Jokul v Varrach last rps

Their clash is made obvious here. Onlookers stop to watch. The ground continues to shake, the dark clouds, a bad omen for what calamity would follow, begin to separate. Even as the two do battle, neither of them held the power to stop or force the result of this war but the winner could dictate much.

Victory could inspire either side and tip the balance in the favor one way or another. Survival or Destruction.

The True Giant slams his heel upon the ground and the emblem of Death shoots out to the side, as elusive as ever. An earthquake takes hold of Mt. Grimhjall. Vdali. Each of the Pantheon makes itself known, their blessings granted to Jokul Folhammar in this moment of fate. Of survival. A single feather falls, it glimmers, HIM would know it well. Chireus. Jokul teleports, dodging the cannon of explosion fire that Varrach levies at him. He appears in a flash of colors to the side, red-robes singed.

Ualdir. Jokul swings Eldr down and a swing of fire has the countless armies of undead, of demonic slaves crash into the ground. It was as if it was the divine war and the Black Axe had lashed many of The Betrayers armies. Death Magic breaks through Athelios' blessing and it cracks at Jokul's psyche, at the barrier of his soul. The titan must pull back, send his blades against each other and the grating of steel echoes the song of Mestra. Rainbows flash around Jokul's frame, healing the land and regenerating the injuries that the Emperor of Meranthe held. Blood stains him, burns cover his titanic frame. The faint glimmers of luminescent light wash over skin.

Even now it requires the entire Pantheon to defeat one known as Hel: Death itself, Varrach.

"Not mine. Mine. It matters none. I have abandoned mine sense of self long ago, all that is left is the mission before. My part to play in this. These prophecies ancient, hundreds of years old, now having come to fruition here."

But it was not over, a final clash required. The aether that surges within Jokul Folhammar's body begins to bristle within skin. Causes his frame to swell. The skeletons that had covered battlefield, dropped by swing of Ualdir remain still. They do not move, nor do the dark spirits that surround this battle. The dead walk for a second, the spirits of countless magi and non-magi swirl around Jokul; an army of the dead. Caius. They absorb any and all obstacles. Of the last remaining horde of undead that stuck to Varrach's side, holding them at bay. For here and now, Death Incarnate had become a true recognized Tal.

However there was one last of the Pantheon yet to be invoked: the Great-Father. Jokul closes in on Varrach. The gift of Ymir begins to weaken as Jokul pulls from all of the traces of divinity welled up deep inside of him. His first swing, the swing of the Divine, of Eldr sends fire across Death's frame but they survive. They dodge the deadly blow. Coronacht comes for the giant's heart. Flesh melts, paves way. The Emperor could dodge it but instead he shifts, moves so it pierces abdomen instead. It pierces ribcage, seeking lung.

Amier is Invoked.

Sacrifice for the greater good. Thegnblao splits through the air in a split second. The claymore of man. A flash of steel and silver that decapitates Varrach the first Imperfect. What follows is Eldr brought back. The blade engraved in prophecy makes sure nothing remains. As it fulfils its purpose; to stop an unbeatable enemy when faced with calamity. Flame is unleashed, consuming the demon and then the giant both in a plethora of orange and yellows.
(Jokul)

The battle of the Emperor and the Death.

The surge of power that Varrach had not entirely expected breaks the hold to grant the necessary advantage to Jokul, and while the strength of the Titan was commendable indeed, it is the backing of the Pantheon that shifts the tide in a way that would overwhelm the Imperfect after all; no matter the power or the strength one possessed...

To fight the Gods and their divinity,
it was something else entirely.

Each time that the blades clash, the sound of Eldr and Coronacht rings with such intensity that any mere magi, powerful or otherwise, could be deafened by the blows alone; the Volcano erupts, and the ashes of its power roar with a billowing strength that spurs the Imperfect to act in the moment, to try and reduce Jokul to his state of mortality.

But Varrach is running out of time.

He can only regenerate for so long. His body can only endure so much. The fall of a demon is a slow one, and perhaps agonizingly so, but the Death incarnate resists until the very end- the strength necessary to do even that would require a titan of power unlike any other, all to ensure that he could stand a chance at all.

Even then,
the tide shifts once more.

And it is not in the favor of the Death incarnate. Amidst a pause that gives way for a breather just before the final clash, he speaks once more- a single remark to the statement given by Jokul.

"I understand."

"I, too, had a role to play in this."

Perhaps it is precisely why Varrach's sense of self-preservation was never his strongest suit, for when he makes the final charge, the prophecy comes to be fulfilled at the hands of the Emperor.

For while he dodges the deadly blow with the invocation of Eldr, and makes an attempt at the heart of the Giant, with Coronacht trying to find purchase within the strike aimed at his heart, ultimately, he runs out of time at last.

Time..
the only thing,
he could never get enough of.

Schling!

…

…

Before he knew it...

Varrach's head is airborne, cleaved off his body. In that very moment, he notices the fall of Sak'noth- there, in the distance, he senses the death of his kin.

His head lands, pointed to where the Lord of Change once was. Perhaps unexpected, but an expression of sorrow is plastered upon his face- a single word spoken in silence.

"Brother.. you too..?"

Then..

It is settled, then.

A slight nudge, a slight roll, and the decapitated head of a demon looks at Jokul. First, Varrach looks at his collapsed body- then his eyes shift at the True Giant, no doubt about to ensure that the Death incarnate would be destroyed for good.

That nothing of his body wouldremain.


"I see your prideful fall down from the heavens to the flames."


The flames.
Oh, the flames.

Many would scream, thrash, try to fight away- or perhaps, in Varrach's shoes, try to crawl to his body and re-attach himself; quickly, before his body disintegrates too.

But not him.

Varrach sees the colors of orange and yellow. It reminds him of home- of Helheim, and he knows what will likely await him. This is the end. This is the result of that prophecy. This is the finishing line, the magnum opus of his work. He's done all he could. He fought all he could. Finally, he can rest his weary head.

And all that he does is smile.


"Good riddance,
to all..."


As he was born in the flames, by the flames he meets his end.

The Death incarnate was felled.
(Varrach)