How often do the gods conspire? No one knows. Iomedae and the Flayed Ones part ways in their unreachable dimension, their blood red and white light coronas fading from a brief overlap, a moment when their aims alligned. A pact was formed for the preservation of all creation, carried out in the material realm below. A scion of Omega slain, blood and soul exchanged...

Strygwyr leaned forward on his blades. Dried blood was beginning to crack and flake off his skin. Many natives were confused and wailing their lament as he looked out into the water where Cosmos and Eclipse had fallen. Had he, or his good-aligned counterpart, questioned the wills of their gods, this conspiracy could not have unfolded. The slaughter had begun before the Bloodseeker had arrived. The treachery of the guards, hoping to gain favor with the rival clan, gave malice to their hands. It was their cold greed and bloodlust that had incited the Twins. The folly of war... and so the Bloodseeker comes.

Realizing what had happened, that Eclipse had somehow risen with the rest and had attacked the creature hidden in the clouds, Strygwyr was moved. "The Twins make full use of your sacrifice, white one. I will not forget you, my friend." Not thinking he was heard by anyone other than himself, and his ever-present deities, he began to leave. He'd have to find the girl and the dark one and find a way off this planet.