dev 5 - eternity and more event

[FIGHT 1]

Light spreads out across the darkened space, the corridor filled with dead end after dead end. It spreads out in rieka, in lightning, in torch fires and the like. It makes the the hallways reveal themselves, their grey, tiled stone floor as boring in the light as it was in the darkness.

By all accounts this place should be a freezer, but the air is boiling already, and once the lights spread out, it is turned up another few, harmful notches. Another roar shakes the hall, closer this time, but not in front of the group... or behind...

but above.

The ceiling crumbles down upon them, debris and rock crashing downward. No one is able to get out of its way as a large SOMETHING collides with the floor, and Freya is nearly buried beneath some of the rubble. She's able to move out of the way just in time, but not before the falling stones tear into her left arm and armor.

The thing doesn't wait for anyone to ready themselves.

It unleashes its hellish flames on those it would deem intruders immediately.

There we go.

This beast might as well be responsible for shifting things around too. At least, now that they were able to see the monster before them, they knew whom they had to deal with - and this isn't going to be an easy fight by all accounts; at least, he feels that way.

"I'm sure the rest of you already know what to do about this."

The staff was raised, and the storms only beamed further; this time, it was something that promised powerful winds and lightning spreading out across the halls, intending to smite the beast before them.

"Let's get this over with quickly."
(Arthur Rowan)

Ser Artaghh is assailed by rocks from above with a sudden epiphany as a large chunk smashed directly into his forehead. Falling to his knee for a moment, the revelation that they'd been so focused on the ground, they hadn't thought of the ceiling above them reignited his vigor as he planted his black blade into the groun, ethereal fire burning about his form as he rose forth in preparation to engage the beast.

A fight, far more straightforward. In Azrael we trust.

The commander would prepare to engage the fiery beast that had charred the undead, a smile of satisfaction spread across his face in having defeated yet one more foul puzzle.
(Artaghh)

Dead End, followed by Dead End, this place was hellish. It had no right path.

All the group did was keep going forward, hoping to find something.

Until from nothing, the ceiling succumbs, Aldrah manages not to be get crushed, but got a little wounded. But Freya was not so lucky and was crushed by stones.

When the necromancer only saw flames coming toward him, undeads blocked as much as they could, since the old man did not have the time to look at what had done it.

But as soon as he could, Aldrah saw a beast in front of him and apparently it was unfriendly, a fight was on its way without a doubt.

Aldrah's icy aura grew, as he now set out for combat.
(Aldrah Leverd)

The ceiling began to crash, and Freya's prosthetic was caught in the falling debris. The hand was smashed, but no pain to the undead.

If anything, she was far more satisfied with this kind of encounter. Puzzles were not her strong suit, but fighting against a monster was.

The Reika around her body grew white-hot and blazed the stone she stepped on. Time to get to work.
(Freya Vishkar)

Aldrah Leverd drinks a Stone Skin!

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The Enraged Beast has sustained an injury in battle...

The monstrous creature was not so Strong as expected.. It was using its black flames, which made life difficult for the group, waste of time. However, the skill set of all present, had demonstrated enough to subdue the creature, without major problems.

Aldrah was using his spells to avoid approaching the creature too much, attacking when he saw opportunities.

In the end, the creature was defeated. The group emerged victorious, with no major injuries. Amazing.

Aldrah looked at the fallen creature, a cold look, barely demonstrating anything, "I thought that thing would be stronger, after what he done.. But apparently it's just a 'worm', which only served to make us waste time." He spoke in a calm tone, undeads following him.
(Aldrah Leverd)

Even with a crushed prosthetic, Freya fought with vigor and speed. Bolts of Rieka crashing into the flesh of the monster, followed up by wicked slice of Colada, infusing as much of Azrael's gift into the beast to slow its movements.

But in the end, it would be her teacher, Artagh, to deliver the finishing blow. With an opening created by the flames of her Rieka, the beast would be defeated, and the party would escape relatively unscathed.

She moved her prosthetic, and the plating on the wrist and forearm was totally smashed in, with the wires exposed and circuits of Rieka able to be seen. Someone's going to have to fix that one, mmhm.
(Freya Vishkar)

There's no doubt that the beast would be something ferocious.

Thankfully, the teamwork of the group was good enough to ensure that they could defeat it without being scathed too much. If anything, there was certain work with how they made it - with each blow, there was sting of the winter that provided necessary field of the battle, and the boiling blood, which the Lich King assaulted the creature with.

But where each and every blow would wind up putting a dent to it, at some point, Arthur realized that the creature was already going down; yet another shock of lightning, something so necessary in this combat, and at last, the beast was defeated.

Though, there were also minor casualties...

The Lich King floated over to Freya; inspecting her damaged arm, he could already tell that the prosthetic was the one that suffered the most damage. Thankfully, he was familiar with metallurgy to a certain degree - the fact that Dylerun himself forced the Rowan to create parts of his phylactery made it so that he knew how this thing functions.

"Hold still."

The invigoration of the mana circuitry was apparent. Although it would never replicate the real arm, the runes that meant to surge the prosthetic with energy were put in place, and the careful, but otherwise mending touch of Telekinesis was applied. Surely, it's not a conventional healing method - but neither was this 'wound'.

The crushed prosthetic was, thus, swiftly mended back in place through the power of Telekinesis; the runes and invigoration served to re-charge it back in place.

"All is done."

"However, we cannot waste time. Now, we need to find the way out of here - continue shining with light, we have to make sure we aren't going to get lost in the dark."

"Otherwise, try and reach places we haven't been to yet."
(Arthur Rowan)

Arthur Rowan applies first aid treatment to Freya Vishkar.

You have reduced the duration of Freya Vishkar's Wrecked Prosthetic Arm injury by 75%

Ser Artaghh would engage against the fiery beast with all of his pent up fury and rage, the taunting puzzles a natural irritant and enemy to the blunt, common born knight. Igniting forth with muscles forth, he'd engage beside his king, paladin, and knight in a glorious crescendo of melee combat, crashing across the battlefield with concussive blows.

The undead, Arthur's spellcraft, Freya's might, Aldrah's chill; his allies efforts gave him moments to strike true with an ethereal howl of his blade's swing, fierce cuts of anger as Artaghh's muscles bulged forth with each progressive, savage swing of his black greatsword. His rage at puzzles had overtaken him, and he would have blood.

Seeing his moment to strike, Artaghh would phase briefly into the spirit realm as he gathered energy in his right arm, the size and density of the muscle mass in his appendage near tripling as he took a deep, solemn breath.

Lunging forth as he stepped out of the phase, the commander would grit his teeth with fury as he SMASHED the beast in its torso with a resounding, vicious, and concussive below, slamming down with explosive might as all of the knight's fury at trickery was channeled into one action of dedicated ultraviolence.
(Artaghh)

[RIDDLE 1]

The weapons are examined and shown to be as follows:

A Warhammer dubbed 'Deathbringer', one with a bright yellow leather handle.

A Great Sword, called Oath Shatterer, one with Blood red inscriptions on it.

A Glaive, Mercy Climber, it is a bright blue blade with a black leader braided handle.

Giant Toe, a Maul, decorated with a giant skull with its mouth open where the maul protrudes outward from.

Quicksilver, a pike with a dark green jade blade and a bamboo handle.

Bad Samaritan, a Trident with dark and golden reflective inscriptions.

Midnight Sun, a Quarterstaff with braided dark and light wood and teal crystal inlays.

Peacemaker, a rusted longsword with an olive branch wrapped around the hilt.

Kingslayer, a Morningstar with a black handle and a white head.

Widowmaker, a Longbow made of Cherry wood with yellow crystal inlays.

Potentially, few of those weapons could be something that a king would covet; something that brings warriors to ruin, and ends all battles. But... he also had to remember the teachings of Azrael, his own experiences, and something that he observed throughout his time on Agartha.

'What would bring ruin to warriors?'

"The lack of war makes warriors useless..."

He ran his gaze across the room. He kept thinking, running the names of each weapon through his mind.

'What would end battles?'

"When no more reason is given..."

Just two more options in his mind. Now, what he, as a King, coveted? What Azrael wanted to bring to the world by making everyone Undead, albeit, through very brutal ways?

'What was the last thing in his mind to protect Dawn?'

"...Peace."

He walked closer; steadily, he grasped upon the hilt of the Peacemaker, two blue fires that had long replaced eyes scanning it. Such rusted sword... it probably served the metaphor - if there is peace, there is no need for war or the warriors. The swords would rust.

He turned to the statue and approached it.

Bracing himself for potential impact, he placed the Peacemaker in its hand, waiting.
(Arthur Rowan)


Ser Artaghh would pass by all the varied weapons that were lain about, their fascinating names and embroidered forms. Each was clearly a mighty, flamboyant, and rich adornment for a monarch, but only one caught the knight’s attention as he approached it with curiosity.

A rusted blade with an olive branch. Not fanciful, shiny, impressive. But peace, hard won through war or diplomacy, meant prosperity. Progress.

Peacemaker. This, Ser Artaghh thought, might be the blade of kings.

(Artaghh)

Peacemaker is offered to the statue with the phantom floating overhead. It watches as the knight is given the old and rusted sword, and its armored, stone fingers curl around the handle. It shifts, like an animated construct, until it has both hands resting on the hilt of the blade and the sword itself is pointed downward.

No strike follows,

only the voice of the phantom.

"Good... you know well, Lich King... for a man who doesn't know how to walk backward into the darkness, you certainly solved this one rather quick."

It waved its hand and began floating ahead again, "Come. There is yet one more test to prove your worth."

"That is perhaps the worst riddle you could've given me."

"I was only taught how to walk forward in life, you see. I was never taught to walk back."

He retaliates, and while it may sound almost petty coming from Arthur, in a sense, it's true; the Lich Ling only knew how to walk forward or to stop. Never walk back.

The Lich King, nonetheless, followed the phantom. It may have insulted him backhandedly, but he knew that he was a somewhat reliable guide.

Hopefully.
(Arthur Rowan)

[FINAL]

Where others would have smiled, or even laughed at Arthur explaining his reasoning against the maze, the phantom said nothing. It was silent, and moved on toward a dark wall. When it reached it, it slipped through, just as it had done at the doorway where the group had started. Only this time following the phantom would reveal new results.

The outside air was found once again, though this time it was not cold.

The sound of the nearby ocean washing over large, rocky bluffs could be heard, and the group found themselve sin a wrecked courtyard.

"In a time long forgotten, in the wars only spoken of in myth..." it said, circling some of the stones that had fallen from the sky and cratered the ground here. "Azrael's chosen were equipped with weapons of power beyond that of the average soldier... of the mundane necromancer... not even Liches like yourself, Arthur, were granted an opportunity at wielding some of that... GREATER power over the soul itself..."

The sounds of war could be heard in the distance, screams of pain and anguish. Explosions caused by spells slung to and fro made the ground shake, though there was nothing visible present to explain them yet.

"It was during this war that I was chosen... and then it was here where I was put to rest... to oversee the gift I was given."

It pulled back its hood and finally revealed its face; a golden facade with rieka green eyes. A mask suited for someone of the highest order.

"Agartha was not always as it was, you know... the mountains were not always frozen over. I have waited for a successor, someone worthy to brave my tomb. And though you killed my guardian beast, you must understand..."

Shadows sprouted out of the ground and grouped around the phantom. They all took the form of undead soldiers of its own, though blackened in nature and eyes dripping red. They were creatures from the past, from the age of this Azraelite Hero that they were all now standing in, soldiers who had followed his command.

"I must test you myself."

Occultism washed forth as it enveloped the phantom's form, and the ichor ridden soldiers readied themselves for battle.


He didn't expect the guardian to simply give up the relic just like that.

If anything, he expected the guardian to even refuse to give them anything at all... which would be an understandable notion of someone who seeks someone worthwhile only. Still, there's no such thing as 'going backward' in the vocabulary of the Lich - it may be even viewed as stupidity at times, but this also led Arthur to the success he's in possession of these days. If it wasn't for that, he wouldn't be even anywhere close to where he is now.

As such, he only gave a solemn nod.

"Prepare yourselves."

An address to his people; whether they were simple Undead soldiers that followed their master, or other magi that he brought along, they were all the people that needed to be in their top shape by now. There would be no surrender today, no going back.

No defeat. No... they couldn't let that happen.

"I understand, guardian."

The robes of the Lich were slightly shoved apart, making for a space that conjured myriad lightning bolts within; the storms above them brewed, and despite the relatively closed space, the nature's wrath was looming over their head.

"Hold nothing back."

"Would be bad if you gave it to someone unworthy, right?"
(Arthur Rowan)

Ser Artaghh would remain silent as his eye trailed upon one of Azrael's chosen, a sense of reverence for ancient soldier of his own god as he proceeded forth to address them. His jaw fell a bit slack as he heard the words spoken, seeing the shadow legion rise behind their heroic commander to engage once more in battle after ages of darkness.

It brought a tear to Ser Artaghh's eye.

Igniting his shroud of ethereal fire with earnest once more, the commander of Dawn's legion would grip the handle of his black greatsword tight with unyielding determination, bowing his head to the fallen hero in respect before preparing to engage in this test of worthiness that was now to come about. Death or glory.
(Artaghh)

After having managed to decipher the riddle, with some ease it should be mentioned, they followed the spirit to another place.

There they came across a spot, open, a courtyard. Then that shadow began to tell a story. Amazing.

Aldrah remained attentive, fixed his gaze on the being as he spoke, listening to the sounds of war.. Screams of pain.. Explosions of magics and other things. Interesting.

After some time, shadows left the ground, around the being. The look of the necromancer, alternated from the man in the center to the shadows and back to man, several times. Until the shadows became warriors undeads.

He picked up his staff, already getting ready, after being said that the thing would test Arthur. Another fight, apparently.

Aldrah just looked quickly at Arthur and then at the creature, now being definitely ready for combat. Aldrah was covered by an icy aura and his undeads were ready for the next combat.
(Aldrah Leverd)

An Oscuri?

Those eyes pierce back at the Undead's very soul. She had expected to find another of Azrael's loyal servant here, but even this was a surprise. The raw, occult power glaring off of him; those eyes...

She couldn't really contain herself. The other beast that was fought earlier was a challenge, for sure. But this? This would be legendary. A smile formed across her face, and in response to that flaring of his own massive energy she unleashed the potent Rieka that her own body had.

The Lodestone, now buried deep within her chest, lit up. Her lines flared, breaking past the cracked and burnt skin, and her eyes quite literally exploded in energy. Colada is raised, and pointed at the spirit, with her other arm crossing her body and holding her shoulder.

"Brave servant of Azrael! You honor me with this battle, and you will find our will just as strong as your own."


(Freya Vishkar)

"Aha..." the phantom laughed as it launched itself forth. The waves came over the sides of the rocks and flooded the battlefield. The phantom scated forth along the current with darkened energy magic lingering at his fingertips.

His forces charged forth, ushered into battle by the starlight that danced about their bodies, and through rifts of time and space the Azraelite champion aimed to down its challenger.

It would have to settle for Aldrah for the moment as it cast him into a pillar of stone with a concentrated meteor of cosmic magic. It was only after this second that a wave of telekinesis from Arthur sent it into a temporary retreat.

"I doubt you understand what this mask is capable of, Lich King. But let me enlighten you!"

Though the undead at phantom's command were simple soldiers, some of them shifted and changed in state, growing in size and abominable strength. From the champion's back, an enormous behemoth emerged, ready to fight at its side.

"I could command two, three Dawn's if I so desired. I could bend your kingdom to my will and force it to march across this continent as I did once before."

"Are you WORTHY OF SUCH POWER?" it roared, extending not only its arms, but the arms of its giant as well.
[Narrate]

Mocking him, like this?

No, this was almost a reflection to the past... it wouldn't be the first time someone made an implication that they could steal control from Arthur, or in fact, had done so; but this didn't make the Lich King fret. Instead, it only forced him to become a lot more determined than he already was.

The clash of telekinesis and the most powerful of magics out there. Despite it all, the Lich was still very far from giving up, and he only spoke - a replica of his own words.

"I doubt you understand what I already can do, guardian, but let me enlighten you!"

The storms brewed; the undead in his command had their eyes light up in the beaming blue light - much greater currency of energy was sent towards them, empowering his undead even further.

"I faced against Divine Dragons, and I felled the Fallen Angel, an ancient master of this Art."

"You can claim the control. You can even march across the continent as you did before - as did I."

"But you can be damn sure that I will be the one on top in the end."

Another crackle; the reality was being shifted by the telekinesis, the ruptures due to Chaotic energy emerging from the body of the Lich. His own two blue fires began to glow, and he spoke out.

"Come."

"I'll show you just how worthy I am."
(Arthur Rowan)

It laughed again, expressing more emotion now that it had throughout the crypt. It was here where the phantom was most alive, HERE where it reveled in the memories of its prime. It laid waste to the hordes of undead that the necromancers through at it, and wish crashing, thundrous waves, sent them sliding across the stony ground to cough and sputter as energy magic tore through their bodies.

But again it was beaten back, again it was finding this fight to be a true challenge.

"The Arcane arts... they are rather unique, no? Capable of so much power, to bend reality as we see fit?" The eyes of the mask glinted, and the ground beneath the phantom cracked as it sent its own wave of telekinesis out.

"You felled a Fallen Angel? I -fought- beside THEM." More meteors fell from the sepia toned sky overhead, and the endless legion of undead shadows and monstrosities stayed as loyal as any Dawnite to its master.

"List your accolades all you want, Arthur Rowan, you might be the present, but -I- am your past."

The flowing occultism that surrounded the ghost snapped and concentrated. It extended outward into dark, black wings of energy that held the body aloft, and once more it darted in toward its enemies.
[Narrate]

Despite the might of the Telekinesis that shuddered the Lich King to his very core with a sudden blast, he found it in him to swiftly recover. It's by no means the first time he ever fought another Arcane user, and though he's caught by surprise, he doesn't seem to be afraid.

Was it just because he lost all sense of preservation? No, not quite... it's because he knew that he had no right to return home empty handed.

If that happened, all hope would be lost.

"Do NOT underestimate me."

A wave of Arcane in return, an opposition against that of guardian's. It showed much of fire in the unbeating, non-existent heart of the Lich, but he knew that the fight was far from over still. The surge of energy fuelled his body, and despite the beating he's taken, he would find himself invigorated once again.

"You cling to Angels like they're your solution - but you forget that they abandoned you all."

"I am the will of Man. I will bring the Progress that divines could not achieve."

A crackling of the Storms above, and the surge of energy was aimed; when he heard those final words, when the guardian claimed to be their past...

"And I am your future."
(Arthur Rowan)

The crackling of bones, the exhaustion that settles in with the lack of energy...

No. This is not the time. This is not the moment to fall back and remain fallen; despite the brief fall of the Lich King at the mighty magics of the guardian, again and again he was re-animated from near-death by the powerful connection of phylactery that held onto him with essence of the Fallen Angel.

Again and again, he would rise, against all odds.

"You cannot kill me. I cannot die."

The invigorated body of the Lich beamed with excess of the energy. The remaining undead saw their master rise, and in the union of voices they chanted, roared and vocalized their fighting spirit. They may have been given a minor setback, but this would be nothing for all of them.

As long as they can continue fighting at all.

"So rise, Dawn."

"We are the Defenders of Tomorrow. No matter whom, no matter the odds, we will always fight and win."

This was it. All or nothing.

All For One. One For All.
(Arthur Rowan)

"My future?"

The ruins cracked again as chaos met chaos. With a singular beat of those occult heavy wings, the phantom collided with Arthur and sent the Lich cascading back into his own forces.

"My future is this tomb, Rowan King."

Artaghh was felled first, energy magic shredding his armor to bits along his side where the ghoul shadows could pierce his body with their blades. Freya was next, as her rieka exploded against the blackened magic of the phantom.

"All of you have entered my crypt in search of treasure, but it is as I warned you before!"

Freya was sent backward as well as the phantom stretched his arm out and with an open palm let the forces of chaos down her.

"Only Life can pay for Death!" Arthur was swallowed by the lapping waves and the phantom found itself now aiming to drown Aldrah.

"Kneel, necromancer. Kneel before your -true Leader-. I may just let you live here with us if you do."

Ser Artaghh would engage in the clangor and heat of battle as the ancient master of chaos ushered forth its might at the adventuring party. The fight grew only more intense as the occultic heat from the Azraelite hero burn hotter and hotter, the knight slammed about by dark tides and concussive force alike. His organs slammed against the mithril plates that held them in repeatedly, and the bald swordsman wiped what was distinctly blood from his burn scarred lips. Gouged by the dark energy of the phantom, the bald swordsman found himself backpedaling to retain his life.

Stumbling through an alley between this realm and that of the spirits, Artaghh would collapse to his knee with a hacking cough as he tumbled to the ground upon shimmering back into sight. He was heavily taxed, his body ached from the assailment of chaos. And yet, as the knight commander planted his black blade into the stone to force himself back up, the resounding words of his king, standing tall with renewed determination as he bowed his head once more to the ghostly hero.

They had a fight to finish.
(Artaghh)

To the brink of her ability, she was pushed. She could not tire, or waiver. No pain or fatigue could reach her, yet her Rieka was brimming at her limit. Pushed back by a massive wave of arcane energy, she found herself on a knee, gathering up as much Rieka that her broken body could still hold.

"I will not let it end this way!"

She rose, her body still aflame in the fires of Azrael's gift. Yet, in those fires, shapes could be seen. Flickers of two people, weapons at the ready, on both of her flanks.

On the right, another knight in similar black and green armor wielding a shining sword.

The left, a witch. head held high with a pink hat atop her head.

Both of these spirits condensed, collapsing into Freya as Rieka exploded out from her once more. Eyes on fire, soul on fire.

"I shall endure a thousand more deaths before I fall! For my comrades, for the one's who've gone before and cannot return!"

Her right hand, the one not gripping the sword, drowned itself in Rieka. The energy condensing and shaping itself until both hands carried a sword; one of Arcanium, and one of Reika.

"And while I still stand, no one else will die!"

A final charge. But, would it be enough?
(Freya Vishkar)

"Come now then, -My Future-." the Phantom taunted. "Come and meet your demise. Come and march forever in my time. We will all wait for someone worthy of this mask."

The battle raged on, skeletons meeting their shadows and amalgamations of nightmares. Artaghh was stabbed through the upper thigh by a shadowy spear, but luckily it missed his bone, and though it would prove extremely painful, it would heal in time.

Freya and Arthur were not quite as lucky. Both undead were held aloft in the air by a gripping, telekinetic force, and try as they might to counter it, they were kept their until the umbretarnic waters could swallow them again. There beneath the violet waves at teh Phantom's command, they were forced to take a magnified ray of starlight that refraced through the aquatic dome.

It seared their cursed souls, and left ethereal wounds that only they could feel, remnants of mortality that caused their innermost beings to ache.

The Phantom finally moved forth, ready to kill them all, beginning with Aldrah. "I gave you a chance to serve." it said, its eyes glowing bright and wings burning black. "But you kept fighting. You will have an especially wretched position in my battalion."

Occultic energy magic seized his body and began to sear into his mana circuits, and very soon Aldrah's left arm had not begun to rot, but turn black. The circuits were damaged as more occultism concentrated into his body and worked its way toward his heart--

only to be halted by Arthur. The Lich King took the Phantom by surprise, and while he was trying to kill the other necromancer, the masked shadow was taken down into his own watery flood.

It all began to ebb away after that, the shadows and the high tide as well, and all that remained amidst them were traces of arcanium treasures that the shadow soldiers had once wielded, along with the mask itself to be claimed.

The area faded into nothing, the sky into a dark, cavern ceiling, and the group was once more in the crypt, alone and without light.
[Narrate]

No matter how much they fought back, the formidable force was too much to easily resist. The group was scattered, beaten and almost broken, and the Lich King was caught in the grip along with the other undead amidst them; he fought valiantly, but even that wasn't enough in the greater picture of things. The force began to squeeze around him, forcing him to undertake the malignant power sent by the shadow.

Draining him of his very lifeforce that he had stolen from many others.

It felt like the encroaching end. Seeing Artaghh become impaired by the shadowy spears and Aldrah caught by the shadow, the eyes of the Lich King began to slowly fade, losing the energy of the body that sustained him. With each passing moment, it became all too difficult to almost do anything, but...

"No."
"You cannot win."
"You cannot take my future."

A sudden bolt of lightning crashed upon the shadowy figure. As it quickly turned out, this was no simple lightning, but the center of the Storm that found its way over his head; it smite the creature with the full might of the Lich, finding his way in proving him just how powerful he could be. The thunder roared, up until there was nothing else to smite at this point. And...

When the dust began to settle? A lone Lich was walking towards the mask, lowering his gloved hand towards it.

"Finally..."

"My hope... my future..."

"It's mine."

Placing it over his face, he could feel the surge of energy course through him, the energy that was meant to be his salvation. The eyes of the Lich beamed with fire, the two blue sparks in his eyes coming to a full blossom.

Now, forged in this, he would become something else.

Something glorious upon Agartha.
(Arthur Rowan)