Terminus: Actualization Of The Self

[18:52] The proto-settlement was... Stagnating...
The nonmagus populace was proving as fruitless as ever, managing only to maintain the crops and production of Ale. At least, it kept morale functioning -- at the cost of the Centricon seeing neglect upon the altar forged of Orfeas' spellwork.

The forsaken Patron gazed upon this failure, contemplating on his spite. Three votaries upon the land, unbound by their pacts without consequence. Without even the slightest inkling as to why nor where they found themselves.

Yorumi.
Erenthius.
Retsuki.
All of them, beyond his knowledge and reach -- then, there was Varrach's Bastard, slain -- stripped of his observation to witness his own endeavors bear fruit.

The encounter with Varrach still hung about in his head, mulled upon as to the value of their psionic-borne agreement. On one end, the intent and hatred was never denied, but a greater mission was acknowledged. Both, had to be achieved -- no compromises tobe allowed. Given his current state however? Such was as he said before to them just months prior...
"...Impossible."

The interior of Orfeas' encampment felt Terminus' present cloud within. It was a subtle damper of the torchlight, with chill clinging to the atmosphere abroad.

"As it stands, it is impossible that such an alignment favors us better than our previous arrangement..."
Was he... About to chastise Orfeas for making the connection between themselves and the Crescent Fortress?

"Not, without the completion of 'The Mark'..."
Clearly, it was imperative.
He had to feed, regardless if the Blacklight ritual prevailed over him some day, or not. In the same breath, he could not allow himself to be used as fodder to another forces' endeavors. Fate, simply couldn't had been so cruel -- so absolute in its wicked grasp upon his vision.

Here, in such an enclosed space -- it wasn't practical to take full physical form. Not without the uncomfortable crashing of material within his immediate wake. That, and the ritual's effects had never ceased -- simply more effectively resisted in the moment. It would soon force him to falter once more... And in taking physical form? He was inviting it in full force.

Surely, he couldn't allow himself to surrender to it so soon...
Right?
(Etheric Presence)
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[19:09] In contrast to the outside, the interior of the encampment would be found to be- Warm? More so than usual. Blooms of Marignolia spread across the vines that sprawled along the walls. Emanating that intrinsic warmth akin to fire magic.

Not for Orfeas' sake, but rather- Others that were amidst the abode. A few of the orphaned children taking refuge from the on-and-off rain, with books in-hand.

"It buys us time to plan their eradication." The man would state bluntly, mulling over a few papers of their own writing in internal debate over what to cover next in their thesis.

But a different topic arose. Distracting him from the work upon it.

"You complaints reek of humanity's worst facets. Clinging to the past. Pride. Stubbornness.

When you should be seeing the opportunity for what it is: The potential to infiltrate the beast we've dreaded- And devour its very heart.

Why do you think I stopped to ask about the goals of the fortress? It's all to probe. Gather information. To find the cracks, and push at the right places subtly."

Such was their own design, in truth. Nothing could truly allow them to bury the old hatchet with Atrellya. And if its downfall also happened to include Varrach? All the better.

"I'd conclude, the Mark fails because you attempt to employ a brand without even knowing what the brand is." The man sighed, turning his attention towards the center of the room. Gazing in the general direction. "Your very physiology is constantly changing due to the Blacklight ritual. And your efforts to ward it off are not wholly successful. You literally cannot know how to brand another to yourself, because your 'self' as a concept is different every passing second."
(Orfeas)
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[19:30] There was certainly a general disdain for the decision... But he had lived long enough to realize the fact in the matter. In this new arrangement, they had time. Seemingly -- at least.
Perhaps Orfeas could push the general hatred aside more easily than Terminus could, but the anguish he suffered every fleeting moment -- especially with the lack of sacrificed humans to defer the agony unto? Felt nigh mind-numbingly extreme.

Insanity was well warranted, but instead it'd only intensified the occult flames entangled beyond the flesh, for a semblance of a soul beyond it.
Surely, Terminus could badger them on it...
But like their previous conversations on the matter -- as he had had with his predecessors -- they wouldn't get it.
They did not feel as he did.
How strongly he had...
How long he had bided his time. Though, unlike the nonmagus ilk that had drawn his anger towards wrath? There was only detriment to be found in tantrums with assets such as this.

If he were in physical form, this would be the time he'd sigh. Instead, an ebb across the room emulated a draft despite the encampments' warmth.

Orfeas had an audience that remained captivated on their every word to explain what flaw could be deduced of his endeavors thus far. Alas, it manages to prove to be the very instance that had been holding him back this entire time. Though, to succumb to the ritual would leave him lost of every aspect he had -- whatever little it still proved to be.
And then? There was the loss of his physical form, and the uncertainty of his grasp on even his mental function.

He knew well of Magical Beasts of all variety by now...
Thus far, the only ones that proved sentient were those that had transcended to that of an Imperfect's Imitation. The prerequisites? Unknown. It was simply not a fate that the centurion was comfortable accepting...

"Then, if the Blacklight Ritual has doomed this effort... And relinquishing my resistance is what is required of its completion... Then, I find myself at an impasse." He declared. Despite the fact that his speech was broadcasting clearly through the psionic domain, static was still quite evidently humming in the background.

"If I surrender to this... Power...
I, risk everything... I have beheld the austerity of magical beasts upon Meranthe -- lost of all higher function... To become naught but such... Surely, you know not what you tempt."

He was supposed to be a God: The Demon-Patron himself...
But to allow for such to pass, even if he would prove successful in achieving his Mark... The Cost could render him to naught... But just that...
A simple beast.
(Etheric Presence)
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[19:43] "You lack a Soul. Not a spirit." They'd reply in effort to ward off all those conceptions- The notion of losing everything. A false concern. "The ritual rearranges anatomical structures. The circuitry. You had such a command of your own in these fleeting moments, that I find your lack of imagination idiotic. Your mind will survive. And you could use the ritual to profound benefit, if you play it smart."

A mix of chastising for the overwhelming fear of change. Of becoming something other than a Demon. "You were not cursed by Varrach. You are stuck, embedded with a fragment of Death itself, rather. Think. Terminus." They'd offer no further remark of detail.

Apparently coming to the conclusion that if it were not realized by the patron, of what opportunity this change could bring to him, then any fathom towards moving forward was utterly lost.

"Sit and rot. Or step forward, and evolve." The last thing they would sayin a harsh tone, before turning their attention back to their papers.

Pulling out a fresh sheet, and beginning to scribe upon it, slowly. Though, it would prove to appear as little more than an incomprehensible mess of lines interconnecting in a seeming web of ink across the parchment.

Awaiting the response of the Patron all the while.
(Orfeas)
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[20:50] Heralds, servants and spawnlings had suffered much more, for far less -- Demonstrated countless times across his various forms up until this point.
Yet, Orfeas had managed to go unscathed for their reckless tongue his entire life. It made one think...
Had Terminus grown soft? Weak? Incapable of commanding the power and respect he rightfully sought claim to?

Perhaps, such came with age...
Through it all, a sort of self-loathing seeped in. For life was unforgiving throughout its existence here...
Could this had been what humans dubbed 'depression'? An unflattering realization cloaked within its mind, beyond the visual veil.

Perhaps Orfeas did not know that Terminus was growing more knowledgeable nigh exclusively through this explanation -- of the powers being invoked upon; He knew now that it had something to do with a Goddess 'Vinaska', but solely from their interaction with Varrach.
This power specifically rearranged at anatomical structures -- by extension? The magus circuitry. This explained why his Mark was failing to activate accordingly.

Then, with such? Deduction would allow him to come to a conclusion on his own. All he was missing, were critical details in the face of an unknown presence acting upon him. The matter of Death however? A tool, or a plague -- was up for debate. Despite its heavy invocation against his existence, wagering its enactment beyond his own vassal proved challenging beyond declaring his presence.

Surely, such would change with time...
Time... And the strength to shake off their crippling anatomy as it were.

Varrach had left him behind...
Tal'guth had transcended beyond him...
Sak'noth… Even other demons he had never heard of prior -- broke beyond the ceiling to a height he simply never experienced -- something he had never fathomed -- denied to him time and time again.

Perhaps, this was what it felt like to surrender outright when victory proved impossible.
Perhaps, this was what it felt like to be mortal...
Perhaps... He was never a God to begin with... Never destined for... Anything…
Still that same Imp he was so long ago...
Glowering at the knight that withdrew their steel from his side, to take rise and slash down once more.

'So... This was what it was like...'
'I almost... Forgot...'
(Etheric Presence)
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[20:50] The air shifted, siphoning away at the center of the encampment -- He was taking form once more...
Though, it could've been debated that he simply had had enough. Perhaps, this was him preparing to lash out at Orfeas? The squelching of flesh and popping of sinew into place as the body generated a shape from beyond the veil sounded off. A gargantuan hand manifested, reaching out for... Orfeas?! So, it turned out, he wa--

It halted outright... The radiation of Death Magic from so long ago still clung to the flesh -- blackened veins from the core of his being snaked and threaded across the back of his hand, over each digit. The pain... Seemed to fade -- going numb.

Perhaps, he didn't need the sacrifices from so long ago, to negate the pains of the world...

Another arm manifested, splaying its digits open to firmly plant open-palms upon the floor of the encampment. Together, they held up a headless torso, devoid of the grafted once taken to his form. The remaining two arms manifested, but no more... Leaving only half of his body present, with the head stretching out from the depths of the pit betwixt his shoulders.

Was this him... Partially transformed now? Or partially manifested? Perhaps a combination of the two. He still maintained an impressive size, but... It was clear that he had shrunk somewhat. Across the four arm-like appendages spanned those veins of Varrach's touch, resonating Death in such fashion that itd render his mana circuits greyed out nigh the core. Secondary and Tertiary leylines were drafted from one of the limbs to compensate, but surely -- the constantly ebb of his anatomy proved to render its efforts nigh moot.

The motion of an incomplete attack was never revisited -- whether an intention fake-out or callous attempt to manifest without regard to his surroundings. Such was up for interpretation -- to all but Terminus.
Where legs should've lied, remained a seemingly vestigial tail of blackened smog. It was as if, a vile imitation of a djinn.
Surely, this was simply the equivalent to one dipping their toe in the frigid waters pending a cold plunge.

Perhaps, it wasn't -too- ba-- The crackling of bone and compression of sinew filled his ears. It was horrendous... Like a poison invading to complement Death's embrace upon his stature. Slowly, he shriveled down... From the monstrous proportions that sought to overwhelm the encampment to... Something much more comparable to mankind. At least... For the moment... His limbs shriveled up faster than the rest of his body, becoming stubby by comparison.

The grunts and irks from his visage insinuated... Genuine pain...
But the extra mass wasn't vanishing, rather -- compressing in on itself. It was as though his very attunement to the spatial domain sought to work against him. All of his greatness, now compacted into a beastial form.
To his dismay? Despite all of his Pride? He truly was... Small.
The rest of his dispersal from physical form was undone, revealing...
....Was that.... A gecko? In the middle of the room?
Wandering up to it would reveal a small lizard, but the radiation of Terminus' presence remained all the same. It darted its head akin to any other creature of his diminutive size, eventually reflecting Orfeas in its slitted gaze... Offering forth a single tongue lick to his eye.

No words were spoken, but the sheer spite beyond the veil could be felt.
At least, his power remained in tact... Whatever was left of it in his previously withering state, that was.
(Etheric Presence)
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[21:08] Orfeas didn't so much as flinch before the patron's initial effort to lash out. Though, once they finally manifested- And began to change? Their expression final softened. A minor, necessary evil to his eyes, were the cruel wording used.

Intentional provocation. One way or another they would have changed. But rejecting change only brings turmoil, and failure.

Perhaps this would have been fine and well, were it just Orfeas here to witness the transformation. Calm and collected as they usually were- The children however, were another story.

At least two running out immediately upon seeing the grotesque formation of demonic flesh reshaping- One cowering behind one of the dividers... And alas, there were two that were unphased entirely up until the transformation was complete.

Mere children that immediately went to stare down at the gecko-like creature.

As if Orfeas seeing them like this weren't humiliating enough.

Yet, the man arose from his seat finally, and gave a brief shooing motion of a hand, to gesture for the lingering youths to leave the encampment for the time being.

Only afterwards, focusing upon what became of the Patron.

"And now, you are free." Even though to the other's perspective, it was hardly such. "Hel shall have no sway. Your new form will have the potential to own, and subsume that curse with time. I apologize for the harsh wording. But you were far too stubborn on the matter. If I'd feigned indifference, you would've likely sooner died than achieved any state in which you'd be ready to take the next step forward."
(Orfeas)
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[21:23] Terminus, now damned to the stature of a gecko, couldn't harness facial expression as discernable such as spite, disgust, dismay -- or anything aside from general behavior that another of this ilk could showcase. Though, there were -some- things that translated evenly across all living creatures.
"Hhhhhhhhhhhhhh…"
Did... He hiss at him?

That wasn't right. Surely, he should've been able to telepathically speak with Orfeas… Right? The psionic channel was... Surprisingly vacant. This meant many potential issues -- such as the few that still were enthralled by the Demon Patron's prowess managing to break free when beyond his psionic influence.

A body reshaped may've had the same capabilities of the spirit, but it lacked the mastery over the anatomy it was now attempting to control.
"Hhhh-... HHHhhhhhhh...Hhhhhhh-aaaaaaaa…

S-...Ssssp-...."
Where his mind failed to transmit his thoughts... And his new anatomy failed to harbor the necessary physical capability to properly speak? The magics attuned to his circuitry would compensate, manifesting a voice box through solidified shadow twisted upon by the occult.

"This, form..."
Its voice emulated that of a discordant union of human imitators from beyond the veil. Though it was clearly audible and coherent, it was clear that that the speaker lacked humanity even now.
"I... Hate it..."
Perhaps one of his limbs, hopefully one of his arms carried the mark he bore in his larger, original form!

Though, even if it did... How would it had translated over to this state? Surely, he would have to try all over again, wouldn't he? Though, it probably wouldn't do something so small much good...
Or could it.

"Hel may have no sway... But this... " A darted glance to the left, to the right, and then back up...
-up- to Orfeas…
He had never seen the world so large, from a perspective so small...

"This feels... Worse... Worse than succumbing to the heel of a Marqui or a Witch... I am..."
He had to admit it... It was undeniable now. Crushingly so...
"Small."

(Terminus)
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[21:41] A simply nod. That was all they would receive for their entirely valid complaints regarding the situation. Though, by now, none should truly be surprised. Orfeas' motto was practically 'it is what it is, move on'.

Not necessarily uncaring, but ever-adapting instead, to use every situation to a potential advantage.

"That Demon Terminus was turned into a Magical Beast! Rumor is, he was turned docile once the demonic influence left him!" They'd suddenly shout out loud and clear. More than dripping with how saturated it was with sarcasm.

"Doors open with this, Terminus. You may have lost one or two cards. But the game is far from over, and you've been handed a variety of new opportunities. You need only play this new hand right.

You've done it before. Made the most of the worst hands that could've been dealt. I've read the record one of your acolytes scribed. This time around, you have an ally that isn't strictly looking to simply claim power and run off right after."

Some amount of reassurance, however little it may have helped the current situation.

"Regardless. Big or small. You will Herald the end. And besides, with the change completed? You've so many more pathways to ascend through. You need not rely on the one intended by the Fel. Rites unrelated will also have more affect. Including those of reverence. Fel power was always antithetical to that of faith, despite being of the same coin. But now you literally have a piece of Mortyl's power as part of you, no? No longer a curse in its entirety, you could finally use that. Learn to draw from it, now that it is more intermingled with your flesh."
(Orfeas)
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[22:10] Perhaps there was truth in this.
It didn't mean that the Gecko Terminus loved it any bit more.
Though, perhaps he had been in worse predicaments... Forced to reside upon a wall of flesh, rendered to naught but a stationary Icon of Sin to spread its influence upon a damned island.

One such island, sunken into the sea...
He had faced off against the full might of Abendrot's destruction -- against a feat that was scribed in Meranthean history books... And survived.

He had faced off against Varrach, and the many numbers under his employ all on his lonesome -- and not only decimated at the numbers, but escaped with his life... Even enough so, to return before him again -- even if lost of the form he took when they met last.

Mortyl's Embrace lied within him...
Varrach's touch of Death, still laced itself throughout him...
The sensation of countless slaughterings invoked upon his being, still scoured at his mind...

That Hatred... Of the world...
Of all that existed within it...
Of himself...
It brewed the deepest of the transmundane -- calling upon the absence of Life from within. It was an ichorous miasma, but it did not bubble forth for very long.

It turned out, Death was quite elusive to one's active manipulation.
A matter for another time...

Without attachment to the Fel -- to even the powers of Hel itself, he lacked the capacity to forge new cambions, to conjure demons, to spread the knowledge of the occult or even breach the minds of those abroad. However, his mastery over the occult, and understanding of runework and beyond would remain.

"The doors are open... Yet what I see, I..."
He hated it all...
But alas, what choice did he truly have...
"--I, have yet to properly ascertain."
To grasp it all over again, through a new lens. That was what he needed...
The small lizard, likely to accidentally get trampled by someone on the isle... Darted off...

For a crack? A crevice? Or through the front entrance? Who knew... But somewhere in the night, it'd scurry through the grass -- hopefully not to humorously fall victim to raptor of the night.
(Terminus)
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