Terminus vs Varrach

Obviously, this battle is of no real effort to the Imperfect.

Each time that Hoot tries to leap or lunge at Varrach, it is met with a cleave of his Kaorblade; each time that he tries to recuperate and back away, dark magics are flung at the beast as a follow up, destroying any hope of victory.

But this is how beasts often grow, don't they? A testing ground through which they suffer, up until they're able to become something, anything. Though, until that happens, Hoot is easily discarded in this struggle.

And when the point reaches far enough, yet another attempt to lunge at Varrach is met with a sound strike against the shoulder of the beast, cleaving much of the flesh away. A clean shling!, followed by a cut, and the beast is forced to retreat.

"..."

The Imperfect has no words to say. He remains where he is, motionless- back to whatever thought he's been contemplating.
(Varrach)

The magical beast may have put up even less of a fight against Varrach than Ishkar.

It was beaten back by magic which it was not even aware existed. Were magi away such things were even plausible in the world of arcana? Death magic pulled at the innate being of the gremlin, it sucked away and toiled at the life force which it had present. There was naught for which it could do against the overwhelming power of Varrach as the imperfect ripped its very soul and life apart.

The kaorblade of Varrach plunged into the clavicle of the magical beast. Thankfully-- they were nearly able to regenerate anything short of imminent death. Magical beasts were awfully hard to put down for no reason. Varrach did not leave and did not properly dispatch the beast.

Angered and near death, it looked to Alameire. Would the human be next in its bloodlust?
(Hoot)

From beyond the veil, eyes glared unto the scuffle unfolding...
Using the metaphysical to displace its presence -- to unmake its image...
And whilst it felt every swing of the Imperfect's kaorblade lashing throughout the air...
As every spell and lunge played out... The scrutinizing hues couldn't help but irradiate the immediate scene with the powers it held back...

Decades of pent-up rage...
Decades of suffering...
A century of contemplation in his degraded state, and alas...

Here he was...
"V A A A R R A A A C H!"
Judging from the seemingly omnipresent source? It was clearly telepathic in nature -- broadcasted for all nigh.

An amalgam of the stygian arts entwined with spatial manipulation sought to directly challenge the psionic field warranted by the entity... As though to enable this interloper the element of surprise.

… One such assumption that was immediately tossed out the window with the gusts of wind proving as a tell to his location. The shadows lengthened...
The coming evening wrought the darkness an excuse to spawn pits of vantablack at the base of a nearby tree. From such? Wriggled a fluid substance from an infinitesimally small point in space... Spanning outward...

A mound of flesh...
Before soon... One...
Two...
Three, nay -- Four... Arms stretched out from its sides. The sound of popping bone and squelching sinew filled the air. Something was pulling itself back together...

In these looming moments, an older variant of Varrach's casted Death Magic resonated from the manifesting figure... Slowly spanning up to challenge even the canopy of treetops.
Like spontaneous pimples, 'they' popped from various points of his abdomen...

Men... Women... Children, even babies -- sacrificed to the demon over the last century in an attempt to keep its constantly degenerating body from falling apart. An overcompensation against the Death Magic constantly marring his stature wrought cancerous bulbous flesh across his onyx form, now titanic over the land and shining their crimson hues...

Crimson hues that sought to reflect the Imperfect within their midsts.

"You.... You did this to me..."

A single step sought to quake the earth underfoot, with all four-arms quivering in their simultaneous flexes at his side.


"I have been waiting for nearly a hundred years... For... This... Very... Moment..."


Though, there was the obvious...
Was he even ready? Even after all of this time?
(Terminus)

The prior battle was an effortless one.

And as such, Varrach remained completely silent and still, unmoving and unbothered. It is not a day that he anticipated to be of any particular importance, or a day that would be marked with anything intriguing.

While much moves on to his design still, there was an expect amount of quiet and solitude that would not be interrupted. That is...

Until now.

An echo of telepathy reaches him. At first, Varrach is surprised- but he's not alarmed. It is not the first time that someone calls out to him like this for any particular reason; most often it comes with a declaration of hostility and hatred, and more often than not, it comes from those that associated themselves with humanity.

This, however, comes not from a human at all.

"..?"

The Revenant of Ragnarök turns. He looks upon Terminus; crimson eyes carefully scan the visage before him, but they do not gain any recognition. Though it seems like he tries to remember, it's difficult to say for certain from the visage of indifference that remains upon Varrach's expression.

".. who are you?"

...

Perhaps it is not what Terminus expected- perhaps he expected the declaration of hatred and hostility in turn, or a pursuit of putting down someone whom he had not managed to entirely put down before, but no such thing occurs.

Is it Varrach's death to blame?

Has his return in a new vessel tampered with his memory? Did his time being sealed somehow damage his memory, made it foggy? Or the Imperfct simply didn't care to remember Terminus? It isn't clear.

But...

It doesn't mean that he does not answer this call. The Kaorblade, Coronacht, is swiftly drawn. It is evident to Varrach that the Demon before him had payback to issue, and the Demon Lord would not stand still while he tries to take his revenge.

"Many claim to know me nowadays. Alas, their faces are mostly unfamiliar to me." Still, the energy of Death flares up about him; it is the same energy to eradicate the very being.


It is the energy to eradicate life itself,
and the soul with it,
to end the very existence.


Such energy remains a powerful source to repel even the divine- a warning from stepping closer.

"You will not find vengeance here."

"Only death."
(Varrach)

Terminus thinks, "No way... I knew the gap was there... But I didn't realize it was this -great- between us both..."

Terminus thinks, "Even now..."

To stand against the precipice of Death takes more than courage.

It takes incredible skill and power to even stand a chance against the First Imperfect. Perhaps it is of no surprise that it would turn out this way- that Terminus, upon beginning their battle against Varrach, would immediately be forced back with the powerful explosion of miasma of Death and dark flames that follow.

This is the power that brought about Ragnarök.

This is the power of the Great Wolf, of the Helheim's Challenge, of the Death Incarnate - and lastly, the Revenant of Ragnarök. This is the power of someone who stood against the Emperor of Meranthe and against the united power of Pantheon of Gods.

What chance could Terminus possibly have..?

With each cleave of Coronacht, he shreds away a part of his ability to resist; his spirit is forced to begin fading at the touch of Death, and the all-consuming dark flame that finds purchase against the form of Terminus yields to nothing. Even the refuge of shadows does naught to ward off the onslaught of the First Imperfect.

For each time that he closes the gap with a terrifying speed, it becomes an endeavor just this much closer to the end of Terminus.

Yet throughout their battle, Varrach says nothing- his expression shows nothing. Perhaps it is the more terrifying aspect of Death Incarnate; like a true force of nature, he engages in a ruthless pursuit after his opponent, striking with an unstoppable force that threatens to ruin their very being.

To destroy their very soul.

A potent strike forces Terminus back. Without delay, Varrach gathers his dark flames to him once more, preparing to charge again.

"It is as I said."

"You will find no vengeance here. Only death."
(Varrach)



An expression marred Terminus' visage that hadn't taken place in ages now...
This sensation... What was it?
To feel his very lifeforce siphoned from his person...
Something that transcended those he had harvested across his many years...
This was that same power that decimated Abendrot so long ago...

It was the very same power that had driven him mad!

Fear.
That was the feeling...
As though that same meager imp from Abendrot was still standing before the First Imperfect of Meranthe…


"No..."

Denial.


The distance forced between them both by Coronacht was aided with a single backpedal. Arms flexed at the sides... Stress getting the better of the alleged Demon Patron.


"NO!"
"This is not where my story ends...
I Am Become God!
IAm The End Made Manifest!
I AM
USQUE TERMINUS
Harbinger Of The End..."


Where Varrach had power? Terminus intended to employ tactics... With the power difference between them both made clear? The aspiring divine sought to invoke wrath upon not only his foe... But every aspect wrought to the environment...
The trees...
The soil...
The bystanders…

Everything had to go -- if only for a slight advantage.


Spheroids of the transmundane irked and wriggled within trembling digits, straining to squeeze them within their clutches. Alabaster static danced amongst the conjurations, swiftly darted for each and every open space upon the battleground.

(Terminus)

Memories.
Memories...

It is not an easy thing, to remember what has happened in the previous lifetime. After all, Varrach has died before, and returned in a new vessel relatively recently. Some memories of the past lifetime allude him still, but there's a hint of recognition as he continues to battle Terminus.

He's seen this one somewhere before, hasn't he? It's almost there... he's so close to remembering it.

But until then, the two battle. Though Terminus employs tactics and strategy, it is abundantly clear that Varrach is no stranger to it either; whether it is timing properly the moment to attack Terminus in turn, or evading his strikes as well.

It was not only the raw power that bought Varrach his accomplishments, but also his martial mind. Still, it manages to slow down the First Imperfect somewhat, buying Terminus just a bit more precious seconds that he could utilize to strike back at Varrach.

"Clever."

.. however, it was not enough.

Much to the dismay of the ancient Demon, the Imperfect was able to close the gap between the two; while they might expect a slash of Coronacht, or the all-consuming flames that would render their struggle null..


Something far worse happens.
The Revenant lays a touch upon their centerpiece,
and channels the power of Death itself.


- - -

Ah.

But you can feel it, can't you? You're slipping away. Just this brief contact is enough to kill you. But there's more to it... it's not as simple as just dying, no. It was never going to be something as easy as that.

It's the eradication of your soul. It isn't enough to destroy your body - the Revenant would have your soul; he would have your very being, deny you rebirth or a chance to become anything else, even if it must happen in another life.

He would take everything you ever were,
and everything you could ever be.

- - -

".. I remember now."

He suddenly speaks, the touch of the ultimate fall placed upon Terminus.

"Abendrot. You swore vengeance, did you not?"

"How pitiful. You fight for something that has been long forgotten."

It is all that the Imperfect would say, the touch closing in still; he would grasp the very center of Terminus, the soul that rests within.

And if Terminus does not wish for a terrible fate that would end his very existence, they must escape this grasp.

Whatever the cost.
(Varrach)

Ruins...
Ruins was what Abendrot was reduced to in an attempt to strike back at Aen one last time...
Oblivion sought to erase his very being with this very magic...

Ruins -- Yet, again - laden across the battlefield, rendered to naught but ash and dust in the wake of two ancients brawling on memories lost to time.
However, between the two? One clearly held the edge... One's occultic prowess couldn't hope to challenge the sheer depths that Death could reap.

To die? Would mean an eventual return... In some way... Or form...
But this? This was different...
After harvesting so many people, forging artificial leylines through a means of fleshcrafting upon himself throughout the years? It didn't prove enough. It wasn't ever enough...
Once again, he was showcased to his own inadequacy -- seemingly at the mercy of the Imperfect now.

"You... Destroyed my body with this magic before...

… But it won't eradicate me twice..."

The abomination writhed, straining the half-bodies grafted to his flesh that weren't flattened throughout the effort to perform incoherent incantations: Wordcasting with the linquistics of Felspeak.

The two heads of fallen magi protruded from both shoulders - one from each, to speak of the profane in unison:

"Per manus eius semper more- vivam — Mortales iras non patiar amplius."


All the while, Terminus spattered with venom throughout his tone:
"Mark my words... I will transcend... I will become a God... And I will end everything… Including you..."
Perhaps, attention to detail would be warranted to the time? It was nightfall... And with the night? The control over the shadows proved nigh absolute.

An amalgam of Umbramancy twisted with the transmundane to rend the gargantuan figure of Terminus to naught but a vantablack silhouette. Though, it was not complete without absolute spatial mastery spanning it outward... Onward...
Everywhere abroad!

He was stretching out his transmogrified stature until it would feel as though their very image had transcended to naught but... Smog? Was this invisibility? Something else...
His presence hadn't quite vanished, infact, it was as though one had taken the very concept of the Shadow Form and applied it to aquamancy's mist form equivalent.

It wouldn't be long though...
As though a subtle breeze were passing by, his presence ebbed away...
Leaving the immediate scene still now.

Until next time...

(Terminus)

Any moment now.

The promises of destruction did not move the Imperfect. Why would they? After all, so many have promised the death of Varrach, but so very few could have a modicum of power enough to fulfill that promise.

Instead, the power that grasped Terminus only grew- seeking to end him for good, to rob him of everything, to take away all that he was worth of and more. This would be the very final act.

Until..

"..?"

Something gets in the way. First an act of transmutation, then that of vanishing; the figure that once was grasped by his hand was now naught but a silhouette, swaying and merging with the shadows from whence it came, and though Varrach reaches with his hand outward to grasp him again, it becomes clear to him that it is all for naught.

The crimson eyes of the Imperfect look around. They track the pattern of the movement left behind by Terminus, trying to gauge whether it's worth chasing after, but he soon determines that it is not worth it at all. The Demon already fled.

"Escaped, then."

It is all that he says on that matter, summoning Coronacht back to where it rested. Silent and likely thoughtful, Varrach makes his leave.

There's nothing else to be had for him here.
(Varrach)