraz we have to go!