Terminus: Reclaiming Dominion

[20:25] The patron had not stirred for a very, very long time... but Laurentius held his vigil. Waiting, ignoring the voice, that passenger, ignoring the moments it stole sight from one eye to gaze and stare at his surroundings.

Irrelevant.

The soldier kneels, as he senses the stirring.

"The rite is complete. The ring rests to empower itself. I have... an injury. Something is watching. Listening. Pushing." It is annoying, but Laurentius was resilient.

"Harbinger has uncovered a new ability, which he used to gaze into my past. I instructed him only to look at things which he was there for. He discovered the pain I had been in, and expressed a level of attachment and condolence.

I have informed him you have fixed it. He does not know what we are."

A great sum of essence flows within the Champion, calling out to the stirring presence beneath... but the lingering otherness- is something worse... while he knows not what it is, perhaps his Lord does.

And if he does, perhaps it sends a chill down what remains of his spine.
(Laurentius of Terminus)

[20:55] There was once a saying...
Time... Heals all wounds...
Perhaps, it was a matter that was taken more literal than not.

Beneath the surface of the vantablack pool, proved a great deal more flesh that previously forged -- The husk had been grown over by layers upon layers of cancerous flesh, now allowed to grow amuck and uncontested, festering over and around the Patron's anatomy to resemble something closer to what it once was...

Before Antefinem...
Before stepping foot once more upon Meranthe...
A Vestige of The Terminal.

A C'thulian-esque nightmare of tendrils spanning nigh a dozen feet rolled about akin to fleshy flora from his mass, wading within the inky depths, hiding themselves from the casual wanderer's gaze. The psionic presence of the Patron had only intensified with its overgeneration of bodily stature -- making those most attuned to him to briefly witness flickers of his astral projection upon the surface. Humanoid silhouettes, devoid of most features save for crimson eyes -- Though, it hardly proved adamant in its manifestations, fading away after brief blips into being.

As Laurentius made their arrival, perhaps they could feel it...
As if, dozens of child-like hands reached out to graze his form, beyond the armor and straight the flesh -- Only for him to advance past them, akin to a faceless paparazzi.

Every word spoken was picked up, through the minds of those with open ears, or from the very mind of the one whom spoke them. It was what defied the auditory barrier of the aquatic domain that the Patron had submerged themselves within -- and in kind, their answer would telepathically usher back into Laurentius' mind.

"A necessary step in achieving the Vision. Though, intervention by any party shall be undone at once."
It was as simple as activating the very capabilities of one's implanted flesh. However, therein lied other news -- 'Harbringer' had returned to the forefront of news. It had appeared that they had stepped out of the shadows they relegated themselves to for so long, for another role... Or so it'd seem.

At the very least, it would seem that despite such a unique capability -- It did not come to the detriment of all he had come to build; His cradle remained intact.

It was without further ado, that tendrils slowly drifted from their blackened sheath, revealing a trio that'd stretch out to meet kneeling Laurentius. Two curve at his sides, with the foremost arcing before the crown of his helm -- resonating one's essence in ethereal pulsations. Such radiance proved intent on phasing through the metal of one's helm, flesh and bone alike -- To filter through the circuitry and--

The tendrils recoiled, almost as though reviled by the presence of something. Terminus, indeed, noticed something amiss...
Even... recognized it to some extent.

While creatures of Hel and creatures of the Void had a proclivity to condone to the mutual dismay of all mortal ilk? It was notorious amongst all, that Voidlings -also- made prey of Hel-borne entities...
Terminus was no exception...

While one would naturally harbor a mix of fear and anger for such a passenger hitching a ride on what he deemed to be his greatest product? It left one to wonder...
How did something like this... Accomplish a feat such as this, without extensive attunement? Was it so, that they were much more superior than he was? Than he ever could be?

Entropic essence was siphoned throughout the contemplation of what the Patron was witnessing, realizing...Before, mulling about the demonstrations of other happenings.

Of Tal'guth, and their Mindworms...
"I fostered them... Sculpted so many more...
To become what they would inevitably be...

What makes them, so much greater than I?
Surely... It is not Fate's Will...

They are but products...
Specimens that have aspired to a mortal-bound purpose...
But -I-... Am a concept...
Timeless. Undying. Unrelenting.
Though generations may change, dialect and mannerisms alike -- I am absolute.
It is by Fate's Will, that I not merely attain such...
It is by Fate's Will, that I Am...

Step forth, Insignis... Bathe within the depths of my blood, so that I may fix you anew, once more..."
It was more than simply a healing, or injury this time around...
This time, it was an invader... A foreigner -- that claimed powers not dissimilar to Tal'guth...

Something, that by Terminus' standards declared itself superior than he -- Even if unwittingly.
It was not to be offered a further moment's reprieve.
(Etheric Presence)

[21:18] Tendrils reach out, resting around the Champion, as a goodly sum of power is drawn forth. He had been busy, after all- the Bleeding- Ah... time to explain, to his Lord.

He rises, stepping into the blood, sinking beneath the waves... as he begins to recount. The ring is absent from his finger, as his Lord balks at the notion of what unholy foulness had set itself upon him... the sword upon his back is new, as well- but it is a foul thing, accursed and worthelss.

"The rite was a success, though I was wounded by a fairy at the end... Yaeka kept her word. The ring has been broken, and it only needs time to set, now. The grace has been imbued within.

The Dwarves are enraged, for the only loss that day was my third battle against the fairy, and it was very close.

I have consulted with this sword, to which I was advised to affix something that will feed it, allowing me to wield the curse to my own ends instead. The Republic took Nilhirra, the Nameless Circle are gone, and Altharim is collapsing in on itself. We are forgotten by our foes. Monolith is razed.

There is another... thing. An undead of Varrach. Their identity is known to me. I could let it slip to others. Do I?"

Already asking for orders, for instruction, relaying to his Lord what he had found and what must be done. The passenger is something his razor-sharp devotion cleaves through like a knife, fighting tooth and nail against it's foul influence. Only one may command him. Only one holds his soul. Only one may bring The End.

Yet injuries mount, and until it is fixed... until that draining, parasitic Voidling observer was supplanted, he was weakened. Damage had piled upon Terminus's masterpiece, over time... the cost of doing business.
(Laurentius of Terminus)

[21:42] Yaeka, quite the unique asset -- someone to be contemplated on later.
It would seem with the completion of the ritual, came both an achieved, yet unreadied product, and... New weaponry? It was not anything he had recalled from the coffers -- though, by now? Who was to say he simply hadn't forgotten, perhaps, Laurentius had stumbled upon it himself.

The mentions of one consulting with their weapon were largely ignored, presumed to be some sort of loss in translation, if not simply a detail that didn't concern him.

News of the enraged dwarves drew only mild content from Terminus, for it came with knowledge that Laurentius had nearly defeated three Meranthean magi in clear succession, by such mention alone.

Nilhirra, a potential threat -- was dispatched, and the Nameless Circle, a troublesome foe lying on the horizon -- vanquished in tow.
"Sinners, smited by Fate's justice... Whether by My hand, or others riled in Sin, it matters not.

For human nature offers itself as its own consequence."
The Monolith proved to Terminus to be a meager footnote in history -- for as influential as they had proven on the mainland? He had never interacted with any of their vestiges, leaving it to perish as it existed -- Irrelevant to his affairs.

Though, one detail did pique Terminus' interest...
The identity of one of Varrach's undead.
Such knowledge always seemed to be so elusive, and with so many of them ready to slay at the realization of their cover being blown? Many of Terminus' efforts to surpass what he deemed to be a vastly superior rival, proved thwarted before they could ever take root...

But now? He had -one- article of information he could wager to his advantage.
"Tell me... How did you stumble upon this information...
Who are they? Where are they?"

Every last morsel of information concerning Varrach was to be studied, digested, and then evolved for his own tactics, before...
"... Of course... Draw such nectar to the ears of those that would apply such knowledge most effectively. Every advantage I manage, and every pang of suffering he experiences -- Will offer me even an iota of pleasure..."

As one descended into the murky depths, the pulsations from numerous encircling tendrils resonated through flesh, blood, armor and circuitry alike -- back, and forth.

Every last patch of unfinished skin...
Every last divit in flesh...
Every last cut, bruise, and burn...
Every imperfection, from rusty residue to... There it was...
A foreign parasite... A creature... An interloper within Terminus' domain.

Identified.

The tendrils enclosed upon Laurentius entirely, cusping around him to form a caccoon of spindling flesh. It pulsated to remove the excess alchemic substance from its clutches, applying pressure in the endeavor. Within such close proximity, the flesh seemed to react to Laurentius' own, as though commanding of it, having once been a part of its host below.

Muscle worked against the manner of Laurentius, flesh contorting with bones shifting ever-the-slightest bit to refine one's grasp over the location of the foreign presence. Though, it proved to be something greater than many of Terminus' previous feats. It was not merely a matter of consuming it... Nor destroying it. It required collaboration...

It required Laurentius himself, to manipulate at his body to ensure that the second stage of Terminus' efforts could be realized.

"It is not a matter of the flesh, it seems... But the mind. It wishes to put itself within my creation, my endeavor to Perfect Life, to act through... To see through? Of -my- flesh? Of -my- power? Of -my- Perfection?

No... It will not be."

It was as though forces unknown sought to squeeze down upon one's mind, upon one's head -- compressing at gray matter, before refining its grasp through it, rather than upon it. He was still searching...
(Etheric Presence)

[22:14] "[Thus always to sinners.]"

The destruction of such across all the land was a growing phenomenon, the crusade in swing. Oh, Viritas and Pscaela stood, the first having proven troublesomely resilient and the second having proven to be a near constant in the world...

... but then, so too had Terminus. The Lord was enduring, as well... and Laurentius was likewise durable.

"[He simply told me.]
[He goes by Uros, wandering about. He pretends to be a machine, and often dwells with the dwarves. That is also where the one who gave me this wound resides.]"

Tell them...

"[I will do so.]"

Uros would find the world growing far more hostile to his presence in due time, it seems. Undermining the efforts of Varrach... others would do so for them.

Ah, there it is. Blinding him in one eye, reading, seeing. Fully, the flesh wrapped about him, crushing inwards until he is fully enwrapped. Brought forwards, grasped, seized. A seizure of the mind, a grasp upon Laurentius's being, a compress upon the skull-

Upon strings of foreign influence that extend beyond, a touch of the Void, a parasite within him. Insidious, antithetical, something wrong. A watcher of the broodmother, the Queen, from a realm Laurentius had glimpsed in foul rite and found abhorrent.

A whisper. A little comment. A ridicule. It mocks the master, sometimes, mocks him- praised him for his lies, nibbled at his devotion. Intrusive.

Disgusting. He hated it.

Only one was allowed to hold prescience over the mind of Laurentius, the itch of the void was not welcome here. It was not the end they sought, and so, as he is encouraged, as he is coaxed, as he is empowered...

He was Laurentius of Terminus.
He was the Champion of the End.
He was the instrument of His will.

None other had right to claim him, none other had right to act upon, nor gaze upon.
Only in The End would they understand.

This revilement finds a burning, building pressure within the Soldier, as his mind turns inwards. Devotion is wielded like a blade, a glacier-weight of frigid, burning fanaticism. The Faeling Queen was a being that bit upon the lifestream, yet he was not of that. He was something else, and that entropic power is channeled into the passenger as he seizes it in mental claws.

It gazes, and Mordeaux gazes back, teeth yawning wide, hands crushing down, to rip out it's throat and devour it. And in the end, it leaves a hole. A gap. A vacancy, in his feasting upon it's wailing ways. The hunter was the prey, and it's sobs find no mercy. It's pleading begs and bargaining find deaf ears and spite, before it's tongue and throat are torn to ribbons and it can no longer do aught but twitch and gasp in spriitual death-throes.

Oh, the mark of the void, the hunger and itch and gnawing remains... but Murder has been brought to the interloper by one so empowered.

To beckon another to occupy that place.
The only one who has the right.
(Laurentius of Terminus)

[22:45] "Ah... There you are..."
Laurentius' battle against this mental adversary was not in vain -- Their resistance offered a coalescing of mana presence within their own anatomy; something that Terminus could pick up on, and follow.

Not only could he identify it... He could realize exactly where it was within one's body. It was only a vestige -- Far lesser than what Terminus or Laurentius was. Ergo, it was within their capacity to overwhelm... Perhaps, even taking it a step further.
Isolated.
Laurentius' efforts, combined with Terminus would find it consumed entirely... Leaving naught in its wake.

And thus, with the late experimentation of the former Nightreapers, before Antefinem...
And with the experimentation of the microcosm of the Rust Plague? One could take the next evolutionary step...

Just as the stories went with Tal'guth, and their mindworms... Terminus, could manufacture something of his own.

It was not an entropic core, but it could certainly amount to something he had accomplished not once, but twice...
With Syrta, one of his first immortalized Harbingers...
With Erenthius, one of the recent Seers of The End...
And now? With Laurentius...

Assimulate.
Entropic essence coalesce within Laurentius, compounding upon the very mark that was established just moments prior. Whilst the impact of the Void was never truly cleansed, its place was simply occupied by another...

One such presence, that proved native to the very flesh, and bone that forged such a vessel...
"Of the many years I've observed others that have utilized such powers, so few had taken it upon themselves to exact their prowess with precision... Always opting for the unrefined brutality that yields less in bulk, than with vast boons quality can assure.

Though, one must also deduce that the weight of the soul found, applies great impact to the endeavor in tow."

This was different than many of Terminus' boons to Laurentius thus far. A flesh-like construct found itself within their body, remotely implanted within their head through the very essences they would typically harvest. It was as though, a new organ was formed, not unlike the entropic core pulsating within their abdomen. However, it rested behind the eyes, somehow failing to impair brain functionality -- as though capable of compensating for the used space.

A more refined variant of the Patron's Eyes was manifested, not of the eyeballs themselves being replaced, but an augmenting organ behind them to channel mana through the occular organs for sharpened Visualcasting methods... and perhaps... Something else.

As though, Terminus' Willwas imbued upon Laurentius... Through Mordeaux...
For he was no longer restrained by distance... He sought to be both within Antefinem, and whereever his Champions should wander.
"Rise... And realize that I shall never leave your side again."
Perhaps, such presence would prove limp, as feeble as the rest of His flesh whenever Laurentius stepped foot off of Antefinem... For when, has Terminus ever proven capable of hearing and seeing beyond his shores?

Though, with time, it'd come...
The subtle shifts in the air... The emboldening sensation of His telekinetic prowess... The psionic whispers of his intent, ultimately resting upon Laurentius' established nature.

For what more had he to do, to impart judgement and decrees -- When Democracy's Strongest Soldier, knew through and through.

Time would tell, if fruit would come of this labor... Or if it would prove to be as mundane as the previous attempts of augmentation.
(Etheric Presence)